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leftfieldgames · 2 years

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Platformer Prototype-- the Mum Test

Last night, I had a chance to test my aforementioned paper prototype with my Mum-- which sounds like an odd choice, but in actual fact, she was the perfect playtester. This led to an impromptu playtest of the GDevelop prototype too-- which she actively wanted to test!

Important things about my Mum as a playtester:

1. She is functionally videogame-illiterate-- that is, she does not play video games at all, and therefore does not intuit videogame conventions. She asked straight off the bat which of the “pieces” was hers. A game designed for my mum must not assume that the nature of the “magic circle,” and its “special rules,” as Johan Huizinga puts it in “Homo Ludens,” is immediately or automatically clear to her (1980). This means that, particularly in the GDevelop prototype, I received important feedback regarding the intuitiveness of my controls and level layout;

2. She knows absolutely no Japanese, nor is she particularly interested in learning any Japanese-- meaning I was truly putting to the test the TPRS Language-Learning technique within this platforming context (Alley & Overfield, 2008);

3. She is very good at articulating why she finds something difficult, frustrating, or confusing. I’m not trying to be funny-- I mean that I didn’t need to prompt her to voice or narrate her experience.

As per the best practices outlined in Fullerton’s “Game Design Workshop” in Chapter 9, I attempted-- reluctantly-- to give the prototype over to my Mum without too much preamble, explanation, or guidance (I was truly invoking Fullerton’s maxim of playtesting “before you are ready”) (2018). I told her each of the purple squares represented “spaces” like a board game, and that she had to stop whenever she encountered another character, read the question, and answer the question.

The “flow” of the paper prototype was not something I really ironed out-- initially we tried with a six-sided die, but the fact that the player must stop at every NPC, combined with the absence of any other players, rendered the die immediately redundant. This didn’t worry me too much-- the real point was to test the question-and-answer aspect-- was it fun? Did it work?

Below are images of the NPC questions and player’s pool of possible answers. Their English translations are on the folded side-- as you can see on the printout later in this post.

And here are some relevant “gameplay” images...

PROTOTYPE PLAYTESTING TAKEAWAYS

Distilling Mum’s playtesting experience, here were my key notes:

1. The order in which I placed the questions was more intuitive and organic. For the paper prototype, I had the first Oni NPC ask “O-genki desu ka? (How are you?)” instead of “Hajimemashite! (Nice to meet you!)” (which is the first question in the digital prototype). From this, Mum was able to intuit that the answer was “Hai! Genki desu. (Yes, I’m well thanks)” due to the matching word. It was interesting to note that she felt this was a cheap way to arrive at the correct answer, when in actuality, this is precisely the TPRS language-learning method at work. That is, gap-filling and acquisition of meaning through contextualised use of language, especially within a story, and with minimal use of “translation” into the learner’s home language.

2. On the topic of “the context of a story”, Mum-- after getting past the first two questions without issue-- became stumped on the third question, and looked to the questions and answers for the first two questions for a clue. She seemed to be expecting the questions to follow an almost narrative order. I hadn’t considered anything of the sort, but I am now!

3. Mum preferred that she was able to check the English with greater immediacy than my original concept, which was that the player completed the entire level first in Japanese and then in English. She preferred to be able to check her answer immediately after submitting it, and on the whole, I realised this made for more satisfying and balanced gameplay, where the player experienced a reward at more appropriate intervals. This was also great feedback because it encouraged me to dig into the origin of my original concept, which stemmed from my desire to subvert the left to right platformer convention-- in particular, playing with the concept that Japanese is often traditionally written from right to left, etc. I’m not completely done with that idea quite yet, but I think it will need to manifest in a different manner to what I originally envisaged.

4. When testing the digital GDevelop prototype, Mum wanted to jump using the ‘up’ arrow, and I don’t blame her. I realised that I’d made that error on my own prototype more than once without thinking about it, and so I think I will alter those controls.

Taking into consideration, once again, that Mum is neither a gamer nor does she know or care to know a skerick of Japanese, I was really glad to find that she:

1. Actively enjoyed the game and was, dare I say, intellectually stimulated by it, and

2. Found it to have a satisfactory level of difficulty-- i.e. it was easy enough that she could experience success at appropriate intervals, but challenging enough that it held her attention and was not boring. This is something with which Tracy Fullerton goes into a lot of detail, but which he elegantly sums up on page 41: “Puzzles that are too easy are disappointing; puzzles that are too hard are discouraging.” Relevantly to my game, he goes on to say that his “favourite definition of ‘puzzle’” is: “1. A puzzle is fun, 2. And it has a right answer” (2018).

My only regret, once again, in testing both prototypes at this stage, is that they aren’t yet at a level where I can really test the interactions and relationships between the mechanics-- the systems-- of the game, as mentioned in the previous post.

SOURCES:

Alley, D., & Overfield, D. (2008). An analysis of the teaching proficiency through reading and storytelling (TPRS) method [Selected conference proceedings]. Southern Conference on Language Teaching. Southern Conference on Language Teaching.

Fullerton, T. (2018). Game Design Workshop: A Playcentric Approach to Creating Innovative Games, Fourth Edition (4th ed.). CRC Press.

Huizinga, J. (1980). Homo Ludens: A study of the play-element in culture (2nd ed.). Routledge & Kegan Paul.

#development #kitsukana #platformer

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xtrapapers6 · 2 years

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sugar-petals · 3 years

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can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

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secretbangtnn · 3 years

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summary : Getting a letter from a very prestigious school was something that you could have never expect, and even more unexpected was that you didn’t need to pay a penny for it. Beautiful news that were too good to be true, but oh how stupid you were to not question such a perfect chance to get away from your shitty life.

notes:

Guys i would be more than happy for some feedback, its my first time writing in english and im more than nervous. Im not sure if what i wrote is good or even understandable. + i would be more than happy to start an ask game with this book

Chapter one

Living or in your case existing was always somehow calm. Everything you do had a plan and everyday had the same pattern, like a boring vase that stood in the same kitchen you actually were. Blue marble tiles awfully similar to tears that run down the woman's cheeks, making them a little bit more redder than before.

Not that they weren't that color before, always blushy and ready to be seen. And maybe that's why you had that sour taste in your mouth while watching them, knowing that your own were as beautifully red as hers.

"why?" a simple question sounding now like the last call for help. Voice groggy and nose runny making the sight before even more unbearable to look at. But why weren't you moved, why the tears didn't make you guality like they should. "you planned this?! You planned to leave me alone like a selfish bastard!"

Looking down didn't seem like the best option, knowing that it could just take the nerves in the room to a whole new level but you could not stop yourself. She was always one to guilt trip you into everything.

A little shout left the chapped mouth making you jump a little while lifting your head simultaneously. Sight before you seems to worsen and as you took a step back the woman took another two in the end catching your small wrist in her clawed hand.

Hissing and looking dead in her eyes made you somehow more conscious of the whole situation.

“I didn’t know.” and you really did not. Gritting your teeth so hard that it felt like some of them could fall out at any moment seems to stop you from doing sudden movements.

Breathe in and breathe out.

“Of course you think I am stupid! Just like your father, bringing me to insanity step by step. But that’s what you wanted from the beginning, am I right?”

“Stop being delusional mom” Oh how hard it was to say the name of that woman. Mother of child that she forgets most of the time, only to remember at the most shitty time. Today was exactly one of the examples of why your dream was just to wake up not seeing or better not having to think of that woman.

“Am i now? It’s you who wants me like this.” She laughed, throwing her head back in the motion. Elegant column of her neck now easy to see, showing purple and red marks similar to those from claws. “You thought I would not know, you thought you could just run away like a scared little child. Now tell me, how long were you planning this o-or maybe it was your father’s plan from the beginning.”

“I didn’t know about it, I didn’t even apply to any of the schools and you are the one that should know that.” toxicity leaked from your voice in big streams, but it was something that u could not stop at that moment. She was doing it again, acting crazy and psycho making everyone question why she wasnt getting hospital help yet.

“So you are saying that it’s my fault? You were supposed to care for me, for your ill mother, not that you are useful for anything else. How could you even think of disappearing, going to school so far away and leaving me to rot here myself like you were not meant to end like this too!”

Snatching your hand you looked at the woman once again, tears in eyes making you look fragile. Her own body looking weak, nearly dead limbs hanging from a malnourished body, showing the world wrack of a woman she was. Complexion ill looking, but what was not in her case, pale looking with green, purple and blue spots everywhere the skin was shown.

“Why are you being so shocked? Don’t tell me you thought you were going to leave someday.” Her laugh made you grit your teeth, jaw starting to hurt from the tension you were keeping. “Once again you showed how foolish you are, just like your father, just like that scumbag.”

“You are insane.”

“That we already know, so why don’t you come back to your room and start preparing for tomorrow. I want to eat a really nice breakfast next morning and maybe then after we can talk about what job you are going to have to make a living for us.”

And that was your sign to go, not looking back at the sick smirk on your mother mouth momocking your whole being. Step by step you saw the old stairs, in some place missing the color. Your room was nothing special, at least that what people said, for you it was some type of heaven. Peace that you could only catch while being there, laying on your old bed while looking at the dull ceiling.

Closing the door, you exchaled a heavy breath, sliding down on the flat surface of the door. Eyes closed like you have always done after an intense situation, today was not an exception to that.

Asking yourself what just happened, how and why. Unconsciously you looked at the letter beside you, laying so weirdly on the piece of not carpeted floor. The big fault in a little piece of paper. It was funny how this thing made such a bad influence on your life just by arriving on your doorstep.

The fact that the only person you could compare yourself to now is a story character of the name Harry was nearly not as funny as it sounded. However how u can explain getting a letter from a prestigious school you for sure did not apply or even looked up not even thinking about getting a scholarship to having a chance to think about it.

By any chance you were not stupid, but your ambitions flew away with another day in this shit hole you called home. Main reason being your own mother, which not only made it clear but for sure would kill you faster than let you leave.

You took the letter, keeping it in your hand like some unknown object you have never seen before. The texture itself is weird, making you shiver in some way. Big letter stood on the black piece of paper meaning only one thing.

Oh yes, that definitely was unsetting.

You remember clearly the first time you read the words that were put in this blank envelope. Big chance waiting for you, welcoming you with big arms and assuring you that you have nothing to be scared of.

And maybe those words were the one that brought you to that situation. It was not even three hours after the fight with your mother. Sun long down now moon shining on your pale face. Packing everything you tried to be quiet and quick hoping that your mother again ate too much of those big pills.

Big bag now laying down on your bed with a small letter beside it looking as innocent as before. You were not even seventeen making decisions that would cost you more then you can imagine. Living hell with possibility of going to another but in that moment nothing mattered like running away from old monsters.

Floor cracked under your feet even thought you were considered as a lightweight. How could you not be so malnourished when your mother forced you to teach yourself how to cook, never letting you eat before her. You tried to reason her moods or harsh behaviour to you but no matter how many times you tried it always ended in another reason why your life was just simply sad.

Running away was a good decision. You tried to say it so many times to actually believe in those empty words. The truth was that you were an innocent little child, not even a full adult that has never tasted a social life or had a friend.

“It will be alright.” Taste on your tongue after saying this a little sour with a heavy backpack danglin on your right arm. One step and then another, you touched the cold handle of your white doors. It was the first move to make and probably one of the hardest.

Bag on your arm is even more heavy making you realise what is happening. Silent breath flowed past your lips preparing you for your next step.

You pushed it closing it carefully while hoping that the oldish touch to the wood wont make an appearance in a loud noise. Silly smile now seen on your face with big relief in the back of your mind. The hardest part was just before you.

Your mothers room, not fully closed - like always, she needed to make sure nobody would come uninvited. It was just one of her weird characteristics that came with such a messed up mental health.

Small noise came out under your feet, not loud enough to wake up the woman next door but audible enough to be heard from closer.

Photos all around you telling you that you were getting near the main door. Little pictures with you inside faded from ears of hanging, making you stop for a while.

Smooth glass now under your fingers as you touch a specific photo. You and your mother being in the green garden of your grandmas. Happy vibe and pretty smiles now nearly unbelievable to witness on either of faces. It hurted or maybe it was just the adrenaline escaping from a sudden stop.

Oh how the sweet monet was quickly destroyed by the harsh noise from one of the rooms, and you exactly know which one. Loud thud rang out in the quietness of the house, making the silence even more noticable. Your breath escaped leaving you in a big ball of nerves and anxiety.

One...two...three

Silence like the one before big storms but maybe just this time it was not that. You couldn't withdraw now, you were too far and too close to the feeling of freeness. So you did the only thing that came to your mind.

Catching a sliding backpack, you turned to the door in front of you, knowing that just behind them is waiting something so much bigger than your old mother. How stupid for you to not rethink your decision, and believing your innocent mind that its just a good thing, better life that could only make you happier.

