#machine learning instructor

[mitsde123]

How to Choose the Right Machine Learning Course for Your Career

As the demand for machine learning professionals continues to surge, choosing the right machine learning course has become crucial for anyone looking to build a successful career in this field. With countless options available, from free online courses to intensive boot camps and advanced degrees, making the right choice can be overwhelming. 

[1o1percentmilk]

i don't even want to take half my classes that im registered for autumn quarter

[monstersholygrail]

Hello!

God, I love the idea of werebirds/the bird colony!

What if the dance instructor did end up making a nest with all the nesting material they gave them (however/where ever they’d do that)? What would the colony think?

What if the colony got together and used their dance knowledge to create some sort of mating dance for the instructor? Teasing the instructor with their ruffling, colorful feathers in a mesmerizing display.

I need more of them lmao

Hope you have a great day/night💜💜

When word got around the all male Bird Hybrid Colony that you had made a nest in your office out of the materials they had gotten for you, loud fierce chirps rang throughout the studio. The bird hybrids wings flapping erratically at your acceptance of them.

Your building a nest they provided you in such a private place had to mean that you were finally agreeing to their mating offers. Their feathers ruffled and they all preened at the thought of claiming you as a mate should by fucking into you with abandon and filling you to the brim with cum till you’re growing their eggs inside of you.

But they knew they had to do something special, something really over the top in order to make sure you were ready for them to breed you till you were so fucked out you couldn’t see straight. What better way to do that than a mating dance?

They’d all show you just how much they had learned under your seductive and arousing teachings. Together they created the most powerful mating dance for you that anyone had ever seen.

It was an offer that was impossible to refuse and their minds couldn’t help but imagine the way your thick thighs would spread for them. Your pussy glistening with arousal. They can practically taste how good your fat cunt will be when they finally get their wings and hands on you.

Their eagerness to please you both in dance and by filling all your holes till you can’t take it anymore is clear in their burning gaze. The next week at dance class is filled with a crackling tension. Their feathers successfully hiding their hard cocks, tips red, angry, and dribbling pre cum with their mate so close.

When you heard your class had a surprise for you, you were immediately intrigued. The fact that they’re wanted to dance for you already turning you on as your panties flood with arousal. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the bird hybrids as your scent perfumed the air.

It only spurned them on and made them more desperate to dance for you and sink themselves inside your wet heat. Their feathers ruffled out, showcasing them all so that you can see just how lovely of mates they’ll be as the dance starts.

The colony begins dancing as one large machine, their colorful feathers spinning and mixing to create a truly brilliant show. You’re in awe as you watch it, a mix of moves you’ve taught them combined of more traditional mating dances. Their biology combining with what they’ve learned. Almost like you’re a part of them now. You squirm in place, thighs rubbing together, needy for some type of friction.

By now as you watch them you’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties, your skin unbearably hot with need. It’s not even the dance itself that’s getting you so hot and bothered but the fact that even with their attraction to you they still pay attention to the actual work. Their passion for you mingling with their passion for dance. And it has you wanting to take them all here and now.

As if being able to read your thoughts, the bird hybrids descend onto you. A part of the routine as they pull you into the middle of them. Hands touching every part of your body. You gasp as claws tease at your skin while others rip your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked before them.

A moment later they bring you down in the nest you lovingly made for them that they got from your office. Beautiful cocks of all shapes and sizes nudge at the openings of each of your holes. With your mind hazy with lust you let yourself give in, opening wide for them to push inside you. You moan lowly at the delicious stretch of your mouth, hands, cunt, and bottom. Every inch of you filled with them.

The music from their dance stops at one point but your bird hybrids are nowhere near done with you. Furiously fucking into you as if they’ve gone completely savage. Only knowing for certain that you need their cum.

Your moans and their chirps of pleasure echo against the walls as they slam themselves inside of you. Your body on fire as every inch of you is being stimulated with more pleasure than you’ve ever known.

They pass you around from hybrid to hybrid and you quickly lose track. Their forms becoming a blur of color and ecstasy as they fill with you cock after cock, the colony seemingly endless. You’re feeling so much of everything all at once and it’s overwhelming but in the past way possible as you try and meet all of their thrusts at once.

You cum countless times, your body shaking with the sensations overtaking you. You swear you black out for a moment only to wake up coming again, a strangled cry falling past your lips as a fresh wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your bird hybrids eventually get their fill of you, knowing their plump human needs a break. They slip out of you only once you’re fucked full of cum and limp on the floor, too tired to move let alone lift a limb.

So they take care of your every need, cleaning you up, whispering words of love and affection for you their mate, and cuddling up to you after. You nuzzle into their furry bodies, finding so much comfort in their embrace that you fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

[eriace]

the right blend ; nagumo yoichi

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which l/n y/n and nagumo yoichi fake a relationship for a mission, but somewhere in between shared coffee, late-night stakeouts, and quiet glances, pretending stops feeling like pretending. ↷ nagumo yoichi ; sakamoto days

↳ an order of cappuccino from anonymous in the comeback cafe event ! ( author's note: i already made something similar for the fake marriage so this is for the fake dating one.)

IT STARTED WITH a mission.

Fake dating. Simple enough—play the part, blend in, get close to the target who had a soft spot for couples. It was supposed to be easy. Calculated. Impersonal.

But that was before Y/n learned how fast pretending could start to feel real.

The JCC Academy’s south quad was nearly empty at dusk, the sky bruised with fading orange and violet, wind teasing at the edges of her jacket. She sat on the low stone bench near the training hall, foot tapping, trying not to look at her watch for the fifth time.

Nagumo Yoichi was late.

Again.

She was mentally composing the verbal slap he’d earn when his shadow stretched long over her shoes.

“Miss me?” His voice broke through the quiet—casual, teasing, infuriatingly smooth.

Y/n looked up. He wore his standard jacket slung off one shoulder and held two cups of vending machine coffee, steam curling from the rims. His hair was wind-tossed, and his smile was the kind that made people let their guard down.

Not her. Not today.

“Fifteen minutes late,” she said, voice flat. “You know we’re supposed to check in together.”

“I brought coffee as a peace treaty.” He held one cup out. “I even remembered—two sugars, no cream. Like a psychopath.”

She stared at it, then took it with a reluctant sigh. The cup was warm against her palms. Stupid, how small gestures still made her chest ache.

“You’re lucky that’s exactly how I like it,” she muttered.

He smirked, dropping beside her on the bench, thigh brushing hers just enough to make her heart lurch. She hated that he noticed.

“I always remember your coffee,” he said, more quietly this time, eyes flicking to hers. “Fake boyfriend duties. I’m a professional.”

“So professional you’re always late?”

“I like making you wait. Keeps things spicy.”

She rolled her eyes, sipping the too-hot coffee to hide her smile. The quad remained still around them, quiet enough to hear the fountain trickling nearby.

They should have gotten up. They were expected in the instructor’s office five minutes ago to report on their progress. Instead, neither of them moved.

Nagumo leaned back on his hands, gaze tilted toward the darkening sky.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve had real dates that felt less real than this.”

Y/n glanced at him, caught off guard. “This is just a mission.”

“Sure,” he said. “But you didn’t have to remember my favorite snack for the stakeout. Or patch up my hand when I cut it on the stairwell. Or stop me from saying something dumb to the teacher yesterday.”

She swallowed. “That’s just good teamwork.”

“You didn’t have to ask me how I take my coffee either.”

Her chest tightened.

Nagumo turned his head, met her eyes. There was no smirk now. No teasing curve to his mouth. Only that rare, steady look—the one that didn’t try to charm her, just see her.

“You’re not pretending anymore,” he said softly. “Are you?”

She opened her mouth. Paused. Closed it again.

It would’ve been easier to lie.

Instead, she said, “Not since the first time you held my hand without being told to.”

Nagumo was quiet for a moment.

Then, very gently, he set his coffee down, shifting to face her fully. His fingers found hers, slower than usual. No theatrics. No smirk.

Just skin to skin.

“Good,” he said. “Because I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror, before any of this started.”

Her breath caught.

“And if I wasn’t such a coward,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “I would’ve done it for real.”

She didn’t answer, and for the first time since the assignment started, Y/n didn’t feel like an undercover anything.

