#highlighting and color coding and making notes in the margins

[digitaldiseas3]

standing by my decision to avoid getting a drink until my research paper analysis is done

[solxamber]

Labor of Love with: Housewardens

Ways in which they show their devotion through actions.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is meticulous.

It’s something you’ve always known, but it hits you harder when you see the neatly organized stack of notes waiting for you on your desk. Every single day, without fail, he goes out of his way to make sure your materials are in order—sections color-coded, key points highlighted, and even definitions written in the margins in his precise, careful handwriting.

You never asked him to do it. He never mentioned it, either. But he does it anyway.

And that realization makes your heart swell.

So, when you walk in and find him seated at your desk, methodically sorting through your latest notes, red pen in hand, you don’t hesitate.

You step forward, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, and rest your chin against his head.

Riddle stills. You feel his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly.

Then, slowly, he leans into you.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

His hand tightens around the pen. “…I want to.”

That’s when you know.

You squeeze him just a little tighter. “I love you too, Riddle.”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he simply exhales, tilting his head just enough that your cheek rests against his.

And just like that, he continues working, letting you hold him as long as you want.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona hates unnecessary work. Hates anything that requires more energy than necessary.

And yet, when you're around, you never have to lift a damn finger.

You don’t even think about it most days—the way your bag just disappears from your shoulder, the weight suddenly gone as you walk beside him. He never makes a show of it, never announces it. One second, it’s there; the next, it’s slung over his own shoulder like it belongs to him.

Today, though, you notice.

You glance at him, watching the way he strides forward like he’s done nothing at all, green eyes lazy and indifferent. He’s grumbling under his breath about class, about professors, about how this is exactly why he doesn’t bother showing up half the time.

A grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you loop your arms around his and lean into him as you walk, practically hanging off of him.

Leona scoffs. “The hell are you doin’?”

“You’re cute,” you say simply.

His ears twitch. He clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever, herbivore.”

But he doesn’t shake you off. And when your fingers intertwine with his, his grip tightens, holding on just a little firmer than before.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto is, first and foremost, a businessman. A professional. A shark in the waters of commerce, always calculating, always scheming.

And yet, somehow, Mostro Lounge always seems to have a convenient couple’s discount whenever you’re craving something.

Today, it’s that seasonal dessert you offhandedly mentioned a few days ago. Suspiciously, the lounge is now offering a limited-time deal—50% off for couples! Azul, ever the shrewd entrepreneur (liar), insists that it would be financially irresponsible not to take advantage of such an incredible offer.

“We are a couple,” he says, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly straight face. “And our deals are, as always, unmatched. It would be a waste not to dine here.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so transparent, pretending this wasn’t orchestrated specifically for you. But you don’t call him out on it—you just squeeze his hand a little tighter, warmth spreading through your chest as you sip your drink.

Azul coughs lightly, looking away, but his fingers tighten around yours.

For all his talk of profit, it’s moments like this that prove the truth: when it comes to you, he’d rather give than take.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim always, always walks you back.

It doesn’t matter if the sky is clear or if the rain is coming down in sheets. If he’s exhausted from a long day or if a million other things are demanding his attention—he will be there, right by your side.

And, of course, he insists on holding hands.

“What if a rogue cat attacks us?” he says earnestly, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It makes no sense. At all. But who are you to question him when he looks at you like that? When his smile is so bright, so genuine, just because you took his hand?

You huff a laugh, squeeze his fingers, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. He beams, delighted, and tugs you forward with even more enthusiasm.

You let him lead the way—because, really, how could you not?

Vil Schoenheit

Vil never lets you run on empty.

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, how many rehearsals, photoshoots, or brand meetings he has lined up—he will make time to ensure you’ve eaten properly. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all balanced, all nutritious, all approved by him.

So when he strides into the lunchroom, posture perfect despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame, you already know what’s coming. He gracefully sets down a container in front of you—a salad, curated to perfection, each ingredient placed with care.

“You need more greens in your diet,” he says, tone firm but eyes softer than usual. “And before you protest, this has everything your body requires for optimal function.”

You don’t protest. You just watch him as he picks at his own food, launching into a detailed explanation of the health benefits of each ingredient. His voice is smooth, poised, but there’s a faint weariness beneath it, the telltale signs of a long morning.

And yet, he still came.

Still made sure you were taken care of.

Your heart clenches, full to the brim with adoration. You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him, utterly enamored.

Vil pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He exhales, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” he asks, almost amused.

You just shake your head, spearing a piece of lettuce with your fork. “Nothing,” you say, smile warm. “I just really, really love you.”

He scoffs, cheeks faintly pink. “At least finish your meal before getting sentimental.”

But when you take your first bite, he looks pleased.

Idia Shroud

Idia has his own way of looking out for you.

It’s not grand gestures or flowery words—no, he’s far too awkward for that. But when you’re struggling with a game level, you mysteriously find it cleared the next day, your inventory suddenly stocked with rare loot.

When your gacha pulls are unlucky, an absurd amount of in-game currency finds its way to your account, no explanation given (but you know exactly who’s responsible).

Even when he’s too anxious to come out, Ortho arrives with care packages—snacks, drinks, even a plushie once (“Big Brother said you might need a comfort buff,” Ortho had cheerfully reported).

Right now, you’re sitting on his bed, watching as he games. The glow of his monitors reflects off his hair, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. Despite being engrossed, he still glances over at you every so often.

“Are you comfortable?” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenches. You shift closer, pressing against his side as you smile.

“I really, really love you,” you say softly.

Idia fumbles, missing a crucial input, and his character dies instantly.

“…Y-you just had to say that mid-boss fight,” he groans, hair flaring pink.

You just laugh, leaning into him as he frantically tries to respawn.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus always listens.

You could be rambling about the most mundane thing—a pebble you saw on the side of the road, the weirdly shaped cloud that looked like a potato—and he’d listen like you were reciting sacred text. His emerald eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, as if every word you speak is precious.

Malleus always makes sure you’re safe, too. If it rains when you’re together, you’ve noticed something peculiar—lightning never strikes near you. Not once. As if the storm itself knows better than to disturb you.

Right now, you’re recounting Grim’s latest kitchen disaster, hands gesturing wildly as you describe the flames, the shrieking, the very near death experience of your breakfast. And there he is, watching, listening, completely enraptured by you like you’re the only thing in the world.

You can’t help yourself. You lean in and kiss him, a quick, impulsive press of your lips against his.

Malleus blinks, surprised, before his expression softens into something warm, something yours.

“…Please continue,” he says, voice gentle.

You laugh, your heart full, and keep talking.

