#hyper focused academic reader

[threepandas]

Bad End: Out In The Cold

"What's this? A cold little mouse in my castle?"

Thick hair that wasn't mine spilled over my shoulder. As a familiar hand, warm and calloused, wrapped itself around my throat. I hadn't realized how cold the room had gotten, until her hand was there, skin warm against my skin. It had taken a while to get used to this.

I was grateful, in a way. For the the day she had done more then just scoff at my scarf. Telling me I would freeze. The way she had gotten worried. Pulled off her gloves, grumbling all the while, too fuss over me like some great mother bear. Hands warm but gentle, as the tucked themselves around my throat. Too better warm my blood, she had said.

It had been like a dam breaking.

And honestly? She WAS right. It was warm.

Now, whenever she so much as SUSPECTED I was cold? Her hand would sneak out to press against my pulse. Though, half the time, I suspected it was an excuse. She'd not had many chances for closeness in her life, I suspect. Calysta was the... ah, it was hard to translate, but... the CLOSEST translation? Was something like "Child of The Mountain Gods".

Or was it "Child of the Mountains AND the Gods"?

I was supposed to be writing a treatise on the subject. Gods knows no one ELSE would. Cowards. Bigots too. "Nothing but savages" my silk clad ASS. And they dare call themselves academics!? Ha! HA, I say! Both my professors and I would SPIT! (If it weren't WILDLY rude. I never COULD master that skill. I did try.)

Unfortunately, my professors, were too old to make the journey this far North. It hadn't stopped them from TRYING, when we had finally gotten permission. But... well. They barely made it too Wuntersgreen before the strain and cold became too much. They cried.

As the youngest? I was loaded down with their notes, questions, hopes and dreams, and sent on ahead. No one was impressed by me. The scrawny academic with her soft, soft hands. Never a day's fight in her. Didn't know how to do "anything". But? That had given their word to host me. So they did.

It's been AMAZING.

And I like to think I'm getting better!

Adapting. Learning how to do things and help around the castle. I even helped start a fire for the fireplace the other day! Before THAT? I learned how to set hunting traps... rather badly. I have yet to catch anything. But still! Progress, is it not?

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Calysta. Her rank is something between a Warlord and a King, as far as I can tell? It holds the respected sovereignty of a ruling monarch yet? Can be seized. Should she grow "weak". Is not NECESSARILY passed too one's children. They, presumably, have an ADVANTAGE... but? It goes too "the Chosen child of..." that word I'm still having some difficulty getting a good translation off.

And if I remember correctly, Calysta's brother's did NOT appreciate that. As they had been favored by her father. Showered with praise most of their lives. One of them ASSUMED to be the next leader.

They challenged her.

Did not back down.

Now? Now she has neither Father nor brothers. Not that it seems she had much of either to begin with. Frankly? I am GLAD she won. She is good for the North. Strong, steady, highly tactical. A wry wit. And a FEIRCE love for her people and culture. NO ONE will take it from her. Destroy these beautiful peoples.

I'm tugged back lightly, away from my desk to sit up properly against the back of my chair. The hand on my neck shifting softly, ever so slightly up, to cup the underside of my jaw. Tilting my head up so I can not see my work but must instead meet the eyes of my dear friend.

"Enough, little mouse." There is a fondness to the edge of her mouth, she is not one for great grins and wild expressions. It has taken me months to learn how to read her so well. "Your papers will still be there AFTER you warm up. Should be easier to right, don't you think, when you can actually feel your fingers again?"

I huff a laugh.

Honestly... where would I be with out her? Frozen to death, probably. I get entirely to fixated on my work. Food, drink, keeping the fire running. I notice none of it. Probably shrivel up and die. The fact she even takes the time to check on me? Dispite being as important as she is? Let NO ONE say Calysta does not CARE. She is a good person.

My legs feel numb and prickly, stiff, in that distinctly asleep and too cold sort of way, as I try to stand. Calysta has to wrap her arm around my waste and let me lean against her. She feels almost too hot against me. Another sure sign I have, indeed, allowed myself to get too cold. Oh dear.

With an exasperated snort, once it becomes clear my legs will probably not be recovering fast enough for her liking, Calysta decides she will speed things along. My legs are swept out from under me effortlessly. I don't even squeek anymore, this has happened so often. But I USED too.

It is how I became "mouse".

Now I just allow Calysta her way. She'll put me down when she wants to put me down. And honestly? It's kinda fun to be carried like a child. I feel tall. Weightless and somewhat decadent, it makes my heart beat a faster. And on somedays? All I want to do is go boneless. Allow myself to be HELD. Not that I'll ever tell. So Shhhhh, a secret to our graves, okay? It would make things awkward for her.

She strolls down the hall with me, too her office. No one so much as blinking an eye. We've become so common in our shenanigans, I imagine, it's become mundane. And... ah~ Calysta was RIGHT. I WAS cold. The fireplace in her office is full with logs burning away merrily. The windows we passed in the hall showed snow. It seems the storm's finally hit..

Instead of putting me down, Calysta heads for the couch. Turning and with a huff, flopping down, making both of us bounce a bit. Leaning back with me less in her arms now, so much as in her lap. The room is quiet. Hushed almost. The crackle of fire, the distant howl of wind, far away chatter of life, elsewhere in the castle.

Calysta has leaned back against the back of her office's couch. Head rested against the fur blanket draped against the back of it. The fur mixes with her riotous man of hair to create almost a halo, lit in golds by the fire's light. Her eyes are closed as she takes her moment. The fire light makes her face softer.

But never soft.

No force in all the world could make Calysta anything but the Queen she is. Dangerous and powerful. First into battle and last to leave. She is breath taking in the way all deadly things are, I think. Like blades and poison held up to the light. Predators and fires that burn.

"You're staring, little mouse." She says, voice nearly a whisper in the softness of the room. It is a rumble like mountains and the sweet call of dangerous things. She's always had such a commanding voice. I envy it. "Is my face so entrancing?"

She's smirking. Teasing me. I laugh and rest my head against her shoulder. Let myself drift as the chill in my bones fades away. The arm loosely around my waist to keep me from falling off, has taken to lightly stroking my back. Almost absent-mindedly. Occasionally, fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

A servant has come-by. Removed our shoes for us. Brought Calysta missives and responses. General updates. She shifts us. Tucking me against her as she lays down, tucking me between her body and the couch. Fuzzy blanket over me, arm wrapped around me. I... I feel boneless.

Safe.

Everything warm and quiet and far away.

Trusting, I doze off. Cuddling close and utterly content.

Calysta presses a kiss to the crown of my sleeping head. Let's her hand roam, just a bit, simply to feel the perfect way her little mouse fits right up against her. She was MADE for her. Born to be here. Still... she has to be... be GENTLE. Soft.

It's hard. She hasn't had much practice in that.

But good things are worth the struggle for them. True love is WORTH the time, the effort, to learn how the South romance. Figuring out how to woo her lil mouse as she deserves. Making sure she never leaves.

Speaking off...

She diges out the ridiculous fancy paper envelope at the bottom of the stack. Hidden, as per her instructions, so her little Mouse wouldn't see it. Another one, it seems, from that damn "House" of hers. Southern Clans were pretty damn presumptuous, weren't they? Had some fucking gall.

What did THIS one say?

Let's she... "come back at once" blah blah blah "how dare you ignore all our letters" blah blah "you WILL honor the engagement we've found for you, or ELSE" oh? Threats now, huh? Ah~? "Keep ignoring our letters and you'll be cast from House-" well, well~!

That's convenient.

One flick of the wrist, and the letter is in the fireplace. Burning away. Just like all before it. Oops. How difficult it is, to get news from the South. Her little mouse really SHOULD just forget about them. THIS is her home now. THEY are her people.

Her girl doesn't need anyone else.

"Don't worry, little love. I won't leave you out in the cold. You're gonna stay with me. Forever. I Promise."

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[simpxxstan]

svt + nerdy y/n!!

a/n: this is absolutely self-indulgent. i'm sorry if i'm writing slower than usual, i'm trying to get back on track!

sfw content. gender neutral reader and established relationship.

very mildly suggestive (pg13 audience only!). nerd here refers to anyone with academic interests or a general high level of interest in uncommon/niche topics. i've tried to make the concept of nerd as inclusive as possible.

seungcheol

not a nerd himself but will encourage you 100% to be a nerd- buys you new pair of glasses when your eyesight worsens, new documentary CDs and even membership of a hundred foreign journals.

defo has a sapiosexuality kink- you can guess how attracted he is to your intelligence. but he's the smarter one on the streets, so he'll take care of you in every way possible while you stay in your little geeky bubble.

it's always baby let me recharge your phone bill for you; baby please eat your meals on time; baby you can't stop drinking water because of exam stress; baby if you're pulling an all-nighter, call me over, i don't want you to stay up all night alone.

jeonghan

loving jeonghan involves so much cuddling and lazy time when you both just lie under the blankets, his head is on your stomach and your fingers in his hair. it's at these moments that he encourages you to read out for him and he hums along whenever you pause to check if he's fallen asleep.

but jeonghan draws the line sometimes. he is supportive- but only when you're not trading off your time with him for the sake of peering into books.

you can sit with me and solve bivariate normal distributions or whatever you have to do, he whines into your ear. but you keep tickling me and i mess up the calculations! he laughs at this, i can't help it if you're just so ticklish, baby.

joshua

three years ago, joshua would've laughed if someone told him he would be more interested in the latest discoveries of astrophysics than in who's winning the la liga matches. but here he is- successfully converted into a nerd entirely because of your influence.

joshua was ridiculously easy to convert. all it had taken was the shiny, lovesick look in your eyes when you'd ask him if he wanted to watch a documentary on alternate universe theories with you, and he'd said yes in a heartbeat. and then it had just been a spiral into the metaphorical black hole. and he does NOT regret it, as long as he gets to spend time with you.

josh is this getting too boring? you'd quietly ask after an hour of the documentary, guilty for being too absorbed in it to even look at your boyfriend and see how he's faring. but joshua is melting at your concern, so even if it was a little bit boring, he'll reassure you sweetly, not at all baby! this is so new and interesting!!

jun

yes he may be from china, but clearly you know more about his own roots than he does! whenever you're watching news, jun loves it when you fill him up on some quirky background info that he didn't know about, but adds so much value to the context of the news.

in awe of your academic capabilities and keeps bragging about you to everyone. feels so proud when he can contribute to something you're passionate about too. he CANNOT fathom why someone as nerdy and intellectual as you should want to be with him.

junie, you're so smart! you praise him after he reports a profit he's making on a stocks investment. he shyly giggles, not like you, baby. you shake your head, i may be book smart. but you're street-smart!

soonyoung

hyper and calm partners!!!! he used to get annoyed with how you would pore into your books all day and how focused you were on your studies, but now he sees the charm in it all. it makes you happy, and in turn, he gets to wrap himself around you and be as clingy as he likes.

he really tries to follow with your nerdiness, his enthusiasm is there he swears! it's just not his fault that his attention span is so low and he ends up staring at your lips more than actually listening to you.

baby are you even listening? you ask, pouting. it drive him even more insane and he ends up giving in to his instincts and kissing you. yes baby! i heard everything!

wonwoo

WILL BE GEEKY WITH YOU! i imagine the two of you sitting next to each other at a table, him focused on his games and you're focused on your studies, your feet in his lap, and you're both sharing the same cup of coffee.

he loves collecting pretty little diaries for you, because he knows you write little poems and trivia in those diaries. whenever he's out on tour, he's bringing a locally-made diary for you, and if possible, he customises it with your name imprinted on it too.

wonwoo, there's a new adaptation of pygmalion getting shown in the theatre! do you want to go watch? i want to take notes from this adaptation and write about it on my blog... you need not even explain so much, wonwoo bought the tickets already when you began to talk about it.

jihoon

feels so giddy when he comes home from work and the first thing you do (in between his kiss attacks) is tell him a new fact you learnt today in whatever is your latest obsession.

jihoon loves his personal space, so when he's found you who's equally fond of your personal space and interests, it's literally a match made in heaven. they say it'll put distance between the two of you, but it really does quite the opposite!

jihoonie, can you help me learn this table? maybe ask me randomly and i'll try to answer. jihoon wants to tell the table to self-destruct from the entire world because you're near to tears trying to mug it up. but he doesn't. instead he says, love, how about i make a song for you which simplifies this? like a mnemonic but nicer.

seokmin

man was too desperate to get out of school to understand why you choose to be a nerd. but it's hella cute, so he doesn't need to understand. he's obsessed with your quirky habits- the way you bite your lips when you're finding a topic difficult, the way your glasses slip down your nose and you irritatedly push it up again, the way you crave the hot chocolate he makes when you're under exam stress.

admires your smartness so much! WILL brag about it to everyone he meets. WILL bring up the fact you told him yesterday, in today's conversation with his members just to show off your smartness.

posts stories about you being so cute while working hard for your exams but it's just you with oiled hair, acne breaking out like hellfire, and cramming notes at breakneck speed (you don't talk to him for an hour after this, but he doesn't get why you're so embarrassed, he only sees cuteness.)

mingyu

another one who WILL be nerdy with you. mingyu's always been a curious boy- even as a child, he would be drawn into new ideas easily. nothing is different now, and mingyu sits with you often when you're studying, his hands often wandering to your shoulders to massage them, and bringing you a regular supply of ramen and snacks.

you have a habit of repeating to yourself what you read, so mingyu steps in and asks you to talk to him and explain the topics to him as if you're teaching him. safe to say, he gets VERY turned on after such mock 'teaching' lessons and eventually loses focus on what you're saying.

gyu do you remember that paper i wrote last month? yeah, it got selected for a journal. you say it so nonchalantly that any other person would think you're showing off. but mingyu knows how much it means to you, and you're only downplaying it because you think mingyu won't think it to be a big deal, as most academic snobs tend to do. but lucky for you, mingyu knows exactly how precious an achievement it is to you, so he shows his appreciation to you instead of merely saying it (by showering you with kisses that make you tingle all over).