She just felt like a girl who was falling. And maybe—just maybe—he was falling too.

© eriace in tumblr ; don’t repost my works.

[dozybeez]

Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. One)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part two coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- My Body Is a Cage by Arcade Fire

- Liquid Smooth by Mitski

You wake up before your alarm.

Not because you want to. You never want to. But because your body doesn’t know how not to obey the rules you’ve beaten into it. The light isn’t even up yet when your hand smacks the alarm off out of pure reflex. You’re already moving, already stretching your calves against the edge of your mattress like you’re warming up for war. In a way, you are.

You move through your morning like a machine. Hair in a bun. Breakfast by 6:00. Coffee black. Gym by 6:30. Run four miles. Stretch. Shower. Be on campus by 8:00 with enough time to revise yesterday’s math notes before your 9:00 a.m. class.

It’s exhausting, but it works. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You’re double majoring in Ballet and Mathematics. Most people can’t wrap their heads around it when you tell them. As if they’re opposite sides of the spectrum. But they’re not—not really. They both depend on precision. Repetition. Obedience. Structure. The ability to show your work and leave no room for interpretation.

People think ballet is art. Sometimes it is. But mostly, it’s numbers. It’s angles and physics and symmetry. It’s learning how to master your body so completely that it all becomes invisible to the audience. Seamless. Effortless. That’s the lie. That’s the goal.

You’ve been dancing since before you could spell your own last name. You don’t remember a version of yourself that wasn’t chasing perfection. That wasn’t stretching through injury, re-tying pointe shoes with shaking hands, staring into studio mirrors until your own reflection looked back at you like a stranger.

Everyone thinks you’re talented. What they don’t understand is that it’s not talent—it’s terror.

You don’t know how to be bad at something. You’ve never been allowed to be.

Your ballet instructor always said that if you have a backup plan, you’re already planning to fail. So you never told her about your math major. About the hours you spend calculating things no one will ever dance to. About the tiny voice in the back of your mind that keeps whispering: What if you don’t make it? What if all of this wasn’t enough?

You lug your backpack to every rehearsal even though everyone else just brings a water bottle and their shoes. But you can’t not bring it. You’d feel naked without it. Inside are your lecture notes, your meal plan, your backup charger, your vitamin C tablets, and three different highlighters. Control, contained in a zippered compartment.

There are no missed classes. No spontaneous nights out. No caffeine after 7 p.m. No social media during meals. Your calendar is color-coded and your playlists are sorted by tempo. You even schedule time to cry, though if it is a good day, you cancel.

It’s easier this way.

If you follow the rules, you won’t fall behind.

If you don’t fall behind, you won’t fail.

If you don’t fail, you won’t have to ask what happens next.

You’ll get the solo. You’ll join a company. You’ll make something of yourself before your body betrays you the way every ballerina’s body eventually does. That’s the plan. That has to be the plan.

There’s no room for error. No room for breaks. You’ve trained yourself out of both.

Because if you stop for even a second—everything might fall apart.

⸻

You’re not used to mirrors being this cruel.

In ballet, at least the reflection has grace. In hip hop, it just confirms what you already fear: you don’t belong here.

You’re not sure who thought it was a good idea to make Ballet majors take cross-disciplinary dance. Probably some sadistic department head who thinks exposure equals growth. Which is rich, considering all you’ve been exposed to this past hour is the fact that you move like a malfunctioning robot.

The music’s too loud. The mirrors are too honest. And your professor looks exhausted just watching you.

“Again,” she says, voice clipped.

You fall into the steps again—if you can call them that. Your limbs are tight, too calculated. You don’t bounce, don’t melt into the beat like the girl to your left does. You don’t ride the music, you choke it.

The routine ends. Everyone else is panting, laughing, high-fiving. You’re standing frozen in the mirror, jaw locked.

Your professor clears her throat. “You’re technically accurate. But there’s no flow. No rhythm. You’re… too stiff.”

The word lands like a slap.

Too stiff.

As if your body doesn’t understand what it’s being asked to do. As if discipline is a curse here instead of a gift.

You nod once, trying to swallow it down. You keep your face neutral, your spine straight. But something ugly starts crawling up your throat.

After class, you don’t talk to anyone. You shove your water bottle into your bag and speed-walk out of the studio before the tears can get any traction. It’s not even that you were the worst in the room—though maybe you were—it’s that for the first time in a long time, you felt exposed. Like the armor you’ve spent years building doesn’t work here.

⸻

You sneak back into the dance building by 10 that night before slipping into one of the vacant studios.

The lights are off, but you don’t bother turning them on. You need the quiet. The dark. The control. You shed your hoodie like muscle memory and begin putting on your pointe shoes, each movement clipped and clean. Your limbs are trembling, not from fatigue—but from something deeper. Something raw.

You throw yourself into the routine you’ve been rehearsing for months.

It’s a solo. Four minutes long. You’ve nailed it before—technique perfect, transitions seamless. But tonight, every step feels like a punishment. You slam into your fouettés too early. Miss your landing on the arabesque turn. There’s no audience, but your face flushes like there is.

You start over.

And again.

And again.

Each time harder. Tighter. You stretch until your legs scream. Force your body to obey until the pain pushes everything else out.

You dance until you can’t think.

You dance until the mirrors stop talking back.

You dance like perfection will undo the feeling of failure clawing at your chest.

Eventually, you collapse to the floor. Chest heaving. Eyes burning.

You tell yourself it’s just the sweat.

⸻

You weren’t planning to stay this late.

Your bones ached, your legs felt like jelly, and your calves had started screaming somewhere around the third hour. But you had a quiz the next morning and a ballet evaluation in two days, so your mind didn’t care how your body felt. You stayed. You always stayed.

It was a miracle you even remembered to eat.

Now, finally—finally—you were done. Kind of.

The studio clock blinked 12:47 AM in pale green. You were the only one left in the building, as usual. Just you and your exhausted reflection, slick with sweat and anxiety under the too-bright fluorescent lights.

You reached for your backpack—the one you dragged around like a safety blanket even to rehearsals. Inside was your laptop, your textbooks, and a perfectly organized stack of notes and assignments. You had submitted every paper on time, aced every test, and somehow still managed to keep your GPA intact. You didn’t allow yourself to slip, no matter how tired you were.

Because failure wasn’t an option.

Ballet helped. It always did. Or at least you told yourself it did.

For three hours, you’d been able to lose yourself in it. The lines, the form, the familiar ache of precision—each step like a prayer whispered under your breath. Your body remembered even when your mind didn’t. You didn’t have to think, you just had to obey. In the echo chamber of your movements, you could forget how humiliated you’d felt in hip hop class.

“You’re too stiff,” your professor had said earlier that day, not unkind but blunt, in front of everyone. “There’s no flow. You’re not letting the music move through you.”

Like your muscles were marble. Like your whole body had forgotten how to breathe.

The words clung to you all evening, even now, tucked into the corners of your shoulders like bruises. You knew he was right. You hated that he was right.

In ballet, you didn’t have to flow. You had to be exact. You had to hit every count with razor-edged sharpness. You could be a machine. You could be perfect.

So you stayed late.

Practiced harder.

Punished yourself, maybe.

Because you didn’t want to be bad at something. And if you couldn’t make yourself flow like the music wanted, you’d at least do what you knew: outwork the ache.

You didn’t even glance at the mirror before leaving. You already knew what you’d see.

The hallway was still, almost eerily so. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how loud your brain is. Your shoes scuffed softly against the tile, the only sound between the studios and practice rooms. You were already rehearsing a mental to-do list—shower, email Professor Greer, review unit circle identities, remember to check if the spring showcase had updated the cast list—

Then you heard it.

A low thump. Then another. Music.

Not piano. Not violin. Not anything meant for pliés and pirouettes.

It was deep and pulsing, like a heartbeat echoing through the building’s chest. You froze mid-step, your brows knitting as you tilted your head toward the sound.

It was faint, but rhythmic and you followed it.

The sound drew you past Studio A, past the empty dressing rooms and vending machines that hadn’t worked since freshman orientation. You hesitated as you neared the last door: Studio C.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to let the music bleed out into the hallway. A shadow moved inside. Someone was still dancing.

You should’ve kept walking.