So you did it, you took the heavy steps that echoed in the narrow corridor. Light breeze touched your face, and just like the first time you gasped at the feeling. Door closing not that gently as you started running as fast as you could.

Silly smile now on your face with a bouncing bag on your shoulders keeping you on the hard ground. It was feeling similar to the first sight of the ocean or the first taste of sweet ice cream on a hot summery morning. You were in ecstasy choked by the overwhelming emotions.

And maybe because of that you were completely unaware of the danger that waited for you on that chilly night. How could you think about it when everything seemed so distracting almost as you were dreaming and in that moment you probably were closer to believing in this being a slumber.

So as you sat on the cold bench of one of the parks near your home, realization finally came silencing your beating heart. Colder weather now felt more real, as it bit your rosy cheeks. You shivered, keeping your backpack on your lap, trying to hide behind it from a chilly wind that seemed like it came from every side.

Being alone hit you like a truck and the little noises of the night didn't help your rising nerver. You started to lose your breath, feeling your tears sliding down your numb cheeks. It was terrifying now with the knowledge of your wellbeing and adrenaline wearing off with every second.

“Mom?” A silent plea that came out of your lips with shakiness that was more than noticeable. You didn't know why you said that, but the woman was probably the only person you knew. Such a sad truth that you needed to understand. You were alone now, and with that thought a more shameless sobs left your mouth with an occasional whimper.

You were sure you were going to end up dead. That you won't see the new sunset with how your body shivered. Not knowing how life worked or what is bad or good you were a little lamb that waited for hungry wolves to eat her whole.

And maybe one of those predators just saw his next meal. Long strides brought him just in front of you. Your sobs are too loud to make you hear his boots coming closer and closer. His breath just centimeters away from your head, brushing your hair like the not forgotten wind.

“Sweetheart?” It was a calming voice, not too deep but definitely belonging to a grown man. Your posture momentaly stiffened, as your closed eyes now looked at the big leather shoes before you. Your whole body is not moving, only shivering because of the chilly weather and light clothes. It was funny how suddenly you have forgotten about being alone, now wanting just this, wishing for all of this to be a big nightmare.

A deep sight left man's lips reminding you about the realness of the whole situation. You could not move, completely scared, your fingers clutched the bad praying for something to happen. The plan to just act like you were not there, ignoring the man fastly ended, when he sighted once again and crouched just to your eye level.

Deep brown eyes, looking at you with nothing but softness. If you didn’t know better you would say the man looked as if he knew you, cared and was in big relief finding you. But your mother's words echoed in your head, making you believe that every man walking on this planet is bad.

“What are you doing here sweetheart?” Once more this deep voice pierced you. Your mouth opens to answer, deeply knowing that nothing will come out. You just looked in his dark eyes, wishing that maybe he will be the one who can read minds. His eyes now on you, more concerned than before, observing your shivering body.

He was tall and broad for sure, towering over your figure surprisingly even while crouching down. His huge shoulders covered by a creamy coat which now was getting dirty by laying down on a pavement, as it partly hid his expensive looking boots.

Too distracted you didn't notice his hand coming to touch your red cheek, now gently stroking the redness of your skin.

“What a poor soul, so cold and left alone without a coat. Tell me sweetheart would you come and let me warm you a little?”

#poly bts #bts fic rec #bts fanfction #yandere bts #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bangta boys #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi x you #namjoon fanfic #seokjin x oc #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader

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r0zyp0zy0zy · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu!! Prompt list trial

HQ!! Prompt list

Words: 3000+ {oops it was meant to be 1000}

Warnings: smut! First time, nervous Yamaguchi, Tsukki bein a wingman?

Pairing: Yamaguchi Tadashi x FEM!reader

Prompt(s): 1 & 4

PART 2 IS HERE

I LOST THE ASK!! But I did copy it down so.. also this was A LOT longer than I intended

"heh, you're awfully close— a-are we going to kiss now?" And "AH! I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to!" With Yamaguchi please? (I was thinking maybe a first-time scenario mayhaps? It's ok if it's not!) thanks!

Yamaguchi never thought that he would be in this situation, ever. To be fair, it was mostly Tsukkishima's fault that this was about to happen. Yamaguchi probably should've kept his mouth shut about being jealous that Tsukki had lost his virginity, mostly because he forgot that Tsukki had no shame asking girls for sex; and also that he would do it for Yamaguchi. He honestly didn't even know how Tsukishima had convinced someone to hook up with Yamaguchi of all people.

"So remember when you told me you wanted to lose your virginity?" Tsukki picked at his lunch with a cheeky grin on his face.

"...yes? Why, it's not that big of a deal." Yamaguchi replied, scared of what his best friend was about to say to him.

"I got someone who wants to help you lose it," Tsukishima quirked a brow as he took a bite of his salad. "You interested?"

Yamaguchi choked on his sandwich, and he had to take a few minutes to get his food down his throat, "you- you what?!"

"Quiet, unless you want everyone in the cafeteria to know you wanna get laid," the blonde said carelessly. "So do you want to or not?"

"I-I..." Tadashi was speechless, trying to spit out a 'yes! Please yes!'. "Er, who is it?"

"Y/n," Tsukki smirked, watching his friend's mouth drop open in shock. "Careful, you'll attract flies."

"Y-you didn't straight up say that I wanted to have sex, right?!" Yamaguchi whispered.

"Nah, I just said that my buddy Yamaguchi hasn't lost his virginity yet and that I wanted to do him a favour because he's too shy and hopeless to talk to girls," Tsukishima mused. He watched the green haired boy in front of him have an existential crisis in the span of a few seconds before he gripped the sides of his own face.

"Is this real? You're not pranking me, right? You're not that much of an asshole," Yamaguchi worried in disbelief, crossing his fingers praying that his luck shone through.

"I wouldn't do that to you," Tsukishima reassured, "Hinata and Kageyama... maybe."

"Holy shit," Tadashi exasperated, "I hope to god that she's not pitying me. Or even worse! She'll come over and she'll make fun of me!"

"She will if you're into that," Tsukishima finished the last of his salad.

"You're not helping," Yamaguchi pouted, "I'm really worried."

"Yams, if I thought that she would do that than I wouldn't've asked her. Y'know, she told me that she thinks you're cute," The blonde packed up his lunch containers, "she also said that you're very sweet."

"What?!" Yamaguchi's eyes were as wide as saucers. Did she really? Is that really what she thinks of me?

"Yes. Pack up your shit, the bell's about to go," Tsukki pressed, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

So now Tadashi was in his bathroom a few hours before you were supposed to come over, his dad's electric razor in hand. He didn't exactly know how to angle his body so he could catch the falling hair on a paper towel, so he just sat himself on the toilet with his mum's vanity mirror propped on a stool.

Once Yamaguchi eventually managed to trim up, (with an unusually long 'is that what it looks like?' period of discovery), he took a shower and made sure he didn't smell. He scrubbed the hell out of his nails, and brushed his teeth squeaky clean. As he nervously awaited your arrival, he cleaned up his room and made his bed. He blushed as he laid out several condoms that Tsukki had given him, remembering the other day where he had to test them to make sure that they fit.

Yamaguchi eyed himself up and down in his mirror, trying to figure out what he should wear, (which he normally wasn't worried about at all). Should I wear boxers or briefs... will she even know the difference between the two? Should I wear a belt, or would that be too much work? Is a button-up a bit too formal for this event? Yes, ok T-shirt time.

The minutes leading up to your appearance made Yamaguchi sick to his stomach, and he tried to calm his nerves by taking deep breaths. Would he be too scrawny for her? Maybe his dick was small and he just didn't know it? Now that he thinks about it, are his nipples a bit weird? He attempted to flatten the cowlick on the top of his head, but it wouldn't comply. A 'ding' from Tadashi's phone makes him freeze, and he glanced over to peer at the screen.

Y/n: I'm here! I didn't know if I should've knocked or not

Yams: I'll be right there! One moment

Yamaguchi dropped his phone and grabbed one of his pillows before screaming into it. He delicately set it back down, and he made his way to the front door. He was lucky that his dad was working late, and that his mum was away to visit a sick relative. Otherwise, he would have a very hard time explaining your presence to them.

"Hi!" Tadashi said breathlessly as he opened the door to his home, eyes meeting with your e/c ones. God, were you beautiful.

"Hello," you replied shyly, playing with the straps of your bag.

"Come on in," Yamaguchi's chest felt tight as you took off your shoes and put on the guest slippers.

He led you to the living room, unsure if he should take you to his room so soon. He went off to prepare some tea, and his mind swirled dizzily. The two of you barley talked at school, and the past week of getting to know you over text just made Yamaguchi fall for you harder. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and brought the tea tray to the living room with shaky hands.

"Uh, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I hope blackberry is fine..." Tadashi rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the carpet with piqued interest.

"It's fine!" You smiled gently, pulling your cup closer to you. "So anything that you want to talk about before uh, the main event?"

Yamaguchi was glad he hadn't taken a sip of his tea, because he would've sputtered like an idiot if he did, "uhm, n-not really? I'm j-just really nervous, so please take care."

"Of course! We'll go as slow as you want, no worries," you reassured, taking a sip of your tea, "y-you do have condoms, right?"

Yamaguchi stuttered again, "y-yeah". God he was awkward, getting embarrassed over damn latex.

The two of you did some studying to loosen the mood, and Tadashi started to feel just a little bit more relaxed. It was English you were studying, and since you were a speaker you helped him immensely.

"I know, i's and e's together are tricky, even for me. Most of the time the 'i' is before the 'e', but English can be a dickhead sometimes and it'll be the opposite," you leaned over the table to him as you corrected a few of his words. "But other than that, it looks great!"

Tadashi blushed at the praise, and thanked you quietly. He had to take a few moments so he could breathe normally again as he wasn't used to you being so close. His flush reddened tenfold when he noticed that your shirt seemed to have gotten pulled down a bit, exposing some of your breasts to him. He took a sharp intake of breath as he forced himself to look away.

"It's fine, Yama-kun," you giggled. "You can look all you want."

"S-sorry!" He apologized, embarrassed that you had caught him.

"C'mon, you can take a closer look," you pushed your chair back as you stood up to lean towards him, your shirt complying with gravity.

Tadashi was too flustered to speak, let alone look away from the eyeful you were giving him. You used one hand to grip both of his cheeks to pull him forward, causing him to stand up too. You guided his face so he was level to your boobs, and smiled bashfully when he let out the smallest whimper. You pulled his head up to yours, and you leaned in so your noses were almost touching.

"Heh, you're awfully close— a-are we going to k-kiss now?" Yamaguchi gulped nervously at the thought of your lips on his, and he inwardly groaned in annoyance that he was already getting hard.

"If you want to~," you smiled invitingly at him with your pretty e/c eyes as you touched noses with him.

"O-ok," he gulped, blinking harshly because of nerves.

You closed the gap and pressed your soft lips on his, kissing him slowly with purpose. You pulled away for a moment before going back in for a second taste, and you trailed your fingers down Yamaguchi's torso until you reached his waist. You gripped him gently, slowly riding your hands higher and lower. A gasp left his lips once you pulled away, and his cheeks were ferociously flushed.

"H-holy..." Tadashi mumbled, his lips still tingling from your kisses. "I didn't think it would feel so good."

"D'you mind if we head over to your room now?" You asked, chest still rising and falling a little unevenly from the kiss.

Tadashi gulped nervously as he led you to his bedroom up the stairs, trying to hide his erection so you wouldn't make fun of him for getting hard so fast. Once he locked the door behind you, he looked back to his bed where you were sitting, taking off your necklace and placing it on his side table, taking care not to tangle it. You encouraged him to come over with a beckoning of your hand, and patted beside you with the other.

"C'mon Yams don't be shy, take a seat. I won't bite," you smiled warmly at him. "Unless you want me to."

Tadashi blushed as he walked over, plopping down beside you. You turned to face him and tilted your head to indicate that you wanted to give him another kiss, he leaned closer and you gently held his face. He let out a soft whimper once your mouths collided again, and gripped the sheets under him tightly.

"Touch me, Yams," you moaned into his mouth, and Tadashi thought that he was going to pass out at your words.

He anxiously reached out his hands to grip your waist, and squeaked in surprise when you groaned against his lips, opening your mouth and gliding your tongue across his lower lip. Tadashi let your tongue graze against his, and his whole body shivered at the unfamiliar sensation. The green-haired boy tensed when he felt your hand drop from his face to his chest, which was rising and falling quickly and unevenly.

"You alright? Still want to keep going?" You asked breathlessly, toying with the neck of his T-shirt.

"Hmng," Yamaguchi struggled to formulate a sentence, "y-yes please."

"Using your manners at a time like this? You're so cute, Yams," you cooed, gliding your hand down his torso, giving him a peck on the lips as you continued down to his belt.

"C-call me Tadashi," said the young man, blushing profusely, "p-please."

"You're so cute, Ta~da~shi~," you whispered in his ear, sliding a hand between his thighs.

