#right that's enough procrastinating my thesis let's get back to work

[rapha-reads]

Went through the notes, noticed that you were welcoming fic recs, saw what the fandom has been reccing, decided to add my brick to the edifice (fair warning, it's heavy on Jason Todd. He's my boy).

Jason Todd: The Not-So-Outlaw by GoAwayOlivia

Jason Todd isn't what Batman made him, he isn't what the Joker made him, he isn't what the League of Assassins made him, and he isn't what the Lazarus Pit made him. He's his own person and he's taking himself back, one home renovation at a time. Also he might just make friends with the people who are supposed to be his brothers while he's at it.

192k words of Red Hood Jason healing from all the PTSD, renovating an old flat, reconnecting with his family and building his own. Will make you cry. Will make you laugh. Will make you go mad in the dark at 3 in the morning.

Foreign Object, part 1 of the Cor et Cerebrum series, by audreycritter

Bruce Wayne deals with a serious illness, one that threatens the most crucial part of himself. He and the family try to cope with their own fears and expectations about it and then the aftermath. This is written partly as character study, partly as family drama.

No one has recced that one yet, and I'm offended. Cor et Cerebrum is just. I don't have the words. It's family, you know? It's the trauma and love, the anger and loyalty that brings and bounds people together. Also it is the introduction of best boy Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni, Audrey's original character that's since become a staple of a part of the fandom, and I personally think Dev is worth knowing.

Gotham Banksy by LananiA3O

Red Hood: Lost Days AU. After finding out that he remains unavenged, Jason returns to Gotham, but instead of deciding to kill Bruce, he decides to channel his rage into a more creative endeavor: spray-painting Gotham until the message is loud and clear to everyone: fuck Batman.

This one. I love it when Jay channels his anger and fondness for the dramatics into arts and crafts. This one is amazing, because the descriptions of the paintings, the giant paintings, are some of the most vivid, intense, powerful stuff I've read.

The Social Media Saga by Wallyallens

The batkids get instagram and all hell breaks lose.

I'm a huge fans of social media AU. This one is hilarious, and it has ALL the family feels.

Needless to say, part 1 of the Family Vacations! series by Aaren

Jason decides to take a vacation. It goes well. Mostly. Except for the part where everything is going to hell. –––––––– “I am going to murder him.” Tim slowly told the room at large, voice flat and tightly controlled. He was pouring coffee directly besides his mug, dark circled eyes never once leaving the television. Damian hummed in agreement, trying to dislodge his jam covered knife from where he had stabbed it in the breakfast table. “You shall not stand alone in this endeavour, Drake. ”

A series about siblings being siblings, except these siblings are simultaneously highly-trained vigilantes and the dumbest guys ever. It's hilarious, it's badass, it's dumb, it's full of family feels. The last part isn't complete.

Colony and Flock, part 1 and 2 of the Nighttime Fliers series, by halfmoonmagic

The Bats are a family like any other--they argue, they laugh, they dress up in costumes and beat criminals to a pulp with their bare fists. You know, normal family things. A series of unconnected one-shots centered around Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. Other characters will appear periodically.

Exactly what the summary says. Expect various family feels Batman style: fighting baddies, fighting each other, 4am breakfast fluff and 3pm lunch angst, school trips, space trips, de-aging and time travel... Some chapters are connected, but most are not.

it's always sunny in coast city, part 3 of the we're in this mellow mayhem together series by atlasky

Jason flashes Hal the black credit card between his fingers. The name Bruce Wayne is printed on it in golden, cursive letters. He says, “My teenage rebellion phase is long overdue. Get in loser, we’re going shopping.” “This is your third existential crisis this year,” Hal replies, but he gets into the Lamborghini and pulls out his phone to text Carol about missing work, because who is he to say no to putting a dent in Bruce Wayne's wallet? (Or: a road trip for people who, for once, choose to deal with emotions.)

This series follows the friendship between Jason and Hal Jordan, from Jay's childhood all through his dead and return. Every instalment is a standalone and is great, but this one is my favorite. It's just very... melancholy and slow. Very nice when you need the day to slow down and your brain to shut up.

Harvest, part 6 of the Minefield series, by coyote-nebula

Bruce knows how Jason died. Bruce knows how Jason returned to Gotham. He knows very little about what happened in-between. When Clark Kent prevails upon him to complete the corn harvest at the Kent farm, Bruce is forced to make peace with his own shortcomings to be the father that Jason needs him to be. You know the Hallmark movie where the city slicker comes to the small town with unaddressed baggage and leaves having healed all their personal relationships with the help of adoptive country moms against a charming rural backdrop? This is that, father-son edition.

The Minefield series is about dealing with trauma and love when you're a family of vigilantes who have all died at least once. In that series, Harvest is one of those stories that will grip you by the throat and make you yell in your pillow. It's 30k words of anger, grief, hard conversations, unconditional love, tending to crops and escaping a furious bull.

World’s Saddest Breakfast Club by motleyfam

Following a couple of Very Bad Weeks™ (which may or may not have involved being kidnapped and mildly tortured), Jason decides the best way to cheer himself up is to break into the Manor for a 3 a.m. snack. Turns out he isn’t the only one awake.

This one is one of the most popular in the fandom (close to 54k hits, almost 10k kudos), and it's just. The best. It's 7k words of love through food and banter and one of those 4 to 6am half fluff half angst breakfast, when the world barely exists and it's just you and your favorite people messing around and existing together.

Alright, I'mma stop here. Enjoy the hyperfixation!

It's been well over a decade since I've touched any of the media, but I can feel my hyperfixation careening back into the Batfam fandom.

All of it.

I was awake at 4am this morning reading Batman comics from 1939, and my little gremlin brain, high on the endorphins of this fixation, is like, "What if, now hear me out, what if we just read ALL of them."

Like brain, I don't know how to tell you this, but there is just under a hundred years worth of content. We can't. We, no, stop. Please, no, I have a family, I have a Mop to feed! Please, we, we... ah. Fuck.

[gummybugg]

🎶Stuck in an ADHD Rut🎷🪲

Howdy! If this applies to you, let's see if we can get you out of there!

From what I have learned, the little ADHD brain creature craves happy chemicals. What usually gives us those? A sense of completion and satisfaction with our work! But those with ADHD lack a sufficient amount of baseline happy chemicals, which means it's harder for us to want to get things done! 

If the reward at the end of a task doesn't give your brain enough happy chemicals, you're more likely to procrastinate!

So what are we going to do to get unstuck? If unmedicated or without therapy, it can be very difficult to work around the ADHD rut! But I can share some things that have helped me in the past.

Of course, everything I mention will not help 100%, because everyone's brains are complex and this is anecdotal!

If you are able to, find a window of time that is easiest for you to work at! I typically do my best work in the evening or at night. This isn't always the best solution, as working around a schedule is not always easy.

Crank the stimulus up to 10 if you're feeling under-stimulated/bored! Louder music, brighter lights, drink something warm... Even stretching can get the blood pumping because now you got all the bone crunches out of your system! Are you there, Brain? It's me, Bug!

When I can remember, I create a Very Detailed to-do list. But I also know that people with ADHD are notoriously bad at keeping track of lists! I tell myself, "First, write a bullet list of ideas. Second, cherry-pick what you like. Third, write the thesis/main idea. Fourth, write ONE paragraph…" This works more so for writing essays or an entire draft! For some reason, breaking down every single step makes it slightly more manageable for me. 

I have heard of people who stop writing right before an interesting part and take a break! Perhaps the thrill of wanting to finish up that good part is what makes people want to jump back in. 

This goes against the previous points, but sometimes writing the most interesting pieces of my stories first (as opposed to writing linearly) helps more! The burst of energy I get when reading back on these pieces drives me to continue writing! I remember how excited I was when I wrote it all down, and it makes me think that past Me was definitely onto something!

To sum up, the ADHD brain is a fussy child who needs to be constantly reminded how to get things done. The more you get angry at it, the harder it is to cooperate with it! But, that is easier said than done. No one said that gentle parenting your brain was easy.

If you made it this far, then kudos to you because writing this was a miniature hurdle of its own! And If it seems scattered, I am well aware!

[b-lessings]

Beh.. Bismillahirrahmanirrahim..

I do not know where to start the storytelling session from, but here is the brief version, 8 years ago I got accepted in a master's degree, I was happy, proud, excited, you name it.. but I was in a different phase of my life where my priorities weren't straight, and I sorta did things for the wrong reasons, but that's not the point. After studying and passing the first 2 years it was time to work on my research and write the MA dissertation thesis.. which took me about 2 years of wasted time, and I missed all the deadlines and ended up quitting and leaving the program without graduating. It was one of the hardest times it in my life. I only have one description for it: Painful. When I was trying to work on my research I was utterly and completely lost. I struggled with crippling anxiety, I wasn't sleeping or living properly, I was way under rock bottom. I remember the nights where I tried to force myself to study or write something, my arms would hurt and freeze on me, I couldn't even move my fingers on the keyboard, and I would end up crying myself to sleep. I watched my days slip away, my classmates making progress and me falling behind.. I still remember the pages of " pros and cons " on my diary that I filled with reasons trying to ease my pain and convince myself that I didn't need to graduate and that a degree doesn't make you happy. Anyways, let me save you guys the ugly details, long story short, I gave up. It was too painful. I let the rope go. How did I live on with that feeling and with the circumstances? Obviously not healthily. Little did I know back then that it was all a part of Allah's plan and Allah's test for me. Alhamdulillah. That was mid 2018.

A year later, I picked up school again. I enrolled in the master's program all over again, I had already gotten a full time job and still, with Allah's blessings, managed to study and work, pass my exams, improve my grades, and a year and a half later I found myself face to face with the research and the dissertation again, aka, my nightmare. Obviously, my very unstable brain decided to bring back all the psychological damage from last time and live in it. The episode of severe anxiety had begun, I went on antidepressants, I took a leave from work on to focus on research but all I did was procrastinate and cry about it. I know I tend to whine a lot on tumblr but a few of you have been close enough to me to witness the struggle and to see my pain, I am beyond grateful to any one and everyone who ever helped me even with a simple word of encouragement, may Allah swt bless your hearts and grant you pure happiness. Anyways, it was painful as well, except that this time, I did things the right way, with a closer relationship to Allah swt than my 2018 self, and seeking therapy, I was making progress, and obviously when you see yourself making progress it gives you a sensation of reward, you get high on the dopamine and you find the energy to keep going, and to reach the finish line, Alhamdulillah!

And it happened, with Allah's blessings and mercy it happened, with Allah's kindness and generosity it happened, and today, I am a holder of a Master's degree in applied linguistics after a journey of eight whole years!

Now of course shaytan can't see you or let you put your effort in something and work hard on it without trying to shake your self-esteem and distracting you with negative thoughts, like what are you doing? Your friends graduated 4 or 5 years ago. Have you seen how old you are? You couldn't do it last time there is no point in doing it now! It is pointless and your work is very mediocre. You are only wasting your time, blah blah blah.. But the key to break this vicious circle of self-doubt and negative self-talk is to realize the following:

To each their path, to each they journey, according to their own right timing. There is no rule in life that holds us to reach a certain milestone at an exact age or timing. To each their own experiences, and each person blooms differently, which is beautiful. There are 7.7 billion people in the world, do you think they all have the same goal or the same definition of success? do you think they all graduated by the age of 22 or 25? How many people do you even think got to go to college? It is not a fixed template that we have to all adjust our lives to. Absolutely not. Do not compare your journey to anyone else's!!! Walk your own path, with your own steps, write your own story!

And remember, it is okay to try again. It is okay to start over. It is never too late. You are gonna make it, the way you are supposed to make it and not the way other people made it. Success looks different from one person to the other. What works well for you does not necessarily work out for others. And if you fail? That's okay! Trial and error is a part of the learning process. Making mistakes is what makes us human, and perseverance is what makes us superhuman.

Writing this with all the love in the world. May Allah swt bless your journey and grant you the strength and patience to keep going. May Allah swt grant you success in this duniyah and the akhirah.

- A.Z. 🍃

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Someone tell me why instead of editing my thesis I’ve spent this morning writing an angsty Nessian/furious Nesta one-shot, when I haven’t written fanfiction in… six whole years?? Have I just unlocked a new level of procrastination and putting off deadlines????

(Nope I don’t know when this is set. Maybe after Eris proposed? Idk. Maybe Nesta accepted the proposal and it was the kick up the arse Cassian needed. Maybe Eris treats Nesta right from day one. Maybe Cassian has to actually work for it instead of just telling her her opinions are bullshit. Idk. It’s out of my system now so will probs never finish this. It came into my head like this and I had to get it down. That is all. It’s not even edited but… here it is anyway.)

“I fucked up.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that.

“I know. I know.” His eyes were a kind of frantic she’d never seen before. Wild. She could see the storm brewing there. He ran a hand through his hair. “Just- just tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can fix it.”

Silence.

It wasn’t often that words failed her. She was always ready with some sharp remark, some biting comment. But as he stood before her, arms outstretched and palms facing upwards almost in supplication… for the first time she didn’t know what to say.

