#technical workshops for students

[mygrowthcrafter]

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[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 busy woman pt. 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: eren x reader, slight! erwin x reader

⌗ summary: you don’t believe in fate, but you do believe in probability. the odds of running into a stupidly attractive guy at a highly competitive internship interview? low. the odds of him rejecting you? …higher. the odds of ending up in the same program — and on the same project team after all that? practically zero. and yet, here you are.

⌗ word count: 1.2k

♥ pt. 2 ♥ masterlist ♥

The first time you see him, he’s sitting across from you in Amazon’s sleek, modern lobby, scrolling through his phone with an air of boredom. His long hair falls effortlessly over his shoulders, framing sharp green eyes, and the all-black outfit he’s wearing only adds to the effortlessly cool aura he exudes. It’s infuriating.

The other candidates in the lobby are visibly tense— eyes darting across their laptop screens, reviewing LeetCode problems like their lives depend on it. Meanwhile, he looks like he just rolled out of bed and showed up for fun. He’s probably the type to start coding projects the night they’re due and still get a perfect score. The type who never second-guesses himself in a technical interview. The type who coasts through life on sheer talent.

It’s hard not to be at least a little resentful, especially in this job market. You sent out over 200 applications, grinded through a grueling technical screening, and sacrificed weeks of sleep just for this shot. And here he is, looking like he has nothing to worry about.

You fidget with your fingers, trying to shake off your pre-interview nerves. Maybe he’s a nepo baby. Maybe his dad is a senior dev here, and this interview is just a formality. That scenario isn’t unheard of. There’s no way a normal college student would be that calm right now.

You sigh, letting your mind wander to all the K-dramas you’ve watched about office romances. Out of the sea of awkward, smelly, socially inept CS major guys, he’s like a rare exception— the kind of guy who actually looks good while coding. Gosh, imagine if someone like him was your coworker. Debugging wouldn’t be so miserable if you were pulling all-nighters next to a guy like that. If only.

You’re still lost in your little fantasy when a voice snaps you back to reality.

“The next interview group, please come forward.”

Your name is called first.

And then—

“Eren Yeager.”

Oh.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye as he stands, stretching lazily before trailing after the recruiter. As he walks past, you catch the faintest whiff of something clean and expensive, so unfairly good.

Life really isn’t fair. Not only is he ridiculously good-looking, but he’s also tall. And he smells good.

You force yourself to refocus, but as you follow the recruiter inside, the awareness of him lingers, making your heart rate spike even more. You shouldn’t care— he’s just another candidate, really, just another competitor. You should be silently praying for his downfall. But something about the way he carries himself, so effortlessly confident, only makes you hyper-aware of your own unease.

By the time you’re seated, you push all unnecessary thoughts aside.

The interview goes well— better than well, actually. You answer the behavioral questions smoothly (after rehearsing them so many times you could probably recite the prompts in your sleep), showcase your problem-solving and people skills (shoutout to all those painfully competitive career workshops from uni), and even throw in a few well-placed jokes that make your interviewers smile (carefully crafted after an embarrassingly deep dive into their LinkedIn profiles).

By the time you walk out, you feel good— so good that, on a wild impulse that not even your obsessive need to be prepared could have accounted for, you find yourself stopping in front of Eren by the elevators. He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone like he has nowhere to be.

“Hey,” you say.

He looks up, surprised. His sharp green eyes flick over you, taking you in for a moment before he responds. “Hey.”

You hesitate for half a second. Then, before you can overthink it, you say, “We were in the same interview group, and I think you’re really cute. Would you wanna go out sometime?”

Eren blinks. He wasn’t expecting that. Hell, even you weren’t expecting that. But when someone has a face card like his, sometimes you just have to shoot your shot.

Then— silence. A long, excruciating pause. The kind that stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you sounded creepy. Oh god. Maybe you came off weird. Or desperate. Or worse— maybe he thinks you’re completely out of his league, and not in the fun, delusional way.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales, his gaze flicking over you once more before taking out an airpod to bluntly say, “I don’t really date.”

Oh.

You try your best not to let the rejection sting for too long. After all, Eren’s gorgeous and probably gets asked out by girls all the time—enough to build immunity to it. What could you say? Beautiful people should date other beautiful people, and even with your fair share of self-confidence, you felt deep down that he was out of your league.