Yamaguchi moaned as your hand drew agonizingly closer to the strain in his jeans, desperately trying not to rut upward into your touch.

You looked into his half-lidded eyes, purring, "can I touch you, Tadashi?"

"Yes," he answered, too quick for his liking. He inwardly cringed at his eagerness, but it was soon forgotten once you trailed a finger over his clothed cock. "Hah~," he squeaked.

You took ahold of one of his hands and brought it up to your breast, squeezing it for him lightly. Apprehensively Tadashi slowly started to knead it, bringing his other hand to cup your opposite breast. He was very gentle with your assets, taking care not to clutch too harshly on the soft mounds. Tadashi had almost forgotten that your hand laid on his thigh, until you firmly gripped his package.

"Hmmgh," Yamaguchi moaned against your mouth, leaning forwards as you leaned backwards to separate your lips. He was about to apologize, for what he didn't really know, but shut up as you peeled your shirt off your body. He had dreams of this happening, and now that it was real he didn't know what to do. Tadashi blushed furiously as you gripped your own boobs, pinching at your clothed nipples.

You peered at him expectantly, but noticing his cocked head you bowed forward and grasped the hem of his shirt. Tadashi felt foolish at the fact that he forgotten he had to take his clothes off as well, and he warily helped you lift his shirt over his head. The boy huffed anxiously as your eyes drawled across his torso, his head starting to spin with embarrassment and insecurity.

"S-sorry if i-it's not what you h-hoped for," Tadashi heaved, shoving down the hot tears that were building up inside of him. He rubbed his arms as if to warm himself, cowering in apprehensiveness.

"Oh Tadashi, you're exactly what I hoped for," you hummed lowly, trailing your hands down your body to rid yourself of your pants/skirt. He gulped in relief and arousal, watching carefully as you rubbed up and down your torso, occasionally playing with the hem of your undies.

You reached forward to grab his belt, undoing it with a jingle. You threw it onto the floor and dove back down to unbutton Tadashi's jeans, licking your lips in excitement. Just the sight alone made him groan, feeling as though he could cum any second. He watched you with wide, curious eyes when you slowly unzipped his pants. You grinned wildly once you finally rid Yamaguchi of his pants, and gently palmed him through his boxers.

"M-maybe you shouldn't do t-that," Tadashi stuttered as you continued to rub his clothed, twitching cock. "I- I don't wanna f-finish too fast and then we c-can't, uh, y'know..."

You hummed in understanding, and slid away from the dark haired boy. Tadashi awaited the reveal of your breasts as you teasingly struggled with your bra, and you saw him lean in a little closer. He watched in awe as you exposed your tits to him, continuing down to your underwear. Yamaguchi gulped when you peeled them off, staring at the slick string of your juices connecting you to the piece of clothing.

Tadashi was frozen in place as he watched you slowly spread your legs open, giving him a show of teasing yourself. In all honesty it looked like he was about to faint from the lack of blood in his face, but that quickly changed when you softly moaned his name. A whimper escaped his lips and he rutted forward into the air, feeling the blush creep quickly onto his cheeks again.

You breathed deeply as you slowly spread yourself open, carefully inserting a finger, and then another one a moment later. You felt so aroused that you didn't think you even needed preparation; still in a little bit of shock that, oh god your crush was in front of you with a painfully hard erection looking at you as if you were the whole world. The fact that you had scored this opportunity was incredible, and you still couldn't believe it.

You met Tadashi's eyes and slipped your slick fingers in your mouth to suck them clean, observing his awed expression, "wanna taste?" You asked sultry, dipping your fingers back into your heat.

Yamaguchi's eyes were the widest they had been all night, and a strangled nod of his head let you scooch forward to him. He nervously opened his mouth, poking out his tongue to suck on your fingers. You felt your cunt clench desperately at the sight in front of you, and you sighed a moan. You took Tadashi's hands in yours and leant backward onto his pillows, letting him trap you with his arms beside your head.

"Hah— f-fuck," Tadashi choked out, grinding his still clothed cock on your thigh. "P-please~."

"Take off your underwear, 'Dashi," you murmured hotly to him, trailing your hands down his back to his waistband.

He struggled with the article of clothing before throwing them to the floor, blushing profusely once he realized that he was completely exposed to you. A groan was ripped from Tadashi's chest when you gave him a few pumps, reaching out with your other hand to grab a condom.

"Are you ready?" You asked. "You can back out at anytime, no judgment."

"F-fuck yes," Tadashi stammered, shakily rolling the thin latex on his fluttering cock.

He let you take charge, taking a deep breath when you grasped his dick and guided him slowly inside of you. Tadashi's mouth widened into an 'O' as he sank deeper into your hot pussy, taking the air from his lungs. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and he gripped the sheets tightly. He couldn't move, he realized. If he moves, he cums. Game over.

"I-I-," Tadashi gasped, struggling to find the right words. "T-tight."

"You can move, Tadashi," you encouraged, trying not to clench around him.

So he did, wanting to impress you somehow. His abs tensed painfully as he fiercely held in his orgasm, slowly dragging back and forth. He heard himself whimpering and he was scared that he was going to start crying. Your reassuring moans didn't help Tadashi from his sensitive state and he cried out as he came, shaking as he emptied his load into the condom.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to!" He panicked, lip trembling as he ridiculed himself for being so embarrassing. He hid his face from your gaze by locking his eyes on your chest, focusing all his energy on not crying.

"It's ok! It's ok, don't worry," you soothed, a little surprised at Tadashi's reaction. "There's always a next time," you added shyly, blush deepening.

"—n-next time..?"

#anime #hq anime #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #tadashi yamaguchi #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #Yamaguchi x reader smut #haikyuu!!

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keepthyfaithandthylight · 3 years

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Going off of my previous post, have another one (I say, forcing you all to look at the monstrosities of my own mind) (I accidentally posted this in my rush to get into the car in the rain so we’re redoing this.) you all know what is about to happen.

How everyone in frev that I can remember might be as… modern students…

Danton: l o u d. He’s the kid who fights and argues with the teacher, is disrespectful all of that. Copies other kids’ homework because despite the fact that he is a terrible student he doesn’t want to miss the credits for the class. You know the type I’m describing. Fights in the hallways, essentially the main crowd in public school. The loud class clown, if you will. That’s all I can say. His notes would most likely look like a kindergartener vomited up any nonsense that came to mind. Does not believe in studying, uses the “if I sleep on my book the knowledge will seep into my mind and therefore I will pass the test” logic. Sits in the back and eats hot Cheetos. Flirts with all of the girls, especially popular girls but he will go for literally any. Luckily I don’t think he would go so far as to have his pants down at his knees walking through the hallway but who knows (that was definitely not a direct jab at the kids in my school). Maybe he would play football, but probably to get with some of the girls.

Desmoulins: he probably takes decent notes, sometimes participates in class but not constantly. Sometimes he will sit with Danton, other times he will sit elsewhere. Either way he is known amongst almost everyone in class. Exceptionally good in English and writes the school paper, also part of yearbook club. Sits with his girlfriend at lunch, they’re nearly attached at the hip it’s almost terrifying. Studies sometimes, but not always, yet either way he somehow passes each test every time. Has Danton convinced he’s psychic or that he’s pulling a sneaky trick with the teacher (I.e. “I’ll pay you a lot of money to give me an A”). Doesn’t really play sports. Wears things that you might find in stores like vans and zumiez, isn’t really bad at dressing well on most occasions (unlike some cough). Wears vans too. Can charm his way out of an argument with classmates and teachers, but will cry over math homework or a bad grade, then his girlfriend has to come over and bring him ice cream. It’s fine.

Robespierre: takes very good notes, always answers questions if Camille doesn’t first. Very organized, color codes everything, his notes are very easy to navigate and almost everyone borrows them. He doesn’t mind in most cases, but starts to get annoyed with Danton about it as it is a daily thing. Can and will argue with the teacher on occasion (I know I don’t need to describe the situation I’m talking about) has a reputation for this. He’s polite most of the time but if the teacher gets sassy so will he. Studies a lot, sometimes too much and he will end up pulling an all-nighter. All of the girls love him, Danton can not figure out why. He walks in the room and the girls swoon, Danton is entirely perplexed by this. Is also very good at English, though he goes over the word limit for essays quite frequently and can get points taken off for this. The teacher will still give him a pat on the back however. Dresses in pastel colors, but will dress in knit sweaters as well (gen-z fashion icon am I right.) in the colder weather. Doesn’t do sports but will audition for the school musical. Will bring snacks for his friends sometimes, but not all of the time. Sits in the front.

Saint Just: his notes aren’t bad, but no one will go running up to him to borrow them. Mostly just sits in the back corner and listens to music, still does his work though. Will glare at Danton and Camille from across the classroom, does so on a daily basis. Brought Robespierre a pastry on his birthday, tried to make it from scratch at first, key word tried. It’s the thought that counts. Also brings coffee for Robespierre when he pulls all-nighters followed by a “why do you do this to yourself??” And an exasperated sigh. The teachers have marked him absent on multiple occasions because he’s just… in the back. Silently. Studies frequently, but not as much as Robespierre, though they do study together sometimes. Might do some really obscure sport that the others didn’t even know the school had, Robespierre got him to join in on the musical performance wise once, and sure he’s all about supporting Max in his theatrical endeavors but he’d probably rather be in charge of the background jobs, giving Robespierre a thumbs up from the catwalk during practice. Sometimes eats lunch with Robespierre.

Marat: when I say science “is his jam” as well as English. Argues with teachers almost daily but they can’t really do anything about it because every single time he makes good points. Gets along with no one. Will use his backpack as a weapon in a fight (everyone remember that one vine?) has no idea what Charlotte has against him but doesn’t really talk about it much. Just gives really uncomfortable looks when she glares at him and snaps a pencil in half in pure rage. President of the science club and the school newspaper. Camille hates this but doesn’t really question it, and tries to get along. Known for being absent a lot but only due to his skin so the school can’t really say anything about it. His writing is… aggressive. No one can really read it. Don’t even start on his notes. An absolute mess that really only makes sense to him. He dresses like a rat (pun intended) but.. in the “appeal to the gen-z gays” kind of way.

Charlotte Corday: teacher’s pet to the maximum level. As in, to the point where it’s actually a problem. Aside from that just copy and paste my previous post and you’ll get what I’m talking about.

Marie Antoinette: exchange student, you either love her or hate her. Queen bee prom Queen, wears nothing but name brand designer clothing. The “it” girl shall we say. Like Regina George but slightly less bitchy, I suppose.

Louis XVI: kind of a shy nerd kid who got absorbed into the popular crowd because of his girlfriend (and because his.. relative.. is the principal.) again you either love him or hate him.

#frev #french revolution #oops i did it again #claws out for the main 5 #maximilien robespierre #robespierre #camille desmoulins #robespierre protection squad #saint just #georges danton #jean paul marat #marAT #Charlotte Corday is THAT girl and you can not prove me wrong.#can we tell that I don’t like Danton??#is it that obvious???

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associatevidiot · 2 years

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The Conservative Terror of Broadened Hearts

I live in Virginia, where our new governor clinched his victory last fall in part by stoking white people's fears about "critical race theory." Literally, this refers to a legal and historical theory, never actually taught in Virginia's public schools, that racist beliefs have shaped the structure and influenced the actions of U.S. governments at the local, state, and federal levels. It's an interesting theory, with a lot of evidence to support it, and some legitimate pushback from actual, accredited historians that's also worth considering. But in practice, and in the governor and his party's actions immediately upon taking office, critical race theory means, "any ideas that might make white people uncomfortable, or suggest that the status quo is anything less than perfect."

The governor's campaign included "horror stories" from parents and children scarred for life by being assigned books in school that included graphic content related to race in the United States. Here's my horror story, and how it turned out.

I went to high school in Texas, literally on an Air Force base. Not exactly a bastion of bleeding-heart liberalism. In my ... junior? senior? ... year of honors English, our class was assigned Native Son, by Richard Wright.

At the end of the first major section of the novel ...

There's no delicate way to put this. You've been warned.

At the end of the first major section of the novel, its protagonist, a black man, rapes a white woman. He murders her. Then he beheads her, dismembers her, and burns her body in a furnace.

This shook me. Of course it would. It was intended to. For the first and only time I can remember, I just stopped reading for an entire day, and wandered through my life feeling dazed and slightly sick.

And then, having sat with that feeling, I went back and kept reading.

I finished Native Son. Then I read the next two books assigned in class, Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man and Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, and saw the different perspectives they brought to the Black experience in America. By their comparison, I considered the limits (and the virtues) of Wright's brick-to-the-face approach to the goals he wanted to accomplish.

I went to college in Chicago, where Native Son is set. With the book still haunting my brain, I remembered that Wright had based it on a real Chicago murder case. I got curious.