minghao

OH oh. will listen to your rants with the sweetest subtle smile on his face. will buy encyclopedias and reference books for your mini library. will take you to speaker sessions, workshops and other such informative events across the city, even places you've no idea about.

the most ardent supporter you could have asked for, he is in awe of your mental capabilities and your intelligence. you both have a lot of quality time where you're just sitting together and doing your things, but minghao values it like no other activity in the world.

hao? there's a new parcel at the door. you call him when a delivery arrives and he's at work. open it. he may not be around to see your reaction, but he can sure imagine the grin that's bursting out on your face when you squeal his name into the phone on seeing the hardcover special edition version of your favourite collection of essays.

seungkwan

lots of wide-eyed wondering at why you would want to stay rooted at a spot and read books over playing badminton with him. he wants to complain that you've chosen your academics over him, but that'd be a lie, so he can only half-heartedly whine about it.

comes around to your point of view as soon as you start showing him documentaries (on animals living in the Himalayas, as per your latest obsession). it begins with him finding the animals cute, to eventually finding you cute when you animatedly talk about them. and once he's totally converted, it's fairly easy for you to convince him to help you with exams.

expect eye rolls, smug smiles and hair being brushed back nonchalantly when the questions he had asked last night from your texts actually matched with the ones asked in the exam. i told you, baby, he whispers in your ear. now i want my reward, you've been drowned in books for way too long and not paying any attention to your boyfriend.

vernon

it was a surprise to him as well when he realised he's got a massive sapiosexuality kink. as someone who's run as far away from the education system as he could, he doesn't even know why he finds it so attractive when you're being nerdy. but, well, he does.

he loves hearing you talk about whatever it is that you're learning lately, and sometimes something or the other catches his attention. and then, you know he'll dive right deep into it to know all about it, until his curiosity is satisfied.

nonie, what's the video you sent me? you ask him when you return home from uni. i wondered if you've watched this one. it explains the theories of why the harappan civilization disappeared so well. you can only smile at his enthusiasm, i bet you've been looking at conspiracy theories again, nonie. the guilty grin on his face says it all.

chan

chan listens so well, but you can't really blame him if he doesn't retain the information. he's elated simply to have you wrapped in his arms as you talk about what happened in your classes today, and his nose in the crook of your neck so he can smell your lovely scent. intermittently nods his head (just wants to rub his nose on the soft skin of your neck) and hums in agreement of what you just said (suppressing moans when he can feel your heartbeat quicken when he presses kisses to your neck too).

it doesn't matter what your new niche is, but he's indulging it. he admires your ability to stay focused in a field as demanding as academia, and he's all for you to go ahead with your interests and education as long as you want to learn.

you wake up to post-its on your forehead every day when chan has had to leave early for work: get out of the house and get fresh air. shampoo hair today, interview tomorrow. practice the introduction speech again. drink water and take vitamins. STOP DRINKING COFFEE. and you giggle at each of them, because they're all things you've tried to remember for yourself and forgotten, so chan reminds you like this, but his cute handwriting and the little XOXOXOs he's drawn all over make your heart melt.

[rowretro]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕿𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖞

(this is a request I hope this went well!!!)

✧warnings: Yandere/toxic themes, kidnapping, marriage, blood, violence, explicit stuff mentioned (gore etc),Hyper feminine reader, mean af Riki

❁synopsis: The sweet, beautiful human princess married the cold, handsome Vampire prince, for a happy ending in both worlds, where blood shed and murders won't occur anymore. It's perfect, in fact they're such a perfect couple. That's what people believed, but they never understood how broken the couple are behind closed doors...

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

"Listen... uhm Riki? yeah I think I'll sleep on the couch I mean I'm human- you're vampire, on top of that I really doubt you do want to share a bed with me-" "I don't want to share anything with you not like I have a choice-" He cut her off as she nodded, feeling awkward. He finally owns this girl god damit. Instead of being all scared and obedient, she's here, pink silk flowy nightgown hugging her in all the right spots, making her seem like a trophy wife. Nail's all blingy, with charms and hearts, her lips still tinted from her lipstick from before, and lashes all done spikey and stunning.

Riki couldn't stand it. She's one of those annoying, mean girl wannabes who body shame girls that are living life. So he thought. She smiled as she went downstairs, carrying her pet goat to the garden. Yes a pet goat, it even had pink light pink shoes, and matching pink bows. Riki found her intriguing. Annoying. "uhm... I don't wanna sound rude but uhm can you please not drink Veronica's blood?" she asked as Riki blinked "You have a goat called Veronica.... do you get bullied in school?" he asked as she frowned.

"Uhm I don't know how to respond to that.... Of course I don't- I can defend myself when I need to- and I don't think humans get bullied for their pets... Maybe vampires might but not us humans" She said as she placed her goat in the comfy little enclosure, and brought her pet bunnies in. For a girly girl she sure does own a lot of pets. "can I suck their blood?" he asked half jokingly as she frowned.

"Id rather you suck my blood." she said as she pouted at her rabbits, booping their noses as she locked them in the indoors cage. "Woah there Mrs Nishimura... getting a little too attached to a cold blooded vampire" he teased as she rolled her eyes. "I suggest you sleep in my room if you want to be alive.... not all vampires here are as patient as I am." Riki simply said as he grabbed her waist, teleporting her to his room. "I doubt you had to hold me but uhm... thanks?" she thanked, scratching her head as Riki smiled.

She's such a pretty girl, so cute, especially when she's shy and nervous, he's seen her smile, fake and real smile, and its so fucking cute... he wonders how she looks when she cries... He pushes her onto the bed, catching her off guard, hovering over her as he suggestively leaned into her nick, his lips gently grazing her skin. A smirk plastered on his lips as he could hear, and smell the blood rapidly coursing through her veins. He turned to look at her frightened expression, then got up, satisfied.

"You thought I'd actually fucking touch you.... pfft you're too full of yourself y/n... you really aren't all that you know?!" as she just uncomfortably scratched at her arm. It wasn't enough of a reaction for him. "Why do you think the real reason is behind your parents and not your older sister? want me to tell you why?! you're a weak useless stupid girl who fails her studies focuses on her looks no matter how ugly you truly are. You're so worthless they went all in and threw you in the arms of me. Me who loves human blood, especially the blood of a sad, worthless little girl, preferably pretty... but you're ugly" He remarked.

Y/n's eyes became glossy. he was right for the most of it, she was more creative than academic, she loved doing her nails and makeup, but it's therapeutic, and she wasn't the biggest fan of her appearance and her parents are very disappointed in her... she constantly lived in her sister's shadow. But Riki doesn't know any of that. He didn't know until he read through the thoughts that clouded her mind. She truly wanted to die.

She's absolutely ethereal, even when crying. "But you don't need them.... you're the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on so as long as I have you all to myself.... everyone is safe." Though his words were absolutely sweet, he's being genuine, he wants this marriage though she doesn't. Yet she can't help but notice something eerie lacing his words... his eerie obsession...

Since their wedding day, he was always with y/n, in the kitchen, in their bedroom, the living room, outside the restroom, even in his office where he forbids anyone from entering. Y/n pouted as she aired her lips, lying on her front on the comfortable airbed, piled with blankets and fluffy pillows. Riki snickerred at the cute view. She's always a sight he loves to see.

She's grown so dependant on him, such a typical 1950's housewife, except she has a loyal loving husband who drinks her blood of course. "Riki im boredddd can't I got to the living room and play with the bunnies?" she asked with a little pout as he got up. She stared him up, and god was he tall, she envied him for having such a perfect waist, but she loves him so dearly. "Sweetheart.... I can't go a second without youuu-" he whined a little, as he snuggled her.

"I need to pee-" she suddenly said as Riki groaned "no you don't" he said bluntly as he snuggled into her neck "no seriously I need to" "no you don't you're making an excuse to leave me." he said as she frowned "Riki im serious. my bladder can only hold so much. and on top of that, if you don't want your expensive tailored trousers, and this fluffy bed, and this nightgown you bought me to be all wet and gross and stinky I suggest you let me go pee now!" she exclaimed in a somewhat calm manner. He sighed getting up as he waited outside the restroom door, waiting for her to finish.

He carried her once she was done, sitting her on his lap as he worked. "Riki..." "hmm?" "Can I visit my parents tomorrow?" she asked biting her lip as he stopped writing, glaring at her coldly "no. you don't need them." He coldly said as she whined "But they're my parents I miss them!" "No you don't. Y/n you have me and im enough, if you want more company, wait a few years we'll have noisy kids. until then, me and your fluffy pets are enough understand?!" he warned as she frowned.

"Why can't I-" "I said NO. FUCKSAKE Y/N YOU'RE MINE NOW. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO TURN YOUR BACK TO ME AND GO VISIT OTHER PEOPLE?! PEOPLE WHO FUCKING HATE YOU?!" he yelled as she flinched, sniffling. Seeing this he snuggled her, kissing her forehead. "awww im sorry for yelling at you babe.... but I love you and you're mine now you know? you're mine all mine."

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

A/n: this isnt that good but oh well, have a jay ff in the waiting, and im currently writting a sunghoon ff inspired by Leo the movie w vijay (i had a dream)

[staravyz]

︖﹖ㅤㅤNerd x Nerd Final Boss...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❕️ㅤclick4rules—4masterlist

ㅤㅤ🔭ㅤㅤ—ㅤ(dr stone) ishigami senku x reader

ㅤ﹑tags ... sfw/implied romance but can be read as platonic/headcanons/super random/probably ooc/nerd!reader/procrastinating my homework rn

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕science and math is my life and i love senku

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤgeneral

type of friendship that was built off of mutual infatuation for similar subjects (science, math, space) but reader probably isn't as dedicated to science as senku is.

regardless of how intelligent you are, as long as you're passionate about something, then you're pretty cool to him

type of relationship that was built off of the agreement that relationships and marriage are only beneficial in terms of income and taxes LOL

seriously though, senku treasures you just as much as he would treasure any super rare crystal (in the least romantic way you can think of. like this hc isn't intended to be romantic😬😬😰😰)

encourages you to use your talents to your peak potential

senku is super efficient, so he likely multitasks around everything

meaning you're probably body doubling with him most of the time if you're not also doing some outrageous science project

if you're a math nerd, he'll treat you like a human calculator

ㅤ"that's what they told me, so i said in response—"

ㅤ"hold on, what's the volume for a right triangular prism with a base of 1.6 and height of 4.3?"

ㅤ... "to the hundredths, 14.79. anyways where was i?"

ㅤ"rumour being spread in your third period."

ㅤ"oh, yeah, okay so—"

if you're crafty like yuzuriha best believe he's got you doing labour for his side projects 😈

if you're an artist, he'll take your critiscm on blueprints and layouts

if you're also a science freak best believe you're both causing chaos in the lab and making all sorts of borderline illegal devices and concoctions

and if you're none of the above!!! you're listening to hour long lectures about how everything in the world works. you're like a personal tutor student except you were forced into the tutoring

^^^ happens regardless

if there is something senku lacks expertise in, he goes to you.

if you lack expertise on something, you go to him.

personally don't think you two could ever end up as rivals academically, ethically, in any way

mostly because i think senku does not have the time or interest to deal with that

and also because you're somewhat fascinating to him

i mean, it's not common to find another person who shares equal desire to learn as much as one can about everything

you're probably both villainous mad scientists

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpre-petrification (modern)

academically unstoppable study duo

if you're dating, "date" is likely not a word mentioned between you two at all unless you're referring to the day, month, and year

it's more like you guys do things together and don't really consider it as anything more than that, even if it really is more than that

wanna study together?

wanna walk to the lab together?

wanna check the library together?

wanna do this? wanna do that? together?

senku will ten billion percent deny it because he doesnt realize it, but he's extremely used to being by your side a lot

so being separated from your #1 lab partner post petrification must've been a pain in the ass

speaking of lab partners

senku is definitely hyper independent when it comes to science and such, but whenever the teacher mentioned partners, his eyes automatically drifted to you

bothered you a ton during and out of school so you could help him with projects

you would have had to bug him about how unhealthy hyper focusing on a project and neglecting his other needs is at least once

and that's why he's become better

when byakuya left japan during his little astronaut arc, senku became significantly more attached to you now that there wasn't someone at home who could listen to his lectures or help with his projects

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpost-petrification

thought of you more than once while he was counting every second that passed

maybe more than twice

or thrice

along with his friends and father, he missed you a bit

and he missed you a bit more each time he passed by another statue that looked like you but wasn't you

clearly fell for your talents and made you a priority to be depetrified as soon as you would be found so you can contribute to the kingdom of science

but some part of him kind of wanted to hold back on finding you so quick and improve the current world at the moment so that when you finally awake, it's less difficult for you compared to how it was when senku woke

basically he wanted to make everything more suitable for your eventual arrival

once your stone body was found, he wasted no time rushing over to pour the revival fluid onto you and see the colour in your eyes reappear, assuring him that after 3700 years he hadn't forgotten how they looked.

communication is a lot more limited in the stone world compared to back then with cell phones and technology

senku is, deep down, at least somewhat concerned about your whereabouts when he isn't informed in advance

won't do anything more than send someone out to look for you if you've been gone for an unnaturally long amount of time and then scold you about the dangers of wilderness and how your lack survival skills will ultimately lead you to your demise instead of back to him

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕btw this is extremely short for my taste, and i will 100% be making a part 2 okay 😊🫡 someday.....

©️ staravyzㅤ(¬_¬") do not steal, translate, or repost.