Masterlist

[riqomi]

MECHANISM ────ㅤ심재윤

심재윤˖ 𝑓em!r .. g. fluff. university au! ──── BOOKSHELF ( 1334 ) tw: kissing. lmk if there's more.

you sit in the far corner of the campus library, same as always—near the window, back to the wall, headphones in but nothing playing. just enough to signal don’t talk to me. your notes are color-coded, margins lined with symbols only you understand, and there’s a half-empty coffee cup sweating rings onto the wood next to your laptop.

then there’s him.

jake sim. sunshine in human form. or at least, that’s what everyone seems to think.

you’re halfway through rewriting a lecture slide into something actually useful when he shows up again—hood up, backpack slung over one shoulder, that guilty puppy look in full effect. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there until you finally look up.

“you need the seat again.”

he nods. “please. just for a bit.”

you sigh but nudge your bag off the chair. he drops into it with a quiet groan, like even existing is exhausting. his knees knock against yours when he gets too comfortable, but you let it slide.

this is the third time this week.

he doesn’t talk much once he settles in. just opens his laptop, cracks open a biochem textbook, and starts highlighting like his life depends on it. you’ll give him that—he works hard. actually studies. doesn’t even look up when someone walks by giggling too loudly or “accidentally” drops a pen near his feet.

until they stop pretending.

“jake,” a voice says, high and sweet and not-so-innocent. “you’ve been in here for hours. want to grab coffee?”

you see the wince before he even turns. “i’m good, thanks.”

another voice joins in. “we could help you study. it might be more fun that way.”

you don’t mean to glance up, but you do. two girls, both clearly more interested in jake than mitochondria. you wait for him to shut it down.

he doesn’t. not hard enough, anyway.

you sigh and go back to your notes, but you feel the heat of his stare after a second. then—

his knee presses into yours. intentional this time.

he leans over, voice low, just for you. “help me out?”

you don’t say anything. just raise a brow.

he swallows, then does something bold.

his arm drapes across the back of your chair. not touching, but close enough to feel the static between you. when you still don’t react, he tilts closer, lets his chin hover just over your shoulder, and in a voice that sounds far too natural, says—

“babe, do you want to go over the quiz together now or after lunch?”

you go still. not because you’re shocked—but because he sounds like he means it.

the girls blink. shift on their feet. one of them forces a laugh.

“oh. sorry—didn’t realize…”

jake doesn’t even look at them anymore. just starts pointing at something in your notebook like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “this part—did you highlight it ‘cause of the mechanism thing or just vibes?”

you deadpan, “mechanism.”

“right. thought so.”

the girls linger for another second. then leave.

you wait until they’re gone before twisting to look at him properly.

he grins. not sheepish. proud.

“that was shameless,” you say.

“but effective.” he shrugs, that boyish charm kicking in. “besides, you looked like you were about to snap a pen in half. i figured i’d save everyone.”

you roll your eyes and push his arm off your chair. “don’t make a habit of it.”

his smile doesn’t dim. “just until midterms.”

you go back to your notes. he scoots half an inch closer. too close. you don’t stop him.

later, when someone else tries to approach, jake doesn’t wait. he slips his hand over yours under the table like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. you freeze for half a second—but you don’t pull away.

he keeps reading, calm as ever.

and when you finally look at him, there’s no smugness. just a quiet question in his eyes, unspoken but loud: is this okay?

you don’t answer out loud. you just shift your fingers to interlace with his.

his shoulders drop like he’s been holding something up too long. his thumb brushes yours once, twice. he doesn't say anything after that. just keeps studying, your hand in his, as if this was the plan all along.

it’s late by the time you both pack up—lamplight golden and soft against the library walls, your eyes sore from too many hours staring at the screen. you slide your laptop into your bag, jake doing the same beside you, quiet for once. not tense. just… thoughtful. the kind of quiet that follows something unspoken.

you sling your strap over your shoulder. he catches your eye, soft and warm. “let me walk you back.”

you hesitate, but only for a second. “alright.”

it’s cool outside, a whisper of wind tugging at your sleeves. the sidewalk is mostly empty, save for a few stragglers murmuring their way toward the dorms. you walk side by side, his shoulder brushing yours every now and then, and for once, he doesn’t fill the silence with jokes or random facts. just walks, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

you glance over, catch the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you won’t notice.

“what?” you ask, voice low.

he shrugs, but he’s not convincing. “nothing.”

you stop walking. so does he. the moment stretches—quiet, heavy, full of all the things you’ve refused to name.

“jake.”

he steps closer. his voice is low, rough at the edges. “i meant it, you know. earlier. when i called you babe.”

your breath catches. his eyes drop to your mouth, then back up like he’s waiting for you to flinch. you don’t.

“wasn’t just to get them to back off,” he adds. “i mean, yeah—it worked. but i wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t—”

you don’t let him finish.

you reach for him, fist curling into the front of his hoodie and pulling him in until your mouths meet—hard, certain, no hesitating now. he responds instantly, hands coming up to cradle your face like he’s afraid to break the moment. like he’s been waiting for this since the second he first sat across from you with a textbook and an excuse.

it’s not gentle. it’s built from days of stolen glances and brushed knees and shared coffee cups, from the heat of his thigh against yours and the way he says your name like it’s something worth holding. his mouth is hot against yours, open and wanting, and when your hand slips under his hoodie, skimming the curve of his waist, he makes a sound low in his throat that you feel everywhere.

he backs you into the nearest wall, barely breaking the kiss, his fingers threading into your hair, mouth trailing along your jaw like he’s memorizing you one touch at a time. you let him. let him feel the way your breath stutters, the way your body leans into his like gravity’s no longer optional.

when you finally pull apart, barely, your foreheads touch. his hands are still on your waist, yours fisted in the fabric at his chest.

“i’m not good at keeping things casual,” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.

you nod. “good.”

his eyes search yours. “so this—”

“is real,” you finish for him. “yeah.”

he exhales, like that one word just took the weight off his shoulders. and then he kisses you again, slower this time. sweeter. the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a game anymore.

when he finally walks you the rest of the way, his fingers stay laced with yours the whole time. and when you reach your door and turn to look at him, he’s already watching you with a look that says i’m all in.

neither of you says goodnight.

you just tug him down for one last kiss, and he smiles against your mouth like he already knows he’s not sleeping alone tonight.

likes, feedback and reblogs much appreciated. remember requests are open !!

[callikari]

I FEEL ★ SO HIGH SCHOOL

PRECIS 。 truth, dare, spin bottles. you know how to ball, i know aristotle.