But your hand moved without thinking, fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe as you eased closer, careful not to make a sound. You peeked through the narrow crack.

And there he was.

Back to you. Shirt damp. Hair a mess.

His whole body moved like it was made of smoke and sound. Controlled chaos. You couldn’t look away.

Up close, he was… beautiful. But not in the polished, pristine way you were used to.

His dyed blonde hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands, the ends curling a little at the nape of his neck. His skin glowed under the studio lights, warm and flushed with exertion. A silver chain swung around his throat, catching light every time he moved. His black tank top clung to his toned frame—shoulders strong, arms cut and lean like he was built for this exact kind of motion.

And his legs—his whole stance—radiated confidence. Power that wasn’t rehearsed or clean. It was raw. Unapologetic. Loose.

You stared, transfixed, while your lungs forgot how to function. His body carved shapes through the air, and it was messy—but in a way that worked. He danced like he didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone thought.

God. What was that like?

You leaned closer without realizing it.

And then—he turned.

You hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t even breathed, but his head snapped toward the door like he’d felt you watching. His eyes landed directly on yours.

Time stopped.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

His chest rose and fell beneath the clinging fabric. Sweat glistened along his jaw. His mouth parted slightly in surprise—just enough to knock the air clean from your lungs.

Your entire body went rigid.

You stumbled backward, your bag thudding against your hip as your heart sprinted into your throat. You didn’t wait to see what he’d say. You didn’t want to know.

You turned.

And bolted.

Your steps echoed as you power-walked down the hallway, mortified and breathless, arms clutched tightly around your middle like you could somehow hold all your shame in. Your face burned. You didn’t stop until you were out of the building, into the night air, and halfway across the quad.

He’d seen you.

Worse—he’d caught you watching him.

You dragged your palms down your face and groaned into the dark. What the hell were you thinking?

But the image wouldn’t leave.

The way he moved. The beat pulsing beneath his skin. The look on his face when he saw you.

You lay in bed later, twisted in sheets and guilt, staring at your ceiling like it held answers.

But all your brain played was him.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Over. And over. And over.

You didn’t even know him.

But now you couldn’t get him out of your head.

⸻

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for this <3

[emeraldserenade]

Escape With Me ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You're stuck in an experiment with no recollection on how you got there. You end up escaping with Joaquín Torres, someone who also doesn't remember how he got there and says he's a superhero.

tw: fem!reader, limited use of y/n, implied kidnapping, reader does MMA for funsies, reader is shorter than Joaquín, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Guys, I had a dream about this. It was weird but I can't get it out of my head so I decided to write it. The ending was different, my dream I ended up at a tropical themed restaurant with my grandma, her friend, and Joaquín were it was revealed that Joaquín and I were dating. Sorry for the odd ending, there wasn't a satisfying way to end this.

Also I'm sorry for going MIA, I was cleaning a house all day Saturday (one of my jobs) and then I don't have an excuse for Friday except that I was too tried from exams (I still have more 😭).

➽──────────────❥

You don't remember how you got there, you were just there. It was a room with 3 machines that looked kinda like an MRI and a bunch of people. You glanced around and recognized no one, you watched as so a pair walk into the room.

"Thank you for choosing to be apart of this experiment," the lady said.

"You will be paired off, please look at the paper in your pocket," the man directed. You did as you were told and grabbed your paper, it was a small purple circle. "The shape and color will match another person's, please find your partner," you did as you were told and found her. She was a blonde that introduced herself as Rainy, you shook her hand and smiled before the lady instructor started talking again.

"One of you will get in the machine and the other will stay out. When you are in the machine, please make sure you are laying on your back." Rainy offered to go in and you let her, you had this weird feeling about it but said nothing. The small door shut behind her once she was situated and the male instructor started explaining.

"Those of you who are out, you will be completing challenges. With each challenge you will be able to insert your collected token into its correct spot. Once in, the needles will insert into your partner and you can move onto the next," the man said.

"You have 15 minutes to get ready," the woman told you all before the both of them left. You panicked about what you were in. You didn't remember volunteering for this nor how you got there. Rainy gave you a thumbs up and told you that you got this, but you glanced around. Everyone seemed so normal about it, except for the guy right next to you. He seemed just as panicked as you and you hoped he would be open to talking to you.

"Hey," you gently got his attention and he looked at you. "This may sound odd but I don't remember how I got here. Is there anything you could tell me?" You gave him your most relaxed smile you could muster.

"I don't remember either," he admitted and you almost sagged in relief. You could tell he realized and relaxed a bit more too.

"I have a bad feeling about all of this," you stepped closer and he leaned just a bit closer so you could speak at a lower volume.

"Me too, what is this machine for? And why is there challenges?"

"I have no idea but I think we should leave," you muttered. "Oh, and I'm y/n," you offered him your name.

"Joaquín," he gave you his. "And yeah, I think we should leave," he glanced around and you did to. Everyone was looking at you two and you inched slightly closer to him.

"They want to leave!" One of the other men shouted and the two that were giving instructions came bursting in.

"Do you trust me?" Joaquín looked down at you and you nodded. Before you two could run for it, the two instructors ran to grab you. You watched as Joaquín fought off the man and decided to use your MMA skills. You fought the girl before you two made a run out the door. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Joaquín questioned you as you two ran down the hallway and out the building door.

"I do MMA for fun every other weekend, I've never used it outside of class though," you admitted, you two were on a busy street and decided to blend into the crowd. "How about you?"

"I'm a superhero, Falcon to be exact," he admitted and you nodded, you had heard the Falcon title was passed down but never got around to reading about it.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Joaquín realized, embarrassingly late, that you were being followed. You figured it out when you had heard the same male and female voice outside your hotel room. Joaquín was in the next one over and you slipped out of bed, grabbed your jacket and the old clothes you were wearing along with the duffle bag you got along with your new clothes at the store. You gently opened the conjoining doors before walking through and going to Joaquín.

"Joaquín, we gotta go. The people are here," you gently whispered but he didn't move. You sighed and gently grabbed his upper arm before shaking him. "Joaquín," you said his name again and he rolled towards you, he was clearly not fully awake so you didn't think much of it when he pulled you to lay down with him.

"Angel, go back to bed," he whispered but you shook your head.

"Joaquín, wake up," you said and watched as his eyes fully opened. He looked horrified and went to apologize but you cut him off. "The people from the experiment are outside my room, we have to go," you told him.

"Ok," he quickly got up and grabbed his own duffle bag, you both paused when you heard the two shuffling around your room before rushing out his door and to the stairs.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

By the time you reached his coworker, Sam, you were exhausted and sure your family and friends were worried about you. You two had been on the run for days but you felt like you could relax.

You listened as the two talked and by the time the two people found you, Sam and Joaquín were ready. You found out that the experiment was by some corrupt government official who wanted to try and make enhanced individuals. The challenges were to prove you were smart enough to be there and you and Joaquín were the only two that didn't sign up or wasn't brainwashed.

"Well, thank you," you shook Sam's hand.

"It was no problem, y/n," he assured you.

"Are you ready?" Joaquín was driving you home and you nodded, at least you had stayed in DC area. Getting home would have been a pain in the ass otherwise.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[urmomschocolatemilk]

Simon Riley x Alternative!fem!reader

I went thrifting td with a friend and got this idea. Reminder that my inbox is open ghost headcanons and requests

If there was one thing Simon knew about you from the moment the two of you met, it was that you loved to sew. Almost every piece of clothing you owned was handmade or altered. You’d cut up shirts, using the lace or frill at the top and add it to another piece of clothing. You’d tailor dresses and shirts for your friends and family and always patch up Simon's on base uniform.  

You weren't sure what made sitting in front of the sewing machine, eyes trained on a certain strip of whatever you were working on that was so therapeutic but it was. Not only was it that you loved the art of sewing, but in-store brands never seemed to have something you liked, or fit your personal style, so being able to make your own clothing really came in handy.

Your birthday was coming around and Simon, being the best boyfriend he was, had already picked a restaurant and booked a reservation. What you didn't know however, was that he’d been learning to sew for the past couple of months because he wanted to make you a dress that you would absolutely adore. He knew nothing he could buy would cut it, and he also knew that you loved handmade gifts. So, he found that this was the perfect gift. 