[mariasont]

do you have a background story for your intern!reader planned out already ? ( i loveeeeeeeeeee the background stories from your other readers)

okay im smiling like a fool rn bc ive been working on her like she's my problematic little thesis project teehee. i doooo have a chunk of her backstory worked out (for now... i am famously fickle). i've been trying soooo hard to make sure she doesn't feel like just another one of my readers, but erm i have a type

intern!reader backstory under the cut

early life:

im thinking she grew up in a house where manners mattered and curiosity was encouraged. she was the kind of kid who asked why until everyone gave up and handed her a book. she wasn't exactly sheltered per say, just focused. never got in trouble and never had to rebel because she was too busy building volcanoes for the science fair (priorities girllll). sweet, curious, and always a little too earnest

high school years:

she was the type of student who loved school. took APs because she thought the tests were fun. was devastated if she didn't get an A, even if the curve saved her lmaoo. but she wasn't just an overachiever, she was also like weirdly confident??? not in a showy way necessarily, but in that i will present my project first because i like to get it over with kind of thing.

teachers adored her. she complimented everyone in the hallway. always asked people how their weekend went and genuinely cared about the answer. her street-smart skills on the other hand... yeah ... not her strongest suit lmaoo. she's the girl who once walked halfway home with her backpack wide open and didn't notice until someone handed her her laptop at a stoplight.

college life:

in undergraduate she double major in criminology and sociology, minor in communications because it looked fun. she made color-coded study guides for her entire class and never asked for credit. she joined too many clubs. she always knew the answer but still raised her hand politely and waited to be called on.

romantically, though? she's kind of a blank slate. she's never really dated. not because she wasn't asked, she just never noticed. she's the type to tell a guy thank you! when he compliments her and walks away. people fall in love with her constantly. she finds out three years later.

personality:

she's soft without being fragile. smart without being intimidating. she'll give a fantastic knowledgeable presentation and then trip over the projector cord.

she talks ALOT, but never to hear herself speak. she's always sharing weird little facts (spencer core!!!!), random podcast things, hyper-specific commentary on people's outfits (your shirt color brings out your eyes!), not because she's trying to flirt, just because she's genuinely delighted by people.

romantic experience:

none. or at least nothing serious. some awkward college date attempts. one guy she kind of kissed once but it was so confusing and mid she journaled ab it and moved on. she doesn't think of herself as sexy. or desired. she sees herself as helpful. friendly. she has no idea that half the building wants to marry her (hotch included lmaoooo)

now:

she's 25, in the final year of her master's in criminal justice with a dual concentration in behavioral science and victimology.

she applied for the internship on a whim, kind of. her program required a practicum, and everyone else was going for local agencies or state-level placements, she figured, why not aim too high?

she put her whole soul into the application, not because she was trying to impress anyone, but because the BAU was the first thing that ever made her feel something beyond just academic success. she wrote a cover letter so earnest it made her advisor tear up. one of her professors called in a favor. two weeks later, she got a phone call from quantico.

[sarcasmandships]

AHHH YOU HAVE TUMBLR OMG now I can leave you overly enthusiastic comments in MORE places Everyone should read Will Solace and the Socialites of Olympus University it should be required actually!!!

Anyway I'm here to ask HOW DO YOU DO IT?? How do you write so well?? I'm taking notes for my own fics...

Honestly, I take a lot of inspiration from other things I’ve read, to be fair. I actually mentioned this in a recent author’s note, but The Secret History by Donna Tartt was a huge influence—if you haven’t read it, I seriously recommend it. I’m completely in love with her writing style. I won’t spoil anything, but there’s this whole arc that focuses on the brutality of a Vermont winter, and that really shaped how I approached weather and setting in the first chapter of Codex Solace. That whole cold, isolating atmosphere? Straight out of Tartt’s playbook.

I’ve also read some incredible fics that have massively influenced my writing. SnitchesAndTalkers is one of my absolute favourite authors on AO3—they mostly write AUs, so even if you’re not in the fandom, their stuff is still brilliant. The way they build character voice and tension? Unreal. I feel like reading really good fic is how I taught myself what kind of emotional beats and pacing actually work, and I owe a lot to the fic community for helping me grow as a writer.

Also—just to sound like I’m bigging myself up (but only slightly)—I was always really into English at school. I did Advanced Higher (which is the highest level you can take before uni here), and even though I ended up doing psych degrees, I still took a literature elective at uni just because I missed that kind of analysis. That’s where I started to really understand the literary techniques I gravitate towards. I’m obsessed with pathetic fallacy—give me a thunderstorm that reflects emotional turmoil and I will eat it up—and I love the idea of writing New York City almost as a sentient character in the story.

Also… I definitely have my “favourite words.” Re-read any fic of mine and take a drink every time I say reverence and you’ll end up in A&E. I think because I know my writing patterns so well, I get hyper-aware of them—so when I re-read my own chapters, all I can see is repetition. Like, I’ll realise I said the same thing two slightly different ways and just… didn’t pick one.

It’s definitely not all polished. I struggle with pacing a lot, which is why I’m physically incapable of writing anything other than a slow burn. Every time I try to be efficient, it turns into 25k of longing. I also tend to overwrite scenes and then go back and realise I’ve described the same emotion six times using slightly different metaphors, like I’m trying to win a poetry slam.

I’m also super detail-oriented when it comes to research. I wanted the academic stuff to feel grounded, so I was in the trenches googling engineering courses and organic chemistry despite the fact that I genuinely don’t know the six times table. I’m a words girl. Numbers? Couldn’t be me. And then for the Italian stuff, I researched the hell out of which words shared roots with Spanish—even though I barely speak either. I speak English and bad French, and I can fluently tell a waiter in Spanish that I’m allergic to shellfish, which is the important stuff, really.

Anyway, I’ve totally gone off on one and given you way more info than you probably asked for, but these are the main things I do to try and make my fics good. And honestly? The biggest motivator is just asking myself: what is going to cause the readers the most pain and suffering? And then doing exactly that.

Thank you so much for your message—and for all your comments on AO3. They genuinely mean more to me than I could ever say. I absolutely have to read Binary Stars! I’ve seen such good things about it. I just tend not to read other fics too much while I’m actively writing because I get so obsessed and start mentally writing fanfic for the fanfic, which… is a bit of a spiral. But once I’m finished with Socialites, I’m 100% diving in. We AO3 writers have to stick together—it’s the trenches out here sometimes!

[sanguineousreverie]

chapter 3 : intransigence

like a moth to a flame. - snk yelena x reader

Soon, the topic dies down and you all head back to your shared flat. The next two days roll around as you begin to settle back into academic life after a long summer. Your days are primarily spent attending classes, note-taking, and getting a head start on assignments, the usual hustle of campus life taking over.

On Thursday morning, you arrive at your class, once again taking a seat in ‘Yelena’s spot’. Yelena enters the classroom, her expression stoic as always. But when her eyes land on you, sitting in her spot, a small flicker of irritation passes through them. She makes her way over to you, standing over you in the way she had days ago,

“You again.” She states flatly, her voice carrying an edge of annoyance.

You hum in response, looking up at her to meet her cold gaze. “Good morning.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow at your casual greeting, and you can feel the weight of her annoyance in the air. “Morning. Still determined to piss me off, huh?” she huffs, her tone a mixture of challenge and curiosity.

You lean back in your chair, the action causing her eyes to narrow slightly. “Maybe I just like the view from here,” you reply gesturing around the room.

Yelena scoffs, not buying your feigned innocence. “Playing dumb, are we? Just because you had the balls to stand up to me once doesn’t mean I'll let you take my seat every day.” She replies curtly, her stoicism not giving away to anything else.

You hum in response, looking away from her and pulling out your note-taking materials, signaling to Yelena that you don’t plan on moving. “Maybe you should get here earlier.”

Yelena's irritation grows with your nonchalant attitude. She leans in closer, towering over you again. “And maybe you should learn to respect authority and keep your ass out of my seat.”

You glance back up at her, meeting her gaze with defiance and astonishment. “Authority? Is that what you’re calling it? Because it looks more like a power trip to me.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and the air between you crackles with tension.

Her eyes narrow at you, her posture growing more defensive and her jaw visibly tensing at your quip. She takes a step closer and suddenly—the room feels a whole lot smaller, as if the walls are leaning in to listen. Her expression shifts from irritation to simmering anger as she leans in, placing her left hand on the table as she sizes you up.

“You think you're funny, yeah?” she retorts, her voice quiet and gravelly. Each word she speaks is measured, a silent warning that she's growing fed up with your defiance. As she stands back up straight, rolling her shoulders with a sigh of resignation, she tosses her bag onto the table with a thud that echoes in the silent room. Taking the seat beside you, Yelena's demeanor shifts slightly—still defensive, but now quite reserved.

You swallow thickly and straighten up slightly as she spreads her legs, her knee almost brushing against yours. Yelena lets out an unamused huff as she prepares her note-taking materials for the lecture. You can’t help but steal glances at her focused expression, the way her brows furrow slightly as she flips through her notes—you can't help but wonder if she’s as hyper-aware of the closeness, as you are.

The scent of tobacco and cologne causes your head to spin, a not-so-gentle reminder of her presence. Newport’s—she’s a smoker, you think to yourself, the realization adding a layer of intrigue that you attempt to push away. As the professor walks into the room, the clicking of pens and flipping of pages begin to occupy the small space; the lecture begins. You can hear the faint rustle of paper as students settle in, but your focus remains on Yelena.

As the professor begins speaking, you find your mind is floating between maintaining some form of concentration on the lecture material—and stealing quick glances at Yelena. Her face is blank and void of emotion as she concentrates on the material before you. She doesn’t bother to peer over at you. The lecture hall hums with the sounds of writing utensils scratching against paper and typing keyboards—but it feels distant compared to the tension simmering in the air.

Every glance draws your attention to how she’s sitting, her legs splayed wide, occupying more space than necessary. There’s a relaxed quality to her posture that silently communicates her awareness of how much space she’s taking up.

After what feels like hours of feigning attention to the lecture—it ends. A wave of relief washes over you as the room fills with the sounds of quiet chatter and the scraping of chairs against the hardwood flooring. Students begin to rise, gathering their belongings and leaving quickly.

You shoot one last glance at Yelena, who remains seated for a moment longer, seemingly unhurried as she glances over her notes. The way she lingers makes your heart beat funny, her fingers flipping over the pages in her notebook—seemingly confirming the proficiency of her own work.

Finally, she rises, her movements fluid and confident, and you can’t help but notice how effortlessly she commands attention—even in a crowded room. She tilts her head back, letting out a soft groan as she stretches out her muscles. The motion draws your gaze, highlighting the curve of her throat and the growing relaxation emitting from her.

You look away—redirecting your attention to packing your lecture materials away. Your fingers fumble slightly as you gather your notes and pens, her presence serving as some sort of distraction that makes it hard to concentrate. Each item you pick up feels heavier than the last and you almost sigh in relief as she finishes gathering her belongings and exits the room.

Gathering your own belongings, you rise and join the flow of your peers in the hallway. The usual cacophony of gossip and laughter fills your ears and provides you with a strange sense of solace—anything to rid your mind of Yelena.

However, any form of grounding is short-lived as your mind darts back to the woman. You find yourself replaying the morning's encounter, her presence and banter left a mark on you. The way she challenges your defiance, the flicker of something—deeper in her eyes unsettles you.

You begin to wonder if sitting in ‘her seat’ is even worth the gossip you can spill to your friends, debating if her obsessive-compulsive behavior is something you should overlook in favor of your pride.

[chanswhxre]

My Tutor

✩ masterlist ✩ requests ✩ kofi ✩ add to taglist

♡ Pairing : bestfriend! han jisung x reader

♡ Genre : non-idol au, college smut

♡ Word count : 2.1k+

♡ Warnings : 18+ nsfw, explicit sexual content, oral sex (m. receiving), cum swallowing

❗️minors, ageless, and blank blogs that will interact with me or my work will be BLOCKED.

[5:45 pm] quokka cheeks 🐿️

Yo, are you still coming over for study night?

[5:47 pm] feisty pants 😒

Yeah, I'll be there around 6:30. See ya

You were preparing to go to your best friend, Jisung's apartment. Every Saturday night you had your study sessions with him. Everyone says college is supposed to be about having fun, partying, getting drunk, laid, or possibly waking up with a throbbing headache or a new lover, and at the same time pass your subjects and be productive in your academics, but that's not the case with the two of you, though you guys used to then the both of you almost failed one of your majors and almost ended up being irregular students so Jisung initiated the study nights. Instead of movie nights or parties, you decided to study for your future.

You arrived at Jisung's apartment and met with Hyunjin, his roommate, by the door wearing shoes.

"Hey Hyun. Nice jacket." You said, complimenting his fluffy black and white jacket.

"Thanks. Bought it yesterday." He smiled.

"Where you off to?" You asked him as you took off your shoes.

"There's a party at Sigma house tonight, you guys wanna come?" Hyunjin said, looking up at you while tying his shoelaces.

"No thanks. It's study night." You shook your head. "Besides, you know I don't go to Sigma house anymore."

"Oh right, sorry." Hyunjin sheepishly apologized, remembering the reason why. "You guys should go and have fun sometimes, you know."

"Next time, Hyun. When it's not a party at Sigma house." You rolled your eyes when you said Sigma. You were bitter about it because that's where you met your ex-boyfriend, Christopher Bang. He's a senior and head of the fraternity, everybody liked him, all the guys wanted to be friends with him and all the girls try hard to get in his pants. You thought he was the one but he broke up with you after a month and told you the reason was that your head gamewasn't strong, which offended you to the maximum level.

"Alright. Understandable." Hyunjin chuckled as he went out the front door.

"Did you bring snacks?" Jisung appeared all of a sudden and startled you.

"God, stop sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled.

"I wasn't! Stop drinking too much coffee, y/n. Seriously." He said and walked to their living room.

His study materials were already spread out on the coffee table, leaving a space for you. You brought out the snacks you bought from the convenience store downstairs and then the both of you started with your study session. Jisung was wearing his glasses, oh how he looked super hot with his glasses on. He was hyper-focused, making flashcards and memorizing tables when you, on the other hand, were distracted. You kept checking your phone and saw Chris' Instagram stories. How he's having a blast at the party, making out with girls, drinking, and playing games while still looking fresh as fuck.