But your obsession with being prepared had its perks. It helped you be adaptable in situations like this. “No worries,” you say smoothly, flashing him a casual grin (one you practiced in front of the bathroom mirror, imagining hypothetical situations like this) like it’s no big deal— despite the fact that your heart feels like it’s been stomped on. “Good luck with the internship.”

And with that, you turn and leave down the stairs, pretending like it never happened.

A month later, you get the acceptance email.

You’re beyond thrilled— thrilled when you (finally) announce your highly coveted internship at frickin’ Amazon, thrilled when you go out to the club with your girlfriends to celebrate the end of internship application season, and thrilled when you hear about the sweet, sweet pay (which you’re already planning to save up for a winter break trip to go snowboarding) during the Zoom onboarding meeting.

You’re so thrilled, in fact, that you can’t imagine anything ruining your high. That is, until you walk into orientation and see a very familiar face sitting at one of the tables.

Eren Yeager.

His gaze flicks up as you enter, recognition flashing in his eyes. For a split second, neither of you says anything. You freeze, feeling your face flushing with heat. He holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity before you break it, quickly looking down at the floor, mortified beyond belief. The probability of this happening was practically zero.

And yet, here he is.

You tug at the hem of your newly bought shirt from Mango (a mini present to yourself to celebrate landing the internship of your dreams, the pinnacle of what your college experience had amounted to on your resume), trying to distract yourself, but nothing can shake the immense embarrassment you feel.

To make matters worse, the project manager steps to the front of the room and announces, “Alright, summer interns! You’ll be working in assigned dev groups for the summer. Let’s introduce you to your teams.”

You can already feel the impending doom, as if the universe and all its forces are conspiring against you. What were the chances? Your opps must’ve gotten together in a group chat and ordered the most expensive bootleg spell from Etsy to make sure this moment— your moment, the one you’ve worked your butt off for— was as awkward as humanly possible.

You knew life was getting too good to be true.

[oswald-privileges]

behold. bastard.

i dont feel like tagging but if you see this and want to show the last thing you wrote, stick it in a rb!

Tagged by @cursedthing for the last line challenge:

"in a new post, show the last line you wrote or drew, then tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like!)"

Well the last thing I drew was a tangle of scribbles, so last line it is!

"-and the worm it's loamy maw"

I am not tagging that many people so!

@wingedarrows @whispatchet @riathedreamer @thetiredpenguin @oswald-privileges @amongthegentlymad

@steamedtets @superat626 @softglowofcandlelight

@dawnawry @gwinverarrouz @hug-monster @librivore42 @lizzybeanbutt

@xofre @calgon-throw-me-away @mirasorastone

If any of y'all wanna do this go forth and be silly!

[artemis-artblog]

brain merged my current main interests, so I've tma-ified MOTH

more info + descriptions utc

Roughly taken from things we know from the Elysian Realm as well as the Golden Courtyard special as well as from The Magnus Archives and The Magnus Protocol Aged some of them up (Griseo, Kosma, Hua, Pardo) as they'd be too young to partake in the plot properly and I didn't want to leave them out

MOTH is a researching facility similar to the Magnus Institute, the Horror aspect is partially kept away from the researchers, the science aspect is kept very far away from them (they will still eventually figure it all out)

now to the descriptions:

Kevin: The Hunt, 24 years old, started working at MOTH at 22 after experiencing The Horrors, only child, parents still alive, responsible for both the technical parts of researching cases as well as general IT stuff due to his previous job, parents moved to Japan when he was 12

Su: The Eye, 24 years old, has a phd (medicine), previously worked as a doctor in a well-known hospital, quit his job after watching one of his patients being claimed by The Corruption, has a twin sister (Vita) (Su is the older twin), working on his second phd "just for fun" (psychology), parents moved from China to Japan when he and Vita were 5

Fu Hua: 20 years old, no one knows what got her to join MOTH in the first place, acts more mature than she actually is, orphaned, her father used to be friends with Su and Vita's parents before he passed, seemingly only really gets along with Su and Pardofelis, martial artist, works with strange artifacts