西村力 x fem!reader 875 fluff highschool au inspiration from here ─ kissing light rain getting soaked mild academic pressures

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

you meet nishimura riki in ninth grade, when he falls asleep during your shared world history class and you’re the only one who remembers what aristotle’s golden mean is. he wakes up, scribbles your notes onto his paper, and still gets a better grade than you.

you call it unfair.

he calls it talent.

somehow, that’s your dynamic from the start.

he’s the star of the soccer team by sophomore year, all lazy grins and rolled-up sleeves and shoelaces dragging behind him. you’re the girl with the chanel-blue highlighters and five color-coded binders, whose name the principal knows for awards, not detention.

you’re smart. he’s golden.

and for some reason — he keeps choosing to sit next to you.

the air is buzzing. the bleachers are packed.

you’re seated near the front row, cardigan pulled tight, your friend babbling beside you about how hot riki looks when he plays.

you pretend not to care.

but when the whistle blows and he starts moving — fast, focused, fluid — it’s impossible not to watch. his jersey clings to him with sweat, number 7 sharp against the white. he weaves through defenders like he’s dancing, boots flicking up turf, and when he scores, the crowd roars.

but he doesn’t look at the crowd.

he looks at you.

grinning. chest heaving. pointing right in your direction.

you look away too fast — cheeks warm, hands frozen.

“you’re so obvious,” your friend teases.

“he’s the one being obvious,” you mutter.

but deep down, you like it. you love it.

after the game, he finds you at the edge of the bleachers, sweat-slick and breathless, cleats echoing on the pavement.

“you saw that goal, right?” he asks, pulling his hair back with a hand towel.

“unfortunately,” you say.

he leans closer. “you were staring.”

“i was studying the physics of the ball trajectory.”

he laughs, nudging your shoulder. “you know how to say ‘i’m proud of you’ in the nerdiest way possible.”

you raise a brow. “you know how to score goals and make it look like you don’t even try.”

he grins, like that’s the best compliment he’s heard all night.

you stop by the field to drop off the essay he asked you to look over, and he jogs over, jersey clinging, flushed and sweaty.

“did you—”

“yes,” you interrupt, handing him the marked-up pages. “aristotle isn’t a vibe, riki. you can’t say ‘aristotle was real for that’ in an english essay.”

“why not?” he smirks. “he was.”

you just shake your head.

“stay a while?” he asks suddenly, voice hopeful. “we’re doing scrimmages. i want you to see this new move.”

“what move?”

“you’ll know it when you see it.”

and you do — ten minutes later, he fakes out two defenders, flicks the ball with the back of his heel, and scores like it’s nothing. then turns, lifts his hands, and forms a heart in the air, looking directly at you.

your jaw drops.

he winks.

you scribble “cocky” in the margin of his essay before you leave.

the team’s losing by one. the field is soaked from afternoon rain, jerseys stained and spirits low. and yet — riki’s still running. still pushing. still looking for the goal.

in the final minute, he gets it. dodges the goalie, slides in with mud flying, and buries the ball in the back of the net.

the stadium erupts. the team tackles him. the scoreboard flashes 2-2. and from the sidelines, you’re breathless.

he climbs over the bench after, sprinting toward you, completely drenched.

“tell me i looked cool,” he says, dripping.

“you looked…” you pause. “like you fell into a lake.”

he laughs, pulling off his headband. “still scored, though.”

“barely.”

“did it for you.”

you freeze.

he’s half-smiling, teasing — but there’s something in his eyes. something soft and real and just yours.

you hand him your water bottle, heart racing.

“drink before you say anything else dumb.”

it’s a week after midterms. you’ve aced every test, he’s scored in three games straight, and you both happen to leave school late. just the two of you on the front steps, textbooks in your arms, drizzle starting to fall.

“i can walk you,” he offers, shifting his soccer bag.

“riki, it’s pouring—”

but he grabs your hand and takes off, pulling you down the sidewalk, shoes slipping, rain falling harder by the second.

you’re soaked in seconds — hair clinging, backpack bouncing, his laugh echoing in your ears.

and when you finally stop — under a flickering streetlamp, breathless — he spins you, arms around your waist, water dripping down your cheeks.

“you’re insane,” you say through laughter.

“you like it.”

“i do.”

he blinks. surprised.

and then, without thinking — you reach for his collar, pull him down, and kiss him.

the rain doesn’t stop. neither do you.

you’re both sitting on the curb, hair still wet, his jersey jacket wrapped around you.

“you know,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you’re everything i’m not.”

you smile. “that’s the point.”

“you know how to ball,” he says.

you lean your head against his.

“i know aristotle.”

ENHYPEN taglist :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @jungwonbropls @manariees @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ijustreallylike2read 𓈒 taglist is open

vi says :: hi i'm back with a writing i ACTUALLY like so please don't flop this ..

© CALLIKARI 

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

[glowettee]

✧ some girls collect books like other people collect apologies ✧ | aria montgomery

you know that girl who always looks like she’s coming from a bookstore or a heartbreak? that’s aria montgomery. oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. spiral notebook clutched like a secret. vintage ring that doesn’t match but still looks intentional. she’s the reason why half of us still romanticize rainy days and weird thrift store finds.

aria isn’t the dark academia girl who quotes aristotle or does latin translations for fun, she’s the one who writes poems in her margins during math class, the one who shows up to school wearing velvet in september, and the one who knows how to turn every trauma into a metaphor.

i wanted to talk about what makes her the ✧ dark dream girl ✧ of rosewood, and how you can borrow that energy for your own dark academia-coded study + lifestyle routine.

(i tried a very poetic approach to this post, if you wanna see more, go follow my substack)

✧ the emotional foundation: aestheticism as survival

aria doesn’t just like pretty things, she needs them. for girls like her, beauty is a shield. it’s the perfume you spray before crying. it’s the eyeliner you perfect after your trust is broken. aria uses art and literature the way some people use therapists: she confesses to her canvas, she bleeds into her journal.

she was never just “quirky.” she was trying to survive in the most beautiful way possible.

you don’t do it to impress anyone. you do it to stay soft in a world that keeps trying to roughen you up.

✧ your aria-inspired academic lifestyle

studying isn’t boring when it’s a little bit haunted.

dark academia isn’t only about reading old books. it’s about how you live when you believe everything could be meaningful.

♡ your study rituals:

light a candle before you open your books (yes, even during the day. bonus points if it’s sandalwood or “old library” scented)

romanticize writing essays by doing them in cursive first, or outlining in your favorite pen

create a spotify playlist with dark academia music

keep a book in your bag at all times. your goal is to look like you just escaped a literature class from 1885.