"You know, the unfollow button is there for a reason," Jisung said, not even batting an eye toward you as he compiled his flash cards.

"I'm not following him. This is your account." You said. Jisung realized that you were using his phone and quickly took it from you.

Jisung is friends with Chris since high school, but he rarely communicates with him now that he knows what a dick he is. Jisung met you during freshman year. You were seatmates in a majority of the classes you took and that's how you got close. He was also the one who introduced Chris to you but now he's regretting it. He didn't know his friend would be a total jerk during college when he was a mama's good boy during high school but he didn't know the two of you would hit it off anyways and that Chris would break up with you for that pathetic reason, though it smells like bullshit to him because Chris has been sleeping with different women almost every night after breaking up with you. What a total asshole, Jisung thought to himself thinking that Chris has lost a very precious diamond and replaced you with damn rocks.

"Alright, how about we take a break from studying," Jisung said and sat on the couch. "Movie?"

"Ji, it's fine. I can get back in the zone." You said.

"Please, as if I'd believe that. Come here." He said and patted the couch for you to sit beside him since you were still sitting on the floor beside his knee. "We don't have upcoming quizzes this week so we can relax this weekend."

"Who are you and what did you do with Han Jisung?" You sarcastically questioned. Jisung was never one to just skip study night.

"Shut up and pick a movie." He rolled his eyes. You rest your head on his knees, then an idea hit you. 

"Ji, can I ask you a favor?" You asked. His ears perked and looked at you. Jisung is your best friend and you trust him even with your life so asking this favor would surely be okay, right?

"Sure, what is it?" He replied.

"You had sex before, right?" You asked him.

"Yeah, a couple of times back then. Why do you ask?" Jisung replied, looking curious.

"This may sound a bit insane, but.." you trailed off.

"But what," he asked, eyes fixated on you.

"Can you teach me how to you know..give a blowjob?" You said and bit your lip and Jisung choked on his own saliva.

"I-uh—what?" He blinked fast. He couldn't believe it, did he hear you right? His brain is currently short-circuiting. You always asked Jisung to teach you or help you with learning a new topic but this wasn't what you usually asked.

"It's okay if you don't want to..I was just—"

"No. I'm cool with it." Jisung held your hand. "It's just that, it's so sudden, and why me? Why a tutorial?" He asked.

"Because I know I can trust you." You said. "You know what Chris said and you're a very good teacher." You hummed and that did something to him.

"Really? If I know, you're just trying to toot my horn so I'll say yes." He chuckled. "And don't believe what Chris says, you know that probably is bullshit." He said.

"No, I'm not. I mean it. And I really want to learn. So what do you say?" You looked at him with sparkling eyes, you looked so adorable kneeling between his legs and there was no way he could say no to that.

"Alright. Sure." He shrugged, trying to look cool when deep inside it was already exciting him. You clapped your hands in delight that Jisung agreed.

"So first, I have to try to get it hard right?" You asked as you reached to palm over his cock.

"Woah!" Jisung flinched. He didn't actually think that you were going to blow him, just that he was just going to give you tips and discuss it.

"What? I have to do it to learn, don't I?" You said.

"Yeah..sorry I was just startled." Jisung chuckled then he mustered up the confidence to try and look cool and calm as he held your hand.

"Before starting anything, it's important to turn the guy on. You're not gonna get anywhere when he's not hard." Jisung started while you listened intently, getting comfortable between his legs. "A makeout session would work out just fine but, you could also palm him over his pants if kissing isn't your thing."

You reached for his dick again, it was only semi-hard. "Like this?" You said as you palmed him through his sweatpants which made him bite his lower lip.

"Y-Yeah.." he sighed.

You could feel his cock grow slowly under touch which gave you confidence. Jisung was looking at your hand touching him inappropriately and you couldn't help but find it cute that you had that effect on him. Then following his tip, you stood up and kissed him which caught him off guard. After all, why do one thing when you could do both? Jisung was quick to return the kiss and cupped your cheek while you continue to palm him feeling him grow at a rapid pace now. You pulled back and gave him a playful smile.

"Was that good?" You asked him.

"So good." Jisung moaned.

"Should I take it out?" You asked although you knew you should you just wanted him to tell you step by step. He shook his head to focus back on reality from being kiss-drunk.

"Y-yes. You can. Now, stroke it gently a few times then I'd prefer if you'd start with kitten licks." He instructed. "Most men probably don't like teasing but I find it hot."

And with that, you lowered his sweatpants, he lifted his hips up for ease. His hard cock sprung free and you were surprised about his size. Talk about real big dick energy. You didn't know it but you were salivating over it that you wanted to just take it right away. You started with kitten licks anyway because that's what he told you he preferred. He let out a small moan once your wet tongue came to contact. You looked up at him to see him looking at you through hooded eyes. You looked so cute giving him small, kitten licks making his dick twitch a little.

"Like it that much?" You smirked then proceeded to take his advice about teasing, you gently ran your hands on his thighs, giving small kisses on his toned stomach and his hips before hovering over his aching cock, giving it a tongue flick before kissing down to his balls. You heard him groan, his dick twitching and started leaking precum as you continue teasing him, not giving his cock the attention it needs.

"Fuck. You're really good at teasing." He grunted.

His praise made you smile and now he deserves to be taken in. You take the head inside your mouth which made him gasp, feeling your warm, wet mouth around his dick was better than what he imagined. He tasted so good in your mouth that it was making you dizzy. You started sucking it softly while you bob your head up and down his cock which made his eyes roll in pleasure.

"Yeah. Just like that, baby." Jisung moaned and brushed your hair out of your face. You clenched around nothing when he called you baby for the first time. You could feel your wetness and it didn't occur to you that pleasuring your best friend would turn you on so much. "You can use your hand if you can't take the whole thing in." He instructed and you followed.

You wrapped your hand around his length and started twisting it in sync with your bobbing. You swirled your tongue around his length and sucked him good. You then picked up the pace which made him a panting mess under your touch.

"Fuck, you're pretty good at this. You got really good head game, y/n. Are you sure you need—ah..a tutorial?" He said and you hummed in contentment of being praised. Jisung was dangerously close to cumming when you hummed around his cock, any more of this feeling, he was sure to explode. He quickly held your hand signaling you to stop. You looked at him with confusion.

"What? I thought you liked it?" You asked him. Your chin all wet with drool from sucking him off.

"Ye-yeah. I really do. It's just that.." He said, avoiding your gaze. "It felt really good I almost..came in your mouth. I think it'd be really inappropriate to just do it without asking."

His cuteness made your heart melt. He stopped you because he was about to cum and he didn't want to because he wanted your consent to cum inside your mouth? Can Han Jisung get any hotter than that? Good Lord, you wouldn't want to miss out on this, making good boy Jisung cum inside your mouth.

"Then cum." You said, eyes looking directly at his as you lower your mouth to his tip. "Cum inside my mouth. Give it to me, all of it."

And with that, you started to suck him off again. Doing everything he's taught you. He looked at you with lust-filled eyes, cheeks in a light shade of red, and his mouth hung agape.

"Fuck, baby. I'm about to cum." He said and gripped the couch. You hummed to encourage him, the vibrations sending him to the edge, then he shot his warm seed inside your mouth, down your throat while letting out a deep, strangled moan and his eyes screwed shut. You swallowed everything because he just tasted so good inside your mouth and you don't know why. You had definitely put him in a state of euphoria as he was sighing in satisfaction and that made you feel happy and confident with your head game now.

"Thanks for the lessons, Professor. Han." You giggled as you wiped your mouth clean with a tissue. 

"You know, since you've been such a stellar student, it's only fitting I give you a reward." He gave you a mischievous grin and then pulled you up to sit on his lap, his lips hovering over your ear which made shivers run down your spine. "What do you think about seeing stars?"

↳ reblogs, feedback, & comments are highly appreciated. it motivates me and it is the lifeline of my blog. To everyone who read and left a like, comment, and reblogged especially with text, thank you so much 정말 감사합니다 ♡

↳ requests are open click me !

↳ if you like my work, consider buying me a kofi ☕

↳ which member should i do next? comment or click me !

[mistiell]

Mornings Like This

Viktor x fem!Reader

Okay, so, for context, reader in this story has the ability to read minds cause I thought it’d be cool and I said so. It’s only mentioned briefly but I figured I’d put this here anyway lol

Edit November 2024: Hi, so bc people are finding all my old Arcane stuff, i just wanna put out a warning that this is old asf and my writing has improved since it was posted, so if its cringe, i swear my writing is Not Like This anymore LOL

WARNING!!!

Smut below the cut

__________________________________________

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Viktor and I's bedroom, bathing the room a warm, golden light. I flutter my eyes open to find my lover already awake, staring at me with a loving gaze.

"Good morning, dove."

"Morning, handsome." I card my fingers through his soft hair and peck his lips.

It isn't often that we get to sleep in like this. Since meeting Viktor, he definitely has been home more often than he was before we met, but he still pulled the occasional all nighter in the lab. I'd join him some nights, hyper focused on whatever project I had been working on throughout the day. It was funny how fate had tied us, two workaholics who were too caught up in academic pursuits to take proper care of themselves, together.

Once we met, though, our health improved. Mostly because we wouldn't stand for the kind of neglect the other had put themselves through. We took care of each other, and eventually, we learned how to take care of ourselves. Now, we'd typically return to our shared apartment in the late hours of the night to snuggle up under the covers, getting up earlier than either of us would like to be awake the next morning to get to the lab.  We both cherished the weekends. They were the only mornings when we got to lay in bed, mumbling sweet nothings and pressing sleepy kisses wherever we could reach.

"How did you sleep?" His hand creeps up my shirt (technically his shirt, but I had stolen it the night before) to settle on my ribs, his thumb stroking the soft skin just below my breast.

"Like a log." I sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and placing a kiss to his adam's apple

"So did I." He chuckles and I feel the vibrations against my lips.

I pepper kisses along his throat and up his jaw, eventually finding my way to his lips. The kiss is soft but passionate, his tongue brushing against mine. He rolls onto his back, guiding me to sit on top of him so that I'm straddling him. I cup his face in my hands as his come to rest on my hips. Every brush of his fingers against my skin feels like heaven and I swear he could hear my heart fluttering about in my ribcage. He hums into the kiss, fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt. I pull away to help him take it off and we both take a moment to catch our breath.

His eyes roam my figure, hands trailing up and down my sides. No matter how many times he's seen me like this, he always looks at me as if it's the first.

"You are so gorgeous," he pulls me down to press a heated kiss to my lips, "So, so gorgeous."

I pull away to trail open mouthed kisses down his neck and collarbones, sucking purple bruises onto his skin as I go. He releases a shaky breath at the sight of me marking him up, watching as I make my way down his chest and stomach, hands caressing his sides softly. When I reach his abdomen, I hook a finger under the hem of his pajama pants and look up at him, "Is this okay?"

"Mhm. Please, keep going." He breathes, eyes half lidded and clouded with want.

I pull off his pants and boxers in one swift movement, his cock hard, precum already pearling at the head.

"Hmm, someone's eager this morning." I hum, smoothing my hands over the pale flesh of his inner thighs. A needy whine slips passed his lips as he bucks his hips at my touch, "Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I can't read minds."

"You and I both know that is a lie."

"Perhaps, but I like hearing you beg."

He flushes and shudders, swallowing hard before replying, "Touch me, please."

"As you wish, pretty boy." I brush my thumb over his tip before taking as much of his length into my mouth as I can, using my hands to work what I can’t.

He lets out a breathy moan, threading his fingers in my hair and tugging gently. I moan at the sensation, his length twitching at the sensation the vibrations cause. I bob my head up and down the length of his cock, pulling off and dragging my tongue along the sides whenever my jaw grows sore.

"You're so good for me darling, shit," he bucks his hips and I have to stop myself from gagging, "I-I'm close."

Just as I prepare myself to swallow, he pulls my head away and up to face him, capturing my lips in a needy kiss.

"I need you," He pants, fingers tugging at my panties, "Want to be inside you."

"M'kay." I mumble against his lips, hastily pulling off my panties and lining him up with my entrance.

My jaw goes slack as I sink down on his cock, fingers splayed across his chest to brace myself.

Viktor eyes my body with a lustful gaze, hands squeezing the soft flesh of my hips as I adjust to his length. It never fails to give him an ego boost whenever I have to adjust to his size before moving.

Eventually, I lift myself up and drop back down, drawing a long moan from my throat. I set a steady pace as I start bouncing on his cock.

"You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. So pretty laid out underneath me. My pretty boy." He whimpers at my praise and I can feel him twitch inside me.

His cock drags against my walls in a way that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Viktor's thumb finds my clit and starts drawing quick circles on the small bundle of nerves, drawing a high pitched moan from my lips.

"Viktor, gods, don't stop."

The rooms is filled with nothing but our breathy moans and the sinful sound of skin on skin.

I can feel the pressure building, that all too familiar coil winding up in my abdomen.

I can tell Viktor is close, too, the sight of him writhing underneath me nearly enough to tip me over the edge on the spot.

"You feel so good, lyubov." He babbles, "So, so good."

The pressure builds and builds before my climax finally washes over me, my walls clenching on his cock and tipping him over the edge as well. I continue to bounce on his length, feeling him fill me up as I continue to work us both through our orgasms.

I roll off and lay down next to him, lacing our fingers together as we catch our breath.

"Well, that's certainly one way to start the day." I chuckle

"Yes, it certainly is." He laughs, squeezing my hand gently.

__________________________________________

A/N: Sorry that the ending was kind of rushed! I wasn’t entirely sure how to end it so I just kinda closed it off and was like, “Eh, good enough”, y’know? Lol

[canichangemyblogname]

Congrats on one year! You have such a thoughtful, detailed approach to everything you write/theorize. Do you have any particular research you do when writing, or do you outline what you’re going to write?