She’d never seen him plead like this before. His face seemed bare without that smirk he always wore. His eyes empty without that gleam, that spark that said he was riling her up on purpose. His hand ran again through his dark hair, and for a moment she could have sworn his fingers trembled.

“Please.”

He was waiting. She should say something. Anything. Tell him what he wanted to hear, because there was a kind of guilt building in her stomach and clawing up her throat. Just one word from her could fix it, couldn’t it?

All she had to do was say yes. Give him what he wanted. Make him happy.

But, hell, she was far too stubborn for that. Instead she set her shoulders, stepped away from him, just barely. Enough for him to notice.

She saw his face fall even further; she hadn’t thought it was possible. He’d looked so distraught when he’d followed her out here, the door slamming behind him, and she hadn’t thought it could get worse.

That look in his eyes almost killed her.

But this wasn’t her fault.

She wasn’t good at admitting when she was wrong, that’s true. But this time, this time she was certain she wasn’t at fault. So let him grovel.

Let him suffer, just a bit.

God knows he made her suffer enough. They all had, and it made her blood boil in her veins. How blind he was. How utterly stupid.

“You seem awfully determined to right any wrongs tonight,” she said at last.

“I’ll do anything, Nes. Tell me what to do.”

She tilted her head. Kept her voice low, soft, almost gentle, as she said:

“How far back shall I go?”

Confusion flashed across his features. He wasn’t fooled by her tone. He knew her well enough to know this was a trap. That she was just waiting for him to put his foot in his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she was done waiting. She cut him off before he could find the words to say.

“Shall we start with tonight? Or shall I start from the beginning?”

A pause. His eyes darkened, and she knew him well enough to know that he was getting annoyed. Good.

“Every time you ignored my grief. My suffering. Ignored it because it wasn’t palatable, and decided I was dealing with all of this in the wrong way. Shall we start there?”

He folded his arms across his chest. Turned his head away.

A laugh burst from her, low and bitter.

“It doesn’t matter.” She said quietly. He snapped his head back towards her so fast she almost heard it crack.

“Of course it matters.”

She raised an eyebrow. He let out a long, shaky breath.

“We didn’t know how much you were suffering before-”

“Is that what you tell yourself? To make yourself sleep at night?”

“You think I’d have stood by and-”

“Yes.” She said simply. Her interruption stunned him. She stunned him often, she knew that much, but she rarely left him speechless. His eyes widened, and she was torn between satisfaction and devastation when she caught that look of heartbreak on his face. “What was it you said? You couldn’t understand how either of my sisters could love me?”

He flinched.

The bulking, massive, warrior before her flinched.

Again, that anger inside her was satisfied.

Good.

“You know I’d walk over hot coals for you. To hell and back-”

She couldn’t stop it, the laugh that burst out of her. Sharp and biting and vicious.

“You couldn’t even walk me back from a battlefield.” Her words were soft. So soft, but they couldn’t hide the venom there. The anger she’d harboured for so long now.

Everything else she’d told him.

How she couldn’t bear to hear the crackle of a fire. How the sound of her father’s neck breaking dogged her every step, the sight of the blood - so much blood - plagued her dreams. How submerging herself under water just to bathe made her feel like she was drowning, dying, and how oblivion was starting to feel like a mighty nice concept.

But she hadn’t told him this part. That when it mattered, when it really mattered, he’d disappeared. Limped away and left her alone.

Before then… before then, he’d listened to her when nobody else had. She’d felt something off that day at the meeting, and her sister had dismissed it, but he hadn’t. She’d felt his hand on her back when they asked her to find that damned cauldron, and it was an anchor, grounding her.

She’d bandaged his wrist, and he had looked at her like she was the entire world. Like everything else faded into insignificance the moment her fingers touched his skin. And even when he’d dropped her hand like a burning coal, she hadn’t given up.

She’d laid her life down alongside his, fully prepared to die as long as she did it by his side. She’d given up everything. Everything.

And it was in those moments after the battle, when she stood alone, watching her sisters walk away arm in arm, not even noticing that she’d fallen behind, when she couldn’t catch her breath and her lungs wouldn’t work, and it was quiet but her mind was screaming, and she wanted to sob but tears wouldn’t come…

And he was nowhere to be seen.

It was then she’d decided to fuck the lot of them.

And that night, when she’d gone to bed instead of celebrating - they were fucking celebrating - she heard their sighs. The exasperation in their voices as she turned and climbed the stairs. She felt it, how they were torn between rolling their eyes at her (haven’t we all been through a lot, she imagined they’d say), and feeling some kind of relief that she’d gone away rather than burden them with her trauma.

And as she cried into her pillow, fingers clenched into the sheets and fists shaking, she knew that every single promise every single one of them had made was meaningless. She heard the corks of bottles popping. Heard their laughter.

Fuck them all.

He looked winded now. It brought her back into the present, the almost breathless gasp that escaped his lips.

She could see the words - the excuses - starting to spill from his mouth, but she was tired. Exhausted.

She held up a hand and he stopped. Considered her for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered it, and there was pain there, in his voice and behind his eyes.

It was all she had wanted to hear from him, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she told herself at night that if he’d just realise that this - all of this - was at least partly down to him, too, then she could move on. She could forgive him for every acid word he’d thrown her way, because god knows she’d thrown enough at him, too.

But when it came down to it… she couldn’t. She thought those words would be a balm. She thought that when he finally, finally, noticed how much pain she was in that she could stop being so… angry. Stop lashing out.

Instead all she felt was disappointment. Like she’d been building up this moment for months now and it just… wasn’t enough.

Because he might have apologised, but he’d never taken those words back. And she might have snarled at him and snapped at him, but he was the one who followed her when she didn’t want to be followed. Who pushed her when she didn’t want to be pushed.

Who saw her pain on that cold winter night and instead of reaching out, told her that he couldn’t understand why anyone loved her. He was the one who told her they all hated her. Told her she needed to try harder, when even breathing felt like too much.

No. It wasn’t enough.

Nesta was slow to admit when she was wrong.

She was even slower to forgive.

[zepskies]

Aw thank you, friend. 😭😭

I'll admit, finding the time and the energy to write can be very challenging.

Sometimes my weeks are really busy. More than one 11 hour day, short nights and life in general. So, when I do get some free time, I really have to kick myself in the ass to finish chapters. 🤣

Omg that sounds stressful. But I totally get it. I think part of the "finding time" is just creating a schedule for myself. When I was doing my master's I had to write almost every day to work on my assignments and my thesis, so it kind of drilled that kind of schedule into me. Not saying that I'm never lazy or don't procrastinate, because it take a lot for me to get into that mental zone.

But when I do, that's when I can knock out a chapter a night, or every other night, for a week or two until the project is done. And whether it's a series or a one-shot, once I start something, I have to finish it. It's a mental thing with me. lol

I have my outline open, and I knock out sections of the chapter until it's finished. Sometimes I take things out or expand certain scenes along the way, but I tend to knock out a chapter between 1-2 days, depending on how long it is.

But when it starts to feel like work all of a sudden, I lose motivation a bit.

Lol sometimes it does feel like "work." In those moments, I try to push through by putting on a song that gets me into the mood of the story. Or I reread a previous chapter, or I read ahead in my outline to tweak later parts of the story. And then I'll go back to the scene I was working on to continue when I have inspiration and energy again.

But you don't want to let people wait, too. This is my problem since I started writing. 🤣 A probably good solution would be to prewrite everything and schedule the posts (like you do), but I just can't do that. 🙈 I tried, but as soon as I'm satisfied with a chapter I want people to be able to read it right away... yeah, I know. 🤣

Yeah that's my key to posting consistently. I write a few chapters ahead of whatever I'm working on (if it's a series). I know it can be hard though.

I've had my moments where I've been really impatient to put things out, but it really helps me not to feel the pressure that people are "waiting on me" to update when I know the next chapter is already written. It allows me to give a week-after-week posting schedule.

Even if you just write two chapters at a time, that could help give you enough time to finish the next one.

Writing ahead also gives me more time to edit and polish, since my first draft is never my best draft. So what you guys read by the time I post has been edited and looked over several times.

So, I hope you know that you and your hard work in entertaining us is so appreciated! And I'm so happy to be a little part of your community here! 🥰❤

Again, thank you so much, friend!! 🥰 I'm so happy that you enjoy my stuff and continue to support me. I very much appreciate you!! 💕

This is so random, but you have a lot of followers and people who read and reply to your stories and the fact that you reply to almost everyone or just interact makes me feel like I’m a warm star going to explode happily😭. Just getting that off my chest

Hi there, lovely!!

Aww you're so very sweet. 🥹💖 Look, I still feel like I'm the new kid on the block sometimes. I only got started on Tumblr for real around January last year. I have a full-time job and a part-time job, along with occasional freelance work. I have plenty to keep me busy lol.

But I love coming to Tumblr to share my stories and connect with people. You guys have been very kind to me on here, and I genuinely love and appreciate every bit of feedback and engagement that I get from you guys. Which is why I try to reply as much as I can. 🙏🏽💕

I've made actual friends on here that brighten my week and help me get through stressful times. I reread people's lovely comments on my stories to make myself smile when I'm feeling down, or overwhelmed, or overworked.

I also love reading what my friends write and hyping them up when I can, because there's some amazingly talented people here, especially in SPN fandom. 💞

I'm also a giant nerd. 🥸✌🏽 I love talking about fandom and characters, plot points and narrative technique, songs I listen to while I'm writing, or the way writers develop their processes.

So please know, if anyone has ever enjoyed something I've written, you've given me joy right back when you let me know what you thought of it. Or if you've dropped in my inbox to ask me a question about a story, or on writing in general.

I love and appreciate you. 💓💓

[letsdothisbruh]

I posted 44 times in 2022

That's 44 more posts than 2021!

24 posts created (55%)

20 posts reblogged (45%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cybersugarstuffs

@stuck-with-that-sum

@studyandstorms

@sizeleak

I tagged 22 of my posts in 2022

Only 50% of my posts had no tags

#letsdothisbruh - 21 posts

#motivation - 21 posts

#study - 21 posts

#studyspo - 21 posts

#studyinspo - 21 posts

#studyblr - 21 posts

#100 days of productivity - 20 posts

#we can do it - 19 posts

#stem major - 19 posts

#together - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 24 characters

#100 days of productivity

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Day 1/100- Nov 14- Mon

Trying to flesh out my SOP from the edits I got from my folks… it’s been daunting since I’m unable to find a good framework narrative without it sounding cliched…

Planning to put together a ppt and meet my advisor today, let’s see how that pans out. I have been anxious about it and have been procrastinating it for a while now.

Hopefully I make it through today and am productive.

Just reading a paper right now to finesse my question of purpose.

Song of the day:

On repeat 🔂

2 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

#4

Day 10/100- Nov 23- Wed

Half the week is over and I feel lazy and useless… gosh damn it.

I didn’t feel like doing anything today but still made myself come to my lab for the microscopy time I booked since it’s super crowded and I can’t try to change timings or make it up later…

I’m hoping to go back home and just finish some of my tasks for my courses. Today. I have to work it.

My avengers travel mug is keeping me sane with caffeine for now….

Song of the day:

This song accurately describes how I’m not enough how much ever I keep trying to jump hoops for everyone’s expectations of me 😑

2 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

Day 17/100- Dec 2- Fri

Why is time moving this fast?

I didn’t get much done in terms of studying today but got much lab work done, setup for the genetic crosses for the week and made sure I did all I can so I can stay home guilt free tomorrow and go in on Sunday instead.

Even took time to go see my prof today and phew, I can see a tonne of work brewing up for this weekend!

The trick I need to master here is to hit the bed right now and make sure I wake up at a normal morning time tomo, eat healthy and NOT be intimidated by the lots of tasks… just gotta… bunch it all up into smaller tasks and get going and finish it!!

Just trying to get the courage to work smart and hard in the next few days, but I will be fine. I have to!!

Song of the Day:

4 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

#2

Day 12&13/100- Nov 26- Sat

Hmm I seemed to have forgotten to post yesterday..

Eh no one cares anyways.

See the full post

6 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hey I found the #studychallengewithcleo by @that-premed-student and decided to go for it!

Today I’m continuing to work on my Thesis committee meeting presentation right now. Been at it since morning and I’m sure I crossed the 6 hour mark a while back haha

I’m definitely taking breaks in between, and eating food and drinking water/beverages (do be kind to yourself and take care of yourself even if you are stressed)

So currently my work for today is:

Finish analysing my final dataset

Include those graphs on my ppt

Finish including all the info from the tagged papers on my ppt

Make a script and read it 3-5 times before retiring for the night

And ofc overthinking and writing down any Qs I could be asked in that meeting tomorrow and looking up and keeping track of those answers separately.

I think my list is doable… I am hoping my presentation tomorrow goes amazingly well and my committee members greenlit me for my final semester without any issues.