So for a freshman year paper, I looked up the newspaper coverage of that case. I read the actual articles that Wright had drawn from -- sometimes word for word! -- for his book. I saw where he'd exaggerated the degree of overt racism in the newspapers' descriptions. And I saw the many places where he hadn't.

I read coverage of the case in the local Black newspaper, The Chicago Defender, and saw its reporters doing legwork to establish the defendant's alibi and argue for his innocence. (I also discovered an entire parallel world of Black-owned businesses, Black-focused comic strips, a peek into Chicago's then-thriving Bronzeville neighborhood.)

And I saw the right-wing Chicago Tribune mock and jeer at this still unconvicted man, this suspect, in subhuman terms that declared him guilty.

So, yes, Native Son horrified me. It left scars. It was a very well-written, but singularly awful and uncomfortable reading experience.

And it expanded my heart. It stoked curiosity. It widened my world and deepened my empathy, even for a protagonist that the book itself often seems to disdain as monstrous. My discomfort helped me grow as a person.

And that, I think, is what people like our new governor fear the most. Not that students might be emotionally scarred or get their feelings hurt by learning about the ways we have literally, physically hurt and scarred our fellow human beings in the past.

No, I think they're afraid that if we face these horrors, we might no longer be able to stick our heads in the sand. We might not be able to blithely defend the way things are.

We might learn from our mistakes and resolve to do better.

#crt #critical race theory #virginia #richard wright #native son

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whatevercomestomymind · 4 years

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Hi, sorry to bother you, but I saw your post about learning calligraphy to better your handwriting? I was wondering if you remember any practice materials or methods you might have used? I have horrible handwriting and am trying to better it, but keep hitting walls on finding any practice materials that aren’t kindergarten level. Again, sorry to bother you on an old post but I thought you might be able to help another in their pursuit for better penmanship.

Not a problem! And I just posted that yesterday, so you're good!

There's an absolute TON of instructional work on calligraphy, and I agree, most start off way too basic, and then just skip through the "practice practice practice" portion, and end up not really teaching the evolution of the letter forms, which is stupidly helpful, especially once you already know the basics of handwriting.

I'll post a list of books I 1000% recommend at the bottom, but there's a few things to know about calligraphy when you start.

Calligraphy and handwriting are seen as 2 different art forms now. They didn't use to be.

There is a HUGE difference between your "daily hand" and "calligraphy."

Learning calligraphy will have a relatively small impact on your daily hand unless you practice a style that is foundationally similar to what you already know.

So, you have 2 goals: learning "fancy" lettering, and improving your handwriting.

If you want to improve your handwriting, you have to go in reverse historical chronological order, so that your hands and eye adapts most naturally, which will give you the fastest results.

So where to start?

First, if you're American, you were probably taught the D'Nealian script (block and cursive) when you learned how to write (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%27Nealian)

This was derived from the Palmer Script (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palmer_Method)

Which is in turn derived from Spencerian script (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spencerian_script), and in turn before that, Copperplate (which is more of a font family rather than a specific style, it's most famous offspring being English Roundhand).

If your goal is to improve your daily writing style, practice those hands in that order. DO NOT BE TEMPTED TO START WITH COPPERPLATE, IT WILL MELT YOUR BRAIN. TRUST ME.

I'd start with Palmer tbh. That's probably what your grandparents learned, and have you seen letters from the 1940s? Fuckin beautiful.

The key points are the angle of your paper, the angle of your pen, and your letter spacing. The styles all the way back to Spencerian tend to still allow for you to manipulate the pen with your fingers (like you're used to) rather than your whole wrist or arm (like older scripts like classic italics, copperplate and Gothic styles).

Here's a really old and really fabulous guide to the entire Palmer method: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=http://lcweb2.loc.gov/service/gdc/scd0001/2006/20060809007pa/20060809007pa.pdf&ved=2ahUKEwjwtLfquYvsAhXydM0KHUpDBCMQFjAbegQIAhAB&usg=AOvVaw3cruMOFNqF4iK6as-toBJN

It's a free PDF. Pay particular attention to the section of scribbles and circles! THESE ARE NOT OPTIONAL IF YOU WANT TO RE-TRAIN YOUR HAND. You have to use muscles in ways they're not used to moving, so get a pad of paper, and in idle down-time (watching TV, riding the bus, on that stupid Zoom meeting that could have been an email), SIT THERE AND SCRIBBLE OVALS LIKE A LUNATIC.

Seriously, this is the single best thing you can do to improve your handwriting. And artwork for that matter. You have to train your hand. You have to start being conscious of how the pen feels, how it scratches the paper depending on how hard you press, how thick lines feel vs thin ones, how a miniscule change in pressure changes the whole line and shape you're doodling.

AUTISM/ADHD NOTE: doing this may make you feel weird, or overstimulated! If it's not something you can keep doing, then DONT. If like me though, you find the repetitive movement and scratchy feel of the pen on paper soothing, you're gonna freaking love this part.

So that covers scripts for the most part (well at least for the past couple of centuries).

ON TO BLOCK LETTERING!

In my research, I found that those annoying bubble letters with the I hearts I despised in middle school actually had a historical precedent: Uncial lettering.

Uncial (and half-uncials) lettering was the signature font of the Kells Monastery, and what we all think of when we thing "celtic/Irish lettering". Famous examples are the way Bilbo Baggins writes in the Hobbit and LOTR films, more pub signs than you can shake a stick at, etc.

Remember what I said about how older scripts require less finger movement and more wrist/whole arm movement? Half-uncial is one of those odd intersectional fonts. Below a 5/8" line height, you'll probably get good results moving mostly your fingers, but as you scale up, you'll get smoother lines by moving larger joints (wrist, keeping fingers in place, and then whole arm for 3"+ line heights).

The foundation of half uncial font is the circle. But it's more of a horizontal oval. Once you can draw a slightly elongated circle, and a straight line, you're ready for half uncials because every other letter is based on the "O". A's? A circle with a stick. D's? 3/4 of a circle with a horizontal ascender.

Now this us where the books I recommend come in.

You're going to want to start with the Celtic Design series by Aidan Meehan. Start with "A Beginner's Manual". It lays out the mathematical and geometric construction behind every major facet of celtic illumination. I particularly like the bit on the geometry of Insular letters at the end.

Then go through "Celtic Alphabets", followed by "Illuminated Lettes" if you're interested in the embellishments and decorated letters, though it does talk about how letter forms are constructed geometrically, which i found super useful.

But the font i use the most on a regular basis is Architects Hand. It's an all caps highly angular and tight, but easy to read and execute hand. Here's an example:

Since its mostly straight lines designed for optimal readability even at the smallest font point sizes, it's a super useful and easy way to write fairly quickly and legibly.

I hope this helps to answer your question and points you in the right direction! Since I moved on to specializing in knotwork and illumination fairly quickly after discovering calligraphy, I have a lot more information about those subjects than handwriting, but if you want more info, by all means, ask away!

#calligraphy #handwriting #letters #celtic #ask

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wherearemyglassesbro · 4 years

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Different fruk au every day for a week (4/7): Reverse medieval au!

Francis is a poet from medieval France! He sings and plays his flute and is a pro at wooing French maidens. He’s quite the ladies man with his pantaloons and long, curly hair. What he doesn’t expect is suddenly waking up in a unfamiliar home....

That home would be Arthur Kirkland’s. Arthur is a professer in training at a nearby uni. He lives in a small house down the street from his parents cause it’s cheap and close to where he works!

Francis was alarmed, who wouldn’t be, and screamed for help immediately upon waking up. Arthur nearly fell down the stairs as he ran down to see who the FUCK was in his house!!! Arthur’s dog started going nuts which only freaked Francis out even more

The language barrier was a problem immediately as Arthur cursed him o it and demanded that he leave!! Francis didn’t understand and ran around the house as Arthur ran after him

Eventually they wore themselves out. Arthur’s middle school level French didn’t do much to help. He through he had a drunk, cosplaying southerner in his house.

Y’know stuff happened and Art decided that he couldn’t let Fran just...Leave. So he took him in. It isn’t easy having a new roomate. Francis plays his flute, sings, snores, riles the dog up, laughs, bangs on things, anything he can do to be loud, he does it. Arthur can’t stand it!!!

Francis hates modern clothing and refused to wear anything Arthur offered him. It’s all so...ugly!! And modern pants are uncomfortable!!

Art eventually gets him into a turtleneck and jeans and...He lowkey looks hot 0-0

Art also finds out that Francis is a good cook. He gets a taste of medieval style soups and various chicken dishes from Francis’s time. It’s alright. Better than burnt beans!

Francis is infatuated with the television. He thinks it’s amazing! When Art goes to work he puts on the shopping channel for him. Fran will sit and watch hours and hours of middle aged women presenting different types of blenders.

^^He also loves mirrors. He loves looking in the mirror at himself. He isn’t a narcissist or anything but he’s never seen his own reflection so clearly before! And don’t even get him started on photos. They freak him out a little but to see himself pasted on paper forever? Without painting it? Fantastic

Once he’s been with Arthur for awhile and he’s settled down, he can start going to the store or on walks to the park. It’s extremely overwhelming and loud at first and he refuses to go anywhere but back home. Once he’s used to it, he’ll play his flute in the park! He actually...Really likes London. He likes the rain and the people and the metro!

As he learns bits of English he learns to ask to go home. Arthur learns that a Francis came from somewhere without a coast, so mid-France. They narrow down an area he could possibly be from and plan a trip to go there

Francis loves it! Oh he loves every second of it! But at the same time it saddens him that his maidens, family, horses and chickens aren’t there. It just isn’t the same :’(

Francis still writes poems often and Art gave him a folder to put them in. Many are love poems to Ann...Arthur thinks she was Francis’a girlfriend back home but Ann is the name Francis uses for Arthur...What? He can’t let Arthur know!! Jeez!! >:(

As they learn to communicate better Francis is very verbal about what he thinks of Arthur’s fashion choices. He’s pretty ruthless too. “What do you think of this” “Ha! Very ugly!” “Hey! Well, what about this one?” “No no, that is being even more ugly” “Francis!-“

They smack eachother a lot. Playful smacks of course! Mostly on the arms and shoulders when they joke and poke fun at eachother

Something that always catches Art off guard is when Fran just comes up to him and hugs him....”Thank you for letting me be here...Without you I would be...under a bridge maybe”

When Fran gets to see museums his mind is absolutely blown. Seeing old clothes like his amaze him! And seeing old texts behind glass is crazy! “I can read that!” “What does it say?” “Uh...It is a poem about nature...and sex” “Of course it is. You Frenchies are always thinking about sex” “Not true! I am thinking about that car commercial from last night :)”

#aph #hetalia #headcanons #aph france #aph england #fruk #ukfr #hetalia writing #hetalia headcanons

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oliverjameson · 3 years

Photo

Originally posted by all-the-crackships

A B O U T OLIVER JAMESON

full name: Oliver Lucas Jameson

nickname(s): Ollie, O

reason for name: N/A

date of birth: November 2nd, 1985

age: 34

gender + pronouns: Cis-male, he/his/him

place of birth: Quebec, QC, Canada

parents: Darcy Rachelle, Reese Jameson (deceased)

siblings: N/A

moral alignment: Neutral Good

Scent: Gucci Guilty Black

relationship with family (close? estranged?): Extremely close with his mom and maternal grandparents. Not so close with his father’s side of the family, but has met them a few times.

pets: Cookie (corgi), Moose (sheltie)

P H Y S I C A L

height: 5’11”

build: Lean, broad shoulders

nationality: Dual-citizen Canadian/American

ethnicity: French, German

distinguishing facial features: High left side dimple

hair color: Dark brown

usual hair style: Combed, but a bit unruly

eye color: Blue

complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birthmarks, scars): White skin, a few freckles high on his cheek, scar on his left eyebrow

disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): N/A

what do they consider their best feature?: His hands.

worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: Broken ankle from snowboarding

A P P E A R A N C E

favorite outfit: T-shirt and athletic shorts with sneakers.

glasses? contacts?: Contacts, but prefers glasses when reading.

personal hygiene: Showers daily, regular facial grooming, entire 6 step skin care routine.

jewelry? tattoos? Piercings?: Three tattoos; 3 small stars on his right shoulder, a very small lightning bolt on the inside of his ankle, and a surgical blade on the inside of his left index finger

what does their voice sound like?: Deep, slight French Canadian accent on certain words which gets more defined when drinking.

style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Articulate, Quiet

accent?: French Canadian, but only slightly more when he’s been home.

unique mannerisms/physical habits: Licks his bottom lip when he’s nervous or stressed, wrinkles his nose a lot when he’s concentrating.

left handed or right?: Left

do they work out/exercise?: Jogging, Lifting

B E L I E F S & I N T E L L E C T

known languages: English and French

zodiac: Scorpio Sun, Sagittarius Rising, Cancer Moon

gifts/talents: Excellent surgeon, dribble a soccer ball for upwards of 10 minutes.

religious stance: Raised Catholic, not practicing

political stance: Liberal views

pet peeves: Honking cars, cold food.

optimist or pessimist: Optimistic

extrovert or introvert: Extrovert

I N T I M A C Y & R E L A T I O N S H I P S

relationship status: Single

sexual orientation: Bisexual

ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: Someone that is willing to listen. Someone that is admitting their faults, and can recognize when it’s time to stop. Someone that is ready to be open and not looking for anything too serious.

ever been in love?: Yes.

what’s their love language?: Physical touch. Gift giving. Doing something for someone without being asked prior. Doing laundry.

most important person in their life?: Mom.