Now Simon knew what you liked about your clothes and what you didn't. For example, you didn't like light tones because you felt they highlighted any hyperpigmentation you had. Or that you didn't like to wear dresses with too high a slit on the side because you felt that it caused the fabric to fall weirdly around your legs.

Even with all this knowledge Simon didn't want to get it wrong. He wanted this gift to be perfect and as previously stated, something you’d adore. So, he stole your sketch book, which contained every preview of a design you’d created in the past year and flipped through it. Taking mental notes of each similarity and alteration.  

The week after that Simon enrolled in a regularly scheduled sewing class to begin working on his project. Simon did feel out of place there, especially at the start. He was the only man there, let alone a 6’2 military buff, but the instructor didn't treat him any differently, and he didnt pay any mind to it either.

“You want this to be your first project?” the teacher asked when Simon first showed her the sketch. He nodded. “This is quite difficult for a beginner. You understand that, yes?”

Simon shrugged ‘It’s going to be a gift.”  

Every week, twice a week Simon showed up to class. He never skipped a session. He needed this dress to be perfect. It took a month for him to get it looking decent, and then another half month to get it looking perfect. It seemed he was a fast learner.  

Finally, he was able to take it home, and the first place it went was to the dry cleaners. He wasn't going to risk throwing his masterpiece, and more importantly, your gift, into the washing machine to get ruined. Then when he picked it up he folded it neatly and placed it in a gorgeous red velvet box he had bought.  

Hiding it was easier than Simon had expected it to be, considering that you lived together and every part of the house was easily accessible to you. The only thing you didn't ever touch was his desk. So, he decided to keep it there, placing it at the bottom of the desk cabinet and neatly stacking some papers and folders around it to keep it concealed.   

Finally, the day came around and you were just about ready to begin getting ready for dinner when he stopped you mid-way into the bathroom.  

“I want to show you something,” Simon said, taking your hand and sitting you down on the bed. You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly concerned.  

“Is everything okay?” You asked  

“Just wait here,” he told you, walking swiftly out of the room and into his office. Simon rarely smiled, like really smiled, but when he came back into the room, red velvet box in hand his lips were turned up in subtle excitement.  

“What's this?” you asked with a grin, taking the box from him and running your hand over the soft, plush exterior.  

“Your birthday present," he answers. Simon is nervous as he watches you lift the lid, placing it gently next to you and taking out the soft fabric in the box. Your lips part in awe as you realize what it is, and you pinch it at the top, holding it out in front of you and letting it unravel itself. He watches as your eyes glaze over it slowly, taking in every detail. You love it. 

“Where did you get this?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the beautiful piece of fabric. He swears he can see your eyes glittering in the light as you look at the dress.  

“I made it.” He states. You’re already smiling, but when you hear his answer, your smile widens. You look beautiful, he thinks.  

“You made this?” You repeat excitedly, your head turning to look up at him. He nodded. “This is gorgeous baby!” You were so touched by the length and effort he had put into something for you. You knew he didn't know how to sew so the fact that he learned to and took the time to learn what you liked and didn't like made your heart bloom with adoration.  

“You like it lovie’?” he asked. You nodded profusely, setting the dress aside as you stood and threw your arms around him. Pressing a kiss to his lips you answered.  

“I love it.” 

[slavdollz4mangione]

pilates 1 - luigi 0 - luigi mangione x reader

i had to write a little something after the moodboard request i got yesterday 😭 i had so much fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it! <3 also here’s a little visual of men being humbled by pilates just because !

── .✦ ── .✦ ── .✦ ── .✦ ── .✦ ── .✦

luigi leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and a smug smile playing on his lips. “pilates is just stretching, right? i don’t see what the big deal is.”

you raised an eyebrow, setting your coffee cup down with a little too much force. “you think it’s easy?”

he shrugged. “it’s just some light yoga. how hard could it be?”

you took a step closer, narrowing your eyes. “well, then i challenge you to join me for a class. see how ‘easy�� it really is.”

luigi laughed, pulling you closer by wrapping his hands around your waist. “i’m game. i’m practically a professional athlete.”

you smirked, trying to hide your excitement. “you might want to reconsider that confidence babe.”

the next day, you both arrived at the studio. luigi was clearly a little out of his element, eyeing the reformer machines with suspicion while you were trying not to giggle.

the instructor, a woman with a calm yet assertive tone, smiled at you both. “alright, let’s start with a basic stretch, shall we?”

luigi nodded confidently, stepping onto the reformer like he owned the place. you, however, could already see the hesitation gathering on his face as he lay down and placed his feet in the straps.

the instructor cued, “engage your core and slowly extend your legs, keep your back flat.”

luigi immediately bent his knees like he was squatting. “this is easy!” he called out, pushing the platform with way too much force.

a second later, the reformer jerked violently, and luigi’s legs shot out at a strange angle, his face going from confident to very confused.

“whoa!” he yelped while clutching the sides of the machine. “ what the fuck [name] what kind of trickery is this?!”

you bit your lip to hold back the laughter. “told you,” you said sweetly.

the instructor was unfazed, guiding him into a new position. “let’s try a slow roll-up, luigi.”

you could see luigi's pride slowly deflating as he struggled, his muscles shaking as he attempted to sit up. he managed a few inches before falling back with a dramatic sigh.

“i—i don’t get it! how do you make it look so easy?” he complained, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

you grinned, “maybe it’s the secret pilates sorcery.”

luigi let out a groan. “i thought this was gonna be like a walk in the park... this feels more like… a roll in the mud!”

as the class continued, he looked at you like you were a mysterious sorceress. and when it finally ended, luigi stood up wobbly, trying to look as if he’d just casually walked out of an intense workout.

“well, that... was something,” he muttered, trying to keep his dignity intact.

you grinned and wrapped your arms around him, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “i’ll take that as a lesson learned?”

he gave you a tired, yet affectionate smile. “next time, we should do something easy. like... yoga. with the stretchy bands. or nap time."

you laughed and kissed his pout away. "deal. but next week...we're trying yoga.”

luigi groaned and watched you affectionately as you saunter away while still giggling to yourself

[river-styxxs]

I want you to look me directly in the eyes and tell me that Joshua had a happy time growing up in St Pavlov's 'We Abuse Children' Foundation.

Be so fucking for real

One thing I almost never see people talking about the characters is their storyboard, which for 5 stars who don't have character stories, is the only way we really learn about their back stories (Ik they make them for the 6 stars too but with their character stories it honestly feels a bit redundant)

Anywho

Lemme just read some excerpts from his storyboard:

"Trying to maintain a unique hobby at the School of Primary Defense of Mankind is a rather difficult task. On the first day of school, the instructor took away all his horror novels. Later Horropedia would frequent faculty offices, detention rooms and the School of Discipline. After some time, the title "Horropedia" was abandoned altogether, never to be mentioned by anyone ever again. Soon, he blended into the quiet campus, learning and living by it's rules and obediently completing every task, just like any other typical child, until he grew up"

Now, let's rub our braincells together for a moment. A child who, while had a happy childhood despite it, did watch his parents die, raised in a happy environment which gave him a special interest in machine maintenance and horror movies, and likely having autism, be thrust into an oppressive and cold environment where his special interests are taken from him, he's seen as a trouble-maker until he eventually masks to blend in and be an obedient child.

Yeah home boy was probably fucking miserable

Also the fact that npcs don't call him Horropedia, rather Joshua, indicates that he's only started using the title recently, potentially as recent as bumping into Vertin and Sonetto, and has probably only started acting like current day Horropedia recently, though not too recent as to where his reputation is clean as Sonetto describes him as questionable and Ms. Z states he often doesn't request for outing permission

Anyway he just like me fr

I literally used my own hand as a reference for him scratching his hand cus I do it all the time

[hyperfixiation-station]

Hi!!

I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕

I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....

Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....

Happy Writing 💝

Guilt-Tripped

CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece Part 2, Part 3 Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :)) Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.

WC: 1467 As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3

Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.

From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)

You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.

You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.

Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.

And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)

The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison. 

You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp. 

And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five? 

You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.

Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.

A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.

You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.

You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes. 

Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application. 

You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them. 

Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.

You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out. 

It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try. 

It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group. 

As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.

Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time. 

Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke. 

It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you. 

And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.

His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa. 

You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses. 

It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends. 

So of course everything had to go downhill from there.

End scene :3 let me know what you think!!6 and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:) Also requests are open <3

[larimar]

rolandgarros & janiksinner

Jannik Sinner wasn’t built in an academy. He was forged in ice. Born in the Italian Alps. Raised by a chef and a ski instructor. He wasn’t supposed to be a tennis star — he was a ski champion by age eight. Flying down mountains faster than kids twice his size. But at 12, he did something no one saw coming: he walked away from skiing — cold — and picked up a racket. Left home. Left the slopes. Chased a new obsession. Alone. The tennis world didn’t know his name. They learned it fast. Because Sinner doesn’t just play — he strikes. Silent. Deadly. Machine-like. He doesn’t roar after points. Doesn’t smash rackets. He stares through you. Hits through you. And walks back to the baseline like a sniper reloading. By 18 — ATP titles. By 22 — slaying legends. By 23 — Grand Slam champion. The first Italian to win the Australian Open — and made it look surgical. No flash. No theatrics. Just ice in his veins and fire in his game. Number one in the world since June 10th 2024!

This loss will burn, but you will learn from it. You have shown the world how amazing you are, this was an epic match, and you played with everything you had, be proud, we know you're on your way to becoming a legend.

[snapthistiger]

exercise 04102025

bike ride to the gym

8 x 10 incline sit ups

3 x 10 pec machine

3 x 10 lat raise

3 x 10 low row

3 x 10 cable row

3 x 10 cable press

45 minute spin class

worked lifeguard job 930a to 1p

the gym workers received Hershey kisses

exercise went well. spin class was good and we had a substitute instructor for spin. she did fine and my calorie burn was near what i get with the usual instructor

work was ok. not many swimmers for the majority of the time and no one showed for aqua yoga. completed some light cleaning and stayed moderately busy

one of my coworkers told me that her partner is transitioning. i knew the partner dressed and considered herself to be female but she is also seeing a doctor for medical transition. i don't know anything about that so i just ask questions and learn

received notification from clerk of court to work an election on May 3. the only item on my ballot is a sales tax renewal for the Sheriff's department

left = someone lost their mango on the road

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

[intothedysphoria]

Steve started going to the gym the day after Eddie dumped him.

Technically, the two events were unrelated. Eddie avoided the gym like the plague so it wasn’t like Steve was going out of his way to meet him and they had a 30% membership discount the month of April, so really he was just taking advantage of a good deal.

Honestly, Steve worked out when he was stressed and he really needed that adrenaline hit to stop himself from crawling into the fridge and never coming out again.

He’d gotten up at 6AM, made sure that he looked semi presentable to be out in public and was just settling onto the running machine when the sound of Metallica started blasting from the Pilates room just opposite the regular gym.

After Steve recovered from his almost panic attack thinking that Eddie was actually getting fit, and the confusion at the instructor using fucking Metallica for 6AM Pilates, Steve decided in a bored, sad, slightly horny way, to check out the class.

Well, the instructor definitely wasn’t Eddie.

Eddie didn’t have those muscles.

Eddie didn’t have bleach blonde hair.

Eddie didn’t have a fucking tongue piercing.

Steve quickly decided he was in way over his head and frantically started to back away from the door but it was too late. The guy had already seen him and was gesturing him over.

Fucking shit.

The instructor was called Billy. Which was fun. He’d just moved to Hawkins from Los Angeles (why???????) and he was always up for new students so why didn’t Steve give it a go, he promised the Metallica was just a joke since it never failed to wake everyone up.

Steve was not a Pilates guy. That was all he learned from the hour long session. Well, that and when Billy’s tongue flicked out and did a little corkscrew, he looked like he’d be really good at eating- no Steve. Bad thoughts. No rebound.

Billy clapped a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder on the way out and Steve swore he started developing a semi.

This was not going to work.

He did what he always did when considering bad horny decisions and called Carol. The conversation was short and to the point.

“Babe didn’t Munson dump you literally like yesterday?”

She was popping her gum across the line. It was infuriating. Steve took a deep breath before responding.

“Well yeah but-“

Carol cut him off. She had a habit of doing that.

“Yeah but nothing babe.” Her voice trailed out of his phone like cigarette smoke, dancing across his room. “Either you let me key his dumbass weed van or you give up any dreams you’ve ever had about bouncing on blondie muscleface’s dick. Kay babe?”

Then she hung up.

Steve decided to go to Pilates class every day for the following two weeks. It kind of grew on him. Heather, the assistant instructor was bitchy and fun in a way he liked and her long acrylics reminded him of Carol. He made a mental note to himself to introduce her to Robin.

Things on the Billy side of things had not improved however. They’d gotten significantly worse. He was getting boners in public like a teenager, couldn’t speak in full sentences and his heart started doing that gooey mushy thing, especially when Billy told him he’d done a good job.

It’s a rebound not a crush had become his new mantra. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly true.

It was definitely a crush. A big one. Even bigger than the ones he’d had on Jonathan or Nancy or Eddie. And it was a problem.

He didn’t do a Clueless and start wearing revealing athletics wear or anything but he did start flirting just a little. To test out if what he thought had been completely made up in his brain or if something was actually happening.

Billy consistently responded with innuendos so intense, they would make Tommy ask him to cool it.

Ok. So Billy seemed to like him back. All Steve needed to do was ask him to dinner or something. No biggie.

He walked into next Mondays class with a mission which was immediately shattered by Billy wearing a signed Corroded Coffin t shirt. And Corroded Coffin was still small as shit, if Billy had it signed, he was friends with Eddie no doubt.

Running out of the class may not have been the most dignified option but it was the only one his dumbass brain could think of at the time.

He ran all the way back to his apartment onto his bed then cried. After half an hour he decided to check his phone only to be faced with a text from a number Steve must have just thought he’d blocked.

Eddie 💖🖤☺️

Can we talk?

Steve messaged back telling him to go away but five seconds later relented and said sure.

The phone started ringing immediately.

“Hey Steve. Why’d you run out of Billy’s Pilates class?”

Steve wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. He decided to keep his tone on the cooler side of polite.

“Did he tell you about that?”

There was a long silence for about five minutes before Eddie answered.

“Look Steve……….I know I wasn’t a gentleman when I dumped you. I shouldn’t have just run from the restaurant. That was a dick move. But I really do like Jason and I know for a fact Billy likes you. And you deserve each other. Really.”

Steve sniffled but didn’t answer

“Friends again?” Eddie’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Friends.”

Billy looked slightly frantic the next Pilates class. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a hat with a food stain on it somehow. His face visibly relaxed when he saw Steve.

Billy wasn’t a rebound. He was kind and friendly and opened the door to people who were struggling to get out. His hair was a stupid 80s mullet in 2024, his tattoos were atrocious and Steve thought it might be too soon to say it but he was pretty sure he was in love with him.

Dinner was a good start though, Steve thought as Billy laced their fingers together after the class. Dinner was good.

[nowimabeliever]

hey i heard something about professor doug... tell us more pls... *bats eyelashes*

(original post)

(another ask)

Some more professor Wreden fun facts:

About 25% of the time, he'll show up to class looking semi-professional. The other 75% of the time, he'll be in shorts and a t-shirt. Even in January.

Most of his classes are upper-division machine learning classes, but he teaches a couple sections of CS 210 because he likes seeing people get visibly better at programming over the course of a term

His doctoral thesis was on some machine learning thing that he still builds on as part of his research

He clearly knows his stuff conceptually/theoretically...