♡ your tools:

a notebook that feels like it’s holding secrets (leather-bound, moleskine, or something you DIY with pressed flowers and tape)

highlighters in muted tones: deep burgundy, antique rose, sage

sticky notes with lines from poems you don’t fully understand, but feel anyway

your favorite pen that feels like it glides across paper when you write something dramatic

✧ the aria montgomery wardrobe theory

aria never dressed for trends, she dressed like a plot twist. litterally. you don’t have to copy her exact looks (feather earrings are very 2012 and that’s okay), but you can channel her ✧ vibe ✧ with this updated formula i created:

🖤 wear textures that feel like stories:

velvet, lace, knit, wool, mesh

things that look like they belong in an old attic or a cursed boarding school

🖤 color palette:

oxblood, ink black, ash grey, cream, plum, antique gold

the kind of colors that make you look like you know how to read tarot and annotate your syllabus

🖤 silhouette:

long coats, ankle boots, chunky scarves, asymmetrical hemlines

anything that gives “i’m on my way to find answers in the rain”

🖤 accessories:

rings on every other finger

book earrings, tiny lockets, vintage glasses

always wear something slightly off, a detail that makes people pause

✧ soft-spoken girls with sharp minds

aria’s quietness isn’t passive. it’s calculated. she observes everything. she remembers everything. and she hides her strength in softness.

when you adopt her mindset, your silence becomes strategy. your softness becomes unsettling. be the mystery and the solution. be the girl who reads you like a book, but won’t even dog-ear the page.

✧ making your life a literary masterpiece

aria montgomery’s entire vibe is living like she’s the main character in a half-sad, half-beautiful novel.

🕯 journal like it’s your only witness

don’t just “take notes.” write diary entries. write how your teacher’s voice sounded like static today. how you saw a bird and thought about someone who doesn’t call anymore.

don’t just do to-do lists. write manifestos.

“today i will be quiet but terrifying. i will get an A and feel nothing. i will smile like i know something they don’t.”

🎞 document everything

take pictures of your desk at golden hour

scan your coffee cup stains and call it “visual poetry”

make your notes beautiful. pretend someone will find them 100 years from now.

🖋 write poetry like it’s a weapon

start with a feeling. disguise it with metaphors.

every time someone makes you feel like nothing, write something beautiful to prove them wrong.

✧ mindy’s personal tips on ariafying your life

💌 keep one book that feels like your personality. reread it every year. 📚 annotate your textbooks like they’re love letters. 🖼 print out art that makes you feel too much and tape it near your desk. 🎭 give every outfit a backstory: “this is what i wore to break someone’s heart in an old bookstore.” 🕯 whisper poetry in the mirror when you don’t feel pretty.

✧ parting thoughts

aria montgomery was never just “the artsy girl.” she was an entire ✧ emotional atmosphere ✧. and if you’ve ever felt too sensitive, too strange, too poetic for this world... you’re not alone. you’re pll-coded. you’re aria-coded. and that makes you dangerous in the most beautiful way.

you don’t have to collect apologies. you can collect books. collect outfits. collect love letters to yourself. and most importantly, collect proof that you felt everything and survived anyway.

i hope you all love this poetic approach, an interest of mine is to study poetry and i wanted to give a more poetic writing style for this, i love this pll series so much and i hope you all do too.

[loverangels]

studying

pairings: tasm!peter x fem!reader

synopsis: you've been studying too hard and peter claims he knows a way how to help you relax....

The table is a war zone of textbooks, flashcards, and crumpled-up papers. Your laptop hums faintly, its screen covered in tabs upon tabs of lecture slides, practice quizzes, and YouTube tutorials that are supposed to help you understand this mess. But all it’s doing is making your head spin. Highlighter clenched between your teeth, you scribble furiously in the margins of your notes, the weight of finals week crushing you like a boulder.

You don’t even notice Peter standing in the doorway, watching you with his usual mix of amusement and fondness. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is delightfully messy from whatever project he abandoned to come check on you. “Lovey,” he calls softly, but you don’t answer, too lost in your spiral of academic doom.

Peter takes it as his cue to come closer, his footsteps barely making a sound. Suddenly, you feel warm hands on your shoulders, and before you can protest, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it’s almost a purr. “How’s my favorite genius doing?”

You groan, tilting your head away from him to focus on your notes. “Peter, I don’t have time for this. Finals are next week, and I’m going to fail if I don’t—”

“You’re not gonna fail,” he interrupts, trailing another kiss just under your ear. His hands squeeze your shoulders gently, working out a knot you didn’t even know was there. “You’re way too smart for that.”

“Peter,” you scold, finally twisting to glare at him. “I mean it! I’ve got, like, five chapters to get through tonight alone, and if you keep distracting me, I’m seriously—seriously—going to fail!”

Peter just grins, entirely unbothered by your threats. “Sweetheart,” he coos, leaning down so his lips are practically brushing your ear, “my smart girl could ace these finals with her eyes closed.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your hands. “I’m not your smart girl right now. I’m your stressed-out, on-the-verge-of-a-breakdown girl.”

He crouches down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he peers at your color-coded chaos. “You’re overthinking, lovey. You always do. You’ve been studying for weeks. You’ve got this, I promise.”

You sigh, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It’s not overthinking, it’s being prepared. I just—ugh, I don’t know. I’m stressing, okay?”

Peter’s silent for a beat, but you don’t trust the look on his face for one second. That mischievous little smirk is forming, the one that makes your stomach flip in equal parts dread and anticipation. “I think,” he starts, his voice dropping to a playful drawl, “I know a way to help you relax.”

You whirl on him, narrowing your eyes. “Peter Benjamin Parker, don’t you—”

But it’s too late. In one swift motion, he pulls you out of your chair and into his arms, peppering kisses across your face and neck as you squirm. “Pete!” you yelp, laughing despite yourself. “Stop it! I’m serious!”

“I’m serious too!” he counters, grinning against your skin. “Serious about making sure my girl doesn’t burn herself out. I’ll even quiz you later, but right now? You’re taking a break.”

You try to scold him again, but he’s got that stupidly endearing look in his eyes, the one that makes it impossible to stay mad at him. And when he finally sets you down, his hair even messier than before and his smirk utterly smug, you realize he’s right. Maybe finals aren’t so impossible after all. Especially with Peter Parker by your side, distracting you in the best way possible.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

oh my god :((( i saw your academic/scientific writing post and thank you! my lecturer keeps telling us to 'comment' on paragraphs or papers and i just have no idea what she means??? I've tried looking at other papers and i just don't understand?? i was wondering if you or any of your followers could help? xxx

It sounds to me your lecturer might mean annotating to add your own comments/opinions on the article you're reading.

Writing Notes: Annotation

Annotation - to actively engage a text by pausing to reflect, mark up, and add notes as you read.

The simplest way to annotate:

Mark: Key words; Phrases; Passages...

...By: Highlighting; Underlining; Bracketing; Placing symbols

Steps to Annotating a Scientific Paper

Locate each of the components (Abstract, Introduction, etc.)

Identify unfamiliar words in these sections that are important to understanding the research.

Define the unfamiliar words.

Annotate each section by summarizing the main idea or paraphrasing important sentences.