V O C A T I O N

level of education: Doctorate of Medicine

profession: Orthopedic Surgeon

past occupations: Soccer coach, bartender

dream occupation: Current job.

passions: Medicine, outdoor sports.

attitude towards current job: Challenging, but rewarding.

spender or saver? Why?: Saver. No reason.

which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Doing something they love.

S E C R E T S

phobias: Snakes and rejection.

life goals: Start a family, pay off his mom’s house.

greatest fears: Being alone forever.

most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: Any type of public humiliation.

something they’ve never told anyone: He reads romance novels on his Kindle so no one has to see a paper trail. Was a sugar baby in college to help pay off a semester of school.

biggest regret: Not being honest with himself out of fear.

compulsions: Jumping to conclusions.

police/criminal/legal record: N/A

Vices: Real Housewives series. Particularly Beverly Hills and New York.

P R E F E R E N C E S

hobbies: Reading, crossword puzzles, and hiking.

favorite color: Navy blue

favorite smell: Rain

favorite food: Salmon burgers and sweet potato fries

favorite book: The Great Gatsby

favorite movie: Notting Hill

favorite song: Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell

coffee or tea?: Coffee

favorite type of weather: Weather to be comfortable wearing a sweatshirt and shorts. Low 70’s.

#about

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xtrapapers6 · 2 years

Text

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blisslilywrites · 4 years

Note

Hello. You're good at it. You continue in the same spirit:) The scenario about how Hanamiya, Seto, Hara, Furuhashi, Akashi, Aomine, Kise read one book together with the s/o. Please. I congratulate you on the past holidays. I hope you've had a good rest.)

A/N: hellooo thank you so much for reading! ♡

KISE RYOUTA

“Ryouta! Let’s get this over with so we can go home!” Your voice echoed throughout the classroom.

“Ehhhh Y/N-cchi, I am listening!”

“I doubt it. Gosh, you read magazines when it’s all about you but can’t read a book? Read the book, READ IT.” The classroom became quiet when your boyfriend fixed his eyes upon the pages you were reading. Both of you were just the ones in the classroom. Well, it was a punishment for being loud in class. How did it happen?

You were discussing something at the back of your English class, then your teacher scolded you, “You can’t go home without reading the book and reporting it to me!” Yeah, it was hell for the both of you.

You continued reading to where you had left, you were able to comprehend each and every sentence but the silence your partner had made you felt different. You were harsh with him earlier, and so to replace the harshness, you kissed his cheek.

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you—,” He was surprised, but not as bewildered as you. Apparently your cheeks turned brighter red than his, “U–uhmmm, to lift up the spirit!”

Now silence had filled the classroom once again, this time it was not because of reading. Both of you weren’t even able to fix your gazes on the paper.

“Then.. Kiss me again,”

You coughed, “W–what are you saying! Let’s get back to work!”

“Ehhh you told me it’s to lift up my spirit-ssu! I couldn’t understand the book but when you kissed me it’s like all the words came running through my mind. I can understand it now!”

“What an opportunist!” You damned, but then you found yourself kissing his cheek once again.

The day ended with the two of you reporting to the teacher based on what you read. He answered every question right.

And when the two of you were walking to go home, “Y/N, let’s read again tomorrow.”

A reading with a kiss.

AOMINE DAIKI

You were lying on the couch reading your favorite book and listening to your boyfriend’s complaints.

“What’s so good about that book anyway?”

“It’s a good book if you bothered to read anything other than your gravure magazines.”

“Hey I do read things other than my magazines.”

“Oh really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it then.”

His eyes glittered at the challenge. Standing up and walking over to you, he plucked the book from your hands before settling down next to you.

He started reading and unconsciously put an arm around you.

You stared at the sight before you with mild amusement. You figured it was probably just a matter of time before he gave up. Until then though, why not just enjoy the moment since this probably won't be happening again soon.

After a while, you were sitting in his lap as both you and him quietly read the book.

Every once in a while, he broke the silence to ask you what a particular word or phrase meant.

There were many times when you turned the page and Aomine would stop you as he hasn’t finished reading yet.

Every time this happened, you’d look at him and see the intense concentration etched across his face. Then quietly, you’d think to yourself He's actually reading. Properly reading.

You weren’t gonna complain though. If he wants to spend the afternoon reading with you, you sure as hell weren’t gonna stop him.

You didn’t know how it happened nor did you know what was happening exactly.

All you knew was that you were quite comfortable.

By evening, the two of you had completed the book.

You were honestly pretty surprised he made it through the entire book.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, you heard a loud snore coming from right behind you.

You let out a small sigh.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Turning to see his sleeping, snoring face, you smiled and took out your phone to snap a picture before setting the book down and snuggling up against him.

Book-reading was your thing and sleeping lazily was his.

HANAMIYA MAKOTO

“Hey, baka.” Hanamiya moved to the seat next to you, alighting a book to your desk you had for your elbows to stand and to play your phone leveled with your eyes. You felt your boyfriend rushed over your side, but that wasn’t a reason for you to stop what you were playing. Yep, you wouldn’t waste a prize just because of your bossy, sadist boyfriend—

“Give me that,” He grabbed your phone forcely out of your possession, diverting your attention to the certain attention seeker.

“Makoto-kun!” You complained, eyes squinching while attempting to grab your phone from his long arms.

“Y/N, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Well I don’t! Will you please just give me my thing?" You forced your way to get what you wanted, yet not long enough you surrendered already, crossing your arms in annoyance.

“I’ll give it to you after. For now..” He hid your phone inside his pocket, then opened the book he just brought. “I was told your grades were getting lower because of your meaningless games. Y/N, I know you’re stupid but you just can’t throw your education away.”

“Hey! I'm not trying to throw my education! It's just that.. well..” You averted your gaze from his to the front as your face slowly turned into light pink. The words wouldn't escape from your lips, yet Hanamiya managed to catch the unsaid words just fine.

“You don't understand the lessons, do you? Y/N, just how stupid are you? You could’ve asked.” By your boyfriend’s words, he persuaded you to read and study the lessons. Though he was only there to watch, telling you that you should learn on your own nonetheless he would constantly check how you progressed time by time.

AKASHI SEIJURO

You skimmed the shelves of the library, running your hands along the spines of the dusty books. Barely anyone came to this library anymore. You had to admit you haven't been coming here often either. With all the work you've got, it's hard to make time for yourself and your much-needed relaxation. It’s such a shame though because this library was one of the best places to just sit down and take a break from the world. And now here you were, scanning the titles for one to open and start reading. So far though, none of the books seem worth reading. They all just lacked a certain appeal. Sighing, you gave up with this section and walked over to one of the tables where a young man was sitting. He was reading a rather old-looking book when he looked up and caught sight of you.

“Still haven't found something to read y/n?” Akashi asked with a bemused smile before turning back to his book.

A playful frown appeared on your face. You moved to sit next to him and immediately started fidgeting all over the place. You turned your head to look at the book he was reading and a few lines snagged your interest.

‘Hey that looks familiar,’ you thought to yourself.

You leaned forward to properly see what he was reading.

The pages of the book were yellow and frayed. Small ink blotches dotted the paper here and there.

Akashi noticed you examining his book and turned to you with a raised eyebrow.

You blushed slightly but quickly regained your composure.

“Umm what book is that?” you asked, pointing to the book.

He showed you the cover and you immediately recognized it.

It was the book you were assigned to read in last year's English class. You didn't think much of it at first until you started reading it and became awestruck by it.

Nervously, you asked him if you could read it with him. He gave you a curious look before obliging.

And there you were, sitting in an almost empty library with Akashi reading one of your favorite books. You couldn’t ask for a better day than this.

FURUHASHI KOJIRO

At the very corner of the library, it was where you always sit; studying endlessly for an exam and sometimes, you would just read out of boredom. You would spend the whole day reading at the school library, and your boyfriend Furuhashi, inclined to bring you food amid its prohibition. Though the thing is, he’s in the library committee, it’s not that he uses it as an advantage, but he could always watch you everytime you read.

“Here you go,” Furuhashi placed a drink on your table for the 100th time, you laid your gaze upon the grape juice that was covered in moist, and redirected your sight to your special someone.

“Kojiro, thank you.” He blushed for your gratefulness, hid his fluttered expression and took a seat in front of you.

“What are you reading?” He asked.

“Flowers,”

“Oh yeah? What does it say about you?”

“I never said it’s about me. I said flowers.”

“And you are one,” A blush crept upon your features. You shared him your book about flowers and gardening as the two of you read together.

That wasn’t just the time of you together. Every time you read at your usual place in the library, he would come to join you. He complimented you every now and then.

SETO KENTARO

“Ken-chan, you promised to teach me. Wake up!” You pushed him to his waking yet he completely ignored. He snored, purposely.

“Ken-chan!” You kicked his chair for once, and you succeeded in bringing the lazy boy to his annoyance.

“I’m too lazy, Y/N-chan. You can do it on your own,” You spared him a gloomy smile, turned around and almost walked away when he caught your arm, causing you to return your footsteps to his side.

“Hey I told you to do it on your own. Where were you going?”

“Since you won’t help me, I’m going to ask the president.”

“Heya, don’t be silly. Come here,” He grabbed the textbook from your hands and placed it on the desk, he ordered you to sit down and started teaching you.

You smiled at the thought of having a smart boyfriend to teach you when in need. He’d be always pushing you away when you want to learn more because of his laziness, but when you are to ask anyone else other than him, he’d be pretty jealous and will start teaching you without hesitations.

HARA KAZUYA

You and Hara arrived at the library safely, you made your way to search for the books you had been wanting to read whereas Hara immediately slouched his way to the tables and buried his head completely. He didn’t really want to go when you asked him, but as convincing you were to him, you were able to break his disinclination; though apathy followed him along the way.

“Ahhh! I can’t stand boredom!” Your seatmate bellowed, lifting his head just as you sat down adjacent to him. You ignored, settling the book onto the table.

“Y/N dear! Let’s go home!” The pages of the book were in delicate touch as you began reading a compilation of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.

“Y/N darling? Yohoooooo,” You were trying to focus, not letting yourself be distracted by someone you knew whiny.

“Y/N talk to me pleaseeee,”

“Y/N I love you--,”

“UHHH KAZUYA WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?!” You shout that led him to his silence. It wasn’t just him who got affected by your loud voice but also the people surrounding the area.

“Fine,” he scoffed. He became quiet for awhile, glancing at anywhere near him but the moment he laid his eyes upon the page you were reading, he saw familiar words that caught his attention.

“Hey, isn’t that ancient literature? Why didn’t you tell me!” He smiled and had the book at the center spot for him to be able to read it with you.

Hara didn’t like reading, yet his eyes sparked enthusiasm when it was about ancient literature, his favorite subject. He would constantly spout trivias and lots of things concerning the subject.

The next day he asked you to go to the library with him.

#knb #knb imagines #kuroko no basket #knb x reader #kuroko's basketball #kirisaki daichi #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #knb scenarios #kirisaki daiichi #kirisaki daiichi x reader #akashi seijuro #hara kazuya #seto kentaro #furuhashi kojiro #hanamiya makoto #aomine x reader #kise x reader #akashi x reader

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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years

Text

Hi! I know I have other unfinished fic, but I’ve actually been writing a bit, and you can blame @the-well-rested-one! I have five chapters queued up and outline for several more, that’s a good sign! Please comment if you read, or reblog! Thank you to @nikibi6 and @emulateharry for the looksie!

The One Where Harry Styles Sneezed On Me

Day One

There's only three people out on the pavement ahead of her, and a part of Elise is tempted to tip toe because she watches too many movies.

The streets of London are quieter than Elise has seen them since she moved here. She'd basically never left her university classes and not been shoulder to shoulder with wall to wall people. Her classes were over at rush hour and there were a lot of people in London at any time of day. Had you asked her before the move, she would have said she liked big crowds. But now, the tube sometimes gave her anxiety, a brand new thing, because it was so packed.

Today, well London was like a ghost town, like the film where she'd fallen in love with the city and decided she would study abroad there. It was an odd one, but that sounded like her.

28 Days Later was a weird inspiration, but maybe because London was empty in the movie, she was able to see things about it better. It was also why she felt like she should be extra quiet on the nearly deserted streets, this was the closest approximation to her favorite movie scenes she'd probably ever see in one of the biggest cities in the world. Elise had never been to a big city, not really, the largest was maybe Phoenix. But it didn't really feel that much bigger than Tucson, where she grew up, or maybe it had just grown before her eyes so she hadn't noticed.