IRIS! Thank you so much!! ☺️

I am so glad that people find my lil essays and whatnot to be thoughtful. I don't *feel* like I put a lot of thought into them, but I've learned that's because all the things I learned during my education and/or through reading have more-or-less become knowledge.

When I'm writing a little analysis on, say, the symbolism of Syril Karn trading in a brown shirt for a suit and tie and how this relates to the "new" uniform of white supremacy, I am writing about something I have knowledge in. I do sometimes link sources or further reading, but this is Tumblr and I want to write about the things I know and their representation in Star Wars without putting in all the work to create a bibliography.

I do have two shelves full of all the (second hand, paperback) books I had to buy for school over the years. My favorites- the only ones I bought new (they didn't have used)- are the "A Very Short Introduction" books from Oxford University Press. It's like an academic's version of "for dummies." It introduces you to the topic and some essential things to know before introducing you to further reading. Sometimes, I do reference the books on my shelf or look back to them for something specific I'm thinking about when I'm writing.

Now, if I were writing an essay for a program or lecture there would be lots of research and well-cited sources. If it's a research paper, specifically, my outlines are extensive because I have to hit such things as a literature review and a methods, etc. If the paper is just a narrative or a non-research based paper, my thesis statement in the intro paragraph lays out the rest of the paper well enough, imo.

Because of this, I used to feel as if I were always pulling papers and writing out of my ass. I'd spend several hours writing something the night before it was due, turn it in the next morning and would get it back with, like, a 93 on it. I just figured I was bullshitting my way through school. I was not, but I still felt like I was a terrible and incompetent student. It took me a lot of years to realize that maybe I had developed a skill in writing.

When it comes to creative writing, like stories, my outlines and research depends on the length of the story. I put lots of planning into my novels. I'll have a story outline plus profiles for each important character and important location and each important event. There is often a good bit of research that might go into this, depending on how realistic and detailed I'm going for. Reader's don't need to know the intricacies of how cast iron is made, but I do need to know whether a story taking place in 1500s England could have any cast iron (the answer is yes).

My favorite tools when I'm writing are a thesaurus, an encyclopedia, and the delete button (or the cut function). Sometimes, I need to find a different word. Sometimes I need to look up whether a flintlock pistol existed yet. Sometimes I just need to start over.

And that's what I do. A lot. No matter what I'm writing. I start and restart sentences. I cut or delete entire paragraphs. I cut and move stuff around. If I can't make it work; if it still sounds "off" or awkward, I just get rid of it. I probably delete more than I write, even before I get to an editing process. If I had the time and the will, I could write about a chapter or about 2,000-4,000 words a day. I had a week off once and ended up hyper focusing on a project and I wrote some 18,000 words in 6 days. I cut that down to just under 11,000 after some tweaking and editing.

If I'm really attached to a piece of information or a scene that I wrote into the story, but need to cut for the sake of length and cohesion, I have a separate word document titled "misc excerpts" with a table of contents and a title for each scene. That document is longer than my actual projects, sometimes. I also do this (kinda) if I'm stuck. If I'm stuck, I'll cut the scene and paste it into a separate document and then start working on it from this new document.

I also highlight things as I go along. If it needs fixing, I'll add a little [FX] at the end of the sentence with a comment attached like: "awk" or "unfired gun?" or "who tf is this?" or "why? do you need this detail?" or "this is too convenient," etc. I'll also leave comments along the way for background. If I introduce a character, I'll leave a comment by their name explaining their further relevance to the story. If I introduce a Chekov's Gun, I'll leave a note explaining how I'll use this detail later. My goal is to not have any extraneous details or plots or features in my stories.

I feel all of this makes editing quicker and more efficient later, especially as it's real easy to search up [FX] and find everything that needs an immediate fix before I get into the weeds of editing for grammar.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

I love the way you write! Especially your word choice, descriptions and just the overall way you convey emotion! Any writing tips you wanna share? If not, Who's your favorite to write for and why? Thank! -🦉Owl anon

Danke, owl anon! I can try to give some tips, but I'm not sure how useful/coherent they will be.

1: Always think about sentence structure, and try to keep things varied. Sometimes have a short sentence. See, that was an example, and now here we have something longer. Every sentence defines the flow of how it reads; changing how sentences are arranged affects how it feels to read, even changing how a scene feels! For example, action sequences often have more short, simple sentences than other scenes. This can convey tension, or even panic! I also tend to use super long, run-on sentences to show anxiety, because reading it is very reminiscent of having an anxiety attack and feeling like your mind is moving a million miles per hour. Overall, regardless of how a scene feels, sentence variety helps keep the reader from getting bored.

2: Similarly, pay attention to how you start your sentences. A lot of inexperienced writers tend to overuse certain words ("the", character names, pronouns, "you" if they're writing second person). No matter how great the rest of the sentence is, the reader is likely to start getting a little bored, due to the story feeling "repetitive". Trying to reorder the actions in a sentence can help, although some people (more often academic writers than other kinds) don't like it if you use a "passive" voice. That's, like, a real writing term I learned back in school, but I honestly don't remember a good way to describe it.

3: There are "rules" you probably learned in school that do not apply to creative writing. Like "don't start a sentence with the word 'and'". For one, it works in dialogue, seeing as humans don't always follow grammatical rules. Secondly, we've already gone over a bit of how sentence structure can change how a story reads. Let's compare two quick examples:

In the end, you were as replaceable as any other Maiden, and that thought was what made you do a double-take.

In the end, you were as replaceable as any other Maiden. And that, that as what made you do a double-take.

Adding the period makes the reader automatically pause, like taking a breath. In this scenario, it mimics the feeling the main character has, as they realize something serious. Now, even though the period makes us pause, one could argue that the word "and" isn't necessary, and we could have simply started the example sentence with "That". Which is true. However, I would argue that using "and" shows us that it's a continuation of the previous thought. We didn't end the first sentence because we needed to, we ended it because there was a break in our thoughts. In other situations, using "and" at the start of a sentence can add personality to the text. Just like someone doing so during dialogue, the narrator can end up feeling a bit sassy.

EX: They were running for their lives, barely dodging past blasterfire and explosive debris alike, muscles burning from the effort. And they said this wouldn't be fun!

Choosing which "rules" to follow and which to ignore is a very situational based thing. Experiment a little, and don't feel obligated to break rules just because you can.

4: Read a lot. Seriously, read a lot of stuff. Classics, new stuff, fanfiction, basically whatever you can get your hands on. Try examining the text for techniques the author uses. If there are particular scenes that you love, read through those! What makes it so good to you? Does the author convey emotions particularly well? Do they use personal/informal language that makes you feel connected to the text? Does their dialogue have a nice balance of realism and cool hero quips? Etc, etc. This also helps a ton with expanding your vocabulary, especially if you try to read books that go a little outside of your comfort zone.

5: If you're having trouble figuring out how to continue a story, there's a decent change you might want to go back farther than you think. Always save what you've started though! Just go back a few sentences, or even paragraphs, and try writing an alternative version. Maybe switch some dialogue, or change the order of actions someone takes. Sometimes a little change can make the rest come more naturally.

6: Seriously though always save your work, even if you intend to scrap a section. Personally, I keep a section at the end of my documents where I host "abandoned paragraphs". Most of them don't end up getting reused, but sometimes reading them gives me new ideas I can input elsewhere, possibly even in an entirely different story.

7: Accept the fact that different writers use different writing processes. Sometimes you might read some tips or suggestions, and they just won't work for you. That's totally normal! Like, I have severe ADHD, so most of the pre-writing/outlining tips I've tried do not work for me at all. Taking notes/planning things out is always a difficult process, but I've slowly figured out a way to balance writing ideas down with storing things inside my brain (my memory is only good when it comes to things my brain hyper focuses on, which thankfully means most of my stories). Don't be afraid to try new things, but don't feel bad if they don't work out.

Hopefully some of that makes sense and is at least somewhat useful. As for my favorite to write, that's a hard choice, and one that probably varies day by day. Right now though, it's probably Cassandra and her soulmate (so specifically for Bound Blood). They're just feral? And unhinged? But in slightly different ways. Makes for fun writing when I get to unleash all the dickery and rudeness that I'm way too polite IRL to normally let out :D

[pastelastronomy24]

Noted

College!Chris Evans x POC! Plus Size!Reader

(College!CEvans x POC!Plus Size!Reader)

A/N: ah yes! My first CEvans fic. I just love the idea of Chris being a goof in college. He’s so cute lmao. Anyways this started off as a joke. My best friend Aliana found the picture below from an insta post about Chris in “The Perfect Score” and then when I said the prompt she gave was like actually pretty good she said I had no choice but to write it 🤷🏾‍♀️ I took some liberties with the prompt but I think y’all will still like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘A common misconception is that JFK was the civil rights president, when in fact it was LBJ. JFK only brought up civil rights because his brother Robert pushed for more civil rights issues to.....’

Furious was the hand that held the pen, and you were that hand. History was a pretty standard subject, you had your opinions but didn’t want to risk upsetting the less... melanin-ated people of your class. Honestly you weren’t really focused on the subject, it was all about your notes.

You may have not been an academic scholar but god damn could you write the hell out of some notes. The way your various colored gel pens came together to create an easy to follow and organized masterpiece was the essential key to you passing this class. Honestly if you weren’t such an amazing note taker you would have been fucked.

‘Alright, don’t forget to read pages 165 to 210 by Friday. Tomorrow we’ll talk about the Kennedy Assassinations. Yes, Assassinations PLURAL’

With a deep sigh you closed your notebook and threw your gel pens into your pencil bag. You were about to put your (godly) notes into your bag when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

When you looked up, you were met with a smile and “hey” from a boy who screamed ‘boy next door who pretends to be a pool boy to fuck the cougar from next door’

“Uh hey? You’re Chris right?” His eyes lit up in shock. You assumed it was probably because 1). He’s never talked to you a day in his life 2). He’s never been awake a day in this class.

“Oh...yeah I’m Chris. Listen can I ask you somethin” the second thing you noticed about Chris besides his charming aura, was his thick accent. You wanted to say it was maybe a New York or Bostonian one, but you couldn’t quite place it. You quirked your eyebrows at the sound of his request. He’d walked up to you all confident but he seemed unsure all of a sudden.

“Sure, whats up??” Chris scratched the back of his neck and a boyish grin appeared on his face.

“So.. I uh, I heard you were like the master at taking notes. And well, our Professor says if I don’t start paying attention she’s gonna fail me. So I was wondering if you would ya know, let me see your notes. That way, I can compromise. I could still pass, and do my thing ya know?”

I mean, you had to laugh. You couldn’t hold in your chuckle, looking up at Chris whose grin went from boyish to confused. He laughed out of awkwardness and confusion while you put your notes in your backpack and stood up. You had to look up at him as his stature dwarfed you.

“No.” You stated simply before attempting to walk away. Chris quickly grabbed your arm before you could get too far.

“Awe come on!! Look, I really need your help to pass and I don’t have any other options. I’m too far behind for tutoring and everyone else even says you have the best notes. I’ll even pay you! Name your price.” You looked up at him, and I mean really looked up at him, analyzing his pale blue eyes and pink lips drowning in panic before you sighed.

“Alright fine. But I don’t trust people with my notes, so if we do this I’m gonna be there and I’ll help you organize and copy them by hand. You can pay me 10$, I’m not gonna bleed you dry just because you’re struggling.” The load of stress had been lifted off of Chris’s shoulders as he thanked you profusely and began to walk away. You shook your head, slapping the palm of your hand on your face before yelling out his name. You laughed as he stopped abruptly and turned around jogging back to you.

“Oh uh, whats up? Did I forget something?” You nodded a slight smile on your face. It seemed hard not to smile at the bumbling dummy.

“You don’t know my name, how to contact me, or when and where we’re gonna do this Chris”

He looked genuinely dumbfounded, but before you could speak you began filling in the missing information

“ I’m Y/N, here’s my phone so you can give me your number, and we should start tomorrow after class. I guess the Starbucks or Library could work.” Chris paused while typing in his number to look at you.

“Well see, I was wondering if we could do it at my dorm because well, I’m really hyper and public places make it hard for me to concentrate. I’m afraid we won’t be able to get anything done I have the attention span of a peanut, and I don’t want you to get mad at me.” For the millionth time that day you sighed.

“Okay I guess. Your dorm tomorrow after class. Buy a big notebook. You have a lot of work to do. “

And thus a routine had started. Everyday for the past month you and Chris would saunter off to his dorm and spend hours copying notes and helping him make sense of them before guest hours were over. The first week and a half really tested your patience as Chris really did have the attention span of a peanut if not worse. You helped him concentrate (mostly by threatening to leave if he didn’t stop “going to the bathroom” and “getting something to drink”.) and he mellowed out after awhile. You couldn’t quite place when it happened, but you and Chris had become sort of like close friends. Chris had some crazy magnetic energy that made you always want to be around him but never be able to stand him. It was a friendship forged in fire (well, gel pens).

“Hey y/n, we’re gonna have to adjust our study location today” Chris jogged up to your table where you had just finished zipping up your backpack. He grabbed your bag and slung it over his shoulder like he’d gotten used to doing for the last few weeks (he may have been a big oaf, but he was a sweetheart. He would deny it every time, telling you not to call him a sweetheart for being a decent human being but you digress.) You paused and looked at Chris confused.

“Yeah my roommate just got this girl and they’ve been going at it like cats in heat. I mean they’ve really been fuc-“

“Okay Chris I get it. “ You choked on your laughter. “I was thinking we could start studying at your dorm instead since I’m not sure when they’re gonna let up”. You shrugged “I mean I guess, but you sure you don’t want to do it a Starbucks? We have a shit ton of notes today and I know how sleepy and restless you can get.” He shook his head vigorously. “Nah Y/N it should be fine, plus you know how I am in public spaces, we’ll never finish even with all the coffee in the world.” You sighed and nodded. He was right, the poor baby couldn’t concentrate in public to save his life. It’s probably why he slept so much and zoned out during class.