Ways annotating improves reading:

Avoid having to re-read as often

Monitor and improve your comprehension

Remember what you’ve read

Reasons for writing notes in the margins:

Identify key ideas and help you remember them

Comment on what you are reading

Question what you are reading

Answer guide questions you previously wrote

Take notes for a class, prepare for a presentation, book club or any other occasion: You can make your annotations as simple or elaborate as you want. For instance, you can use different color highlighters or sticky notes to color code the text for different things such as:

comments and questions

observations

text you want to quote

use of themes

vocabulary words to look up

Reader Annotations

You can go beyond marking up text and write notes on your reaction to the content or on its connection with other works or ideas. A reader might annotate a book, paper, pamphlet. or other texts for the following reasons:

a student noting important ideas from the content by highlighting or underlining passages in their textbook

a student noting examples or quotes in the margins of a textbook

a reader noting content to be revisited at a later time

a Bible reader noting sources in their Bible of relevant verses

an academic noting similar or contradictory studies related to their article or book

Tips for Paraphrasing

Read the passage until you understand the meaning.

Purpose. What will you do with this evidence?

Look away from the passage to write the main points of what you read.

Imagine & write. Imagine explaining that main point to a classmate. Write down your explanation.

Check & cite. Double check your wording against the original. Cite the source.

Other things you should do as you read and annotate text:

Paraphrase important information

Write down thoughts and questions

Write down key terms

List and look up new vocabulary terms

Identify other articles to read

Here's an example of an annotated academic article (with steps and more details). Another example:

Strong readers often mark texts and this visual work is deeply linked to the reading experience. Considering annotation as a critical and creative activity, we can design and practice this skill in a multitude of ways. And, once again, as we link student’s visual experience into their ever growing language arts skills we strengthen their ways of interacting and communicating with the world. –James Shivers

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks for your kind words. Hope this helps! (Do ask your lecturer directly though for further clarification on what they actually meant!)

[zeroseuniverse]

Zb1 as study partners? 😊

Taglist:@zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120 @llunaticc13 @1daily2lele7 @etaernaluvv @hanninova

Hanbin – The Encouraging Tutor

He makes you flashcards, color-codes your notes, and tells you “You’ve got this!” every 10 minutes. Even if you’re failing, he’s not giving up on you. He gently corrects you like:

“That’s close! You're only missing one word—but your logic is perfect!” He also insists on “celebration breaks” after each study goal is met: a little snack, a TikTok dance, or bubble tea runs.

Jiwoong – The Calm Overachiever

Has his entire semester planned out in a spreadsheet. You don’t even ask—he just shares it with you. He’ll help you with anything, but his energy is peaceful. The kind of study partner who quietly hands you a highlighter and says,

“I figured you’d want your notes to match mine.” If you get stressed, he lets you lay your head on his arm while he keeps reviewing material out loud until you’re ready to jump back in.

Zhang Hao – The Secret Nerd Who Pretends He’s Not Trying

He’s like:

“Ugh, I didn’t study.” Proceeds to ace the mock test. He’s smart but acts chill—until you actually start struggling. Then he flips, scoots over, and explains the hardest question like a patient professor. You: “Wait, that actually made sense?” Hao: “Of course. I'm an excellent teacher.” (smirking) You start requesting him over tutors. He pretends to be annoyed, but always shows up early with boba and notes.

Matthew – The Sweetest Distraction

Starts strong… and then gets sidetracked by every little thing. “Wait, did you hear that bird?” “Let’s make your notes cute so you remember better!” He doodles hearts in your margins and gets excited over your handwriting. But when it’s crunch time? He’s locked in. And if you’re overwhelmed, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey, hey. Let’s breathe first, then do one problem at a time, okay?”

Taerae – The Chill Genius Who Explains Things With Memes

Taerae will explain a concept using a K-drama plot or a meme.

“Think of mitochondria as the mom of the cell. She does everything.” He’s surprisingly great at breaking things down and making it fun. Also, he always has a lo-fi playlist going and his room smells like fresh stationery. Every session ends with him saying “Okay, you’re done. We’re getting ice cream now.”

Ricky – The Flirty Know-It-All

He’s annoying. He knows he’s annoying. But also? He’s right. “Wrong again,” he teases, leaning closer. “Guess you’ll have to keep me around longer.” You pretend to be mad, but you do get better at everything when he explains it, so... You once snapped at him during a stressful cram session and he shut up immediately, brought you water, and sat with you in silence until you calmed down.

Gyuvin – The Distracted Puppy Who Makes You Laugh Too Much

Tries to help. Really tries. But somehow you’ve only gone through two pages in an hour.

“Okay, but what if mitochondria were Pokémon?” You: “Gyuvin, PLEASE.” You end up taking charge, and he rewards you with snacks, random compliments, and chaotic support. “You’re literally the Einstein of this generation. I believe in you.” He may not teach you anything directly, but he makes studying feel way less lonely.

Gunwook – The Focused Motivator

Gunwook takes studying seriously. He times sessions, sets goals, and even stretches with you between chapters.

“Let’s finish this section and then reward ourselves.” You end up doing more than expected every time because his determination rubs off on you. He’s also surprisingly gentle when helping you: “No pressure. We’re doing this together, yeah?” Big supportive golden retriever energy.

Yujin – The Quiet but Observant Helper

He doesn’t say much unless he sees you struggling. Then suddenly—he's showing you shortcuts, handing over cleanly written notes, and teaching you little tricks to remember facts. He likes studying beside you, quietly syncing pages like a cozy duet. You realize later that half the stuff you’re using to remember terms came from him casually whispering them while tapping your notebook. He never makes a big deal about it. But he always notices.

[smartgirrl]

tips for different learning styles

we all learn differently, so tailoring your routine to your unique needs can make a huge difference in how effectively you study.

for visual learners

create color-coded mind maps -> link ideas with arrows and branches, using different colors

red for key points, blue for examples, green for definitions

use diagrams and charts ->detailed diagrams and flowcharts used to illustrate processes

highlight key text -> use a highlighter for dense readings to create a clear structure

watch educational videos -> subject-specific videos and pause them periodically to take notes on key visuals

Crash Course - they have pretty much every subject Khan Academy - also a lot of subjects Amoebea Sisters - good science explaining (esp biology) Brilliant - has great diagrams + excersizes

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ ·

for auditory learners

record yourself reading key notes -> and listen to the recordings while reviewing.

study with a friend and explain concepts to each other out loud.

if a reading is especially dense, explain them step by step

use podcasts or audiobooks -> use podcasts or audiobooks related to your subjects as a way to absorb information on the go.

Hardcore History Science Vs Math Ed Podcast College Info Geek Podcast

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ ·

for kinesthetic learners

space while studying -> try studying while moving, like walking around or pacing, to keep your body engaged.

hands-on-learning -> participate in hands-on activities like experiments or creating models to better understand abstract concepts.

create interactive flashcards -> shuffle flashcards and lay them out on the floor or a table, grouping related concepts to create a physical connection between ideas.