London was a proper big city as her roommate told her, and Elise hadn't made it for a semester abroad. She'd wound up here for her post graduate work, she couldn't afford it during undergrad. The living expenses, turns out, were too expensive, but she'd found a way later, because there was a will, a dream.

Her will for today had been to find her way after class to the next public green space on her list. She'd done Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, and Regent's Park. She went after class when she could, if there was sunlight to catch. Today was so pretty, she had decided to go even if it meant catching the tube by herself at night. And then she had stepped out into a London eerily like the one from the movie that had first infatuated her. There were people on the street though, and they didn't look like the walking dead, just the walking afraid. Those who had braved the streets wore masks. One lady had gardening gloves on. Elise wasn't sure if she was underreacting or everybody else was over the top. She hadn't really thought about it, mostly because she was under 80, and well, honestly, maybe she did feel a little bit of the invincibility youth brings.

Apparently lots of Londoners didn't feel the same way. Including those who ran her Uni. She arrived with her notebooks and excited for her day plans, resolute, to find a sign on an easel in the entryway.

"Classes Cancelled today. Online classes will resume tomorrow. All formats will be conducted via Portal for three weeks, or until further notice."

Well, shit. Had they thought to send an email? It may have saved her the trip.

Elise looked at the 100,000 emails in her gmail and discovered they had indeed emailed her. This was why she avoided online courses, she was much better, learned better, in person. Also, she was abysmal at keeping up with things via email. The next few weeks would be a trial.

She'd have to figure it out, and she knew herself; A schedule was necessary, she'd write one down, on paper, to order her life while she had to finish these courses online. But that seemed to be her only coursework for this day.

That was a bright side. She took it as a silver lining, she could head to the old London Heath right away. She considered walking, plotted out her path and realized that it was a long, long way, so long it would steal all of her energy to explore.

The tube was really ghostly, like the ghost town they visited once, Calico or something?

Regardless, she was surprised she wasn't more excited. It was just like 28 Days Later. Well not really, no bloodthirsty, spattered lurchers, but it felt eerie. Like it had the first time she watched it, before she got totally immune to the plot and could only see the sights. She was thankful when a few people got on her carriage, though they sat as far from each other as the spacing allowed. She quickly looked up more information on her phone and estimated how far away the people should be, they were all separated by much more than that.

By the time she got to her destination, she'd normally be just getting out of her first class, and Elise's stomach reminded her that this was meal time. She really was married to a schedule, or at least her biology was. She thought a picnic would be lovely, so she looked up a market and found a Whole Foods nearby. She would splash out for her lunch it looked like, could be worse, could be Waitrose, and must be cheaper than a cafe, surely.

London was pricey. Which she'd known intellectually and was now experiencing literally everyday. As such, Elsie was kinda thinking she needed a job. Was she allowed to work? Maybe on campus. She'd have to ask the question to somebody who knew; she was running through her reserves.

Elise kinda sighed at herself as she walked into Whole Foods. Maybe this was not the best idea. But it was bright and cheery inside and smelled like green juice and roasted vegetables. Her stomach growled and she decided the worst that could happen was she would wind up eating cup o' noodles and have to pack a lunch a lot towards the end of semester before her next stipend.

Elsie shrugged and sang along a little to the song playing overhead. She felt like she rarely heard One Direction here, she heard it played out more in public in the US, and wondered if that was due to public exhaustion. She understood that it had been next level crazy here. Maybe it was just time? They'd been her favorite when she was in early high school. She had decided she was gonna marry Liam in eighth grade. That opinion changed as they all aged. She got too cool for them, and well, some of them grew up nicely. "Just how fast the night changes." She tried to harmonize along. The song also meant she wasn't hurrying she was, however, wandering.

Fruit, she should grab some fruits, that was always a good place to start.

How she wound up by the hot bar she didn't know, but she grabbed a bit of roast chicken and realized the layout was backwards to the one she was used to in Tucson. The metal spoon clanked as she got some potatoes that looked deliciously crunchy and had little burned ridges like she loved. She should have some vegetables. Carrots didn't count, real green things were needed. Asparagus counted. She was looking at the cut fruit, but then thought about her budget concerns and headed over to the produce section.

It was a little emptier than what she assumed was normal, a few ladies and a tall, lanky man in a hoodie and hat were the only people about. He was broad from the back, but had a furtive set to his shoulder that made him smaller. He was also standing exactly where she wanted to be. In front of the bananas, her favorite of the economical fruits. The best bunches clustered where he didn't seem to be doing anything but loitering.

Elise's belly growled, the aroma of her roasted chicken wafted up. She'd give it another minute and if he hadn't moved, she'd try to politely shoulder her way around him, 6 feet or not.

She gave it two minutes. By the end her converse was audible tapping. He still hadn't moved at all. So help her, if he was on his phone! It was time for action. She came up to about his shoulder, and he did not seem to notice there was 5 feet of impatience at his elbow, at least he certainly didn't move. When Elise realized he was on his phone, her patience snapped. That had to break some kind of grocery store etiquette. Was there grocery store etiquette? Certainly, it would extend to standing so people couldn't access foods when you were fucking around on your phone.

She reached past him, "sorry, excuse my reach." she hoped he could hear just how not sorry she was. Elise was good at passive-aggression.

She heard his breathing change and was ready to tell him he had just been blocking the bananas for three minutes, and she knew she wasnt being socially distant, but he was being rude, when he turned towards her. He was being rude, especially by English standards and she would tell him so, even if she wasn't sure if he was exactly impolite, accusing an Englishman of that was very effective.

She realized two things when he looked at her.

One- he was not some stranger- he was HARRY. FUCKING.STYLES!

And two- as his spit splattered all over her face, he wasn't about to call her rude, his gasp had been the beginning of a sneeze.

😷😷😷😷😷

The last hour had been an absolute blur. She had just sat down to eat. And though her 16 year old self would consider this an upgrade, her 23 year old self was really sad the heath was not the site of her lunch, even if it had been switched out for her teenage dream.

Because Harry Styles had started his litany of apologies with a "fuck!" Then a spilling ramble. "I'm so sorry, dammit, I knew I should have just sent somebody. Dammit, Jesus fuck, now you will have to be quarantined too." His hands were fumbling with the wet wipes and she could smell the disinfectant on them. She stopped him short before he was wiping that shit on her face and was redirecting his hand while he was still talking about how they could just both be holed up in his house. It distracted from the fact he was rubbing spittle off her shirt very close to her nipple.

"I mean, it's not huge. Damn, I kinda wish the new house was done. Then we wouldn't even have to see each other. Not that, I um, wouldn't want to see you, or like whatever, but um. We don't know each other and we'll be, like, living together for several weeks. I guess you could quarantine at your place. But I just feel better, cause it's my fault. Seems rude to possibly infect somebody due to negligence, and not like, help them through it. I just had to have my celery juice." That part was said under his breath, and he wasn't holding any juice.

She remembered the closed juice bar. The sign had read: Our fresh bars-juice, smoothie, and coffee are close due to Covid- 19 contagion worries. We apologize for any inconvenience.

Then it clicked, while she wiped his sputum from her face. That is what he was talking about. What the?

"Are you just wandering around whole foods infecting people? You have the virus?"

She realized she'd been talking really loud and attracting attention. Harry certainly realized.

He looked agitated and around to see if they had an audience, and she realized his face was a bit of a liability. That would be some headline for sure. "Harry Styles spreading coronavirus!" or some shit like that. He used to get press for existing, the memory made her soft for him.

"Let's get you checked out. And we can go back to my place and talk?" He made eye contact and she got confused for a second longer.

"What?" Elise found herself saying. She would normally never ever go home with some dude in a store. But, this dude was Harry Styles, and that made her feel simultaneously safer and also like this was a chance she had to take. She also wanted to yell at him a little.

He sighed, like she was a hard to open packet of chips. "Can you check out and meet me outside?" He looked around again and bit his lip because the women nearby were watching them. He handed her his basket and helped her transfer her things to it, "Can you grab my things too?" He didn't sound like she remembered him. But she supposed she'd not done more than listen to his albums once through after she'd grown out of her One Direction phase.

He sounded better. He was still growing up well.

"Huh?" She was not following him. He gave her that exasperated face and thinned his lips before he quickly got a hundred pound note out. "Check out and I'll meet you in my car. I'm near the front, all right?"

She barely remembered checking out. The girl had to prompt her twice, and she'd shoved the sanitizer at her when they'd both had to touch the change. She even considered keeping. Can you grab my things too, the audacity! But she handed it to him promptly and he put it away and sanitized his hands and gave her a squirt too. Chivalry in the time of Corona.

The drive had been quiet. Though she was sure there were things to do, to say, certainly. So the radio played and Harry sang along. It was a surreal moment, right out of her teenage dreams. Listening to Harry Styles sing in his expensive car. The missing piece that made it reality instead of fantasy was that she was not singing along, instead she was confused and hungry.

"Here, I'll warm up your lunch." Was the first thing he said to her as he ushered her into the square house she recognized from something on the internet years ago. It was a little cold inside and Elise fitted her sweater around her shoulders and sat at the wood grain kitchen table. Her food came to her steaming. Then a warm mug she immediately wrapped her hands around.

"You cold?" He asked while moving to a fancy looking blue screened rectangle on the wall. "I'm always cold, so I just wait until someone seems too cold to change anything."

She nodded.

"Right, so you know me?" He asked like it was taking out the garbage.

"Um," Elise took a drink. "Yeah, I was a huge One Direction fan in high school."

He smiled at that. "Ok, is that why you've gone silent? Freaking out?"

"Yeah, and also, I'm not really following. Honestly."

"Why don't you tell me a little about about what you think is going on. Then I'll fill in my side."

She took a breath. "Can I eat my lunch first?" She needed a minute, and she was beyond hungry, and annoyed. Definitely annoyed. And maybe just a touch of freaking out. Harry was her favorite for a lot longer than Liam, if she was honest.

"Oh! Yes, of course." He shook his head, "how rude of me."

That was why he felt rude? Not the bananas or irresponsible shopping trip. Elise widened her eyes at her carton before she dug in and didn't look up until the blender went.

A green smoothie, vibrant and lush, was placed at her elbow. It matched his eyes. "Here, to your health."

"Thank you." She took a sip and smiled. Her blood sugar was rising and she was already feeling considerably better, though her odd situation and figuring it out came to the forefront. "So, um, to my health hmmm?" She cheered the air.

Harry exhaled and nodded.

"To yours as well?"

"I suppose you could say that." He pulled his lip between his forefingers and she remembered that from interviews.

"You're not supposed to touch your face." She ah, ah, ahhed with a grin.

He laughed and it broke some of their tension. "I'm not. Neither are you."

Elise realized she had her chin in her hand. She slapped it lightly on the table and sat up. "Fair enough, so what am I doing here, Mr. Styles?"

He groaned lowly and she wondered what that was about. She didn't let it sidetrack her though, she'd wait out his response.

He took a big gulp of health and Elise watched the chunky residue slide down the glass.

"You've heard of Coronavirus, yes?"

She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

He chuckled, she hoped at himself, what the fuck kind of question was that?

"Right, pretty unavoidable, yeah?" He didn't need her to agree, he kept talking. "I travel a lot."

"Duh!" she interrupted.

At that he really did laugh. "So, I travel a lot, duh, and I flew on a flight where somebody tested positive. There aren't many tests yet, they're rationing them."

"Even for you?" She was surprised.

"Even for me," he sighed. "I'm just a person. Anyway, the person in question asked for a pic for his daughter—."

"Likely story."

"Perhaps, and so, we were in close proximity and we shook hands," she nodded along with the line of his narrative. "They won't test me unless I show symptoms. But quarantine was recommended."

He finished, he'd left out a part though.

"Is Whole Foods part of the quarantine radius?"

He blushed a little, and all of the reasons she'd had some of her earliest fantasies about him surfaced. "No, not as such. But I was low on bananas."

"Nobody you could pay a euro for your bunch of bananas?" She hoped for a laugh.

He squinted. "Course, but I don't like to be a bother."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "So, in your effort to not inconvenience anyone for a couple hours, you've exposed me by sneezing in my face, rude, and kidnapping me to your house? So, now I have to quarantine too?"

"You aren't a kid. How could I nap you?" This was not a joke, but the humor of it was not escaping either of them.

"Not what that means, though I've no idea why." She shrugged.

"Young lady napped?" He tried.

"Oh god, you are sooo English. Young lady napped." She tried on his drawl.

"That was terrible!" He shook his head like he was offended.

"I thought it was pretty good?" She popped her shoulder and her own little dimple in her left cheek appeared, though it didn't pull the weight his did. He narrowed his eyes before raising up his eyebrows.