“Yeah love, you’re probably right. Lemme text my roommate and tell her. Make sure she knows we’ll try to be out of her way.”

You texted Valeria, you best friend and roommate about the situation.

Of course the first thing her little messy ass had to say was ‘oh the hot one who looks at you like you’re the moon to his stars?? I’m cool with that.’ You groaned in irritation which prompted Chris to try and sneak a peek at your text. You snatched the phone away from his view before he could see it.

“Heyyy!” He tried again and you shoved his shoulder.

“ ‘Heeyyy’ nothin! Get your nosey ass away from my phone!” You giggled, and Chris couldn’t help but do the same. It seemed like nowadays your laughs and smiles were infectious to each other. “What?! I’m just trying to see what Val said! That’s my -what do you call it?- oh yeah that’s my dawg!” He was grinning like the shit eater he was as you looked at him dumbfounded.

“Absolutely not. I don’t ever want to hear you say that shit again.” He threw his head back in fake annoyance as you continued walking towards your dorm.

“Awe come onnnn! You say it all the time. Maybe it’s only cool when you say it. “ you chuckled and reached over to pinch his cheek. He whined and swatted your hand away.

“Awe! Little Evans wants to sound like me. That’s so cuteee!” It was Chris’s turn to shove your shoulder. He almost made you tumble over, but he caught you by the waist and steadied your balance. “Ugh Y/N don’t do that you know that’s not what I meant! Sometimes you just say stuff and it’s kinda... it’s kinda cool ya know? Like the way you talk.” As you continued your trek towards your dorm, he kept his hand on the side of your waist very lightly. “All I’m hearing right now, is that you wanna be like me, and that’s all I’m acknowledging.” Chris threw his head down in defeat knowing that if he kept going you’d keep embarrassing you. You were on him like white on rice with the comebacks at all times.

“Yeah whatever. You continue to have selective hearing if you want to, but it’ll get you nowhere.“ He shrugged as you used your key card to get into the lobby of your dorm. You both flashed the front desk your key cards before signing in and approaching the elevator.

“After you, my favorite note taker” Chris ushered you into the elevator while you rolled your eyes. “I’m your only note taker. You don’t even take notes dingus. That’s why we’ve been doing this for two and a half months.” You told Chris to press the button to the 5th floor then he leaned back against the corner of the elevator while you stood beside him.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite note taker.” He reached over to boop your nose, and you scrunched it up in response. “You know what? I don’t like you” You poked his chest and all he did was smile while leaning closer to you. “That’s cool. You don’t have to like the people you love anyways.” You stood wide mouthed and shocked, but before you could retort the elevator doors opened and Chris began walking away.

“Come on Y/N it’s hot as shit and you said we have a lot of work to do.” You reluctantly stepped out of the elevator and found Chris, stepping ahead to lead him to your room. “Welcome, to the most comfortable place on earth.” You very dramatically threw your arms in the air to get him to marvel at your room. It was a good thing you’d cleaned it up earlier in the week (it was a disaster before). Chris walked around looking at the various nerdy posters you had on your wall and the pictures of friends on your desk while you went to turn on your fairy lights for better lighting. When you finished, you turned around to see Chris splayed across your bed and you scoffed. “At least you’re considerate enough to keep your dirty ass shoes off my white marble comforter. It would have been a shame if I had to end you today.” He sat up and reached for your arm, pulling you with him to sit down on your bed.

“It’s because I’m nice like that. You’re welcome.” You ignored the cheesey smile on his face while he passed you your backpack so you could get your galaxy spiral note book. Chris reached into his bag and did the same pulling out the notebook he bought to match yours (more receipts to prove that he wanted to be like you). “Shush. Your mouth wastes time and I don’t wanna hear you complaining to me when it’s twelve years later and we’re still organizing and going over these notes.” You pulled out your gel pens and the work began.

Three hours. Three whole hours. That’s how long you and Chris had been organizing his notes before he tapped out. “Good god I’m fucking wiped OUT!” Chris exclaimed. He threw his pencil down and plopped his head down on your thick thigh. “Y/NNN, can we please take a break?? I’m dyin over here. My hand has never cramped harder in my life!” He looked up at you with pleading eyes and a pout. He was a human puppy dog. You couldn’t deny that the action had caused a heat to rise in your cheeks and your heart to flutter, but you played it off, amused at his exasperation. “Fine! Your whining has won me over. And you’re also right we need a break. But I get to pick the show!” Chris did a little victory fist pump in the air and you patted his head. He jumped up and sauntered over to the pantry, looking through it before pulling out two bags of Extra Butter Movie Theater Popcorn and a bowl. While he put the first bag in the microwave, you got up and looked in the fridge, pulling out two bottles of Mountain Dew.

You walked over to your TV and turned it on grabbing your Roku remote. “Hey Chris, since you think the way I talk is so ‘cool’ I’m making you watch The Boondocks.” You yelled over to him while he poured the popcorn into the bowl and walked over to you. Your TV was placed purposely in front of your bed, so you both popped up on it, with Chris getting comfortable on the corner of the wall that the bed touched and you sitting crisscross besides him. “Here” you handed him his drink and he said thank you before placing the popcorn bowl in your lap. “Okay so The Boondocks is probably the best cartoon made in television history. And I know that sounds dramatic but it’s true.” You looked over to see Chris laughing quietly. “I trust your opinion. You’ve never been wrong before. “ he shrugged and you shook your head in agreement. “You’re damn right. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You hovered the remote over to the first episode titled “The Garden Party” and clicked play. “We’re only gonna watch THREE episodes before we get back to work okay??” Chris smacked his teeth and tossed his head on your shoulder. “That’s lame. What if I really like it?!” You pushed his heavy head off of you playfully. “What’s lame is you failing class when I’m supposed to be helping you do the opposite. We can finish it another time fool.” You vaguely heard him say ‘alright alright’ before the familiar theme song came on, you silently rapping along.

When you got to episode 2 “The Trial of Robert Kelly” Chris was dying laughing. When Huey got to his speech he was aggressively clapping, while you were aggressively pointing at the screen hollering “THATS WTF IM TALKIN ABOUT!! LET EM’ KNOW HUEY”. By episode 3, you and Chris were fighting to stay awake. Somehow, your head had drifted onto his chest, and his arm had shifted to around your waist. Your legs had been comfortably strewn on top of each other as you listened to Granddads crazy girlfriend drone on. You didn’t make it to episode 4.

You woke up before he did, groggy and confused. Your eyes were still closed as you tried to shift around only to be met with resistance. You felt a tightening around your waist as a still sleeping Chris pulled you closer into his body, nuzzling is face into your neck. “Oh shit...” you whispered, your eyes no longer closed and in fact, wide ass open. “Chris. Chrissss. CHRIS!!” Chris shot up involuntarily tightening his hold on you before looking down into your concerned face.

“Shiiiit. Y/N what time is it.” You searched the side of the bed for your phone before turning it on and checking the time. It was 7:46 A. M. “Oh fuck! We didn’t finish the notes!! Oh fuck Chris we slept past guest visitor time! How imma sneak you out?! Oh god I don’t wanna be the reason why you fail and get kicked out! I’m gonna lose my closest friend because I-”

“Hey wait...” Chris placed his hand under your chin and pulled you into him, looking up and down your face with hooded lids. All you could focus on, was him. The way his lashes brushed his freckle dusted cheek. The way is eyes peered at you mixed with a haze of sleepiness and something else more intense. “ Y/N look at me... everything is gonna be okay, I promise...” The room, the air, the god damn particles around you stilled. It was like all of time froze except for you and Chris.

You didn’t remember you had the ability to breathe until he licked his lips and leaned towards you, pulling you closer, completely halting your ability to breathe. Your lips intertwined in a soft battle of heat and passion. It was slow and intimate, you didn’t know you could muster up so much passion in a kiss. Before you knew it, Chris gripped your left thigh and swung it over the other side of him making you straddle his waist. The pillows of his lips never stopped their assault and only got more aggressive as he palmed your ass. Your body felt hot, and you NEEDED more. You rutted your core against Chris’s lap causing him to pull on your bottom lip with his teeth and smack your large thigh.

“Don’t play with the fire if you can’t put it out.” He groaned out, his voice strained as you both breathed heavily. You moved your lips down to his neck and began to nip and suck softly before smiling into his neck. “When have you ever known me to be afraid of the fire?” You heard the sharp intake of his breath before he flipped you over, slamming your back into your bed. Chris placed soft kisses all over your face making you giggle before he continued his tirade on your mouth. Maybe Chris was a good kisser. Actually, a phenomenal kisser. You gripped the back of his neck, your hands tangled in the nape of his hair. Chris’s hands were inside of your shirt feeling on your soft stomach before you both heard the snap of a camera. You both jumped up at the intrusion and sat up, banging your foreheads together on accident.

“Ahh shit!! Fuck!!” “God damn it! Fuck!” You and Chris both exclaimed as you heard the culprit, your roommate Valeria, laughing hysterically. You groaned rubbing your head and shot her the dirtiest look you could muster.

“HA! You got mad at me for saying he looked at you like you were the moon and stars in the sky, but you’re borderline fucking AND he stayed past guest hours!” You threw your head back on your pillow while closing your eyes and sighing. You could feel the pressure and warmth of Chris’s body leave you as he got up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Val!! How’s it going big dawg?!” Valeria cringed and shook her head. She approached Chris and pat his head. “Hey Chris I think you’re great, but I don’t ever want to hear you say that again okay?” Chris grumbled an ‘okay’ and despite everything you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Anyways you guys can continue doing the do. I actually came in here to ask how note taking was last night, but I see it was pretty good.��� Valeria winked before shuffling to the door and closing it, cackling after she closed it. Before you could even process what had just happened Chris took your chubby cheeks into your hand and rubbed his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Hey Y/N... you know how Val said I look at you like the moon and the stars?” He trailed off and his eyes darted down to your lips. All you could do was nod, too entranced in the way his lips moved and the shine in his eyes.

“Well, she’s not wrong. I don’t know exactly when, but for awhile you’ve been the sun and moon and the stars and everything in between. And god, every time you smile I wanna kiss you until my smile becomes as bright. Every time you laugh I can’t help but join in, because even when it sounds like a Windex spray bottle it’s the only sound I wanna hear.” You softly smacked his chest and buried your head in his neck running your hand down his chest.

“I love the way your cheeks puff up when you get irritated at me, and the way you look at me when you have no idea what the fuck I’m trying to say.” some how, you moved impossibly closer into his neck.

“You gonna let me take you out some time doll?” Chris sounded so soft and unsure of himself. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever talked to him. When he didn’t know you knew his name. You rose up from his neck and placed a long soft kiss on his pink lips.

“Of course Chris. I can’t say no to my favorite note copier.” Your foreheads pressed against each other and you both stayed completely still, trying to make the moment last. Chris moved first, taking his forehead off of you to place a kiss on top of your head and pull you into his embrace.

“I’m your only note copier.” He couldn’t help himself. You both started to giggle into each other.

“And it’s gonna stay like that. Just like I’m gonna be your only note taker.” Chris squeezed you tighter and pulled you into his lap, placing one last kiss on your curls.

“Noted.”

————————————-

Bloop! I’m finished. This took all day man yeesh. Anyways y’all know I’m a slut for comments so please for your favorite comment starved plus size POC writter, leave a comment.

Taglist

@thequeerishere555 @willowtree42095 @tessathedragon @nina-sj @noire-griot @canumoveurseatup-no @thememoireeofme @overlordred @l-auteuse @bugngiz @mejustme06 @nonsensicalmetwhimsical @issa-blak @steveslulbaby

(Sorry some of the tags dont work)

[gunnerpalace]

Hyperchlorate: How I’d Rewrite Bleach (Part I)

Okay, this is it, kids. This is gonna be—as best as I’m able to manage—the ultimate synthesis of all my scattered discourse on Bleach, combined with a condensation of what I’d do about it all. Buckle up, because these posts are going to be long, and I’m not putting it behind a spoiler. I’d apologize for destroying your dashboard, but I put in the work.

WHAT’S UP WITH THE NAME?

What's referred to as (liquid) bleach is usually a solution of sodium hypochlorite (NaClO) in water. Sodium hydroxide (NaOH) is usually added to slow the decomposition of bleach into sodium chlorate (NaClO3), and sodium chloride (NaCl)—that is to say, common salt. (How appropriate!)

Sodium perchlorate (NaClO4) is a perchlorate salt which is very closely related to the above and, when treated hydrochloric acid (HCl), makes perchloric acid (HClO4) and common salt. The former is very nasty in and of itself and is mostly used to make other, worse things.

In the context of chemistry, the prefix hypo- means one less oxygen atom than something suffixed -ite, while the prefix per- means one more oxygen than something suffixed -ate. (See here for a chart if you want.) The prefix hyper- isn't used in chemistry, but I think it sounds better.

tl;dr: It's a weird chemistry not-joke used as a code name for this project.

WHAT’S THE PITCH?

The short version of the pitch is: Most people who liked Bleach as a thing liked the initial Karakura and Soul Society arcs, and interest gradually dropped off after that.

Therefore, if you wanted to rewrite Bleach, you’d want to focus on that time period and expand on it and develop it further. You would also want to rework whatever came after, and more thoroughly integrate it with that time period in tone, focus, and perspective.

To do that, you first need to understand how it was structured and what made it work in the first place.

OKAY, WHAT’S THE LONGER VERSION?

The longer version of the pitch is: Bleach was supposedly a shōnen. One of the Big Three shōnen, in fact (in Western thinking). But understanding Bleach and why it worked (and why it fell apart) requires debunking that idea.