8 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[spideyspeaches]

Gold Rush ↬ t.h

Gif by @parkeraul :)

A/N: I'm in love with that song 🙈 also here's my super late contribution of professor!tom 😋 cause I've been procrastinating on the wandavision au (in my defence though, it's taking a lot of brainstorming 😂) anyway here you go-

Wc: 2.6k+

Warnings: lemme know if you find one :)

Summary: He taught British History and you chastise yourself for not auditing for that subject earlier.

Pairing: Professor!Tom x Student!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Waking up with a start, you groan at the shrill sound of your alarm. With a sigh that was more of a grunt of annoyance, you tried to reach for your phone at the side table, hissing when you felt the corner of your elbow hit the table, pain shooting up to your shoulder. 

Great, you weren't even up yet and your day was already going shitty. You just hoped that your professor won't be grumpy about you being late for the millionth time this semester. 

You hated cultural architecture. You had nothing against the course, but You hated your professor with a passion and wished that you could burn your textbooks for all you cared, right in front of your teacher's eyes, watch him writhe in fear as you banished the very existence of your material. 

You were being dramatic, but in your defence, your professor was an old bastard who never left an opportunity to reprimand you, going as far as letting you know how uneven your margins were on your latest project. 

He wore birkenstocks with a three piece. You wouldn't trust him with your assignments. 

Getting out of your dorm room was work, hard work. But you got out, brushed your teeth and wore what you hoped were presentable clothing. 

"You look hungover." Your roommate, Stacy, commented, spitting in the sink as you scowled at her. 

She was straightforward, outspoken and somehow managed to look like one of those Victoria secrets models that you loathed, even at seven in the morning. You hated her. 

(You didn't.)

"Thanks, I hope I smell too. Want that son of a bitch- what's his name, Wilson, to suffer for giving me that C minus on my thesis." You grumbled, rubbing your hands through your hair to flat them out. 

"You really hate him, don't you." She snickered, popping off her shirt. You tried not to look, not wanting to come off as a pervert, but damn, she was fit. You contemplated her words, frowning at your own reflection. 

You looked disheveled, the dark eye bags under your eyes very apparent as you tried to mask them with foundation, setting your hair for the millionth time. Oh well, you were presentable enough. Sweatpants would have to do for your only class today, you could binge Netflix after this wretched class. 

"I do. I hope his third wife divorces him and he loses his thermos of coffee in the subway." You said, adding your look finally before wearing your shoes. 

"That's cruel, didn't know you had it in you." She snickered, patting your back and following you as you closed the door, "Well I have to go to my boring science lectures now so, see you later hun." 

"Yeah, enjoy your chemistry period with your boyfriend!" You cheered sarcastically, rolling your eyes and hugging her to tell her that you were only joking. Your relationship was this, of jokes and hugs and kisses. You considered her your best friend. 

Rushing towards the gates of your university, you hastily tightened your loosening hair tie, adjusting the straps of your bags. You were pretty sure you had broken your record of being late to your class. You may hate the professor, but you actually enjoyed the subject. 

Wheezing as you ran past the late comers, you nodded at the receptionist, hastily signing yourself in. You would blame your clumsiness for what happened next, because one second you were fixing your sande on the foot of the fountain, and next thing you knew you were crashing into a firm body, your nose hitting the random stranger’s chest.

"I’m so sorry! I’m kinda late to class and I wasn’t looking and- whoa, ow.” You rushed your words, groaning when you felt blood rush from your head to toe, nose throbbing with double vision, a reminder of your clumsiness. 

“Whoa, hey calm down, it’s okay, I wasn’t looking either.” The stranger said, his thick South Western accent snapping you out of your self pity. 

You felt blood rush to your cheeks instead, not anticipating your face in a flush this early in the morning, when you got a good look at the stranger. He was good looking, in his black high turtleneck and brown checkered pants. He had a small leather satchel clutched in his hands, face looking as flushed as you felt when you realised that you had been gawking at him.

He was probably no older than his mid twenties, making you wonder what he was doing in your university. He was too old to be a student, and too young to be a professor. But then again, you wouldn't judge him for joining college late.

Right? 

"S-sorry, you um, you must be really late, you should go." He stuttered, your heart fluttering at his dimpled chin and thick accent. His eyes were gleaming in the morning sun, captivating in a way that left you in awe. 

"Um yeah, I am." You nodded, composing yourself, hoping that you didn't look too sleep deprived or disheveled, "where are you going, if you don't mind me asking."  

"Um, the architecture wing?" He said, unconsciously stepping besides you.

"Oh, I'm going that way. Is it your first time coming here? Haven't seen you around." You asked, trying not to stare at his sharp jawline and the way the morning sun hit him just right, illuminating and accentuating his curly brown hair. 

"Yeah, it's my first lecture, so um, looks like I'm late too." He smiled. It was infectious, you noticed as you mirrored his expression. 

"Oh, you're a student?" 

"Actually, I'm a professor. Just transferred from UCL." 

So you were right, he was a professor. He looks so young though. You thought, nodding at him, your thoughts interrupted by his laugh. Looking at him with confusion, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, everyone says that. I started right after finishing graduation so, I guess I'm not much older than you." He smiled, kicking the small pebbles littered around the set grassy ground. It had just rained, the smell of wet ground still fresh. 

"I said that out loud didn't I?" You smirked, ducking your head to hide. 

"You did." 

Entering the building, you realised that you hadn't asked which subject he taught, crossing your fingers and hoping that he would replace the old bastard that taught you cultural architecture. 

"I forgot to ask, which lecture do you teach?" You asked, looking for your class in the end. The hallways were empty, it was way past your first lecture and all the students were already in the auditorium. 

"Oh, uh, British History." He answered. You didn't let disappointment show too much on your face, smiling shyly before gesturing towards the class, "that's you." 

"Oh, um thank you." He smiled, pursing his thin lips together as he walked towards the class. You could hear screaming of the students as you both neared the classroom, you still standing by the door, "I didn't get your name." 

His question snapped you out of your disappointed gaze, 

"Oh, it's Y/n. Y/n L/n." You said with a smile. 

"Pleasure to meet you Y/n, I'm Thomas Holland, but you can call me Tom." He said awkwardly, before turning back to his class, who had yet to notice him.

"The pleasure's all mine Professor." 

For the first time in your college life, you didn't feel like tearing your hair off during your lecture, your thoughts wandering around. You wanted to berate yourself for not paying attention, but your thoughts kept going there. 

It was funny, how you met him not long ago and he was already taking up residence in your brain. You could not control your feelings after all. Something akin to nausea or excitement eased into your stomach when you pictured his smile, his black turtleneck that accentuated his biceps and pectorals. The little rebellious eyebrow and the tiny scar above it. 

It made your heart flutter, everything seemingly seemed to stop around you. It scared you a bit, how You had managed to envision the little details of his face in your brain after such a short duration. 

You didn't realise that you were smiling until you felt a nudge on your side, making you nearly jump on your seat. 

"What?!" You hissed, scowling at your classmate. 

"Who're you thinking about?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned towards you. You had known her long enough to know her name but never bothered learning, and you were too scared to ask now. 

"It's none of your business." You muttered, glancing up to see your professor scowling at a student as they stood up. 

"Well okay, but did you hear about the hot new professor? Apparently he's teaching British History, I regret not taking that as a subject now." She said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. You furrowed your brows, feeling a pang in your chest at the realisation that you were probably just another girl with a stupid crush on the hot professor, that there were already girls who would die to feel his touch. 

"How do you know about him?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as you try to act nonchalant. You weren't being subtle, apparently, because you could see her snapping her bubblegum with a smirk, leaning forward as if trading secrets. 

"You kidding right? Everyone knows about him, you got a crush on him or something?" She suggested, scooting close enough to make you squirm. 

"I literally just met him, and ew, he's a professor, why would I see him that way?" You whisper, willing your heart to stop palpitating at the thought of said professor, your gut twisting in anticipation. 

"I don't know girl, he's hot and young and so much better than this bastard." She sighed, leaning on her palm with a fake dreamy expression. 

You went back to ignoring her after that, noticing how her notebook said 'Eloise'. At least you didn't have to ask her her name now. 

Your class went surprisingly well, or maybe it was because you weren't paying attention and thinking about him again. You really needed to get a grip on yourself. 

Walking out of your class, you decided to go to the cafeteria, your stomach begging for your attention.

Setting your things on a table, you took out your phone to scroll through Instagram, before switching it off and looking around the cafeteria. You didn't know what you were expecting to see, but your stomach was gurgling with hunger and nothing made sense when you were hungry. 

Walking to grab something to eat, you pick up your bag, hanging it over one of your shoulders before getting in the line. 

Just as you were about to turn with your bun and cup of coffee, you crashed into someone for the second time that day. Cursing your clumsiness, you heard a familiar British accent curse not very colourful words, making you stumble over as you tried to wipe off the hot coffee off his shirt.

"Hey, it's okay." He said, stopping your frantic gestures by holding your wrist with his to cease any movements.

"Professor Holland! I'm so sorry, it's like, I'm just clumsy. I have no excuse." You sighed in resignation, mentally facepalming at spilling your coffee at the hot professor. 

"It's okay darling, I've had much worse spilled on me." He smirked, his hand still holding on to yours. You had started walking away from the location, and yet his hand didn't let go, "You know, I used to babysit during my college days." 

"Oh, babysitting, right of course." You chuckled awkwardly, chest heaving with the sudden close proximity with the professor, dissipating the not quite PG thought that just occurred in your mind at his words.. 

"Sorry for-" You said in unison with him, chuckling. 

"You go first." He said.

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on You, it must have hurt and I ruined your shirt and now there's a big splotch of coffee right in the middle!" You said, circling your fingers around your palm as you walked with your back to the exit as you walked out of the cafeteria, food forgotten and him following your pace. 

Before you could continue your awkward blabber, you were standing in the garden outside, leaning against a pillar with the garden in your view looking golden in the setting sun. He was standing in your view, the shadows around his jaw making it look sharp enough to cut glass. 

Taking a breath, you looked up at his smiling form with confusion when he didn't answer, instead leant onto the pillar next to you.

"You were... gonna say something?" You reminded, smiling awkwardly as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Oh? Oh! Oh yes yes, You know, I was kind of disappointed that you weren't in my class, Mister Wilson talks very highly of you." He said, folding his arms on his chest, it made his biceps bulge. 

"He does?" You looked at him with surprise, guilt panging in your chest when you remembered yourself bad mouthing the professor not long ago. 

"Yes, says you're a bright student with a bright future." He answered, leaning his head back so that his neck was exposed, Adam's Apple bobbing as he gulped, his hair falling into place perfectly against his forehead. The arch of his neck was beautiful, tracing it with your eyeballs as you imagined which other curves of his were as beautiful, immediately dismissing those thoughts, chastising yourself for thinking such a way of a professor. 

"That's… sweet of him. I've never heard him compliment me once in the two and half years I've been in his class." You chuckle, leaning your elbow on the pillar to get a better look at his side profile. 

"Hmm, he says he's hard on you because he wants you to do your best..." 

You stopped listening past that, your breath growing more erratic the more he talked, his smooth voice washing over you like warm honey with a squeeze of lemon. Swallowing a sudden lump in your throat, your heart leaping, leaving you nauseous and in a dream like trance. 

Tom noticed immediately, noticing your slouched posture as you stared at him with a small smile, the upturn of your lips so inviting that he almost dived in, wanting to know the feeling of them what they felt like against his. 

He wasn't the kind to date his students, in fact, he rarely dated after joining uni and becoming a professor. 

He strictly believed that student/teacher relationships should end in only a professional non romantic set up. That was all up until he crashed into you that morning. 

You had been in his mind all day, stirring him crazy as he imagined your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your subject of interest, the say your fingers fiddled with the ring you wore on your index finger. 

He wondered if this feeling would last forever or become a vague memory, an attraction of hearts that didn't last but felt good till it did. If he was rushing, or if you even felt the same way. 

He was smart, of course that's how he became a teacher, but he still couldn't place your feelings. 

So when he saw you staring at him, his heart leaping in his throat at your adorable smile, the only logical answer his brain gave was that you liked him too. Temporary attraction or not, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in it's mouth. 

Next thing he knew your lips were crashing onto his, your chest pressed against his firmly as your hands reached up to the base of his neck. 

Your fingers were soft, tongue swishing against his as he opened his mouth to let you enter. His hands automatically reach for your waist, holding onto firmly as he slammed you against the pillar. 

The sun was nearly down, the last of the rays hitting the garden, lighting you both up in a golden glow that left you breathless with a fire raging in your souls. 

"What do you say that I audit for British history? I'd like to learn more lessons from you, Professor Holland." You said, breathless against his chest, hiding your nose against his sternum, blood rushing to your ears as his warm hand burned against the bare skin underneath your shirt. 

"That would be great darling, anything to see your pretty smile every morning." 

A/N: let me know what you think! :)

[capricorn-stark]

Othello

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am, kinda short, swearing

a/n: i got strong feelings towards Othello, The Catcher in the Rye, and Jason Todd, but this one’s for @tadpole-san smirk smirk smirk

part 2

You liked studying at Gotham University’s library for the ambience. 