...except every time he tries to demo code for the class he fucks something up and you wonder a little bit how he managed to graduate undergrad

"Five minute coding adventure" is still a phrase he very much uses

His upper division classes are used to this and will just shout out that he forgot the semicolon or whatever else he fucked up

He's very good at explaining his mistakes (and also, on the assignments you get back, your own mistakes) once he figures out that he made them

His office isn't actually in the computer science building, since that's under renovations because it's actually the zillion-year-old math building and they ran out of space in there. Instead, he's been shoved into a random office in the business building

Which is how he met Dr. Parkzer, professor of finance and business operations

They've been friends for 4 years and are still in offices next door to each other (which doesn't bode well for the completion of that building)

About half the time anybody tries to find him for office hours, he's in Parkzer's office instead, working on his laptop and pestering Parkzer with hypotheticals

People speculate on whether he's in a relationship with Parkzer all the time

A couple of the younger instructors/postdocs have a bet going on it

He still streams on Twitch every so often and has a devoted following of about fourteen people who watch him code dumb shit in GTA

He'll take his glasses off to work in his office, leave them there when he goes to teach class, and then wonder why his own slides are so blurry

He has two grad student TA's- both of them also think he's hot

Also he still makes stupid jokes and drops insane lore randomly

He tells the linear algebra lube story at one point and everybody in the room who's taken linear algebra just kinda nods (i was so tempted to do this for my organic chemistry midterm ngl)

He's a fair grader but there are secret extra credit points if you're particularly creative on an assignment or make a good enough joke in class/at office hours

[tj-dragonblade]

First Sentence Tag Game

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagged by @dragonnan - thank you! I went with first paragraphs vs just first lines, which in some cases are still only a single line (or a single word, lol).

Tradition "Dream! You're just in time!"

You'll Know You're Defenseless There's a florist he passes on his way home from the garage.

Andante Affettuoso It is pleasantly warm in the New Inn, cozy in their corner, exactly as it has been every winter for the last five years. Dream has grown accustomed to the routine of it, comfortable in the familiarity of sitting at this table with Hob, wine and conversation shared between them; it is a tradition they have built, one Dream should greatly mislike to be without.

Marriage of Inconvenience "Wait! Please!"

Without Warning Something's Dawning (Listen) It is late afternoon by the time Dream gets to the clothes left in the drawing room. Hob had spent the morning with him lounging in the sunny bay window of the breakfast nook, resplendent in the skimpy teal green dressing gown Dream had gifted him, animatedly discussing literature through the ages. It was a delightful surprise to discover this commonality between them, that Hob was excited to debate the merits of Shakespeare and expound on his favorites from Byron or Chaucer or Austen or Marlowe, and morning had passed into the noon hour before Dream realized it.

Learning From Old Mistakes "Hey—!"

Love Machines In Harmony Hob pushes Dream up against the door as soon as it's shut behind them, seizes him by the biceps and kisses him fiercely. He's managed to calm himself a little between the limo and the house and he's not in danger of popping off immediately but his fancy tailored trousers are very distinctly tented and it's all Dream's fault, the way he'd just crawled over and taken Hob out and licked and sucked him like candy all the way home—

Baby Got Back Dream is pleased to see, as he begrudgingly follows his sister into the exercise class she'd signed them up for, that at least the instructor isn't the bodybuilding jock type that has historically put him off going to the gym entirely. Dream gets only a glance at the back of him as they enter the space, but he is slim and athletically built—neither thick-necked nor thickly-muscled, nor is any part of him built like a tree trunk.

Shift to Overdrive Dream gazes at Hob in his spread-legged sprawl on the seat across from him in the back of the limousine, and he wants.

Mementos "Photography is such an amazing innovation, yeah?" Hob snaps another photo as he speaks, capturing the elegant swish of orange and white fins just breaking the pond's surface. "Still marvel over it, sometimes, used to it as I am."

Tagging, no obligation, point me at your existing posts etc: @zalia @esperata @delta-pavonis @lenreli @five-and-dimes @softest-punk @kydrogendragon @dsudis @zzoomacroom @bazzybelle

[17020]

ᥫ᭡ CAMPUS CRUSH GALORE! NO PRNDL?

# CRUSH 003 — YOICHI ISAGI, 20. KINESIOLOGY MAJOR.

Because learning how to drive is a one-of-a-kind experience, right? Yoichi Isagi’s side hustle includes being a driving instructor. 4.4k crack and a hint of fluff, yn is an idiot and doesn't know how to drive, isagi is an idiot,,, idiots in love !!! word vomit ahoyyyyy!!! ending is a bit rushed srry. NOT PROOFREAD I DONT GIVE A FAWK LET ME SLEEP.

Truth be told, university life had drained YOICHI ISAGI's pockets dry. Whether it was lunch, memberships, or football, his constant spending had set his bank account back to single digits.

He had little to no reaction at first, as he came to realize that yes, perhaps he did have the luxury experience of buying lunch too often, as his backpack slowly became a wasteland for all the long receipts from the restaurant across the street.

And yes, perhaps he had been a tad picky when choosing where to work out, preferring to pay a monthly membership for the gym a few blocks away than to use the free gym at his university, because according to him, 'it feels like sardines in a can, and I would very much rather put my major's knowledge to use and walk a few miles. Very useful for joint health, y'know!'

The football club did not help either, as he had to invest in clothing, shoes, and even supplements to maintain himself in good health. His vitamins had cost him a pretty penny, and his constant ruining of his t-shirts ended up in him scouring different shopping malls to replace them.

In his head, he thought everything would be just fine. He could wake up earlier and cook for himself, or even have yesterday's leftovers for lunch, thus saving on food. Begrudgingly, he accepted the fact that he would have to work out at his university, which would make his workouts longer due to the unavailability of every machine he ever desired to use.

'Everything will be alright' was the phrase which spun around in his mind. It brought him stability, a sense of peace. It distracted him so much, in fact, that it kept his mind clouded while training for his upcoming match against a team from Kanagawa. But cloudiness can lead to blindness, and blindness to disaster.

His right leg sprung, the ball on top of his foot as he hungrily aimed for the goal. The loose fit of his shoe went unnoticed as he kicked, with his foot suddenly feeling a lot... lighter than it should have.

"Yo, Isagi! Was that yours?"

Yoichi's jaw was on the floor, no sound coming out of his mouth. His teammates burst into laughter, with the image of his shoe flying across the field and into the roof of an unknown building stuck in their minds.

"If you don't find it, you're gonna have to get a new pair" his redheaded friend, Chigiri, exclaimed. His teammates nodded, with one of them, a white-haired man named Nagi, speaking up.

"You don't have a job, Isagi, what'll you do?"

"It's not lost" Yoichi shook his head, "I just need to get to the roof and get it."

He was not aware that it would take him around two hours to get to the building, because even though it was right behind the field, he couldn't directly cross over to it, and he got lost. He was also, unaware of the fact that he needed permission to enter the building, as well as the roof, which he did not have. His angry insisting towards the security guard had gotten his request denied, with a quick picture of his face being printed in front him, along with the words "NO ENTRY."

He sighed in desperation, as he unlocked his phone, his thumb swiping over the screen and opening an app, it's icon resembling that of a dollar sign. He typed his user and his password, and he let out an embarrassingly loud whine.

$0.59.

Single digits was him being too delusional.

He closed the app, opening his messages and texting his group chat, consisting of some of his friends from the club.

Isagi It's lost.

Nagi see i told you he'd need a new pair @ reo :x

Reo You need to get a job man

Chigiri You wanna join me at the coffee shop? The shifts aren't that bad imo

Bachira SELL SOMETHING I sell paintings and business has been BUZZING :3

For once, Bachira had given him some good advice. He did not necessarily have to sell something tangible, he could sell his services. Football lessons for little kids are what came to mind, yet quickly faded after he realized he would be biting off more than what he could chew as there were no kids in his residency, and if he were to travel that far into other parts of Tokyo, he would have to spend a lot on gas.

Wait. Gas?

It was then when the idea struck. His dad had gifted him his old car, which was manual, and had taught him how to drive. He did not use it much, as he mostly walked or used his bicycle to get to places.

Having obtained his license at 18, with his father always discussing tips and tricks with him every evening, Yoichi Isagi was certain of what he could do as a side hustle to earn some extra cash. Driving around his neighborhood would make for a investment in gas, but there was nothing that a quick loan from his father couldn't fix.

LEARN TO DRIVE QUICK. THREE DAY COURSE !!! I'm very patient, have a manual car (yes we will use my car), and it's only $150 !!!! Three hours daily!!! For more info please text Yoichi Isagi (that's me) at xxx-xxxx-xxxx

Yoichi smiled at the screen in front of him, seemingly proud of his 'advertisement'. He opened the messaging app and selected all of his contacts from campus, pressing 'send' as his desperation left him to reach out to his group chats for different classes, as well as people he did not even have class with.