Mobius: 30 years old, scientist, head of MOTH, views the Avatars as a necessary evolution that humans will have to take part in or perish, will eventually fall victim to the Corruption during her research, aims to reach immortality, keeps scientific research hidden from the majority of MOTH (exceptions: Vill-V who found out about it all by herself, Mei who is her student)

Vill-V: 30 years old, has survived several run-ins with Avatars, much more focused on stopping the fears from leaking into their world, Mobius rival, tech genius, tries to keep most of the horrors hidden from her co-workers, works mostly with Kalpas and Sakura, has her own workshop in the institute where she tries to build things to stop Avatars and rituals, has been marked by the Stranger and the Spiral

Mei: 24 years old, Dr Mobius student, hopes to - one day - take over MOTH, also holds the belief that becoming an avatar is a natural part of evolution and will save humanity when the fears eventually take over, not interested in stopping the fears bur wants to understand them, will eventually go even further than Mobius ever did, very willing to use people as a stepping stool to reach her goals or to further her research, marked by The Eye, marked by the Flesh eventually down the line most likely

Elysia: The End, no one knows when or why she started working at MOTH, researcher, knows what MOTH is doing but pretends she doesn't, likes to annoy her co-workers (specifically Kevin and Fu Hua), has no known family, no one does know anything about her actually - not even Kevin as her close friend or Mobius being the one that hired her, age unknown and when she is asked about it she say that this is not a question you should ask a lady

Eden: marked by The End, famous singer, good friend of Dr Mobius, helped her fund MOTH and still supports and funds her research, despite not working at MOTH she regularly does show up there and is on friendly terms with most of the people working there, it is unknown whether or not she knows what MOTH is doing or not, known for her glamorous parties and events, 28 years old

Sakura: 26 years old, used to be a researcher but upon coming in contact with an Avatar she was transferred to Vill-V's section, has a younger sister (Rin), hides from her sister what she is actually doing, hunts avatars and stops rituals, parents died when she was a teenager, marked by the Hunt, marked by the Slaughter, will eventually become a Slaughter Avatar down the line, only really interacts with Kalpas and Vill-V, wants to keep the researchers away from what she is doing

Kalpas: marked by the Desolation, marked by the Hunt, 27 years old, family and history is unknown (refuses to talk about it to anyone), was hired by Vill-V after meeting him at a ritual they were both trying to stop on seperate terms, refuses to interact with anyone but Vill-V and Sakura, will become a desolation avatar, strong hatred towards Dr Mobius and Dr Mei (thinks that what they are doing will do more harm than good)

Pardofelis: "Pardo", has a cat named Can, marked by the Buried, has actually no clue what MOTH is actually about, thinks that every statement is fake (in reality the thought of them being real scares her so much that she pretends they're all fake (denial is working well for her)), definitely lied on her CV, 21 years old, Fu Hua's best friend, likes shiny things, regularly steals her co-workers food

Griseo: 18 years old, art student, marked by the Vast, has a horror YouTube channel with Kosma (appears in front of the camera as Kosma does not really like doing so), parents adopted Kosma when she was 7 years old, has been marked by the Vast since she was a very young girl, her mother is close friends with Dr Mobius, Dr Mobius is her godmother, close relationship with Aponia who works at her university, artist with a promising future

Kosma: 19 years old, film student, marked by the Lonely ever since he was young, parents passed away when he was 8 - got adopted by Blanca and Ato (Griseo's parents), does not like Aponia, goes to the same university as his younger sister, does the research - editing and camera work for their shared YouTube channel, is usually behind the camera (still known but less often recognized in public), secret nerd (tries very hard to hide it (fails))

Aponia: The Web, 35 years old, works part-time as a "guidance counselor" at Griseo's and Kosma's university, also works at an orphanage, views Griseo and Kosma as children she has to protect, driven by a desire and need to protect people from the threads of fate and the fears, methods of doing so are sometimes rather questionable, very focused on doing the right thing (also questionable sometimes), has a history with Vill-V and Kalpas, one of MOTHs sponsors, used to be a nurse until she came in contact with the Web, has since then changed career paths as she hopes she can save more people from their fate this way

Taglist: @mocha-bunbun @creaturre @diah-the-demon @lauch-for-everyone @radioactive-juice

[zepskies]

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university. 