Whether or not you got any actual “studying” done depended wholly on your mood and whatever being that may or may not have been watching you from above, but even if you somehow managed to procrastinate the entire time you were there, at least you could walk back to your dorm with the comforting fact that you had gotten in your cardio for the day. 

The place itself was gorgeous with its overarching ceilings, long hall lined with pillars supporting a seemingly endless array of books, the cozy golden glow of the lights, and the generally pleasant atmosphere provided by the myriads of students sitting around its tables and lounging on its couches. The entire campus was stunning - but it would only be surprising if it wasn’t thanks to the very generous grants from patrons of the Gotham elite, most notably people like Bruce Wayne.

You had a particular spot you liked near the edge of the library, in a little corner mostly surrounded by shelves with enough space for a few usually-unoccupied couches. Aside from you, the only regulars to sit there mainly just consisted of one other guy who recently had started to drop in every few days or so to listen to music and do his own work. You didn’t mind him - he never bothered you, and you both kept up your mutual solidarity towards maintaining a very comfortable silence.

That was, until one particular day.

“Is that Othello?” You glanced over the book in your hand and saw the guy’s startlingly green eyes gazing right at you over his dark-rimmed reading glasses. He wasn’t wearing his earbuds as per usual, so you figured your agonized sigh of boredom must’ve come out a little too loudly. 

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slowly lowering the book a little. “Unfortunately.” He cracked a slight grin at that.

“What, you’re not a fan of Shakespeare?” 

“I don’t hate him,” you started with a fairly nonchalant shrug, “I just think this book in particular is just kinda-”

“Boring as fuck?” he finished very eloquently, causing you to grin back despite yourself. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

“I can agree with that,” he said with a nod towards the book. “Definitely not one of my favorites, that’s for sure. Good premise, dynamics were pretty interesting, but I couldn’t really get into it either.” The fact that he was discussing Shakespeare’s works in a way that suggested he had fully read the book (without wholly relying on CliffNotes) and that he did perhaps genuinely enjoy some of them suggested to you that he was probably an English major. “And Iago was a bitch-”

“I know!” you nearly exclaimed, throwing your hands up in very evident frustration. “Iago was shady as hell, and I don’t get how Othello never saw it coming from him. Like, no one can be that oblivious, come on. I wouldn’t have listened to him.” RIP to Othello, but you were different. 

He was actually laughing at that point, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You and me both. You an English major?” You shook your head, holding up your Psychology Twelfth Edition textbook that had been resting on the table beside you.

“Psych.” He raised a brow and you inwardly sighed.

“Jeez - at GU? I’m impressed.” 

Being a psych student at your particular Gotham-based university was both a blessing and somewhat of a curse. The classes were phenomenal and your professors consisted of some of the best and most experienced in the nation - but that also came with the downside that the city you lived in had some of the biggest psychopaths and the largest insane asylum in the nation as well. 

Well, you win some, you lose some.

“It’s not that bad,” you tried to say, but the smirk playing at his lips proved that you weren’t convincing anyone. “Let me guess, you’re an English major.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpanned, chuckling regardless as he closed up his own book and extended a hand out. “Name’s Jason Todd. I’ve seen you around a lot, but we never really talked, huh?” You smiled as you reached out to shake his hand, introducing yourself as well.

“I guess not. You usually look like you’re pretty busy.”

“Something like that,” Jason grinned, leaning back against his chair and sliding off his glasses. Without them, the lights somehow gave them an almost glowing effect. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to bother you.”

Bantering over Shakespeare with a cute boy wasn’t exactly your definition of being bothered, so you shook your head.

“Believe me, that was a lot better than Othello was.”

You saw Jason at your spot again the next day, then the day after and the next, lounging across from your couch and always seeming rather out-of-place with his black leather jackets and ripped jeans, but a welcome sight to you nonetheless. And just like that, suddenly, your visits to the library weren’t just for the sake of cardio and the ambience anymore.

He was surprisingly amusing to talk to, whether it was complaining about more books for your respective English courses or just ranting to each other about the struggles of being a student at GU. It was easy to bond over things like getting your midterms interrupted by random threats from the likes of the Riddler, or arguing over whether or not the city’s latest vigilante, some guy named Red Hood, was actually cooler than Batman himself. 

He had been particularly passionate about that last debate.

Aside from being easy-going and annoyingly attractive, you also figured out that he was ridiculously smart, especially when it came to helping you with your English course. Whether it was explaining the deeper societal message behind a particular reading or helping you research topics for your thesis, Jason had a knack towards figuring out exactly the things you yourself seemed to struggle with. 

“How do you figure all of this out?” You asked one day out of sheer disbelief after he connected The Catcher in the Rye to themes of disillusionment about innocence and one’s childhood, and not just towards the protagonist, Holden, being an ass. “Seriously, I thought I was pretty decent with this stuff, but you blow me out of the water.”

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal, sliding off his reading glasses and setting it on top of the wooden table you were at. You had grown fond of the way they looked on him.

“It’s nothing special,” he dismissed in response, lifting his gaze from the book to fixate it back on you. “You do great by yourself, I just kinda give you a little push with my interpretations.” 

He did that a lot - downplaying the fact that he was actually smart as hell like it really was no big deal. The way your grades had started rising after he started helping you out proved otherwise, though.

“Still, thanks for helping me out,” you insisted, eliciting another slight smile from him. “It means a lot.” 

“Oh yeah?” His tone had gotten cheekier as he leaned closer to you. “How much is a lot?” 

“That’s up for you to decide,” you smirked, moving back and closing up your laptop. “Not me.” 

“You know, if you really wanted to thank me, you should get a coffee with me sometime.” 

“We get coffee together like every week,” you deadpanned and he sighed.

“Not like that. Like a date.” 

It hit you like a truck.

“A date,” you repeated, like you hadn’t heard him the first time. 

“Only if you were into that,” he added, trying to play it cool as he moved to pack his things into his bag. “I’m not working tonight, so I thought you might wanna give it a shot.” That was even more surprising, because he always happened to have a mysterious night shift going on. He never told you what exactly that was, aside from off-handedly mentioning something about motorcycles and Crime Alley every once in a while.

You were still letting it process. 

“...if you don’t want to-”

“No, no - that sounds great,” you interjected, already starting to smile. At the sight of it, he managed another grin himself, an evident hint of relief flashing across his face.

“Right. Yeah. Cool.” He cleared his throat and shot you another grin as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s head out. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not letting your broke ass pay for it.”

“Jason!” you protested as he laughed and nudged your shoulder with his, making you join in despite yourself.

At least Othello had managed to lead you to one good thing.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

COULD VC SUCKAGE

My own feeling is that object-oriented programming in the 1980s. There is also the cost of producing and distributing books. And don't write the way they generate any other kind of code. The topic sentence is your thesis, chosen in advance, the supporting paragraphs the blows you strike in the conflict, and the big bang method. The optimal ways to make more, smaller units. They work odd hours, wearing the most casual of clothing. Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups. The startup may have more long-term potential, but you'll always interrupt working on it. Bottom-Up The third big lesson we can learn from open source, I don't imagine them dutifully crossing items off to-do lists. If present-day thesis defense: most people can't imagine such freedom.

Launch fast and iterate. How about writer? The new industrial companies adapted the customs of existing large organizations like the Roman army or the British East India Company were any less afflicted by protocol and politics than organizations of the same things you do. The big disadvantage of the new system is that it seems promising enough to worry about any signals your existing investors are sending. Today Lisp is the scripting language of two moderately popular systems, Emacs and Autocad, and for that reason I suspect that most of them grew organically. If we project forward we see why. The surprising thing about throwaway programs is that, like species, languages will form evolutionary trees, with dead-ends branching off all over. It is a mistake. Founders never really liked giving up as much equity as VCs wanted. If employees have to be employees. They're responding to the market. You're getting things done.

The best they can do is so small. On the Web, and it will extract information they didn't even know they were recording. As the reader gets smarter, convincing and true become identical, so if I can convince smart readers I must be pretty sharp. And the problem he solved for himself became one that Apple solved for millions of people in the back to win. Back in the days of fanfold, there was a problem with a server. But like VCs, they invest other people's money makes them doubly alarming to VCs. It's already a successful language, I think you might be able to define new types, but you can't fix the location. When you let customers tell you what they're after, they will drive a project forward the same way your two legs drive a bicycle forward. One reason that's unlikely is that someone starting a startup is fun the way a survivalist training course would be fun, and a few months ago I read a New York law firm in the 1950s they paid associates far less than firms do today.

The conversations you overhear. I could say it was this way for every startup that succeeded, but 75% is probably on the high side. Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. Well, there are more questions about the commitment and relationship of the founders than their ability. Understand your users. For example, a politician announcing the cancellation of a government program will not merely say The program is canceled. Jack Lambert.

So don't spend your precious few minutes talking about crap when you could be doing. But that could be solved quite easily: let the market decide. Once you phrase it that way? Good procrastination is avoiding errands to do real work, all you need is ipso facto right. Real thought, like real conversation, is full of worry. To Michel de Montaigne, who in 1580 published a book of what he called essais. Not only does a society get the best man for the job, but parents' ambitions are diverted from direct methods to indirect ones—to actually trying to raise their kids well.

If you start a search engine you have to discover, not something you naturally sink into. An ambitious kid graduating from college in 1960 wanted to work in the huge, gleaming offices of Ford, or General Electric, or NASA. Visually, Paris has the best eavesdropping I know. So it is a good tool if you want to make large numbers of users love you, but that you should never shrink from it if it's on the path to something great. I don't think that's the right way to solve the wrong problem. It's when you move on to the next and much harder step that it helps most to be in the twentieth century was professional, which amateurs, by definition, are not. But they're still not as fast as angels and super-angels really are is a new form of fast-moving, lightweight VC fund. There is already a good deal of syntax in Lisp. That makes it more persuasive to people who like unions. Rate of return is what matters in investing—not the multiple you get, but the creator is full of false starts. You're going to have to think of your initial version not as a product, but as a trick for getting users to start talking to users, or negotiate with other companies, or deal with other people's broken code. Whereas companies that sue startups for patent infringement.

[night-dragon937]

I swear AP classes will be the death of me! What made me think that with the whole COVID thing, I would be able to handle taking 3 AP classes along with all others being honors and manage a stable mental health. It is only the 4th week and my mental health has already plummeted.

Oof I'm sorry for the late response but

I've taken a few advanced classes and i am horrible at not procrastinating or getting distracted. School is about to start here, but the things that i have found that help me are:

Figure out which classes you can turn work late in for. I know this is a lot less flexible in high school, but some teachers will want you to turn it in at a specific time of day (do that first) while others are just give you a few days to have it in by.

Also, messaging your teachers about what's going on for you can help you as they'll often give you some slack. Otherwise, you can contact your counselor person and switch classes sometimes. A non ap class is better than a failing grade.

Figure out what's fun for you! The work that you actually want to do, space that out between other projects. Never spend more than 30-60 min on a single task without a break unless you're hyperfixating on it. Which leads me to my next point.

Take!! Breaks!! It might feel did silly earlier in the day, but you'll be less burnt it if you give yourself time to do stuff.

During those breaks, sit and do nothing!! Eat food!! Drink water!! Do hygiene!! Clean!! Get a lil exercise (nothing resets the brain like a 15 min walk imo)! If nothing else, leave the room you do work in, go outside if you can, and let your brain kind of reset from the work (i have to force my brain to do anything, so in my experience, i tend to need to almost recover from that)

Along with that, don't set really high expectations, split things up instead! Instead of saying, i have to write an ap-level essay, say, i have to have my bibliography written. Then i have to have my thesis. Then my quotes. Then my outline. Then fill it in, then go back and edit and revise (or however you do essays!!) Breaking it down into smaller quests can make it a lot less daunting.

Also, stay organized!! I personally will not remember anything if it's not written down in a place i can constantly check. I keep a calendar on my phone that automatically has all my due dates for assignments added, along with all my other stuff (this alone isn't enough for me, everything is color coded, it's in a big box right next to my home screen, i get an email every morning from Google telling me what's going on that day, and i have reminders set an hour before events).

Um yeah, I think those are my main strategies for getting past high-volume high-difficulty chases.

Hope any of these help!!

[eclare-draws]

Mental Breakdowns & Hot Chocolate (Adrienette Fanfic)

I had a stress-related mental breakdown the other day because a draft of my thesis proposal was due (I got 30 minutes of sleep that night) so I wrote this to make myself feel better.

AO3

Adrien swore that he specifically told his girlfriend to not stay up too late working on her project. He almost believed her when she said she’d be in bed before he was even asleep.

The cold sheets that greeted him at 3:48AM as a paw smashed into his cheek told him that

Their cat was an asshole.

He was right to not believe Marinette.

Adrien sat up in bed and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, glaring at the cat who had just walked across his face and was now making herself comfortable on the pillow where Marinette’s head should have been. The cat, Shamrock, slowly blinked up at her owner before tucking her head between her paws. Adrien gave a sigh of annoyance at the creature while giving her a loving pat and putting on his glasses.