He set his phone down on his desk, anxiously staring at it in hopes of receiving a notification. His phone buzzed multiple times, and excitedly, he unlocked it, only to find out it was his friends who had replied.

Bachira Sorry dude I cant, I already have my scooter I'll share it tho

Chigiri "I'm very patient" why do you lie??

Reo It looks like this took you 5 seconds to write

Isagi You judge my ad so bad why don't YOU buy my cleats then.

Reo I have better things to do

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, when a sudden notification popped up at the top of his screen, catching his attention. The number had not been saved on his phone—it was an unknown number! He jumped out of his seat from the excitement, quickly opening the message.

xxx-xxxx-xxxx Hi, is this Isagi? I'm interested in the driving lessons! Are you free next week? Also, do I pay at the end of the course or like every day?

Isagi Hi, yes this is Isagi! I'm totally free The lessons are held in my neighborhood, I'll send location. 𖡡 Location Don't worry about the payment, you can pay me at the end of the course!

xxx-xxxx-xxxx How funny, I actually live like 10 minutes away! My classes end at around 2, is it okay to pop up at 3?

Isagi Of course! Mind giving me your name so that I can know who I'll be teaching? :)

xxx-xxxx-xxxx Yn Ln!

His eyes read the name on the screen over and over again, making sure to remember it. Why wouldn't he, though? You were his first of many clients. Well, at least that was what he hoped..

The week went by in the blink of an eye, and Yoichi was nervous. He stood outside his home, his back leaning against his car door. He looked down at his wrist, checking his watch. 2:58. A figure slowly approached him, and as he looked up, the tip of his ears quickly turned pink as he straightened his posture and fixed the collar of his shirt in an attempt to make a good first impression.

"Hi! Isagi, right?" you questioned, your footsteps coming to a halt as you now stood in front of him. He nodded in response, stretching his arm and his hand meeting yours in a handshake.

"You must be Ln. Let's get started, okay?"

Yoichi guided you to the passenger seat, opening the door for you and closing it once you took a seat, with him reminding you to put on your seatbelt, and quickly walking towards the other side and sitting in the driver's seat.

After asking if you had any experience driving (and to Yoichi's relief, you answered a 'yes'), he gave a short recap of what one could find when getting into a car: a steering wheel, break, turn signal indicators, accelerator, and most importantly, the clutch and shift stick.

You stated you were a bit taken aback, as your family had owned an automatic car, meaning you had no experience with a clutch, and worse, switching gears. Yoichi let out a chuckle, reassuring you that it was totally fine. He explained how learning to drive manual was much better for you in the long run, as it turned driving automatic into a breath of fresh air. Plus, 'automatic cars give a kind reminder'.

"PRNDL."

"PRNDL?"

"Please Rest, No Dozing, Lad."

You giggled, watching how his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm serious, Ln! If you fall asleep on the road, something bad could happen."

Yoichi slipped in the key, his foot on the clutch as his hand turned the key, which was followed by the revving of the engine. He showed you the clutch, his foot on top of it, pressing it down as a demonstration on how to use it. Consequently, his right hand got ahold of the shift stick, moving it around to show you how you can let the stick be in neutral, different gears, or even reverse, and how to change them at any moment.

"If you want to drive, you need to be in first gear, then slowly remove your left foot from the clutch, then place your right on the accelerator. Like this..."

As he reenacted his words, you found yourself attentive to his every move. The way his left foot pressed the clutch, how his right hand oh-so-delicately handled the shift stick, moving it left then upwards to first gear, how his left foot slowly took off from the clutch, and how his right foot pressed the accelerator, how his eyelashes fluttered with each movement of his eyes, how his ears were now completely pink, how his lips were slightly parted—

You could not fuck up your first driving lesson because your instructor was cute. No fucking way.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your instructor, who had turned off the car, handing you the keys. "You ready to try it out?" he questioned, a glint of passion evident in his ocean blue eyes. Nervously, you nodded, Yoichi stepping out of the car and opening your door in return.

You fixed the seat and rearview mirrors, adjusting them to your liking. Putting on your seatbelt, you slid the key in the keyhole and placed your foot on the clutch. Yoichi cleared his throat, making you turn your head to look at him.

"Forgetting something?"

The knowing look in his eyes, as well as his raised eyebrow should have given it away, but to his surprise, you shook your head in response. He gave a disappointed smile, his index finger pointing to his chest.

"You didn't tell me to put my seatbelt on."

Your mouth made an 'o' shape as he slid the seatbelt across his torso, the clicking sound that followed assuring you that now you were ready to begin.

It was a slow start, with the engine turning on and your left foot on the clutch. You did as told, with Yoichi making sure that you applied the right amount of pressure on the pedals. Despite his car being a tad old, it was well taken care of. The pedals weren't stiff, and neither was the clutch. Its interior was clean, with the exterior carefully polished. You could tell it was his pride and joy.

After going around the neighborhood and practicing turns, you were surprised as to how quickly you had progressed. Sure, the car shut off while driving numerous times, but Yoichi's warm smile and his verbal reassuring that yes, this is very normal when it's your first time driving kept you from freaking out.

Three hours went by like three minutes, and you soon found yourself being Yoichi's passenger, as he had offered to drive you home. It was, for the most part, a quiet drive, with Yoichi initiating small talk here and there.

"So, how'd you find out about my lessons?"

"Oh! Bachira sent your message to our Ethics class group chat, since there's a bunch of different majors in there."

Yoichi's lips curled into a smile as he remembered his friend's promise to share his 'advertisement'. You asked him why he was offering a three day course, and he explained how he was in desperate need for new cleats for his upcoming match, which ended up in him rambling on about his favorite shoe brand, his problems with sizing, and how he would definitely need the money for a good pair.

You stared at him in complete awe. How could you not? The fiery look in his eye as he described his passion for football was captivating, enough to make you interested in what he was talking about, hanging on every word that left his lips.

Unfortunately for him, his train of thought had been interrupted.

"Uhh, Isagi? You just drove past my house."

Embarrassed, he tried to play it off. "I know, it's because you haven't learned how to drive in reverse yet" he stated, his attempt at being nonchalant being in vain.

You giggled as he turned his head to the back, his right hand moving the clutch to 'reverse' and then finding its way to your seat, holding your headrest to position himself into getting a better view. Slowly, he drove back, waiting for your signal to stop.

"I had fun" you smiled, "I'll see you tomorrow, teach."

"See you tomorrow" he chuckled, "Hey! Don't forget about PRNDL!"

Yoichi was patient. Just as promised. Even though your classmate Bachira had warned you that Isagi may have lied about it on his ad, a part of you had faith that Bachira's friend would find it in his heart to be patient. You convinced yourself that these driving lessons would be nothing short of fun.

And they were!

Until you found yourself wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground, cheeks boiling hot from how embarrassed you were.

The second day was... eventful. The car turned off, you accidentally knocked a trash can (which according to you appeared out of thin air) while driving in reverse, and your instructor found himself using the emergency brake quite a few times. It was too eventful for your liking, leaving you unable to muster up courage to make a move.

It was safe to say you left your driving lesson feeling dispirited. Especially since you had 'practically ruined your chances with Isagi after making a complete fool of yourself.'

Unbeknownst to you, the smile that was plastered on Yoichi's face once he arrived home was unlike any smile he had ever flashed before, as he rambled on and to the phone laying in front of him, the name 'Chigiri' sitting at the top of the screen.

"So Ln doesn't know how to drive."

"Yeah."

"And they almost crashed your car?"

"Yes!"

"Why do you sound so happy about that?"

Yoichi wasted no time in explaining how adorable you were in his eyes. Each movement of your face was carefully studied by him (when he was not looking at the road, of course), finding your expressions nothing short of cute. Your eyebrows raised in confusion as to why you couldn't switch gears, your eyes closing shut as the trash can mysteriously appeared (which earned you a scolding from him, but he felt very bad while doing so), and the way your face lit up in excitement as you finally mastered parallel parking.

Yoichi's heart skipped a beat.

"So, when're you gonna ask Ln out?"

"Dude I'm not even sure if Ln likes me."

"Do it tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, his thumb pressing the red button on his screen. "Yeah, yeah. G'night, princess."