You see, the thing is that Bleach was never particularly good at being a shōnen, at least as most people think of such a thing. When people think of shōnen, they tend to think of four (4) things: 1. A Certain Kind of Protagonist, 2. Worldbuilding, 3. Plot, and 4. Fights. Bleach doesn’t really fit the pattern when it comes to these elements. I’ve been over these before, to a certain extent (many times), but I’ll reiterate them here:

A Certain Kind of Protagonist: Goku. Luffy. Naruto. Natsu. Kenshin. Yusuke. I don’t have to name their anime or manga; you already know who they are and what they’re from. Ichigo is certainly a kind of protagonist, but as Sera (@hashtagartistlife​) once pointed out, he’s very different from what one normally thinks of when they consider the genre. Ichigo is a punk with a heart of gold (a la Yusuke) but he lacks the inner drive and confidence of all those other protagonists. He is, in fact depressive at the start of the series; he’s at best listless and nihilistic, and at worst suicidal. He’s something of an outcast loner with a tsundere personality he developed as a kind of mental armor. He’s deliberately mediocre at and unengaged with things. That changes (and the story starts) when Rukia enters his life and gives him the ability to act on his desires to do good and protect people. In other words: his confidence comes from outside of himself. Indeed, it’s a recurring plot-point that the longer he’s separated from Rukia, the more his confidence wavers. In addition to all the other things that were noted as marking him out, this one is crucial, because the average shōnen protagonist is possessed of unwavering confidence. Having Ichigo’s confidence (and his animating ethos) externalized to Rukia essentially splits the traditional protagonist role in two. (Indeed, you could readily say Ichigo and Rukia are deuteragonists, despite the story focusing on Ichigo—he eclipses her visually, but her gravity is unmistakably present and dominant.) This by itself tells you that you are dealing with a different kind of story than usual. This fits in with one of the reasons people tend to like Bleach, specifically the first. 

Worldbuilding: Few shōnen rival Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings in sophistication and detail, but they usually have well-developed worlds where whatever is going on substantiates—and ideally enhances—the plot and the journey of the protagonist. Think of the world of One Piece, which is excellent at this, or those of Naruto or Fairy Tale, which still sufficiently sell that there is a living, breathing setting in which the story is taking place. Bleach is something more like Plato’s Allegory of the Cave: it holds up on its own if you accept its premises at face value, but if you start to investigate more carefully, things stop really making all that much sense. My own personal go-to example is the identity of the two unrevealed Great Noble Houses which presumably wielded power in Central 46. (I don’t consider Can’t Fear Your Own World a satisfactory answer for this, or other questions, and notably it has only revealed one of them.) Another example is the history of the Great Noble Houses, or Soul Society in general, or the Soul King. All of these (and much more) were things that were shoved into data books or follow-on novels, if they were ever addressed at all. The more one inspects the worldbuilding of Bleach, the more it feels like it’s flat or significant sections of it were missing—like it’s a movie set instead of an actual place. Most fiction strives to present, as much as possible, a kind of simulated world that you could imagine existing. Bleach, perversely, rather brazenly gives us a set of stages with clearly defined borders instead. This ties into the third and fifth reason people tend to like Bleach.

Plot: In academic circles, you will be told that what distinguishes literary fiction from genre fiction is the former is about characters (i.e., how events impact them), and the latter is about plot (i.e., what happens). For example, White Noise by Don DeLillo is not about “The Airborne Toxic Event,” it is about what that catalyzes in the protagonist’s life. Something like One Piece is very much a genre story about adventure. Things happen to the characters, sure, but they don’t really change all that much over time. They’re all following their dreams, and those dreams are (for the protagonists) often immutable. Bleach doesn’t really follow that structure. Ichigo and Rukia have an ethical viewpoint, but they’re not really on a journey to implement it. Things largely just kind of happen to them. In this regard, Bleach is much more like a literary work than a genre one. It also features, as Sera pointed out in an earlier post, a depiction of Joseph Campbell’s monomyth within the Karakura and Soul Society arcs: we see Ichigo and Rukia go through the process of “becoming a hero.” Protagonists like Luffy or Goku already are the heroes, it’s just that nobody else knows it yet. The plots that unfold are thus very different. Furthermore, Bleach is also often a symbolic work. For example, the Karakura II, Hueco Mundo and Fake Karakura arcs are a sort of inverse deconstruction of the earlier Karakura and Soul Society arcs; they function as an anti-monomyth and refutation of it (think of it as being like “how a hero can fail”), a la how Bloodborne subverts the monomyth to incorporate Lovecraftian mythos: they are designed to cast down the achievements of the protagonists and demoralize the reader, rather than being triumphant and uplifting. Bleach also frequently prioritizes thematic elements over verisimilitude. One example is the association of romance with death (Isshin and Masaki, Ryuuken and Kanae, Kaien and Miyako, Rangiku and Gin, and so on). Another is loneliness (no one ever seems to really hang out or have many friendships), especially when it comes to parents (Isshin and Ryūken have strained relationships with Ichigo and Uryū, Ikumi is a single mother, Chad parents are dead, Orihime’s were reverse-abandoned, Keigo and Mizuiro’s are absent, Tatsuki’s are never seen, and so on). Bleach absolutely prioritizes characters and themes over traditional plot or plausibility—that is to say, how things feel is often much more important than how exciting or realistic they are, which ties into the second and third reasons people like Bleach.

Fights: Bleach’s fights tend to suck. There are some exceptions, sure, but the power of those exceptions usually stems from the emotional content and personal nature of them. Something like Ichigo vs. Byakuya, Uryū vs. Mayuri, or Rukia vs. Aaroniero (to name a later example) are very emotionally charged fights. That said, even fights that aren’t particularly interesting, like Ikkaku vs. Edrad, tend to be more about showing us aspects of the characters’ personalities more so than about the fight itself. In fiction, one is encouraged to show rather than tell, and more extreme situations (which violent confrontations are one example of) allow one to show deeper and more extreme aspects of a character than slice-of-life situations usually do. This is what Bleach’s fights are often in service of. This is evident from how uninteresting the average Bleach fight is. There’s a lot of sword-pressing, a lot of ineffectual diagonal slashes, a lot of appearing behind someone to their surprise, a lot of losing an arm as a serious injury, a lot of no-selling attacks, and whoever reveals how their powers work first usually loses. The fighting quickly boils down to shikai and bankai, or their equivalents, with the other aspects of fighting, like kidō (and the rest of zankensoki) being discarded except when they reflect some matter of character (for example, Byakuya or Uryū’s more analytical and technical approach to things). Combat in Bleach isn’t about a robust combat system or consistency, nor is it about what looks cool—it is about what shows off the character in question. This is unusual for a shōnen and ties directly into the second reason people like Bleach.

I’ve talked a lot about why Bleach is liked, and it’s now prudent to get into that. In my opinion, the reasons that early Bleach was well-liked and well-received can be boiled down to five (5) things: 1. Deuteragonists, 2. Character Designs, 3. Mystery, 4. Contrast, and 5. Urban Fantasy Setting. I’ve been over most of these before, but they also bear repeating.

Deuteragonists: I have explored this concept in quite some detail (see: 1, 2, 3) before, so I’m not going to go too deeply into its mechanics here. The most obvious selling point here is that splitting the role of the protagonist into two mutually supporting halves that are fallible in their own ways is A. relatively unique, and B. humanizing. Ichigo and Rukia are by no means either the first example of this (consider Sherlock Holmes and John Watson) or the last (I've not seen Psycho-Pass, but Shinya Kogami and Akane Tsunemori seem to have much the same relationship), but I am unaware of any (supposed) shōnen prior to Bleach that attempted it. (That’s not to say that it doesn’t exist, but rather, that its obscurity if it does simply reinforces the point.) That made it unique for its time. That Rukia is a (competent and independent, but still vulnerable and feminine) woman only makes it even more unique, especially given the medium and how women tend to be treated within it. It also allowed for both Ichigo and Rukia to have problems as characters, and to largely grow beyond those problems over the course of the series, rather than there being yet another immutable and unchanging rock of a protagonist like so many other shōnen feature. When coupled with their interpersonal banter and dynamics, they formed a major draw together simply because their sharing of the role was so unusual and well-executed.

Character Designs: Bleach suffers from a dizzying overabundance of characters. Many of them are only present for a few chapters, at most, and yet even characters who appeared very briefly have any number of adherents out there among the readership or viewership. Consider characters like Starrk, Bambietta, or Bazz B., who have little to no establishment, and little panel time relative to the series, but who nonetheless gained resolute fans. Sometimes they have backstories shoehorned in to help sell them (as in the case of Starrk and Bazz B.; the most hilarious example is probably Giriko being given a flashback several chapters after he was already dead), but often they succeeded without them. They also often succeed despite their personalities largely being remixes of existing characters. How? Because of their character design and attitudes. Bleach was enormously successful in delivering characters that appealed to somebody, even at almost only a glance. The characters almost radiate a sense of mie purely through their designs. This sort of visual imminence routinely overcame all other character shortfalls. 

Mystery: The anime of Bleach began airing on October 5, 2004. Coincidentally, Lost started airing on September 22, 2004. They began at almost exactly the same time. What does one have to do with the other? Nothing, except for the fact that they both relied heavily on mystery and both capitalized on it (in different markets) at almost exactly the same time. The bulk of Bleach is predicated on inculcating a sense of mystery. This is why basic facts that would often be mentioned in passing are kept tightly wrapped secrets until the end of the series and beyond. (Token examples, great and small: Who are the other two Great Noble Houses? Where’s Yoruichi’s zanpakutō and why can she turn into a cat? What’s the deal with the Soul King? Why is there a fox-man like Sajin around, and is he a yōkai or what? What was the Final Getsuga Tenshō?) Even things that were resolved, like Ichigo’s parentage, what was going on with his “inner Hollow” and zanpakutō, and so on, were kicked down the road as long as possible to create an air of mystery. The most obvious manifestation of this was all the guessing about the bankai of various characters that the series egged on. This sense of mystery and a desire for closure kept quite a lot of people invested when their patience for the rest of the series ran out.

Contrast: While lots of anime and manga frequently leaven their drama with comedy, or vice-versa, Bleach was unique for the means in which it did so. It’s worthwhile to draw a contrast with something very close to its opposite: Gintama. Gintama is particularly notable because of its odd mix of different elements; it has a fantastical alternate history setting and can go from irreverent comedy (running the gamut from pop-culture puns to crude toilet humor) to deadly serious drama in just a few pages. However, Gintama’s default mode is comedy. Bleach is a relatively grounded secret history with a default mode that is dramatic. In this regard, they are equal but opposite. Early Bleach was a very dark and grim, almost Lovecraftian setting, and often had elements of horror or was just plain gross, but was lightened up through the way in which it approached that and its frequent inclusion of humor. This contrast is also heightened by the relative lack of fighting in the early manga; when fighting does occur, it’s all the more notable because the focus is largely upon slice-of-life elements. As the series progressed, this element of contrast was lost as it became relentlessly serious (in the process, becoming desensitized to its own sense of horror, great or small) and tried to become a battle manga.

Urban Fantasy Setting: Although Bleach ultimately goes on to visit rather fantastical places, it started out in a very grounded and realistic fashion. The sleepy (fictional) suburb of Karakura in Western Tokyo is just the right mix of urban and rural to be relatable to almost anyone. Simply by virtue of being based on a real area (the region around Tama), Karakura feels lived-in and well-developed, despite the fact that we see very little of it. (This is especially true compared to Soul Society [be it the Seireitei or Rukongai] or Hueco Mundo, both of which are very sterile and fantastical in a bad way [especially since the former is really just a stylized representation of the Heian period in Japan]. There is a very old parody of DBZ featuring the line "We need to go to some place that's completely desolate and... that would never be in real life at all, and it's huge, and it's a bajillion miles wide and it's nowhere to be found on earth—but it's right over there!" and that accurately describes both Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. I’ll get into this more in the next post.) The initial focus on day-to-day high school life also gave it a solid grounding for the age bracket of its intended audience. In this capacity, it exactly nailed the setting of teen-focused urban fantasy. The interesting thing is it did so before a lot of the most prominent novels in that genre were written. In other words, Bleach was a market-leader in urban fantasy for teens, and beat many of its peers to the punch. Just as deuteragonists were a major selling point out of their sheer novelty, so was the setting.

As an aside at this junction, I’d like to direct your attention to something from the Wikipedia page on urban fantasy, regarding the distinction between urban fantasy and supernatural romance:

The two share 90% of their genre DNA. However, the main differences are this: Urban fantasy focuses on an issue outside of a romantic relationship between two characters. Paranormal romance focuses on a romantic relationship between two characters and how outside forces affect that relationship. The best litmus test to determine if a story is urban fantasy or paranormal romance is to ask the following question: 'If the romance between Character A and Character B were removed, would the plot still stand as a viable storyline?' If the answer is 'yes,' chances are good it's urban fantasy. If the answer is 'no,' it's most likely paranormal romance.

Now, whether you think the relationship between Ichigo and Rukia is romantic or not, I would note two things. The first is that if their relationship was removed, the plot would not “still stand as a viable storyline.” The second is that the events of the Karakura and Soul Society arcs are very much about “how outside forces affect [their] relationship.” (As were all subsequent events involving them, really.) In short, I would argue that it’s impossible to suggest that early Bleach doesn’t sit somewhere that very closely approximates paranormal romance, if not being one outright. In this regard, Sera’s assertion that Bleach is a shōjo is a lot closer to the mark than you might think, as is my own that it was on the path to becoming either a battle shōjo or a couple shōnen.

HOLY SHIT, GIVE ME AN EXECUTIVE SUMMARY SO FAR?

To summarize, Bleach started off as a pseudo-paranormal romance (if not an actual one) that succeeded on the basis of being—on the one hand—grounded, characterful, and novel, while—on the other—also being mysterious, emotive, and meaningful. Bleach was, at the start, not necessarily trying to sell itself as an unbiased account of “things that happened in this fictional world,” or create an expansive universe. It was instead a rather intimate story set in a particular place, focusing very much on its characters and on conjuring up emotions.