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ ·

for reading/writing learners

summarize in your own words ->re-write the key points of a reading in your own words

create a one-page summary for each chapter and try to condense the information into a clear structure

annotate as you need -> jot down important ideas in the margins

underline significant concepts and write your thoughts or questions directly in the text

use practice tests -> review your practice test carefully, writing down why each choice was correct or incorrect, to reinforce your learning

[jadeshifting]

— HOGWARTS CLASS FAVORITES & NON-FAVORITES

( AKA 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS … DAY 10 )

Icicles — What is your occupation in your DR? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

a STUDENT at HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY

every part of my Hogwarts life is either a polished gem or a glaring nuisance—there’s no in-between, and i wouldn’t have it any other way. my academic experience is a mix of glamorous highlights and deeply petty frustrations, all colored by my passion for my studies (and unmistakable flair for dramatics)

CLASS FAVORITES

— POTION BREWING . i adore the simmer of bubbling elixirs and the snap of sharp, exotic scents—it’s chemistry meets witchy mischief

— LATE-NIGHT LIBRARY CRAWLS . there’s nothing quite like the whisper of pages in the Restricted Section at midnight and the thrill of finding spells that aren’t technically allowed

— WRITING ESSAYS WITH A MAGICAL FOUNTAIN PEN . ink that sparkles with a faint shimmer? my parchments are practically pieces of art

— CHARMS CLASS PRACTICAL EXAMS . a chance to show off my wand work with elegant, graceful flourishes that make my magic look like a ballet dance

— PERSONALIZING TEXTBOOKS . annotating margins with sharp quips and cheeky insights, plus enchanting my covers to look more luxurious—every book screams i was here

— WINNING MAGICAL THEORY DEBATES . watching someone crumble under my razor-sharp logic is intoxicating—intellectual combat at its finest

— LEARNING RARE SPELLS . anything obscure and tricky makes me feel like a prodigy (bonus points if it’s not exactly legal)

— QUILL SHOPPING . picking out sleek raven-feather quills that glide like liquid moonlight over parchment

— WINNING HOUSE POINTS . watching those emerald gems spill into Slytherin’s hourglass because of my brilliance? mwah

— TRANSFIGURATION CHALLENGES . the art of turning a teacup into a kitten feels like alchemy for the soul (and i love showing up classmates with my technique)

— PERFECTLY ORGANIZED NOTES . i charm my parchment into a flawless layout, complete with color-coded highlights that rival the most meticulous Ravenclaws

— IMPRESSING PROFESSORS . watching their eyebrows lift as i deliver a particularly brilliant answer feels like snagging a trophy

— SILENT HEXING PRACTICE . perfecting subtle wand flicks to cast spells with zero sound—it’s deadly elegance

— POTION BOTTLING . i spends extra time arranging my concoctions in sleek, jewel-toned vials—presentation matters

— TUTORING FRIENDS . while i try to be chill, so i’d never admit it, helping a mate ace a spell gives me a quiet, smug glow

— WRITING IN FANCY COLORS . deep emerald green and shimmering gold inks make my notes feel like royal decrees

— SNEAKING SNACKS INTO STUDY HALL . charm-conjured warming spells keep my contraband pastries just right (it’s fuel for genius)

— HOLIDAY-THEMED CLASSES . a transfiguration lesson where we turn goblets into snow globes? Hogwarts at its festive finest

— QUILLS THAT RUN OUT MID-ESSAY . very few things ruin a writing flow like needing to whisper-shout Replenish at an inkpot mid-thought

— CUSTOMIZED CALDRON GEAR . my engraved silver stirring rod and emerald-green scales are the high fashion of potion-making

— MAGICAL THEORY DEBATES . turning academic discussions into verbal duels—extra points if the professor lets it go on long enough for me to leave my opponent speechless

— FLAWLESS SPELL PRONUNCIATION . watching others trip over incantations while mine roll off her tongue like silk? that’s just witchy excellence

— ACE MARKS IN TRANSFIGURATION . when McGonagall gives a rare nod of approval, it’s like being handed the academic version of a crown

CLASS NON-FAVORITES (anti-favorites? hm)

— GROUP PROJECTS . the bane of my academic existence—carrying lazy tagalongs while maintaining my high standards is not the move

— HISTORY OF MAGIC LECTURES . Binns’ droning voice could put a banshee to sleep—i spends the hour doodling and muttering hexes under my breath

— UNNECESSARY OWL STRESS . i’m already going to ace everything; the professors need to stop pretending this is a life-or-death situation

— POORLY WRITTEN TEXTBOOKS . when a spell description is so convoluted it literally makes me twitch—who approved this drivel for the curriculum?

— MANDATORY STUDY HALLS . i don’t need structured time; i’ve already done the work—let me live

— CLEANING UP AFTER POTIONS . the bubbling, sticky mess after an advanced potion experiment makes my arms sore to think about

— THE ASTRONOMY TOWER STAIRS . dragging myself up those endless spiral stairs for star charts feels like cruel and unusual punishment

— GRYFFINDOR BOYS’ BRAGGING . listening to overzealous lions gloat about Quidditch victories in class when they clearly didn’t study for the upcoming test

— RAVENCLAW PERFECTIONISM . nowhere near as bad as the Gryffindors, but watching eagles over-analyze a single question until they spiral into a panic is both grating and exhausting to witness

— UNRULY POTION INGREDIENTS . slippery, wiggly, or overly smelly components? A hard no

— UNFORGIVABLY UGLY WIZARDING FASHION . the student who wore a clashing house scarf and mismatched robes still haunts my nightmares

— CARELESS WAND FLICKS . students waving their wands around like toys? a disaster waiting to happen

— CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES’ SMELLS . as much as i adore all of the creatures, the scent of burnt Blast-Ended Skrewt tail is a hard pass, personally

— LATE OWL DELIVERIES . nothing like a screech owl dropping an overdue textbook in my lap mid-breakfast

— END-OF-TERM ESSAYS . five feet of parchment on Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration? i’m convinced this absolutely qualifies as academic hazing

— HISTORY OF MAGIC NAP PATROL . Binns droning on and on about stuff i already know is a snooze-fest, but the fact that i know he’ll notice if i fall asleep—tragic

— SLOPPY SPELLWORK . watching someone fumble a first-year level basic spell makes me want to hex them into next week—standards, people

— PROFESSOR SPROUT’S DIRT OBSESSION . planting is fun, but endlessly digging in soil for Herbology feels more like a detention than a lesson

— UNFINISHED ASSIGNMENTS ON SHARED TABLES . if someone’s half-baked essay ends up under my notes when i’m trying to work, it’s going straight to the fire

— OVERACHIEVING GRYFFINDORS . watching them grandstand in Defense Against the Dark Arts just makes me roll my eyes—calm down, hero

— QUILL THIEVES . borrowing my enchanted, gold-tipped quill without asking will literally get someone on my watch list

— MUD EVERYWHERE AFTER QUIDDITCH PRACTICE . tramping through puddles to get to flying class while the quidditch team cheers? absolutely not

— ACCIDENTAL SPELL MISHAPS . being in the blast radius when someone botches a fire-starting spell isn’t the kind of hands-on learning i signed up for

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Prompt: Tommy invites a very excited baby bi Buck to his queer book club. 🌈

send me headcanons and microfic prompts

Queer Book Club

Tommy had known Evan was a reader.