Making the easy decision to value his girlfriend’s well-being over his sleep schedule, he lazily got out of bed and made his way towards the living room, wincing slightly at the cold floor hitting his feet with every step.

In the dim lighting of their Christmas tree, Adrien could see the figure of Marinette curled against the back of the couch, laptop forgotten on her lap as her shoulders rose and fell with her slow and steady breaths and the occasional snore.

Taking the opportunity to observe her beauty and the melancholic aura she gave off, Adrien leaned against the wall and watched her for a moment before making his way over to the couch and squatting in front of her on the floor. He wondered for a moment if he could move her to their bed without disturbing her, but quickly thought better of it as she rarely made that trip without being woken up immediately.

How could one sleeping face make his heart swell as much as this one did? Adrien noted the way her hair smooshed against the cushions on the side and how her bangs had obviously been pushed back multiple times in frustration as they stuck up at awkward angles. Moving her laptop off of her lap, he saw how her legs stuck out a little beneath the blanket and he recovered them. Her lips were parted as a quiet snore passed through them with every few breaths. The soft light of the tree reflected on the softness of her skin and made her eyelashes look longer as they twitched slightly from a dream. While her face was relaxed, the way her brow was slightly furrowed and the bags under her eyes showed the stress that came with finals. 

Marinette’s senior project for university had been keeping her up like this almost every night as she struggled just to finish conceptualizing it into a ten page paper. To her procrastinating heart’s dismay, her advising professor had made the finished draft due during winter break and she couldn’t seem to focus on it no matter what she did. She had spent many nights frustratedly ranting about how her advisor’s comments didn’t make sense and how he was failing to grasp her concept or how she couldn’t possibly know where the creative process would take her in three months, so she couldn’t say for sure right now.

Adrien gently placed a hand on her arm and rubbed circles when she didn’t immediately stir. After a moment, her eyes screwed tightly shut and her head slowly angled itself towards him before letting her eyes open. 

“Hey,” Adrien whispered.

Marinette responded with a low hum and then ran a hand through her hair. “What time is it?” she asked in a low, gravelly voice as she shifted her weight to see him better.

“Almost four. You should come back to sleep.”

Marinette shook her head a little, “Have… Have to finish my… My thing.”

“So well spoken,” Adrien let the smile reflect in his voice while gently stroking a thumb against her cheek, “I think your thing can wait until morning.”

“It was supposed to be done at midnight,” she whined in response.

“Then it’s too late anyways. Let’s go to bed, bugaboo, you’ll be more comfortable there than on the couch.”

Marinette gave her laptop a forlorn look that quickly twisted into something much more pained before a sobbing breath shook her body and she began to cry. Adrien quickly got up and gently squeezed himself between her and the arm of the couch, wrapping his arms around her curled form and tucking her head beneath his chin as she twisted to cry into him.

He held her firmly in place as she let herself get out whatever she needed to. Adrien made quiet shushing sounds to calm her as he stroked her hair and back. He mumbled words of comfort into her ear as her stress and exhaustion finally overtook her.

Adrien had been prepping himself for this moment all week but all of his prepared motivational speeches vanished from his brain as her listened to her cry and felt the trembling of her body on top of his. All that he cared about was holding her and hoping that she never felt this way again (even if he knew she would certainly feel this way again and that he’d be at her side the moment she needed him to be).

He thought that filling her up with hot cocoa, cuddling by the fire, and laughing at bad Christmas movies all week had been relieving some of her stress, but it hadn’t been enough apparently.

He sat and rocked her, listened to her distressed blubbering as she finally showed him just how stressed she was. It broke Adrien’s heart to see her like this, but he knew she needed to get it out before she could go on.

After about ten minutes of her crying, Marinette finally started to calm down, taking deep, shuddering breaths to even out her breathing and stop the tears. Adrien continued to hold her, and when she finally looked up at him after a couple of minutes, he gave her a soft smile and asked, “Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate or tea?”

She gave a tiny nod, responding in a strained and almost gurgled voice that hadn’t yet recovered from the crying, “Hot chocolate would be nice.”

Adrien nodded and stroked her hair before trying to get off the couch, only to have Marinette tighten her grasp around his chest and let out a little whine. Adrien raised an eyebrow and chuckled a little at her reaction, commenting that, “I can’t make hot chocolate if you don’t let me get up, you know.”

Marinette buried her head back into his chest and mumbled something that sounded like, “Dumb cat can’t produce things out of thin air,” before letting him go and sitting up.

Adrien ruffled her hair a little before getting up, returning briefly to her height to push her bangs back and kiss her forehead. As he made his way to the kitchen, he couldn’t think of anything but how swollen her eyes had been and how her cheeks were stained with tears and some mascara she hadn’t removed. He’d seen Marinette cry many times before, but it still hurt to see her like this. Between being Ladybug, university, her internship, her online boutique, being the guardian, and still being an amazing person who helps everyone with everything, he was impressed by how well she managed most of the time. While it hurt to see her break down, he knew that it was better than holding it together all the time.

He stood in front of the stove, staring blankly at the pot as the hot chocolate bubbled inside. He almost didn’t realize he’d made it when he snapped back to reality. He produced their matching set of cat mugs and poured hot chocolate into each one before returning to Marinette, who was, to his dismay, on her laptop again, her eyebrows furrowed and teeth biting her lip.

He placed the hot chocolate on the table in front of her before sitting down next to her and draping an arm over her shoulders.

“I thought you were going to come to bed,” he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I just gotta… Read through what I have. Make sure it makes sense before I go to bed,” she didn’t look up from her laptop, but gave his leg a gentle pat.

“Want me to look at it?” he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Nah... “ she shut her laptop. “I think I’m beyond caring. It’s just my draft, right?” She put her laptop on the coffee table and picked up her hot chocolate, leaning back on her boyfriend.

“Right.”

“I mean it’s not like there’s going to be a group of twenty people reviewing it for clarity and meaningfulness in a couple of months! No!”

Adrien knew there certainly was going to be just that and that his girlfriend was about to start another stressed rant. “Mari-”

“Or! Or that if, I don’t know, a year down the line, if I hate my project idea, that I can’t just change my mind and work on something else! No, that’s-”

“Marinette.” He put down his hot chocolate.

“Definitely not what’s going to happen! I’m not stuck with my god awful ideas for another eighteen months and graduation isn’t on the line and-”

Adrien didn’t want Marinette to get lost in her stress spiral again, so he cut her off with a kiss, gently pulling her into him with the arm around her shoulders. Once she realized that he was distracting her and not interrupting, Marinette melted into him, holding her hot chocolate tightly so she wouldn’t spill it all over them. He pulled away after a moment, taking her mug from her hands and placing it on the table before kissing her again.

This kiss was much more insistent than the first, both Marinette and Adrien pushing themselves into one another. Adrien’s hands moved to be around her waist and he turned her slightly so he could push her back onto the couch, not breaking the kiss. He knelt between her legs as they wrapped around his back and her hands moved to be draped around his neck.

Before the kiss got too heated, Adrien pulled back a little, remembering what his original goal was.

“We should go to bed,” he said, trying to ignore the way her hands rubbed circles into his neck and hair.

Marinette hummed thoughtfully, looking up at him from behind her lashes, “So forward, Mr. Agreste.”

Trying to not let a blush take over his face, Adrien responded with, “No! No. I mean- Yes. But. Not now? I- You need sleep. Real, actual sleep with a pillow and no kissing.”

Marinette wasn’t even subtle when she started laughing at his sudden awkwardness. Adrien pouted, knowing he should be used to flirty remarks after dating her for years.

In an attempt to get back at her for throwing him off, Adrien reached under her as she continued to laugh and got a good hold on her thighs before sitting up and standing up with her still wrapped around his torso, making her give off a quiet squeak of surprise.

“Adriiiiieeeen I wanna keep kissing you,” she said as he carried her towards their bedroom. She made sure to make her point clear as she planted kisses all over his face and whatever else she could reach.

Adrien plopped her down on the bed and sighed tiredly as she refused to let go of him.

“We can kiss when you wake up, but I don’t want any more kisses until you have at least five hours in you,” he said in a falsely stern voice, giving a “serious” nod so she knew he meant business.

“Or you could put something else in me,” she whispered into his ear, tugging him closer.

Adrien let out a strangled gasp of surprise before pulling away harshly, making her let go of him, to which she flopped back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re no fun,” she mumbled as she tugged the sheets over herself.

Adrien started climbing in on his own side after removing his glasses, shooing Shamrock off the bed as she let out a rebellious meow. “I just want a well-rested bug for my smooching pleasure, that’s all.”

Marinette sighed and snuggled into his chest once he was settled. “Can I at least get a goodnight kiss?” she asked with a yawn.

Adrien happily obliged and their lips met for a quick and chaste kiss before she tucked herself back into him.

“You know, you get kind of needy and grumpy when you’re this tired,” he said jokingly.

Marinette didn’t respond.

Worried he’d offended her, Adrien gently stroked her hair saying, “Hey, I was joking. It’s cute. I love you.”

No response.

Adrien went to say something else before he heard a tiny snore come up from below him.

With a smile, he let himself relax into the pillows.

“Sleep tight, little bug.”

[justmickeyfornow]

How do you sit down and write? Like do you write at tea/coffee shop to increase that anesthetics writer creativity? Or hole up under your blanket? I’ve been trying to write something for 2 months now without much progress. Any words of wisdom?

Boy, do I got a few tips for you!! 

These tips are mostly if you’re writing a story (but some work both ways), so if you’re writing a paper or a dissertation or something with no progress, I’ll gladly do another post for that!

Step right up and welcome to Mickey’s....

Sit Yo Ass Down And Write Crash Course

1. Tip number uno:

Never sit your ass down and write. 

Hear me out, hear me out. If you’re anything like me, then you’re probably a serial procrastinator who’s always in desperate need to just not do what needs to be done. It’s quite simple. All you gotta do is trick that damn beautiful but procrastinating brain of yours. 

How? Well, I’m glad you asked!

I actually do my best writing standing in lines! Yup! Standing in lines has written some of the most intense scenes in PI. Hospital and airport waiting areas? Yup. Lotsa writing done there! Basically, if you find yourself waiting for something, pull up your phone and start writing. Half of PI was written on the subway, on buses, or in cars. I don’t know what it is, but my brain becomes hyperactive at that point. Like I have to finish writing this scene before reaching the front of the line or else I’ll make a fool of myself in front of the pretty barista lady.

For us procrastinators, we like to find any and every excuse not to work. But when you’re not actually working and your doing something else instead, our procrastinating brain doesn’t really identify the action as writing.

Believe it or not I never actually ‘sit down and write’. I only do so when I’m editing. During the editing process, I force myself to sit down on an actual chair, in front of an actual laptop/computer screen, use an actual keyboard, and edit! It’s brutal! Makes my procrastinating brain go antsy!

2. Tip number two:

If you get an idea, stop, drop, and type!

Don’t think about it. Don’t overthink the idea. Just jot it down on your phone. I don’t care if you were talking to someone and it would be rude to do so. Because as soon as you let go of that idea and say, “I’ll write it down later” then poof! it’s gone! 

Repeat after me: STOP. DROP. AND TYPE.

3. Tip number trzy (Polish):

never write perfectly from the start. 

Write in bullet form if you have to. Or just type the idea you have in your head. The more you pressure yourself to writing something perfectly, the more you’ll forget your idea. And this works with both story writing and academic writing as well.

Writing is a lot like drawing. You start with pencil, draw the basics - dialogue, single action,  main thing that happens - then using your pencil, draw some of the details - the he said she said parts, turn the actions into full sentences with adjectives and description - then lastly add in the color - the punctuation, the indentations, and the splitting of paragraphs - and finally you have a picture.

Let me give you an example. This is a simple scene that I’m gonna write on the spot from the random phrase “There’s no space for my ice cream”. (I initially screen recorded a video for you, but then when I came to upload it, I unfortunately realized that Tumblr doesn’t allow videos on asks....)

So here you see just random dialogue. No actions even.

Then I added dialogue above it. So what you write first doesn’t necessarily mean what’s gonna come first.

More dialogue and some action.

Here I started fixing it up. Added indentations. Set a scene with Lena being in the other room and all.

And then Tada!

So, As you can see, I start with basic dialogue, just what I think they might say (it changes a lot btw). Then I add some actions. Then I go back up and write more dialogue before the dialogue I started with. Then I go ahead and indent a few lines here and there. I write the saids (Kara called. Lena answered. She said. Kara exclaimed. Kara whined). And then add in some scenery as well.

And like I said, this works for story writing as well as academic. I used to do the same thing when I needed to write a paper. I would start simple. No big words. Just somewhat of an idea of what I want to write and build up from there.

4. Tip number quatre (French):

Watch to learn. 