Even when it went to Soul Society, you might still just as easily think it as something like an off-beat Kabuki play rather than a traditional shōnen. (Perhaps making it not so surprising that it was so easily adapted into a musical play.)

I feel that Bleach is also notable for embracing the aesthetic principles of Japanese art and culture that other traditional shōnen usually do not heavily emphasize; it features elements of not just Kawaii (of course), but Jo-ha-kyū, Geidō, Miyabi, Iki, Ensō, Shibui, Yūgen, and Wabi-sabi. (Indeed, I would say that an over-attachment to those last four is a major component of why it ultimately failed.) This also gave it a unique flair.

I think it was ultimately so successful to begin with because it was a unique melange of elements.

BUT I LIKED BLEACH BECAUSE OF SOME PARTICULAR THING YOU DISMISSED AS ANCILLARY!

There’s no accounting for taste. I’m just telling you what Bleach’s focus was and why it was initially exciting and good at what it did.

OKAY, FINE, WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH REWRITING IT?

Like I said, I think it’s important to first understand what worked and why. Then, it’s important to understand why things went wrong. (And boy, did things go wrong...) Only then can you reasonably propose solutions to fix things.

Next time, we’ll go into what went wrong, which involves a mixture of poor planning, shifting priorities, inflexibility, overindulgence, and hubris. But for that story, you’ll have to stay tuned for Part II!

[codariidoescrimes]

Arden Talks Media Studies: Death of the Author

Intro/Disclaimer

Ok so I do try to keep this blog largely for swtor in specific and star wars in general content, but I’m going to make an exception here because I like to talk. @lilquill brought up some posts about death of the author in a discord server we share and her, another friend who I don’t want to name without their explicit permission, and myself ended up having a conversation about the misconceptions people seem to have around this topic. So because I’m a media studies student I figured I’d make this post about death of the author from my perspective of studying this stuff. 

Feel free to reblog this post if there’s anything you want to add or challenge me on! This isn’t meant to be a callout or a vague about any specific person, more a general idea that seems to be spread around. And I could be totally wrong. I’ll link my sources at the end. 

So what is Death of the Author?

The original Death of the Author essay was written by an academic named Roland Barthes and later translated into English. It’s not super long so y’all should definitely give it a read if you’re curious about this stuff, but it IS quite dense so I’m going to summarize it here, paragraph by paragraph.

Barthes opens by quoting from the book Sarrasine and asking the question “who is saying this?”. He goes on to say that there is no clear answer whether it is being said by the protagonist, the Author, or the social context the Author is writing in. To Barthes, literature is a place where multiple voices (the Author and the various influences on their life) combine into a whole new voice that can’t be fully attributed to any one of the original factors. 

In the next paragraph Barthes talks about how the idea of the Author is a modern, Western, one. The concept of the Author, therefore, is one that hyper focuses on an individual, and (usually) his personality and thoughts due to the the importance of individualism in our society. “The author still rules in manuals of literary history, in biographies of writers, in magazine interviews, and even in the awareness of literary men, anxious to unite, by their private journals, their person and their work”. The fiction produced by an individual, under “author-culture” (because we don’t already have enough [x]culture going around) is therefore seen as a both direct insight into the mind of the Author AND a direct expression of his ‘voice’.

The next paragraph talks about a few previous criticism of Author-culture. A bunch of different writers have argued that language, systems, symbols, and codes are the lens a work should be viewed by rather than tools of the Author. Surrealism directly opposed the idea of an authors intentions via automatic writing. And the school of linguistics talks about how the Author isn’t any sort of dramatic figure, but simply a person who writes.

Barthes goes on from this to speak about how the death or absence of the Author™ changes the modern text. First of all, rather than the Author being a ‘before’ state and the text being an ‘after’ state where the Author can be viewed as the ‘parent’ of the text, instead the writer exists simultaneously with the text. “In grammar the person or thing we speak about is called the subject. What we say about the subject is called the predicate”, and to Barthes the text is no longer the predicate of the Author. It therefore directly counters the idea of the tortured genius Author whose hand is slower than his mind. 

To Barthes, the text is not just the words being written with one meaning coming directly from the Author, but a “tissue of citations, resulting from the thousand sources of culture”. The writer is therefore an imitator not a creator, with their role being to combine and contrast already existing ideas and concepts into a new form. The words used by an Author largely already exist, and only have meaning in relation to other words that also already exist. 

The Author™ and the Critic™ therefore have a symbiotic relationship. The Author provides the text with one set meaning, and the Critic therefore uncovers the meaning by explaining the Author. The death of the Author also becomes the death of the Critic. “The space of the writing is to be traversed, not penetrated: writing ceaselessly posits meaning but always in order to evaporate it: it proceeds to a systematic exemption of meaning”. Barthes believes that death of the author liberates writing from needing to have a final meaning.

 Writing is therefore the domain of the reader or the spectator. Barthes provides the example of a Greek tragedy, where the text of full of words with double meanings. Within the text each character only understands one of the meanings, creating the tragic misunderstanding. However the reader understands not only the double meanings of each word, but also the limited understanding of the characters. Texts are a dialogue between cultures and writings, which the reader combines through the act of reading. “The reader is a man without history, without biography, without psychology; he is only that someone who holds gathered into a single field all the paths of which the text is constituted”.

Barthes concludes by explaining that classical criticism is centered around the Author, not the reader and that therefore “The birth of the reader must be ransomed by the death of the Author”.

Context of the original text.

Welcome to the bit of this already longass post where I death of the author the ‘death of the author’ text itself. As in, to fully understand this text we need to look at the context it was written in.

Roland Barthes was a French linguist who lived in the 21st century. If you’re like me and have done any media studies classes at all, you’ve probably already heard of him as being “that sign guy”. As in, he wrote a LOT on semiotics. Semiotics is the study of signs, and to discuss it in detail would be a WHOLE other post, but it is quite important so here goes: 

The main concepts within semiotics are the sign, and signification. A sign is a word, image, sound, act, object, etc which has no intrinsic meaning, but has been given meaning. It is made up of the signifier, a written or spoken word, and the signified, a concept. The relationship between the signifier and the signified is signification. For example, a cat is a sign as it consists of the word “cat” (signifier) and the physical animal (signified). 

Barthes also talked about mythologies, and not as in the Greek sense. Basically, denotation is the literal meaning of a sign, while connotation is a deeper or cultural meaning. Rose denotes rose; rose connotes romantic love. Myth in this sense is when those two words are combined and the connotation BECOMES a denotation. 

He was also heavily involved in structuralism. There’s a lot of types of structuralism because a lot of different disciplines use it in various ways, but in Barthes context it involved looking at the cultural and social structures that determine human behaviour, and using this in the context of literature.

And this isn’t as off topic as it might seem, because Barthes Death of the Author text can therefore be looked at through these lenses. As in, Barthes is the guy who literally wrote a whole essay collection called “Mythologies” to analyse the societal connotations of new signifieds to ordinary objects as signifiers. And by ordinary stuff I literally mean wrestling, wine, and plastic among others. So to Barthes, the Author is a sign, and the text written by the Author is another sign.

Conclusion

The most important thing to remember about Death of the Author is that it’s a particular concept, that discusses a particular idea (the Author™) in a particular context (structuralism, and a critique of individualism and the Culture of the Time). So therefore, even when used correctly, there’s still no requirement to AGREE with this particular theory. Thanks for reading!

Sources

Roland Barthes - Death of the Author

Predicate and Subject

No source for the semiotics stuff because it was all written class notes :(

Structuralism

Further Reading

Roland Barthes - Mythologies (1957)

[e-m-emili]

Deep Adaptation: A Map for Navigating ClimateTragedy

“Rather than building from existing theories on sustainable business, this paper is focusing on a phenomenon. That phenomenon is not climate change per se, but the state of climate change in 2018, which I will argue from a secondary review of research now indicates near term social collapse. The gap in the literature that this paper may begin to address is the lack of discussion within management studies and practice of the end of the idea that we can either solve or cope with climate change.”

“...Therefore, in this review, I will draw upon a range of sources, with a focus on data since 2014. That is because, unfortunately, data collected since then is often consistent with non-linear changes to our environment. Non-linear changes are of central importance to understanding climate change, as they suggest both that impacts will be far more rapid and severe than predictions based on linear projections and that the changes no longer correlate with the rate of anthropogenic carbon emissions. In other words  - ‘runaway climate change.’”

“These descriptions may seem overly dramatic. Some readers might consider them an unacademic form of writing. Which would be an interesting comment on why we even write at all. I chose the words above as an attempt to cut through the sense that this topic is purely theoretical. As we are considering here a situation where the publishers of this journal would no longer exist, the electricity to read its outputs won’t exist, and a profession to educate won’t exist, I think it time we break some of the conventions of this format.”

“A 2017 global survey found that only 13% of the public think the world is getting better, which is major change from the ten years before (Ipsos MORI, 2017). In the USA, polls indicate that belief in technology as a good force has been fading (Asay, 2013). This information may reflect a wider questioning of the idea that progress is always good and possible. Such as shift in perspective is indicated by opinion polls showing that far fewer people today than the last decade believe their children will have a better future than themselves (Stokes, 2017). Another indicator of whether people believe in their future is if they believe in the basis of their society. Studies have consistently found that more people are losing faith in electoral democracy and in the economic system (Bendell and Lopatin, 2017). The questioning of mainstream life and of progress is also reflected in the shift away from secular-rational values to traditional values that has been occurring worldwide since 2010 (World Values Survey, 2016). How do children feel about their futures? I have not found a large or longitudinal study on children’s views of the future, but one journalist who asked children from 6 to 12 years old to paint what they expect the world in 50 years to be like generated mostly apocalyptic images (Banos Ruiz, 2017).”

“With each of these framings – collapse, catastrophe, extinction – people describe different degrees of certainty. Different people speak of a scenario being possible, probable or inevitable. In my conversations with both professionals in sustainability or climate, and others not directly involved, I have found that people choose a scenario and a probability depending not on what the data and its analysis might suggest, but what they are choosing to live with as a story about this topic. That parallels findings in psychology that none of us are purely logic machines but relate information into stories about how things relate and why (Marshall, 2014). None of us are immune to that process. Currently, I have chosen to interpret the information as indicating inevitable collapse, probable catastrophe and possible extinction.”

“Given that analysts are concluding that a social collapse is inevitable, the question becomes: What are the valued norms and behaviours that human societies will wish to maintain as they seek to survive? That highlights how deep adaptation will involve more than “resilience.” It brings us to a second area of this agenda, which I have named “relinquishment.” It involves people and communities letting go of certain assets, behaviours and beliefs where retaining them could make matters worse. Examples include withdrawing from coastlines, shutting down vulnerable industrial facilities, or giving up expectations for certain types of consumption. The third area can be called “restoration.” It involves people and communities rediscovering attitudes and approaches to life and organisation that our hydrocarbon-fuelled civilisation eroded. Examples include re-wilding landscapes, so they provide more ecological benefits and require less management, changing diets back to match the seasons, rediscovering non-electronically powered forms of play, and increased community-level productivity and support.”

“Resilience asks us “how do we keep what we really want to keep?” Relinquishment asks us “what do we need to let go of in order to not make matters worse?” Restoration asks us “what can we bring back to help us with the coming difficulties and tragedies?””

“I was only partly joking earlier when I questioned why I was even writing this paper.”

“The West’s response to environmental issues has been restricted by the dominance of neoliberal economics since the 1970s. That led to hyperindividualist, market fundamentalist, incremental and atomistic approaches. By hyper-individualist, I mean a focus on individual action as consumers, switching light bulbs or buying sustainable furniture, rather than promoting political action as engaged citizens. By market fundamentalist, I mean a focus on market mechanisms like the complex, costly and largely useless carbon cap and trade systems, rather than exploring what more government intervention could achieve. By incremental, I mean a focus on celebrating small steps forward such as a company publishing a sustainability report, rather than strategies designed for a speed and scale of change suggested by the science. By atomistic, I mean a focus on seeing climate action as a separate issue from the governance of markets, finance and banking, rather than exploring what kind of economic system could permit or enable sustainability.”

“This ideology has now influenced the workloads and priorities of academics in most universities, which restricts how we can respond to the climate tragedy. In my own case, I took an unpaid sabbatical, and writing this paper is one of the outcomes of that decision. We no longer have time for the career games of aiming to publish in top-ranked journals to impress our line managers or improve our CV for if we enter the job market. Nor do we have a need for the narrow specialisms that are required to publish in such journals. So, yes, I am suggesting that in order to let oneself evolve in response to the climate tragedy one may have to quit a job – and even a career.”

“On one’s own research, I recommend asking: “If I didn’t believe in incremental incorporation of climate concerns into current organisations and systems, what might I want to know more about?” In answering that question, I recommend talking to non-specialists as much as people in your own field, so that you are able to talk more freely and consider all options.”

“I have explored some of these emotional issues and how they have been affecting my work choices, in a reflective essay on the spiritual implications of climate despair (Bendell, 2018). I recommend giving yourself time for such reflection and evolution, rather than rushing in to a new agenda of research or teaching. If you are a student, then I recommend sending your lecturers this paper and inviting a class discussion about these ideas. It is likely that those who are not embedded within the existing system will be the ones more able to lead this agenda.”

“Disruptive impacts from climate change are now inevitable. Geoengineering is likely to be ineffective or counter-productive. Therefore, the mainstream climate policy community now recognises the need to work much more on adaptation to the effects of climate change. That must now rapidly permeate the broader field of people engaged in sustainable development as practitioners, researchers and educators. In assessing how our approaches could evolve, we need to appreciate what kind of adaptation is possible. Recent research suggests that human societies will experience disruptions to their basic functioning within less than ten years due to climate stress. Such disruptions include increased levels of malnutrition, starvation, disease, civil conflict and war – and will not avoid affluent nations.”

http://www.lifeworth.com/deepadaptation.pdf - Jam Bendell