Yoichi Isagi almost didn't sleep that night, his mind racing as your image popped by every few minutes. He just wanted to be helpful, is what he thought at first, thinking of techniques he could teach you, his cute pupil. The more he thought about it, the more entangled he was with his own thoughts, the thought of possible rejection making his heart sink.

At the same time, you laid in your bed, heart thumping as you buried your face in your pillow in an attempt to sleep. At one point, you and him thought the same thing:

I have three days to prove myself, so let's make it count.

Yoichi had planned ahead. Your comfort was his priority, and after seeing how frustrated you were the day before, he knew he had to cheer you up somehow.

So when you sat in his car's driver's seat on the third day of the course, Yoichi asked you for your favorite artist, playing their music at a low volume so that you would still be able to concentrate while driving.

"I want you to feel comfortable, and to not fear the wheel. If you feel nervous, chances are you're not gonna do well, Ln. So trust, okay?"

You nodded in response, turning on the engine. The ride was much smoother, and it seemed like Yoichi's plan had worked! You were much calmer, the car didn't shut off as much, and you had practically mastered driving up to third gear. As you drove around the neighborhood, you tried to downshift, finding yourself unable to do so properly, bringing the car to a halt.

Yoichi suggested double clutching, a technique he had learned from his father. After some back and forth, you agreed to try it, failing after the first try and shutting the engine off yet again, your face turning red in response. Your instructor took notice of your puffy cheeks and irritated expression, which meant that it was time to move on to the second phase of his plan.

He explained how, in order to practice shifting gears, you had to drive another lap around the neighborhood. You did as told, confused as to why Yoichi started giving different directions and telling you to turn towards streets you had not driven through before.

"Turn right at the next stop. Park, then wait for me 5 minutes."

Turning on the parking lights, you carefully parked the car where Yoichi explained. Looking at your surroundings, you noticed that Yoichi had made you stop outside a convenience store. He stepped outside of the car, his hand waving goodbye at you as he sprinted inside. A few minutes later he walked outside of the store, a bag in hand. He opened his door and sat inside, taking a packaged ice pop from outside the bag.

"It's for you" he smiled, handing you the ice pop. "Your face was red, so I figured we could cool off with a snack."

You thanked him, taking the ice pop from his hand and opening the packaging. You would be lying to yourself if you said the ice pop did not help with your frustration, as its delicious, juicy flavor calmed your senses. It was then when Yoichi struck up a conversation.

"So, how are you liking the driving lessons so far?"

"I like them, it's been fun! I mean—it's hard, but I'm hoping to get used to it, y'know?"

Yoichi smiled, exclaiming he was glad that you managed to find enjoyment in driving. He seemed as if he got lost in his own thoughts, the smile quickly fading and falling into a pout.

"Have I..."

He pauses, unsure of whether or not he wanted to ask, or if it was even worth asking. A part of him already knew the answer yet he slowly became doubtful, a small drop of insecurity staining his once confident train of thought.

"Have I been a good teacher?"

You loudly giggled, which concerned Yoichi even more, thinking that perhaps his worst fear actually came true. Fortunately for him, though, the words that left your mouth after were reassuring to him, his nervous expression changing into a joyful one.

"Are you kidding? Isagi—you're a great teacher. I don't think I would've learned to drive if I had anyone else as an instructor" you smiled, moving your hand with the ice pop so that yours could meet his. "You teach so good, I could honestly take you out to dinner."

You froze in your seat, wondering if your senses were playing games with you, or if you actually let that slip. Yoichi's whole face was a warm shade of pink, his lips slightly parting as if he was going to say something.

"...when?"

"What do you mean when?"

"When will we go to dinner?"

"Uhh... when do you want to go to dinner?"

The corner of Yoichi's lips curled to form a smirk as his gaze met yours, "Let's do this instead. If you pass your driver's exam with me, I'll pay for dinner. If you fail, you're paying."

"So yesterday you gave him a high-five with your popsicle, told him he's a great teacher, and asked him out to dinner?"

"...yes?"

"Did something happen today???"

"Not really. I mean, he was a bit awkward at first, and so was I! But we tried double clutching and the car didn't turn off!"

"And you called me because...?"

"Because I need you to meet up with me at the mall, Bachira" you smiled. Oddly enough, his voice was nothing but a comforting sound to you, distracting you from the fact that tomorrow would be your last day seeing Yoichi. Wanting to make it memorable, you hit up your trusted friend to act as your sidekick.

After explaining your idea to Bachira, he seemed more excited than you were. Perhaps it was the nerves, seeing as you would either be a star in Yoichi's eyes or a total embarrassment.

"You sure he's a nine?" you asked.

"Positive! I'm a nine and a half, and his shoes don't fit me. Just keep the receipt in case they don't fit so that he can change the size."

"And you're sure that these are the ones he likes?"

"Yup" he replied popping the 'p'. "Look, Yn, if he spent a good amount of time ranting to you about how he loves these, then I'm sure those are the ones."

"Are you really sure?"

"..."

"Bachira?"

"..."

"BACHIRA!"

"Sorry! Isagi texted me."

"What did he say?"

He laughed, "Nunya—I'm not a snitch. Gotta go, see ya in a few!"

Who knew shopping for cleats would be... such a hard ass procedure?

Heel slippage, playing surface, playing position, type of cleats, materials, size, weight, and more. The chunks of information swarming your brain all at once eventually made you dizzy. If it weren't for Yoichi's ramblings and Bachira's guidance (and what he knew from playing alongside Yoichi), you managed to find the perfect pair.

The odds were in your favor, because the same exact pair of cleats Yoichi lost were on sale.

After a sleepless night from the nervousness, and constant doubting of whether or not you made the right choice of purchasing cleats for a guy you met four days ago, you were ready for the final day. That is, if "ready" could be defined by letting your eyes close shut in an attempt to sleep as Yoichi explained his 'test', with him constantly asking if you're okay.

Yoichi was worried, with him even suggesting that you reschedule the test free of charge, but you shook your head in response, sliding in the key and turning the engine on.

Sure, it would have been nice to reschedule and see Isagi one last time, but your ego itched at the fact that you would be unable to drive at this moment.

Safe to say, the test was... alright. It started off as a few twists and turns, switching gears, double clutching, and parking parallel, perpendicular, and angle. Reverse parking was the biggest pain, though, as you almost knocked over a light post that "magically appeared", with Yoichi quickly pulling the emergency brake. After that teeny incident, though, things were smooth-sailing, with you parking outside your home and switching seats with Yoichi.

"So.. how did I do?"

"I mean..."

His expression was concerning, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze so concentrated, it brought chills down your spine. Did you fuck up that badly?

"Light post aside," he stated, his expression suddenly changing into a cheerful one "I think you did a pretty good job! Congratulations, Ln!"

You sighed in relief, lips curling into a smile as you remembered the item you bought yesterday. Getting out of the car, you told him to wait there, quickly going inside your home and stepping out with a gift bag. He tilted his head to the side in confusion as you opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, a huge grin on your face.

"What's the bag for?"

"Just a little something for ya."

He carefully peeled the bag open, his eyes widening and his mouth falling agape in disbelief. Taking the box out of the bag, he opened it, only to find a brand new pair of cleats, the exact same pair he had lost a while back.

"Did you really..?"

You nodded.

The amount of "thank you's" that escaped Yoichi's lips were far too many to count, eventually becoming some sort of slurred, unrecognizable chant. You giggled as you watched him trace his fingers around the cleats, utterly enamored by them.

"About the payment, Isagi, I don't have cash so I was wondering if you accepted wire transfer—"

"Oh, don't worry about it."

"Huh?"

"Yeah there's no need! The cleats are enough."

Yoichi grinned as he took off the emergency break and fastened his seatbelt, waiting for you to do the same. His hand was on the shift stick, and his foot was on the clutch.

"Where are we going?"

"Dinner" he smiled, "You passed, so I'm taking you out to dinner."

You smiled as you relaxed in the passenger seat, your eyes naturally closing from exhaustion.

"Sleepy? You can doze off, it's a long way to where we're going."

You sighed pleasantly as you felt your body slowly falling asleep as Yoichi softly mumbled to himself.

"...please rest now, dear lover."