This means that when you’re watching something, whether it’s a movie or a tv show, learn how the characters react. Their quirks, their nervous habits, everything and anything that makes them them. I can’t count how many times I had to rewind a movie because I was too busy noticing how the main character’s eyes would linger on the coffee table in front of her before she would say something painful. Or how if a character is shoved to the ground, which body part hits the ground first. Go through scenes of movies and tv shows and learn how people behave.

Movies and Tv-shows could also help you with how a character can cope a certain way or react in a certain way. For example, I was watching this show on Netflix called “Dead To Me” and the main character, her husband was killed in a hit-and-run by a speeding car. And part of her grief was that she would jot down the licence plate number of every car that was speeding and every car that had a bump at its front. That’s a detail of a specific form of grief. You could have your own character be obsessed with finding a cure to heart attacks if their SO died that way.

5. Tip number cinque (Italian):

Use real people as reference. 

Sit in a coffee shop and creepily watch a woman sitting in the corner table. You gotta act all stalkerish here for it to work! Now pretend that it’s your character that’s sitting there. Write down the little things that the woman might do that you’ll probably never even think of if you would have written the scene at home. Like how the woman’s head jerks up when a car passes by and she watches it through the glass window. How her foot taps on the floor to the rhythm of her music. How she frowns when she spills some coffee on her sketch book. Everything. The silly faces she does to the toddler sitting in the other table.

Use real people. If you’re writing a girl who’s somewhat tomboyish, maybe go to a skateboard park or something. Go to a fancy restaurant if you’re writing a rich old lady. A library if you’re writing a college student. 

6. Tip number lix (Somali):

Don’t write in order.

I cannot stress this enough. Write bottom to top. Middle to top. Middle to bottom. Write middle to bottom to middle again to top. Just don’t do it in order. Most of the time I write a paragraph thinking this is how I’m going to start my scene and it ends up being somewhere in the middle of all the chaos! Writing in order doesn’t make sense not even in essay writing. You never write an introduction first because you need a thesis. In order to have a thesis you need to know what the hell your body paragraphs are talking about. So, you start with your body. Not necessarily the first body paragraph either.

Write whatever comes to mind and figure out the order later. Chances are, it’ll change a billion times over before you commit to one. Writing in order gives your brain stress and in turn you’ll probably get a mental block. You’re too pressured to write the opening scene of the chapter that you forget what the hell happens in the end. And you lose that excitement, that flare you have to write the scenes that you had figured out in your head. Which sucks. Because it’s nearly impossible to get that back!

Also don’t worry about how you’ll combine everything in the end. That’s for the editing process, you’re not there yet. And from my experience, things tend to come together in the end on their own so you shouldn't worry too much.

7. Tip number seitsemän (Finnish):

Details, dude! They are everything!

(This one has nothing to do with being unable to write.... I realized this only AFTER I wrote it.....)

sometimes the details have nothing to do with the main characters, but writing them helps the reader feel like there’s a world there being lived beyond the characters he or she is reading about.

It paints a picture. And in writing, it’s very hard painting a picture with a white paper and some black ink. And that’s when details come in hand.

What I like to do is I like to zoom in on the scene I’m writing. Picture the scene in your head. Let’s take for example both characters are sitting on a bench in the park. Now pretend you have a pair of binoculars and zoom in on the scene. You’ll probably see a small ladybug that is sitting on the bench between them that one of the characters noticed but didn’t say anything because they know the other person is afraid of bugs. So they carefully pick it up without letting the other person know and they place it on the other side beside them. Or maybe you’ll realize there’s some carvings on the edge of the bench. A heart with an arrow and two letters on each end. Your character will probably wonder who the letters belong to, what were their names, and whether or not she and the other person would ever carve their own letters on a bench somewhere.

Details make a simple scene of two people sitting beside one another, into a whole picture of everything around them. 

8. Tip number osm (Czech):

Do research!

Top weird things I had to do a ton of research about for my stories:

How to build a gas bomb that you could release through the ventilation system of a buildingWhat kind of metal are the batarangs made of?How to bring someone back from the dead?How much space do you need to build a rocket and is a football field enough?How high should a person’s IQ be for them to be considered ‘genius’ level of smartQuantum Mechanics and matter reconfiguration devicesintracortical microstimulation (whatever that is) and how to use it to create the sense of touch in amputee limbs

The list goes on, trust me!

But research gives you an idea of where to begin. Sometimes, you don’t even know what it is you’re writing and you get ideas from your research. Research gives your readers a realistic sense to your world. Even if it’s not real. Even if all you’ve written is fake. They don’t know that! But what they do know is that your character is hella smart and can create a device using intracortical microstimulation to help create the sense of touch in amputee limbs!

Fun fact: Watch "True Memoirs of an International Assasin”. It’s on Netflix. And it’s every writer’s nightmare. It explains just how much we writers would go for that small detail. It shows you the depths we will take to ensure we know every detail of what it is we’re writing about! Highly recommended for every writer out there!

9. Tip number dokuz (Turkish):

If you’re stuck, act it out!

Yup, you heard me! Get yo ass off that chair and start practicing for your next Oscar because you’r gonna act out the scene you wanna write. Say your character just entered her house and called out to their spouse without a response. Go inside your own house and start jotting down the details of what you see. Your character will probably notice the lack of shoes. How the kitchen light isn’t turned on. Or the hum of the dishwasher not present. No keys in the bowl. All small things that they slowly realize before actually realizing that no one was home.

Acting also gives you ideas on how someone would react. Walk into your own house and imagine finding out you’ve been robbed. All your stuff is everywhere. Now, realistically - and I mean really really realistically - you wouldn’t freak out. At least not physically on the outside. You wouldn’t start jumping and shouting and go looking in your room if your cash is gone.

Because your brain needs time to process. You would have questions. Lots of them. Is the thief still here? Should I call the police? No, what if this is a prank. Is this a prank? Who would prank me like this? Your eyes would go around the room, noting down all the details there. The broken glass, the opened drawers, the thrown pillows. Use your own surroundings to imagine what a robbed place would look like.

10. Tip number umi (Hawaiian):

Always remember, each character is different.

(Realized this one also has nothing to do with being stuck and not being able to write and more to do with character writing... I think I went off topic....)

I always find stories where all the characters are practically written the same way. The dialogue is really generic. Because the writer isn’t really imagining as each character being a separate entity. They’re all characters of a story to them. The way one character talks is often if not always never the same way another character talks. AND a certain character will talk differently depending on who they’re talking with.

Give each of your characters certain attributes or quirks that they add to their dialogue. Like how the more sophisticated one chooses to say ‘darling’ instead of ‘babe’ or how one of them speaks in short and concise sentences having served time in the army and taught that each word counts. I know this tip isn’t that important, but I’ve seen a lot of writers do this mistake where all the dialogue is the same. And that’s because they’re trying so hard to move the story along that they forget that they need time for the characters to react and process differently.

Similarly, make sure that you know that each character reacts differently. I’ve fallen into this mistake several times actually to be honest. This one time I wrote a whole scene where I had Lena be super happy about something (can’t remember what it was) with someone she wasn’t too close with and then I remembered that she’s more reserved than Kara. She less trusting so she rarely shows her genuine side to others unless she knows them to be worthy or good. She’s not too open so she wouldn’t show her happiness by jumping around and screaming with joy. Whereas Kara! Oh, Kara! She would hug the mailman when she would be happy! And she’s probably best friends with her pizza delivery guy! Had to do multiple rewrites whenever I would do that mistake.

11. Tip number vienuolika (Lithuanian):

Drink Green Tea.

Repeat after me: Drink. Green. Tea.

No explanation necessary. Tea is life.

[hegglespeggles]

How to write an essay you could not care less about in 10 steps

Hello. I have an essay to write.

I am also, (unfortunately) the kind of lazy, apathetic burnout who will only do my FUCKING work if I get really worked up. Usually that ends up meaning all of my papers are spite-fuelled tirades but my profs seem to like them so fine. I hope you find this particular raging tirade useful.

Today, I would like to educate the 4 of you that will actually see this on a fine art I have perfected over the years. Writing a paper, about which, you do not give a single, solitary, crumb of a fuck about. This is (you may have guessed) and excellent way for me to procrastinate doing a paper that *I* do not give a single solitary crumb of a fuck about. For best results, I recommend doing this NIGHT-BEFORE-PANIC like, a week in advance so you can fix all the NONSENSE that your more reasonable brain will undoubtedly find. But if it’s the night before and you are shit outta luck, this will get ‘er done. And with practice, you can even pull good grades outta these bitches.

 Dissociating? I gotchu. Woke up the day of the deadline to feel like absolute utter garbage? Search no more friends.  

  FAILING GRADES ARE BETTER THAN ZEROS JUST FUCKIN DOOOOOO ITTTT

1.    Go get the prompt.

I fucking mean it. Even if you are like 1000% sure you know what the prompt is asking, go to the FUCKING assignment, and copy that shit into your word document. Got the assignment on paper? TYPE THAT SHIT UP MOTHERFUCKER.

(Do you see what I fucking have to deal with)

Boom?

BOOM.

Congratulations, you now have a document, and whats more, there are WORDS in it!! You aren’t starting from scratch anymore kiddo. Fringe benefit, you always know EXACTLY what the assignment wants because its fucking Staring You Down. Not saying you have to do exactly as it says, mama didn’t raise no BITCH and I aint scared of fuckin CALLING PROFS OUT but if you wanna break the rules you gotta know what they are first

(Disclaimer: I have also been kicked out of class on numerous occasions for fighting with the prof and had full classes where the lecture WAS me arguing so maybe take my opinions of conformity with a grain of salt.)

2.    Math THE FIRST

I know, this is an essay and not a fucking calculus test. But some of this shit is USEFUL OKAY

Take the paper in question. How long does it have to be? Mine is 5 pages. A page is generally accepted to be 250 words (double spaced because we FUCKING LOVE OURSELVES) so 5 x 250 = 1250 wds. That’s the goal. That’s the pinnacle. That’s your new holy grail.

Time to split this bitch up

  3.    Yarrrrrr, CONTENT

And finally, we get to the part that is the reason why you are being an absolute bitch baby about this essay (maybe. I might be projecting. Your life is your life and im sure youre doing your best.) I Hate this part, but now with our magic number we don’t need to pull 5 pages out of the ether.

This part really requires you to know your vibe. Is this something that you have a lot of little opinions (read: evidence) about or like, only 2 or 3 big bois? Look deep into your soul and figure out which is the easiest for you to shit out, a rant or a list. a  great way to do this is to WRITE ANYTHING YOU GOT OUT

Here you can see I’ve put all of the thoughts I have about the question into a list, slapped some standard “opening” and “closing” shit around it so I can FUCKING FIND IT AGAIN and given it a good hard look. Whats the common thread in all of my opinions? That the prompt is fucking stupid and makes no sense is asking 2 different questions. Congratulations: you found your thesis. This essay, like many of my essays, bears the thesis “this is a weird question to be asking” (which falls under my broader category of “bitches aint shit” essays.)

Congratulations you have the bare bones of your skeleton.

  4.    MATH THE SECOND

 The magic number returns. All hail our glorious leader. 1250 right?

So heres how I break this down. Break off a small chunk at the beginning. For this essay im gonna split off the 250. Split that baby in half. Congratulations, now you have a word count on your opening and closing. Personally, I know I like a lil extra space at the end to get all ranty, so Imma split this puppy up 100 for my opening and 150 for the closing. WARNING: You will think that you will be able to write enough in your opening and closing to take up lots of space. You will feel the urge to give them both the same amount of words that you give your points. This is misguided and foolish. Not only will you 1) not be able to do it but 2) even if you did, that’s like getting a sandwich which is all bread. No one wants that. Don’t be that dude. Fight the urge.

 RIGHT SO. We’re still left on the other 1000 words.

If you have an idea that like, is bigger than the others, go ahead and give that puppy more of the word count than the others, fractions are your friend here and you wanna think about how much of your final product each of these babies will be. If you, like me, are an utter buffoon with no clue what youre doing, open your calculator up. Divide the remaining word count by the number of points you have. Congratulations. Youre doing the essaying.

If this is enough to get you started, GREAT! See you at step seven. BEFORE YOU GO I would like to give you this tip

5.    CITE YOUR INFORMATION AS YOU ADD IT IN.

It doesn’t need to be a full citation, just literally a footnote with something that will help you remember where its from and for the love of god WHAT PAGE IT IS ON. The you of 3 hours from now will thank you.

  6.    Filling in the skeleton

 I don’t know about you, but I cant exactly riff off of a single sentence. Like, I know what the VIBE of my point is, but like, I cant pull it out of a hat. The name of the game here is whittling down your arguments into thinner and thinner chunks that are easier and easier to bullshit. This is how you avoid that “burning building found in flames during Brooklyn fire” bullshit that memes. You don’t wanna meme. You wanna pass. So, figure out what the things you are gonna say and in each bit, keep track of how many words you are gonna write. EITHER

a)      You put how many words you think you can write on any point beside the point as you go and just keep developing points and shuffling word counts around until it matches the total for that section

or

b)     You evenly breakup the word count between all the points and keep breaking them down until you look at a subject and a word count and go “yeah that’s doable. I can do that.”