There were piles of books littered around Evan's loft. Recently published books with spines newly cracked; old, tattered books the size of a hand, made to fit in a large pocket with their covers falling off and their glue barely holding the pages together; books from take a book, leave a book little libraries at national parks and novels from a book fair that happened recently over on a college campus nearby; books owned by Evan and books Evan always returned early to the local library.

Tommy had an inkling that Evan might enjoy the queer book club he was part of with Karen, Hen, and Josh, especially since Evan had spoken of an affinity for novels made by the Bronte Sisters and Austen. His eyes seemed to light up when Tommy explained that their next meeting would be about two adaptations: Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa and Escaping Mr. Rochester by L.L. McKinney.

"I hope I'm prepared enough," Evan had nervously whispered when he got into Tommy's car.

At the next red light, Tommy glanced over and could see Evan fidgeting and flipping through the pages. There were color-coded highlights and notes in every single margin; about themes, motifs, symbolism, the expansion of the idea of the original through this new lens of the story.

Tommy could tell Evan that this was mostly an excuse to read queer romances and drink craft beer together with some friends.

But Tommy didn't have the heart for that.

"You're impossibly prepared," Tommy almost gushed - okay, maybe completely gushed, smiling at his boyfriend.

The most adorable dork in the world.

"You think so?" asked Evan, relaxing a bit.

Tommy leaned over and gave Evan a quick kiss before the light turned green.

"Oh, I know so," said Tommy, making it his mission to listen to Evan's entire infodump about each novel tonight.

Because he adored it when his boyfriend was this excited about something.

[ochako-deserves-better]

School Notebook headcanons

Midoriya

uses basic notebooks (like his hero journals)

notes are legible, but not neat

writes his own thoughts in the margins

will lend his notes to his friends, but will linger awkwardly over their shoulders while they copy them down. He apologizes about his handwriting at least 10 times.

Bakugo

usually writes in black cover spiral notebooks.

-jagged handwriting, but very efficient note taker.

-has his own shorthand that only he really understand

-Izuku also understands it, since a lot of the code comes from the code they came up with to pass notes as kids

will not lend his notebooks out without some kind of compensation. But will tutor his classmates if he's allowed to be mean about it.

Uraraka

uses basic notebooks, but doodles on the covers to indicate subject.

bubbly, neat handwriting.

draws flowers in the margins

sometimes will add doodles to her notes that are relevant to help her remember something, which works great for her, but also makes her too embarrassed to lend out her notebooks to anyone.

Yaoyorozu

Leather bound bullet journals

writes in cursive for actual note portions of the page, but headers vary

Color coded notes. Her pencil case is filled with different colored highlighters.

will gladly let people borrow her notebooks, so long as they are returned in the same condition (Denki damaged one once, so now he has to ask Iida.)

Iida

plain notebooks with sticker labels

handwriting is surprisingly messy.

has a digital copy of his notes that he types up after class every day (he's afraid the clacking of a keyboard would be too distracting)

Uploads the digital copy of his notes to the class forum every night before going to bed. No one looks at it.

gets frustrated when people ask him for his notebook. (because he already posted it)

Writes in all caps.

[medicineinside]

How to use highlighters effectively for study success 🖍️🖇️

Highlighting is a popular study technique, but it can often be misused, leading to cluttered notes and ineffective learning.

Choose the right highlighters

Invest in a variety of highlighters. Different colors can serve different purposes—use one color for definitions, another for key concepts, and a third for examples. This color-coding system will help you quickly identify information when reviewing.

Read first, highlight later

Before you grab your highlighter, read through the material thoroughly. This allows you to understand the context and significance of the content. Highlighting without comprehension can lead to missing critical connections between ideas.

Be selective

Less is more when it comes to highlighting. Aim to highlight only 10-20% of the text. Focus on main ideas, key terms, and essential details. If everything is highlighted, nothing stands out.

Use symbols and abbreviations

Incorporate symbols or abbreviations next to highlighted text to indicate importance or your thoughts. For example, a star could signify a crucial point, while a question mark might indicate areas you want to explore further.

Create a legend

If you’re using multiple colors or symbols, create a legend at the beginning of your notes. This visual guide will help you remember what each color or symbol represents, making your study sessions more efficient.

Review and revise

After highlighting, take time to review your notes. Summarize the highlighted sections in your own words. This reinforces your understanding and helps with retention.

Practice active engagement

Instead of passively highlighting, engage actively with the material. Ask yourself questions about the content as you highlight, and jot down answers in the margins or in a separate notebook.

Utilize digital tools

If you prefer digital studying, many apps allow you to highlight text electronically. Explore features like tagging or adding comments to enhance your study materials further.

Regularly revisit your highlights

Don’t just highlight and forget! Schedule regular review sessions to revisit your highlighted notes. This spaced repetition will solidify your understanding and improve long-term retention.

By being selective, using color strategically, and actively engaging with your material, you can transform your notes into powerful study tools.

[exuvianen]

misc. stationery hcs [housewardens]

short stationery + penmanship hcs with the housewardens!

cw: n/a

notes: another old piece... just some silly hc's don't take them too seriously. i tried writing the same amount for everyone but it’s kinda clear who i’m biased towards… feel free to drop an ask or to add on! likes + rbs are appreciated <3

wc: ~1100 words?? wow. that's more than i expected.

riddle rosehearts ; housewarden of heartslabyul

has everything you need for school. pencils, pens, erasers, notebooks, binders, glue, tape, scissors,  you name it, riddle has it.

sorts each subject by color, and color codes all his notes/subjects. do NOT mess up his order! 

has extremely neat handwriting - it’s a bit on the smaller side, but it’s easy to read.

riddle shares his notes with others when they ask him for help, so he makes sure it’s legible and easy on the eyes.

as for stationery in general, he probably doesn’t go too wild. standard neon highlighters, blue and black pens, plain covered notebooks, etc. it’s simple, but it’s good enough for riddle.

overall pretty good taste, a little basic, but everything is of good quality.

leona kingscholar ; housewarden of savanaclaw

literally does not care about stationery. he’s the idgaf king.

he’s that kid who never brings a pencil or pen to class. he barely remembers to bring his notebook too. and he only has one (1) notebook that he uses for everything (he probs doesn’t even take notes in class, he alr knows everything lol).