"It was alright, I suppose. We have time to perfect it."

"Why's that?" She found herself asking.

"Well, we're pretty much stuck together. How d'ya feel about two weeks at Le Hotel Styles?"

He couldn't be serious, could he?

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ou #coronafic #quarantine fic #the one where harry styles sneezed on me #towhssom #crack fic #for fun

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sarasmallmanwrites · 4 years

Text

A-Level Playing Field

Nobody wanted my opinion on this, but it’s hard growing up poor.

1988. It’s that damp kind of evening outside, clouded by condensation on the single glazed windows, and the smoke from my Nan’s Benson and Hedges. We’ve just had tea – this is North, of course – and everything is accompanied by slices of springy bread heavily lacquered in ‘soft spread’. The gold foiled butter is, usually, saved for my grandad, who works at a fibreglass factory. It’s a very long way away (actually 3.7 miles) and he leaves on his bike every evening with three rounds of tinned ham sandwiches in his bag. Tonight, my mum is out until half nine, working in the care home in the next town, picking me up at ten-ish, depending on how fast she walks. My mum is 27. Five years out of a loveless marriage, living in a council house, she has no qualifications but is working for her City and Guilds and her English ‘O-Level’, GCSEs haven’t hit our vocabulary yet, and won’t until my second cousin Mark does his two years later.

Tonight is Thursday. Nan goes out on a Thursday, which means she will leave the house at half seven in a haze of Vitapoint, Elnett and Lily of the Valley, to play Bingo at the local club. I am being looked after by Alan, my mum’s younger brother, living at home, working in the Mill that overlooks the town below like a stern Victorian overseer. He’s always grumpy, stuck in a town that has no opportunities, and no visible exit. The eighties have been cruel to young, working-class men. The vehement cry of ‘get the fuck out’ hasn’t reached our town but will do in eight years time, on a wave of Britpop, New Labour, cigarettes, and alcohol.

My uncle looks to the television for nightly escape. Thursday is Blackadder, it’s Not The Nine O’Clock News, it’s Comic Strip, it’s A Bit of Fry and Laurie, it’s Red Dwarf, it’s shipwrecked and comatose, and me engrossed on the couch, not sipping mango juice, but milky tea (the North!), as my uncle laughs his head off in between cigarettes. My mum returns, smelling like TCP and the outside, with salty, vinegary chips, and we eat them as we walk the newly tarmacked paths under the orange street lights. I ask her what a goldfish shoal is. She tells me to shush.

I decided that weekend that I wanted to be funny. I mean I could make people laugh when I did my Cilla Black impression, so surely that was a start, and thank to Carry On films I was brilliant at ‘Infamy, Infamy!’, I knew this because my grandad (the cleverest man I knew) had told me so. Even though I was only in Junior One, I knew that you had to be taught how to be funny, that there was definitely some kind of class that you would have to take to learn it, because I had never really been a natural at anything; apart from whistling, which I did with gusto in shrill, high- pitched tones wherever I could.

I read a lot, especially the paper – particularly the Daily Mirror, which probably explains why I am always heavily weighted to the left, and not just because of my ineptitude in heels – and found out that Hugh Laurie, who is obviously the funniest man I have ever encountered, went to Cambridge and was in something called ‘The Footlights’. Then was it, I decided. I was going to go to Cambridge and join ‘The Footlights’ and be funny like Victoria Wood and Dawn French. I imagine ‘The Footlights’ to be a rag-tag theatrical group living on their wits, humour, and more importantly, Pot Noodles. I tell my Grandad that I want to go to Cambridge. He tells me not to be daft.

Now, when I think about it, wanting to go to Cambridge was not a preposterous idea for any child at the age of seven; you are at the start of your education journey. There is plenty of time to get better at things, to practice, to be coached, to improve yourself; but for a working-class girl, who would eventually be the first member of her family to go to university, I might as well have said that I wanted to fly to Mars on fairy wings. But, children who attend private schools are told from the age of four that Oxford or Cambridge are the end goals for their education, with any of the higher-performing Russell Group universities being something that they could settle for, at a push. I didn’t even know what a Russell Group University was until about three years ago, and why would I? For me, in my small artsy primary school with forty children across four year groups, a dismissive attitude towards formal English education, and a liberal fancy for devoting the whole of the summer term to the end of year show, this was not something that was even thought about. Oxford and Cambridge were places printed on the back of books, they weren’t places that you went to university. In fact, most of my primary school teachers hadn’t even been to university but received their qualifications at the local teacher training college; the only exception is a brown jumpered gentleman with a penchant for using cupboards as a disciplinary technique.

We’ll skip forward a few years later, and high school is a vigorous mixing bowl of talents, it takes until at least year nine before anyone even notices who I am amongst the squall of kids churning about in KS3. Dinner is pink sausage meat wrapped in a translucent puff pastry duvet, a treat even on the hottest days when the fat sticks to your lips; and the terms pass in a haze of cheap cider (the kind that tastes like sick), the floral pout of Cherry Lypsyl, and Chris Evans on the Radio One Breakfast Show; who is hastily snoozed every morning before I smell the lukewarm coffee my mum has left by my bed before she goes to work. At this point my mum is a newly qualified nurse at the hospice two towns over, her fingers raw from hand sanitiser, but with rolls of antiseptic scented micropore tape that I use for a cacophony of projects. She is on nights right now, spooning gravelly granules of instant coffee into a mug, blurry from sleep, I am cobbling together a mask out of old Cornflake packets, stuck together with nursing supplies and painted with nail varnish that went past its best around the same time as the Thompson Twins. It is 1995, and the country feels like it is on the cusp of something. I don’t know what, but I’m looking forward to the Year 2000 because I will be fully grown. Well, nineteen.

But what about Oxbridge? Well, for starters, if you attend a state school you have to be so immediately impressive to your teachers that they discuss you in the staffroom. It’s not enough to be good at one particular thing, you have to excel across the board. You have to be so amazingly shiny, that even the most jaded teacher in the school cannot fail to be dazzled by your brightness. For state school kids, Oxbridge is not something that they suggest to the average 10 A*-C kids, it’s not something that they even dangle in front of 10 A*-B kids who are pretty good. At state school, you have to be exceptional for your teachers to even consider you as a candidate, and then you have to achieve enough A*s in your GCSEs that you might as well open a Planetarium. Even then, all they can really do is say ‘I think you could go to Oxford or Cambridge, you know’, or flag you up to the local authority careers service as ‘potential Oxbridge’. There is no Oxford Fast Track programme in state schools, even for exceptional kids.

In a recent social media fracas, one lady proclaimed that if you gave kids a level playing field then poor kids would always triumph because they were more resilient - all those Crispy Pancakes, surely? But for children from a working-class background, we’re not even on the playing field yet; we have to borrow trainers with non-marking soles, scrape around for a quid for the bus. By the time we get to the playing field, we have already been running around for half the day trying to get there, we miss the warm-up because we were late and, honestly, by this point, we’re just knackered because we’ve had to work so much harder just to get there in the first place.

The warm-up is a given to those whose parents have been able to pay for their education – they even get complimentary orange slices for afterwards, just for extra pep and vigour. There are Oxbridge prep classes, extracurricular activities slanted towards the Oxbridge admissions interviews, and chances to take unpaid internships during the summer using family connections. It’s not just that though... it’s little things like knowing it’s pronounced ‘Barkshire’, not Berkshire, it’s when you use a napkin, it’s spending a week skiing at Courchevel. It’s olives.

In 1998, I don’t know any of these things and, even if I did, my accent with its flat vowels and its Lancashire intonation would give me away in a heartbeat, because I sound like I’ve fallen off a pit pony on my way back t’mill. Things change quickly though. My mum has a baby. A screaming, mewling little boy born during The Simpsons on a Friday evening in October. Now there is absolutely no money for luxuries, and when our TV gets nicked, we end up using the small portable from upstairs. My Nan lends me money here and there to get to college, but it only covers the bus fare, and the small endowment that I receive - supposedly to cover driving lessons - gets swallowed up with everyday things that seventeen-year olds shouldn’t have to pay for. I’m working for 4 hours a week in Woolies too, £3.10 p/h to stand around the toy department in a slippery polyester blouse the colour of synthetic mint ice cream, before skulking off to the bookshop to spend that money on things for college. Nothing fancy but, by this point, I am well on my way to being a ‘Funny Girl’, studying a raft of ‘arty-farty’ A-Levels and English thrown in for good measure. The Cambridge Footlights hardly crosses my mind anymore, because Oxford and Cambridge are reserved for the kids doing the hard sciences, maths, law, politics, things that you need a calculator for. You don’t get into Oxford with A-Levels in Theatre Studies, Media, and Performing Arts, despite what they tell you about diversity.

Oxford or Cambridge do not offer a typical British university experience, and how can teachers who have never passed through the rigorous and exhausting Oxbridge admissions procedure be expected to offer any kind of advantage to their gifted and talented students? If you are a working-class parent relying on underfunded, underpaid and overworked FE lecturers to help coach your child through this, then you are immediately on the backfoot compared to a child whose parents can afford private tutors, admissions booklets, and interview coaches. This is no reflection on sixth form teachers in FE establishments across the country, who do all they can to nurture the kids with Oxbridge potential, but when some classes haven’t received new textbooks for two years, where students are encouraged to photocopy their own materials to save costs, you can see where the class difference begins to draw attention to itself without the need for neon yellow highlighters.

My UCAS book arrived in September; an impressive, thinly papered tome with a glossy black and white cover, University Colleges and Admission Services stamped across it in orange. It smells like a cross between the Argos catalogue and a phone book, which I feel is rather apt given that it contains the codes of institutions and courses that will break me out of this godforsaken town: a cypher that I etch out on the application form in black biro.

London

Southampton

Buckinghamshire

Preston

Liverpool

Manchester.

I don’t want to go to any of the bottom three, of course, far too close to where I came from to be relevant. My second cousin Mark’s stint at Sheffield Hallam seemed to be an excuse for his mum to visit his ‘digs’ once a month with catering sized tins of Nescafe, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t quite looking forward to edging the lid off with a knife and stabbing through that ridged foil. My mum writes a cheque out in her secondary modern handwriting, crossing her fingers that they won’t cash it until after payday.

The discrepancies between low-income working-class families and those with a better income also show here too - this can be something as simple as slow internet connection, not having a working laptop and doing work on smartphones, access to transport, costs for travel to visit universities. Things like this are not included when factoring in costs for students from low income. How can you visit all the different university campuses, with all the travel costs and maybe even overnight accommodation, when your parents can barely afford to keep the lights on? There was only one institution that I wanted to go to. London Institute, a glamourous collection of art colleges that included the London College of Fashion, Central St Martins, and, more importantly for me, The London College of Printing. The competition was fierce, but I was shortlisted for an interview in the capital with a former editor of the Daily Mirror. My house was showered in happy expletives that day. Even in 1999, tickets from Wigan to London were over £50 for a pre-booked return. My mum cashed in all of her Clubcard points for the ticket. But, just for me, because she hadn’t bought enough milk to cover the cost of two tickets. However, I must have impressed Tony Delano in that office in Clerkenwell, because he gave me an amazingly lowball offer meaning that my A-level results became a terribly graded self-fulfilling prophecy.

Oxford is different from usual universities in that there are colleges, thirty-nine in total. You might have seen them on University Challenge – Balliol, Trinity, Emmanuel, Brasenose – or from reading the Wikipedia pages of any of our last three Prime Ministers, including the incumbent Boris Johnson, who graduated with a 2:1 in 1987. That’s the other thing – you don’t study something at Oxford, you read it – you don’t start your studies, you matriculate, for which you need a robe. Now, I have been told by helpful and obstinate alumni via social media that Matriculation Robes are £25, ex-hire. However, I have also been told by a current Oxford student that the robe cost is £50 minimum, and no-one would dare wear a secondhand robe as ‘everyone would know’. It’s immediately singling yourself out as a Weasley in a room filled with Malfoys.

The accommodation costs are comparable to London prices; however, this does not cover the Christmas break, which means everything needs to be packed up and stored. Not only do you pay for the storage, but you pay for the boxes too. Much to my disappointment, no-one nips out for a Pot Noodle either, students are expected to dine ‘in hall’ (again, more cost!) where you can choose between an informal and a formal sitting – where your gown is required. I imagine for a working-class kid attending Oxford or Cambridge is very much like cosplaying on a Harry Potter set, but without the magic of a bottomless purse. There are balls too at the end of each term, formal affairs with ticket prices over £50. Again, said the former alumni, you don’t have to go! It’s not obligatory!

But let me tell you a harsh reality. Nothing ostracises a poor kid more than not being able to join in because they can’t afford it. Nothing. And we might have great friends who would all chip in and pay for our ticket, or lend us the money, but there is something very working-class about not wanting people to know that we can’t afford it. Surely we should not be asking these young adults who have studied and worked against all odds, to have a second class university experience because they know their parents won’t be able to help. You can’t even get a job to supplement your income either; the majority of colleges stipulate this, and as someone who had to work two term-time jobs at a much less prestigious university to live (even with the glorious student overdrafts of pre-austerity Britain), this really hit home at how much I would have struggled financially if I had gone to either of these institutions.