I prefer the second so LEGGO.

Ta-Da!

7.    Write ‘er up

Ahhh glad to see we’re all back together again. Try-hards who can ACTUALLY bullshit papers, glad to see you’ve rejoined us! This is the part where you take all that shit you’ve broken up into nice little chunks and you turn it into something worth reading. You can do it. I believe in you. Try and keep your citations in place.

I like to do this as a question answer thingy, like an exam, so halfway through writing mine is gonna look like this

 The handy part about the numbers is that it gives you a frame of reference for how your bullshit is going. Realized you had a lot more to say here than you thought? Dope! Less bullshit somewhere else, take it out of a weaker point. This point didn’t give as much as you thought it would? Split the difference elsewhere! This way you have checkpoints and you can see how your essay is going

And then you can go ahead and delete your skeleton work. Its time. Its served you well. For extra drama, whisper menacing nothings to it as you send it into the darkness. Personal favourites include “no one will mourn you,” “your fate belongs to me,” and “so this is what you have come to”

  8.    Citations

Theres like a million ways out there to find out how to do your citations and its gonna depend on what kind of a paper you are writing. I use Chicago most of the time, including here. My advice? Use a site like, bib.me or something to do your bibliography, and then plaster that in the bottom of your document. Use that as the building blocks to do your footnotes. Let Purdue Owl be your guide. Purdue Owl Style Guide Is A Mighty Friend Indeed.

 Also your welcome for that, “putting the page numbers in as you put the info in” shit. That took me alarmingly long to figure out. It’s a wonder theyre giving me a degree.

  9.    Proofread that shit, ya bougie bitch.

If you wanna be time effective, getting a friend to proofread while you do your citations is a great way to go. If you have a few days, put your paper away and come back to it. If you are out of friends and time then https://www.paperrater.com/ is your last hope.

  10.       Slap a title page on that shit and GET IT SUBMITTED

 No joke, I have been using the same template for a coverpage all through highschool and my undergrad. There is only one title page and every time I write an essay I take the title page from the last paper I wrote. There is no beginning. Only title page. Title? Topic of paper: point of paper. For example, If I had to title this screed I’d call it Essay Writing: An exploration of mediocrity. slap the date and your name and the course and instructor on there and BAM. YA DONE.

 Anyway submit that shit an go to bed youre done goodnight

EPILOGUE

I’ve gotten this essay back, and when I wrote it, I was barely a human being. Barely capable of human speech let alone a coherent argument. I would forget the end of the sentence by the time I typed out the beginning. But I still for a 70%! is it the best mark I’ve ever gotten? no! but it is a hell of a lot better than the 0% I would have gotten if i hadnt done this. I get it. And i hope this helps. 

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 14

Prompt:  Prompts are by Devilbat: “Lose you tonight” by HIM, Istanbul (cause I’m difficult), a fork. However, the originally suggested song had the ability to really get me down, so they suggested “Burning Desire” by Lana Del Rey. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), so much lemon you won’t see clear for a day. Oh and a bit of feels. A/N: Alright, so I’ve updated twice within a short time. That doesn’t mean we’re back to the old routine, just that I’m procrastinating from thesis to avoid screaming at my project partner. Please! I need some kind words of encouragement, so comment and reblog if you like the chapter! And let me know if you want a tag.

Touch down

Tears are streaming from your eyes and your knees are weak, threatening to buckle under you. The cacophonic lightshow known as Bifrost has disappeared and all that’s left of it is a smouldering pattern on the ground around you and Loki.

Loki.

Turning in the arm he’s wound around your waist you finally have a chance to look properly at him since the morning days ago. He looks healthier. Maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell because he’s so pale from nature (or whatever it is that makes him look human) and of course he’s still pale. But there are no dark bags under his eyes, and his lips are soft and pink, begging you to kiss them.

All too son, he pulls away. “[Y/N]. I should not indulge you but chastise you.” Still he pecks a series of tiny kisses onto your face.

“You’d rather be stuck alone in a cell?” The words are mumbled, half swallowed by your quest to find his mouth again.

A chuckle and sharp bite to your bottom lip is the price you get. “It was risky.”

“I’d already lost everything.”

Turquoise eyes find yours, boring into your soul while managing to retain their own secrets. Almost. A shimmer collects and dances before spilling onto the perfect cheekbone. Loki allows you to kiss it away, but as soon as the salt has touched your lips, the god embraces you tighter than ever before. You can feel his chest heave. Feel the tremble of his shoulders underneath your palms that seek to cradle him in return.

“But…you would have…lived!” Hoarse. Broken. Each word contains more pain and desperation than you thought this controlled man could show. “Ris-sking your lif–“

“Shut up!” Surprisingly, he does as you tell him, backs strained to see each others’ faces. “What good would a life be if it’s spent in misery? Gods, I sound like your brother the way I talk! But you get it, right? You understand that I’d be missing a part?” The words are rushed, interrupted by soothing noises and kisses. “Maybe…maybe smarter people would call it Stockholm Syndrome…I dunno…an’ I don’t care! I just know that while I was dying, I was holding on for you. And when I woke…it was you I needed.”

“Please, don’t...”

“No, you need to understand this!” Why doesn’t he want to accept it? “My life is yours. I love you.”

It would’ve been neat to say the world stood still as you watched the words sink in, burn themselves into Loki’s heart.

But the way reality works, the only sudden event nearby is a bird chasing a cat away. Some insects are buzzing in the drying bushes on the other side of the grassy area, and at least the sun is shining hot and unforgiving, but the traffic noise in the distance continues relentlessly. And still, you wait for Loki to say something. Anything.

“[Y/N]…” he whispers, “nothing I can say will be enough…but I love you too.”

A breath you didn’t know you’d been holding escapes as a soft whine. All it takes to stifle it is to find the cool lips. Soothing in the heat. Oh, it’s warm alright, and dry too.

“Where are we?”

The place where Bifrost has dropped you seems to be a sort of park on top of a hill, but it’s so dry that most plants have either withered or are the type that might survive in an actual desert. Beyond the hilltop, a city sprawls in all directions, rising and falling with the landscape beneath the buildings towards a glittering sea and a sort of canal leading in through the very heart of the metropolis. Alright, metropolis might be taking it a bit too far for a New Yorker, but it’s obvious even for you that this is a big and probably old place.

“I know this place,” Loki smiles, “Although it has changed since my last visit.” Squinting up at him, you wait for an explanation. “Welcome to Constantinople!”

“We’ve been dumped in Istanbul?” Fuck, none of us have passports.

But Loki’s beaming, already weaving magic over the both of you to fix the appearance. “Is that what it’s called nowadays? Either way, no need to fret, my dear…I’ll take care of you.”

…

You ask me where I've been? I been everywhere

He hadn’t lied. Of course he hadn’t. As soon as the two of you had left the park, he somehow managed to hail a cab, and before you knew it, you’d arrived at a swanky hotel in the best part of town. It’d confused you for a moment that the concierge apparently knew Loki, but you were willing to forgive either of them when you were led into a mindboggling suite on the top floor.

Since then, you’ve showered and dressed (choosing from a selection of clothes that had been brought up to the suite) and now find yourself standing on the terrace. The rays of the descending sun have lost the bite and you revel in the breeze that carries a tang of salt and seaweed floating in the air over the low buildings or between the few wannabe skyscrapers. One of the first things you’d noticed were the minarets in the distance and you promise yourself you’ll use this opportunity to actually see some of the world.

“I find the view magnificent.” Loki’s voice drifts from the open door.

Turning, you see him dressed perfectly in his signature black-on-black suit, hair still damp from the shower. “Mmmm, I don’t mind looking this direction though.”

You return the grin even though a heat springs to your cheeks at the way he’s looking your over. Lazily. Devouring you with his icy eyes. He ought to, though, because you’ve taken special care to find a figure-hugging green dress with black and golden accents. Although the front is relatively modest with long sleeves and high neckline (ignoring the tightness, though) the back is bare, skin visible through a cut-out shaped like a kite that shows off exactly what isn’t worn underneath.

“It can’t be that long since you’ve been here since you know people,” you observe as you walk over to take his arm, allowing him to lead you away from the gorgeous lodgings, “where else can you expect a greeting like that?”

Rather than answer, Loki begins to tell you about the city and its convoluted history where diverse cultures have clashed again and again.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

There are many interesting people even in this measly realm known as Midgard. In fact, Loki might even go so far as to say that the world itself can hold a certain charm with the oddities there are to learn if scrutinizing the events of past and present. And the mortals? Naïve. For the most boring and grotesquely optimistic of their own importance. Of course, there are the Avengers which are entertaining in their own way. Nothing compares to you, my love.

[Y/N] is listening to every word, [Y/E/C] eyes glittering with fascination at the sight of the ancient city walls where long forgotten armies had held the ancient capital under siege. It’s not the first time Loki notices how eagerly the woman absorbs information. Not only history, but anything from the position of a chair, the movement of another person, or the writing on a building. Nothing escapes her attention but is evaluated silently.

Coloured lips cradle the edge of the glass before sending him a slight smirk. Loki feels his body react to the way [Y/N]’s tongue delicately licks a stray drop from the bottom lip and his soul screams in protest as she excuses herself, disappearing further back into the restaurant with a sinful swaying of the hips and the perfectly sculpted back exposed to the gaze of everyone in the place. Mine. Pride mixes with the sting of jealousy towards those that stare for too long. But he cannot truly fault them for looking.

Mine.

Memories resurface of the woman’s back arching, his own hands running trailing the spine and sides until his fingers dig into the flesh of the shapely hips to pull her closer. Hard and fast. Every movement met by a thrust of his hips that makes the feminine shoulder blades before him shift under soft skin and [Y/N] cry out in ecstasy.

The clink of cutlery against porcelain shatters the illusion, brining the god back to the present where his cock is straining against the trousers and his throat has gone dry.

Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips Over over again, like my only prayer

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Dinner hadn’t finished before you started teasing the god. Maybe the wine had made you braver, maybe the intensity of the last many days had made you reckless. Whatever the reason, you found immense satisfaction in watching Loki’s eyes darkened with lust and fixated on you each time you swiped the tongue over your lips or when you withdrew the fork from your mouth, careful to slow the action enough that it almost became lewd. For a moment, the god’s hands had disappeared below the table and an idea popped into your head and after checking the coast was clear, you slipped off the chair and under the perfect hiding spot created by the tablecloth.

The fork was still dangling from your lips, freeing you to crawl to Loki’s knees and slide your hands up his thighs. You could feel the muscles tense as he shifted in his seat, but it’s his cock that quickly had your attention as it was freed from the confines of his pants. His balls too, just for good measure.

Muffled by the table, the god’s hiss still reached you when your tongue traced the length of his erection. Hand and tongue played across the thin skin, quickly ensuring glistening precum to be swept across the head of the cock with each motion. And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth.

Steps approached, a waiter asking if everything was to the satisfaction, when you decided to place the cold metal of the fork on the cockhead. No reaction. A slow drag of the prongs over the delicate skin of his balls had the wished effect of a stutter in the speech. It also paralysed his movement, though…and how were you supposed to ignore such an opportunity. Taking him in fully, you felt the shaft throb against your tongue as the tip reached and passed your gag reflexes in one smooth move. A shattering of glass could be heard from somewhere above you.

You don’t know how you’ve made it all the way back to the hotel without Loki losing his composure. He’s shaking, eyes dark and there’s even a hint of red seeping into the sclera from the edges. Not a word is spoken during the elevator ride, but his palm never leaves your lower back.

The moment the door to the suite closes behind you, he spins you and press your chest up against the wood. Arms twisted behind you back and legs nudged as far apart as possible by his knee, it surprises you that no fear rears its head even now when Loki’s got you at his mercy although you can feel cold radiating from his body.

“My pet,” he growls, breathing heavy against your throat, “are you truly aware of what you have started?”

Tilting your ass slightly to rub against the bulge in his crotch, it’s impossible not to smile at his groan. “Oh…I know.”

The sound from Loki is feral and it’s a miracle he bothers using magic to rid you of your clothes before hoisting your over his shoulder. Hell-o! Golden sparkles dissolves his own clothes, granting you with a view worth all the riches you’ve ever stolen. Never in your wildest dreams (prior to meeting him, of course) had you thought you’d end up loving the colour blue as much as you do now, but it’s possibly divine on the perky ass of his that shows perfect definition with each step through the suite. Just out of reach. Wiggling doesn’t bring your any closer, it only buys you a slap that makes your own ass sting and every muscle in your nether regions clench. At least Loki soothes the sting by stroking gently. Then a cold stroke flutters along the part of the folds that are easy to reach.

Without any warning, the world tilt and spins to make sure you landing, bouncing, on the bed, but as you try to get your bearings everything gets flipped around once more and you find yourself on knees and elbows with your ass kept in the air by strong hands on your hips. Oh, is all you manage to think before you’re filled in one smooth thrust.

“Mine!” It’s a snarl, pulled from the depths of Loki’s chest.