constantly borrows stuff from ruggie or sends him to buy stuff from sam’s shop. he’s lucky he has ruggie.

has a fancy pen from farena that he never uses, but keeps at the bottom of his drawer. 

does the bare minimum, probably “borrows” other people’s pens/pencils when he loses his. has borrowed at least 20 pens, but was too lazy to give it back. they sit on top of his desk. 

he literally doesn't care about aesthetics, he just gets random stationery to get the job done. has the most mismatched items.

azul ashengrotto ; housewarden of octavinelle

definitely invests in some quality paper and pens. also a stationery nerd who has everything in his office.

probably has those notebooks/folders with the corny motivational quotes like “the grind never stops” or “no pain no gain”. kinda cringe but he likes them b/c they motivate him.

he’s the type to take notes in class, then rewrite them later. he sells the rewritten notes to other students for a steep price.

jots down ideas or gossip he hears in the margins of his notebooks. he rarely doodles, but sometimes he might draw things from the coral sea if he’s feeling particularly homesick.

color codes all his notes, but uses more neutral colors as opposed to the standard bright/neons. he also has sea-themed folders or notebooks. 

he's fascinated by what land-dwellers use, as paper/ink typically doesn't last in the sea. he really tries a variety of products and enjoys it a lot! and takes notes for his future businesses

kalim al-asim ; housewarden of scarabia

the guy who has an excessive amount of stationery. probably buys 20 of the same pen because he likes it so much.

he gets those notebooks/folders that have cute animals or wild patterns on them. i feel like he’d also get a lot of stuff with floral designs.

doesn’t care much about the quality/brand of the things he’s buying - rather, he’s more interested in how cool or fun the item looks. 

def owns funky-colored pens, erasers that smell like food, and sticky notes shaped like animals. probs decorates everything with stickers (he loves scratch-n-sniff ones).

the margins of kalim’s notebooks are filled with doodles. some things he draws often are his favorite dishes and animals, and his family members. he probably uses his notebook to plan parties/parades instead of taking notes. jamil has a stroke

his handwriting is very expressive. it's loopy and wide when he's excited, small and sloppy when he's dozing off, and extremely messy when he's scribbling frantically.

vil schoenheit ; housewarden of pomefiore

owns sets of matching stationery. coordinates his pencil case with his notebooks and folders. probably a fan of minimalism and deep, rich colors. 

has high-quality pens and uses fancy highlighters to annotate his notes (i’m thinking those midliner highlighters and muji pens). he spares no expense for his tools.

color codes all his notes/different subjects, and has a specific color scheme for each subject. he is VERY particular about his color sorting. do NOT mess his categories up.

his handwriting is elegant and beautiful. he probably practiced and experimented with his handwriting a lot due to his fame (he signs autographs and he wants his penmanship to look pretty for his fans!)

he has pinterest worthy notes. he posts them on his magicam stories occasionally to show them off, and to encourage his fans to study hard too.

his fashionista side bleeds into his stationery choices, so he only buys items that are 1) of the best quality and 2) suited for his image. he does NOT cut corners.

idia shroud ; housewarden of ignihyde. 

does not use stationery LOL (or avoids it. technology is just more convenient for him).

everything is done on digitally, on his computer, tablet, or phone. he’d decorate his laptop or tablet with stickers though, like of his fave idol group “premo” and such. 

if he does own stationery, they are game or anime themed. also limited edition. he def collects merch, like pins and badges as well. i feel like he’d make itabags and stuff but he’d never go out in public with them. he’s too socially awkward just like me fr

he has those cool multifunctional pens, the ones with like 10 different colors, and can also double as a screwdriver or some kind of tool. 

he’d also have a lot of cute cat-themed items. they're just too cute, and he can't resist buying them! he's rich so it's fine...

he's probably designed super multifunctional pens before. he definitely has the brains and resources to do so.

malleus draconia ; housewarden of diasomnia

archaic stationery. still dips his pen in ink and writes with a feather /hj

he’s fine with the basics though. he just rolls with pen, paper, and ink. it’s good enough for him. 

has beautiful, fancy cursive handwriting, but it’s hard for people to read, especially for his schoolmates b/c the younger generation doesn’t really learn cursive anymore. think like... the penmanship of historical treaties or declarations. it's charming and still legible, but you just need a bit of time to be able to read it. 

probably owns and uses enchanted quills passed down from his family. it reminds him of home and he treasures them greatly. when he’s homesick he’ll twirl them between his fingers. 

he used to break a lot of pencils/pens with his sheer magical fae grip. he’s learned how to control his strength a lot better now, but he still prefers his enchanted writing tools. 

he's not used to modern technology, so he gets a kick out of trying novel stationary items as well. this pencil is also a pen, a highlighter, and a flashlight? wowie!

[skwpr]

HOW TO TAKE NOTES FROM A TEXTBOOK

MISTAKES WHEN TAKING NOTES

WRITING EVERYTHING DOWN

An important part of note taking is narrowing down the information. Think of the textbook as a fire hose – if you try to drink from it, it will push you down to the ground.

COPYING DIRECTLY FROM THE BOOK

IGNORING THE BOOK’S CUES

When taking notes in class, teachers often give obvious verbal or physical cues that students should write down a piece of information. Your textbook isn’t speaking to you, but it has its own cues that it gives. You just have to understand those cues.

Textbooks are organized with a series of headings and subheadings that make note taking straight-forward. The size and color of those headings are cues to the reader that a topic is more or less important. The bigger the heading, the more important the topic. The text will also put words in bold or italics – those are often vocabulary terms.

HOW TO TAKE NOTES FROM A TEXTBOOK THE RIGHT WAY

SKIM THE CHAPTER FOR HEADING, SUBHEADINGS, AND TERMS IN BOLD.

Read the introduction and conclusion – they can help you figure out which topics are the most important and how the information fits together. 

MAKE AN OUTLINE

Use just the headings and subheadings to create an outline, mindmap, or Cornell notes. Leave extra space so you can write in your notes later.

Start reading from the beginning. Read each section and fill in your outline when you finish that section. In other words, don’t read the entire chapter and then go back to take notes. Flipping back and forth among the pages wastes time.

After reading the section, close the book and write down notes from memory! Stretching your brain like this means you are more likely to remember the information on the test. 

Then open the book back up and check your notes. Fix any mistakes and add any missing information. 

Be sure to add people, places, or terms that are in bold or italics– the text’s authors are telling you this is important information.

Great – you’ve read the entire chapter and taken notes. However, you’re not done! These notes, like class notes, will become powerful study tools with just a few tweaks.

Start highlighting using a color code key.

Annotate your notes (write in the margins) with review questions, connections to other classes, or questions you have for the teacher.

Add small drawings or doodles to your notes that help explain the information.

Write a short summary at the end. Write 2-4 sentences that discuss the “big idea” you can take away from these notes.