Recently my daughter applied for university. We get in the car and visit a university each week, driving miles up and down and across the country. We fight over choices and analyse each course based on employability, and whether or not she would like it. The process is completed in clicks and feels much more clinical than twenty years earlier, but rather than heading into unchartered waters, I have a map. It might be old and tattered, but I have a much better idea of where we are going now. My daughter believes that the meritocracy is a lie, and she tells me this in sharp, pointed tones as we receive her A-level results on a rainy Thursday morning. She goes to University in September and spends the autumn sending me videos of the Minster, or tutorials on how to swear in Japanese. She is only the second person in our family to continue on to higher education. I don’t just mean in her generation. I mean in total. We are the exception, not the rule.

One of the first questions someone at Oxford was asked by a fellow student last year was ‘private or state’, she replied ‘private’ and was met with a smile. There was no need to ask who the state school entrant was, as she queried the partridge and asparagus served for dinner – ‘this chicken is tough. Is that grass?’- and arrived for the formal sitting with her gown covering a denim skirt and shimmery top underneath. Private school teaches these things, no desperate faux pas for Isobel or Jeremy, whereas state schools do not have the resources or the knowledge to run classes on etiquette for the small number of their students that make it through the intense application procedures. This is not saying that low-income children should be discouraged – not at all – instead, it is saying that there is something inherently wrong with the system. At private school, you are disappointed if you don’t get into Oxbridge, whereas the state school child who gets in is an extraordinary anomaly talked about for years in hushed tones of reverence by the faculty.

And this is the issue with saying that children are on a level playing field, that everyone is measured on their own merit; because it is not true. For children on very low incomes, the odds are unfairly stacked against them, and the issues such as 2020’s disastrous A-Level results just add more bricks to an already near-insurmountable wall.

#opinion #exams #growinguppoor #lowincome #councilestate #councilestatekids #alevels #nineties #Oxbridge

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Mania.1

[Full master list] [Mania Master list]

Rating: Mature 18+ Pairing: BTS OT7 Blood types: Namjoon, Jhope, Jungkook, Yoongi (A) Taehyung (AB) Jin, Jimin and Yoongi (O) (Jimin in real life is an A blood type)

Summary: At eighteen everyone takes a blood test to find out their blood types. A, B, or O. Each blood type represents the person's secondary gender Alpha, Beta or Omega and can be Dominant (+) or Recessive (-). When small thin Yoongi receives his letter he doesn't expect A+. There was no way he was an Alpha especially not a dominant. But as time passes he shows no Alpha nor Omega tendencies and frankly he doesn't care. Working in his father's electrical business helps pay the bills but Yoongi's real passion is music. One very hot day in the roof space of a luxury apartment that Yoongi is rewiring an intoxicatingly pleasant smell churns his insides and he finds himself in need of something to quench his thirst.

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Yoongi never understood why people would say one's blood is important. To him it was just blood but to them it was this sacred thing. It defines who you are; it wasn’t always like this but things started changing. Dominant genes in the human body rose once more as they had previously reigned many eras ago. Everyone carried their blood card on their persons for emergencies, but it lead to some discrimination. Some people forged themselves new cards. While some couldn’t accept this, others just kept silent this was who they were now.

Yoongi turned eighteen. He went to the clinic, waiting to donate some blood. It was legally required that everyone donate blood at least once, so they could identify your blood type. Once he finished donating the small bag he was given a juice and a slice of cake of his choosing from the ambient display cabinet.

“Happy birthday,” the nurse smiled he thanked them, eating slowly. That day had started out well and that moment didn’t seem important. Yoongi had long forgotten that he even donated until the letter came in the mail. It was a month since his birthday and he froze looking at the crisp white envelope. Walking to his room so as not to disturb his housemate who was a year younger.

He was nervous, his heart beating audibly in his chest. Yoongi sank onto his bed ripping the seal of the envelope, reaching in to grab the card. Pulling the card from the paper and flipping it over to see a blood type he wasn’t expecting at all.

α+

He was beyond surprised to be an Alpha. He wasn’t that build at all. Grabbing the attached letter, he read it carefully looking for the error.

Dear Min Yoongi,

Congratulations you are an Alpha Dominant. This means you are larger and stronger than beta and omega humans. They can be male or female. But usually have a higher testosterone level.

Alpha males can impregnate males and female omega and on rare occasions female Alphas.

The hormones the Omega releases help the Alpha feel calm and safe, just as the alpha pheromones can calm and home an omega.

You are dominant or positive which means you can create and identify the scents of others.

I hope this information finds you well, for more information please see our website www.fakewebsite.com or contact us on 1234567890 or write to us at 123 fake street, town

Sincerely,

Doctor Fake fellow

“Your kidding how can I be an Alpha I barely make sixty-five kilos,” he whined looking in the mirror across the room. He could see his thin arms and legs and sighed throwing the letter aside and flopping back onto the mattress. He sighed, slipping his new card into his wallet. “This has to be wrong,”

Over the years Yoongi had questioned everything he had met omegas and alphas and though he could smell pheromones each smelt odd and in no way appealing.

He hadn’t even experienced a Rut nor a Heat so he determined it was all a lie. But the Alpha card got him places, he was from a respectable family and worked in his father's electrical business.

Scheduled to rewire a newly furnished apartment for some indie band or something; Yoongi wore the navy blue jumpsuit with the zip to the neck.

He secured the worn tool belt around his hips and took the keys to the truck. His father and brother joined him in the vehicle and he drove off to the higher end of the city. Stopping at the gate, Yoongi’s eyebrows rose this was a fancy gated community. “Hello, we are rewiring apartment number seven for a mister Kim Namjoon” Yoongi smiled handing over the three ID cards. The guard nodded checking the cards then comparing them to the maintenance schedule before they were all allowed in.

Arriving outside the apartment, Yoongi was grabbing the gear while his father greeted Namjoon. The three grabbed everything and headed upstairs into the living room. Making sure to throw sheets and tarps over the floor where they would definitely make a mess. Each moving furniture and important-looking things delicately out of the work area.

Turning to his father and brother, Yoongi played and lost a game of rock, paper, scissors. Deeming him the unfortunate soul who would have to enter into the roof crawl space to take care of running the wires.

He took his water bottle and placed in the earpiece headset for easy communication. Yoongi climbed the ladder. Instantly sweating it was truely the middle of summer. He had no doubt he wouldn’t be leaving here the same way he arrived.

“Okay lower the wire” His father's voice played in his ear, he could hear faint talking in the background. Time past and Yoongi noticed his heart was racing in his chest with no explanation as to why. He also began noticing a small pain in his stomach and the sweat was running down his back. His overalls were uncomfortably wet and stuck to his form.

“Hey sparks, you still alive?” Yoongi’s brother called. He tried to pull himself together, unzipping the front of his overalls, peeling the sleeves off his arms and tying them around his waist.

“Yeah, just thinking about how much I smell it’s literally overpowering and disgusting” He frowned running and pinning wires along the beams and redoing the light connections.

“It’s just we got an emergency call, there is an entire house live wired we got to go,” The voice called again over the radio.

“Look it’s almost done you head out I will taxi home I have hung the wires I will attach them, pack up and go just leave sockets, the solder, and some copper and I can do the rest,” Yoongi sighed “you just owe me next time”

“Okay, I will tell Namjoon-ssi,” Yoongi’s brother said “he is a cool alpha you should see him he speaks English which is cool”

Rolling his eyes at his brother a fanboy for anything foreign, “What is so good about knowing English when we are Koreans living in Korea”

“Hey sparks, we are leaving Namjoon-ssi with a headset so you don’t die up there,” Yoongi’s father spoke and Yoongi could hear him take off the headset as his voice drifted further away. “that should work give it a go?”

“Hello this is Kim Namjoon,” This voice was deep, Yoongi lowered his head in a sign of submission. He could feel the authority in his voice even among alphas it was common for the weaker to bow to the strongest.

“Hearing you loud and clear Namjoon-ssi this is sparky” Yoongi breathed heavily as his brother signed off hearing the disconnection beeps. He sighed, taking care of all the last wires and finishing up in the crawl space. He just had to finish the connections and sockets and then everything would be good for him to go home and shower. He peered down, his grey tank darkened by sweat, and stuck to his form.

His head was spinning from the heat and dehydration, he was so thirsty but his water bottle was empty. Yoongi went to climb back down, but the idiots he worked with and called family had taken the ladder with them. He felt the breeze from the small opening to the roof he shivered, his nipples hardening slightly under his wet singlet. Attached to the cool air was a strong mix of scents that left his head spinning. Trying to judge the four-meter drop which would be about two if he could hang down by his hands.

“They took the ladder, so you can jump down, I am here to catch you” Namjoon’s deep voice spoke both in his ear and from the room below. Yoongi shivered once more, obviously from the breeze on his drenched skin. The Alpha scent grew stronger but the heat of the roof took its toll on his body. His arms going limp they gave way causing him to fall into a strong pair of arms.

He didn’t know why but his head was so cloudy and he was shaking, burying his face into this man's wide chest. “I think I have heatstroke, can I borrow some ice?” Yoongi’s voice came out as a mumble.

Some figures appeared from the doorway behind them and Namjoon swallowed hard, carrying Yoongi to the couch and laying him down.

“Why is there an omega in heat in our lounge room?” Another Omega said curiously. His pillowed lips and other beautiful feature that complimented each other atop soft glowing skin. He was so very omega only to be contrasted by such broad shoulders and tall stature.

“I’m not an omega idiot,” He threw his wallet at them from the pocket of his overalls. The third person in the room seemed to have a very athletic build and a spicy scent. He opened Yoongi’s wallet and looked at the blood identification card. “I have been tested and if you don’t believe that the papers are in the back, I have high testosterone levels”

“There has been a mistake, get checked again you’re in heat” The alpha spoke with a more nasally tone swallowing thickly, with the scent filling the room.

“No, it’s summer, and I was in the freaking ceiling,” He whined head clouding over once more as the scent made his stomach clench. “It’s just heat stroke”

“Your scent is so strong and sweet, we are not mistaken” This Alpha moved with strong strides. He smiled walking over and taking a deep breath, He was a bubbly alpha but that didn’t stop his bright smile turning into a powerful smirk. “My name is Jung Hoseok”

“Do you like my scent, little Omega” the youngest alpha whispered walking over to the couch his genes telling him to take care of the helpless Omega.

“Is there someone we can call, you cannot stay here, or the boys will do something you and they might not like?” The tall omega returned to the living room, shooing the boys away as best he could. He said his name was Kim Seokjin but to call him Jin.

Jin pulled Yoongi upright, placing a small pill on his tongue explaining it would suppress his heat. Holding the glass to the pale omega’s lips he tilted Yoongi’s head back until he swallowed. Yoongi felt helpless his body felt like it wasn’t his own and he was scared, the water was refreshing and he drank trying to quench the burn in his body.

He laid against Jin’s chest the tall omega patting his back and shushing his whining. “You are okay, it will start working soon bare with it” Yoongi shook in his arms feeling the burn intensify.

“Are you a fan trying to lure our alpha’s because they are trained to resist omegas pheromones” A sweet voice belonging to a very androgenous omega who looked at him with dark, cold eyes. He had soft plush lips and moved elegantly like a snake.

“I’m not an omega how many times do I…” He was cut off by a strange feeling between his legs. His underwear was becoming even more soaked by the second and he missed the collective moan from the alphas within the room.

“What’s happening?” Another handsome young man entered the room but his scent was strange, it was a barely-there alpha, Yoongi didn’t understand. But he was to focused on the strongest alpha scents reaching him.

“Hyung, I don’t think the suppressant is working?” the young alpha said squirming from one foot to another. He was biting his lip and Yoongi thought he looked oddly long like a rabbit.

“I don’t like this make it stop” Yoongi whined looking at the omega holding him and buried his face into his broad chest “I want to go home”

“You can’t go outside, someone might take advantage of you” Jin rubbed his back soothingly, but the ache was still there. “How about a shower?”

Namjoon ordered all the Alphas to be confined to their rooms until the situation was resolved.

“Come on, you aren’t that bad right, I will pay your cab fare. Let’s get you home,” Jimin complained touching Yoongi’s sweaty form.

“Jimin help me,” Jin said struggling to support the squirming Yoongi, “This is his first heat imagine how scary this is for him, do you remember your first heat?”

“Yeah whatever, come on Yongli… whatever your name is” Yoongi saw the roll of his eyes and couldn’t believe how pretty and yet how dangerously snake like this omega was. He much preferred Jin to Jimin, at least the older and taller omega was homely and had a strong sense of nurture.

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