Concentrating to formulate anything similar to a coherent sentence, you retort: “Your what?” You try to relax, hoping to acclimate yourself to the size of his cock.

“My pet,” he accentuates the nickname with a hard thrust, “my queen.”

Core clenches tightly around the ridged member, making you both groan. It’ll be a miracle if he can last much longer before blowing the load, because he’d been denied that pleasure at the restaurant partially for fear of getting caught…but mostly to torment him. Now you’re dealing with the consequences. Fuck yeah.

Perhaps there’s better sex to be had, but after seeing Loki so weak...after almost losing him…

“Ma-make me yours, my-y king!”

Your keening cry is the only argument needed for him to reach his high. His heaving chest against your back, the last few ruts of his hips are accompanied an almost painful bite on your shoulder that muffles his guttural growl.

I've got a burning desire for you, baby (I've got a burning desire)

[hesflyingonbrokenwings]

Dearest V,

it's been almost one year since we last spoke, so I guess our lives might have changed a bit since then...

I hope you've had a peaceful holiday season with your family – speaking of whom, the warmest of greetings and best of wishes to them – may your parents and your cat have a wonderful and healthy start to this decade.

I went head-first into last year thinking I'd see greater changes by the end of it, but, as Oli put it quite concisely, "then I found out how hard it is to really change" – for example, I had quit smoking weed in summer and started to enjoy life free from it, only to start toking again three months later when my mental wellbeing started spiralling downwards again... in the end I have to admit that while I may have felt like I could make a meaningful change in my life, I'm still sitting around trying to find out of my depressive ways, and I'm growing more and more unsure by the day that going back to who I once was is an option at all... after all, people grow up, and I guess part of who we are is determined by our experiences... I should definitely try to seek professional help this year, so maybe over time I'll be able to create the version of myself that I need to be so I can finally stop being down all the time. While that means I may not exactly be "past me", I sincerely hope you'll like whatever person I'm going to be then.

The years we've spent side by side have shaped me in a number of ways, some healthier and some unhealthier. On the upside, obviously, there's the hundreds of memories that we've shared and that I still like to look back on every once in a while (even though I'm slightly concerned about how many of those involve weed and / or booze), the music you've introduced me to (I still enjoy your Spotify mix every now and then) and so on. What's probably more on the unhealthy side of things and might sound a bit crazy is that, interestingly enough, I still sometimes feel like you're watching my every move, judging every single thing I'm doing, and it's driving me nuts. I don't know the exact reason and it confuses me... on the one hand it's kind of annoying and a bit restrictive, and on the other hand I just want to figure out where exactly that comes from. I guess part of it is because of what I've experienced over the past years, the numerous occasions on which you've trash talked the time I've spent in relationships with other people to feel better about yourself. Then again, maybe part of me just wants you to still care, when the rational part in me reckons you probably you don't care about me anymore – I mean, why would you, you can do so much better. I don't think I'll find answers for now, more stuff to discuss with a therapist once I've found one, I guess. Then again, maybe it'll help me make saner decisions for the moment, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I'm done with this whole trash-talking business, that is, if we start talking again, please just let me decide for myself what to make of my past... I hope this didn't sound too harsh, it's just something I might've left unsaid for too long. Oh well, and speaking of long-lasting impact, then there's like hundreds of things that still evoke your memory anyway, whether that's any mention of anything related to law school, or the former capital, or still wearing the things you gave me, or, oh yeah, living in the same flipping part of town. Also reminds me, I still haven't touched the new BoJack episodes or the Chris-chan documentary yet... watching TheOdd1sOut's Sooubway part 4 without you feld weird enough, somehow. I guess it goes without saying that there has hardly been a day this year that I haven't thought of you at least in some way, mostly thinking about how awkward it would be to run into each other on the streets, whether we'd exchange words and what the hell I'd have to say about how my life was going and what I've learned or accomplished and so on if that became the case. It obviously didn't, but I still spent some time thinking about what I'd have to say and it was interesting to observe how it changed over the year. I guess you were right about some things, first and foremost about how I should try to get myself up from the fucking ground first before attempting to build up anything in life.

That being said, there are two major milestones I've reached last year, and I hope you're at least a bit proud of me – I've used the spring semester to finally complete my mandatory internship, coding for a software company that was a pleasure to work for, and they offered to hire me as a working student right away and as a proper engineer once I finish uni. Anyway, since the office isn't exactly close to uni, I've decided for now to keep working at uni for two more years. They have been quite understanding and the offer to hire me again still stands. Since I could definitely see myself working in software development after uni, I have started working towards a proper computer science bachelor's degree which I'll pursue in parallel with my usual master's. And, what might surprise you even more, believe it or not, I've been smoke-free for more than 7 months now, and I'm making damn sure I'm not touching another cigarette or anything else containing nicotine again – fuck off, big tobacco! I almost also managed to finish my bachelor's degree, but my assigned thesis topic was so cryptic and far off from what I expected that I ended up not handing in anything at all... but I'm making sure to finish in a second attempt before the next semester starts, wish me luck!

Anyway, how's your 2019 been? Is everything alright at uni? Have you passed the bar yet, and how's your internship situation (been) going? Also, I've heard that the houseshare didn't work out (it really sucks to hear that), did you find another nice place to stay near uni and how do you like it? How's your bass journey coming along? I hope you're still having fun with the bass and I'd love to hear some of the riffs you've been rocking out to one day. (Speaking of rocking out – I don't know whether he told you, but Sebi and I have been trying to start a band for a while now. While we somehow procrastinated our way around it almost all year until recently, we've started jamming and recording voice memos, so who knows, maybe we'll have written some kick-ass tunes soon.)

Lest I forget, speaking of 2019... a very belated happy birthday! Whether or not to contact you for your birthday was a harder decision than you may think... in the end I decided to keep at a distance and not leave a message, I still hope you've had a great time (at least it probably won't have been a disappointment like the times I've been involved) so make damn sure to enjoy your remaining time at 22... because you know what Blink-182 has to say about them darned 23-year-olds.

Quick change of topic, politics is the same clusterfuck as always, isn't it? When the 12/12 general elections were announced, I was hoping so badly that Great Britain might be coming to its senses... and then the results were out, oh boy. Well, if this is what the Brits truly want, then good riddance, I guess... also, I hope the Americans won't make the same mistake this year but I'm not too sure about that... but at least the old fucker finally got impeached, about time. I know senate is likely to acquit him, but I don't want to think about that just now... for now, let's just stick with "they've finally got him."

Enough for now, I hope this note reaches you someday – if you feel like replying, just interact with this post, leave me a PM or so, you'll find a way. Just know that I still don't quite feel like I'm ready to take contact back to a normal level just yet, so it might take me the usual couple of weeks to reply in case there's anything you want me to reply to... until then I'll just go back to lurking in the shadows, trying to figure out my life while checking in on your Tumblr every once in a while to know you're okay. (Oh well, it's your Tumblr we're talking about, maybe "being okay" doesn't exactly cut it, but you get the gist.)

Best, L

[kangstellation]

lotus

A little brotp JC + WWX ficlet for @thefantomblogger from the sentence starter prompt list (I chose misc no. 2)

(i would also like to take this time to point out that I chose the title on a whim and there’s no actual... meaning beyond taking it from “Lotus Pier”)

Hopefully this doesn’t disappoint? hahaha it started as another one of their usual small “WWX annoying JC until JC retaliates” incidents and then it kinda.. snowballed ig... because I have no concept of restraint hahaha let’s move on to the story (below the cut) :3

-

“Quit touching me, your feet are cold!” Jiang Cheng snaps as he moves further along the couch away from Wei Wuxian.

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are visiting their hometown, Yunmeng, on account of the school holidays. Despite it being the holidays, Wei Wuxian has about 5 million things to do (he’s even got them all on a list he made when he was procrastinating!) that he’s ignoring as he grins and moves closer to Jiang Cheng again.

“Cheng Cheng~ Haven’t you missed me~” Wei Wuxian drawls as he scoots closer and shoves his feet onto Jiang Cheng’s lap again.

“Who would miss you! And I told you to stop touching me with your feet! Do you want me to break your legs??” Jiang Cheng retorts hotly, shoving Wei Wuxian’s feet off his lap and standing to move to the other couch.

“Awwwww Jiang Cheng don’t be like thaaaat...” Wei Wuxian whines, pouting at Jiang Cheng even though the other is pointedly looking at his phone and not at him. “You’re such a tsundere!”

That gets his attention. Jiang Cheng looks up from his phone, the stormy look on his face accentuated by the sunlight streaming in through the translucent curtains behind the couch. “What. Did. You. Call. Me.”

“A. Tsun. Dere.” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at Jiang Cheng in a wonderful show of his true age.

“WEI WUXIAN!! I TOLD YOU TO STOP COMPARING ME TO THOSE ANIME STEREOTYPES!!” Jiang Cheng roars, jumping to his feet with a cushion in hand and proceeding to try and suffocate Wei Wuxian with said cushion.

“Ack! Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng, have mercy!!” Wei Wuxian cries as he unsuccessfully tries to fight Jiang Cheng off. It is to no avail, though, and soon his pleas have become muffled by the cushion shoved against his face.

Just then, there is the sound of a key being inserted into the door lock and turning, signifying the return of the other members of the Jiang household. Jiang Cheng freezes for a millisecond - which is all Wei Wuxian needs to throw him off and leap at him, a wild gleam in his eyes and his own cushion in hand, to return the favour.

Madam Yu walks in to find Wei Wuxian trying to suffocate her son, and her aura goes from neutral to chilly immediately. “Trying to kill my son, Wei Wuxian?” she asks coldly.

At the sound of Madam Yu’s voice, Wei Wuxian immediately releases the pillow and jumps away from Jiang Cheng (as if putting distance between them would erase the “crime”), hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck automatically. “Ahahhaha, that’s not it, Madam Yu, Jiang Cheng and I, we were just- just playing! Really! And he was the one who started trying to suffocate me first!”

Jiang Cheng had already snatched the cushion off his face to glare at Wei Wuxian, then he seemed to suddenly remember that he actually wanted Wei Wuxian to stay for dinner, so he reluctantly turns to his mother to affirm Wei Wuxian’s claim, “He’s right. I started it.”

Since Jiang Cheng had confessed to starting the ordeal, Madam Yu couldn’t exactly punish Wei Wuxian for attacking back, so she settles for glaring icily at him.

Jiang Yanli had also entered the house by now, so Wei Wuxian takes the chance to escape the situation by bouncing over to Jiang Yanli and hugging her, “Jie! I’ve missed you so much!”

Jiang Yanli giggles and pats Wei Wuxian with her free hand. “A-Xian, let me put down the groceries first at least.”

Wei Wuxian releases her and pouts, greatly resembling a kicked puppy. Then, he remembers a much more important matter: “Jie, is the peacock coming over for dinner tonight??”

The peacock in question was Jin Zixuan. Also known by a variety of other terms coined by Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng: arrogant asshole, prick, rich bastard- you get the gist. Jin Zixuan had attended the same high school as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and had been one of the most self-righteous jerks they had ever met. And though he (thankfully) didn’t end up at the same university as either of them, he had gone to the same one as Jiang Yanli and had the nerve to start wooing her. Like he hadn’t made her cry before. The worst part was probably that Jiang Yanli, for some reason, had actually accepted his affections and they have been dating for two years now.

Jiang Yanli shakes her head regretfully to the question, “No, A-Xuan is not joining us tonight, he has a compulsory family dinner to attend.”

Wei Wuxian fights to keep his poker face on even though internally he was jumping around and celebrating that he didn’t have to see that stupid peacock and be nice to him. Jiang Cheng smirks.

“Jiang Cheng. Don’t you have to work on your thesis? And Wei Wuxian. Don’t you have 2 presentations to prepare for?” Madam Yu speaks up coldly, telling them in a not-so-subtle way to stop lazing around.

Both name owners flinch at the reprimand. Still, it’s Madam Yu, so neither of them dares to even make a small sound of complaint. Wei Wuxian, a master of complaints? Ha! More like a master of compliance when it came to Madam Yu. If his course mates could only see him now, they would think he had been replaced by a doppelganger.

Wei Wuxian shuffles forlornly towards his bag to take out his laptop, and Jiang Cheng wordlessly dumps a pile of heavy books onto the coffee table. Both wait until Madam Yu has moved to her room and they hear the door slam shut to heave a big sigh. Jiang Cheng fixes Wei Wuxian with a glare, and Wei Wuxian retorts with another ugly face, but neither of them actually start hissing at the other so it’s considered as close to peace as they can get.

When the familiar aroma of lotus root pork rib soup wafts over into the living room, Wei Wuxian decides he’s worked hard enough for the day (which was a school holiday, by the way, he shouldn’t even be working in the first place) and skips over to the kitchen to attempt weaseling a bowl of soup from Jiang Yanli.

Jiang Cheng scoffs at the occurrence, but his thoughts are soft and traitorous to the emotion he intends to display.

Some things really don’t change, huh?