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though. 

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip. 

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily. 

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.” 

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it. 

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks. 

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.” 

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!” 

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply. 

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.” 

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile. 

“What makes you say that?” you ask. 

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?” 

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about. 

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High. 

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

Read the Sequel!

Check out "Miss Professor" to continue reading. ❤️

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you have any OCs besides Miss Raven? Like, other NRC students twisted from other Disney villains, etc. Apologies if you’ve answered this before; I’d love a link to the post if you had!

I have a lot of OCs that I'm constantly workshopping, but very few are detailed enough to formally introduce to the public. I had a lot of RSA OCs in the early days of my blog, but those were so far back that they've pretty much been lost to time. It's also pretty funny considering that Twst ended up introducing "official" twisted versions of the Disney protagonists I made OCs of. One of them that I'm particularly fond of is Jinx Skelton (though he doesn't have his own tag). I have a batch of unintroduced NRC OCs that need a lot more baking. (One of my recent favorites has been a King Candy-based Ignihyde student who is the complete opposite of an introverted otaku; instead, he's an extroverted daredevil and speed demon.) I have a few OCs based on the Twst mob students (Octavinelle A-kun, Scarabia B-kun, Pomefiore B-kun, Ignihyde A-kun, etc.), but I wouldn't consider those super fleshed out. There are unreleased Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Diasomnia mob OC too. They have their own tags if you'd like to look at their stuff. For the most part, they're just easy filler characters or Easter Eggs for me to insert every so often. I also shared my ideas for various Yuus I considered, but never actually implemented. More recently, I've been thinking about Sumire and the older lawyer!Yuu, but I don't think any of my Yuus will actually become a reality.

My most fleshed out Twst OCs are actually a collection of them that exist to expand upon Miss Raven's lore. I briefly mentioned them + showed design concepts here. Of the group, Estella is the one I've thought about the most. She is someone I describe as a fusion of the Enchantress (Beauty and the Beast), Giselle (in both Enchanted and Disenchanted), Isabela (Encanto), Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame), and Mother Gothel (Tangled) and Fairy Godmother (Shrek 2). Estella is meant to be the black swan/femme fatale to Miss Raven's white swan/ingénue, her mirror. Technically, Estella has had cameos in the Tale of the Cursed Raven. Still, she remains largely a mystery. Maybe one day we'll learn more about her 🙏

[manicpixiefelix]

they stare at me (and i stare at you) {Felix Catton/Reader}

one. i saw you kept your gaze controlled

Summary: It's Orientation Week at Oxford and Felix is excited to experience everything university life has to offer him. Mostly socially. Almost all of his peers, thankfully, seem to be on the same wavelength as him, except you. Fine, if you wanted to take yourself too seriously, you could do it far away from him, he thinks. At least, that's what he thinks at first.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. Reader is the Acting CEO of their family's International Media and Telecommunications Empire. There will be smut in future chapters (see masterpost for more details/warnings). You & Felix are both 19.

This is technically an AU of my long running fic head, heart, hand. but can be read 100% on its own. No prior information from that fic is necessary going into this at all.

{ masterpost }

A/N: 1787 words. Hi! Excited to finally be publishing the first part of this!! Updates will be slow, but I've already got about 20k written from all around the timeline so I just need to piece everything together. This takes place in Felix's first year of Uni so this fic won't feature Oliver. If you like it, or have thoughts about it, I'd love to hear from you!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

There's a novel charm, Felix considers, about moving into the Oxford dormitories, even if the hallowed halls echo his own home more than most other students.

During orientation, he makes friends easily, all warm smiles and sincere laughter; people have always flocked to Felix. Part of it is his natural charm, but he's never been above exploiting his looks while putting his best foot forward in situations like these. His outfits are always on trend and on brand, and he spends longer in the mirror than he'd ever admit to another living soul.

It was a breeze to make friends of his peers, the people in his course - business, at his parents suggestion - the people in his dorm, anyone he really came across who felt like giving him the time of day. Everything always seemed to reinforce what he already knew; Felix Catton was a born people-person, there was nothing that could shake his confidence in that fact. Well there wasn't anything, until he met you.

In all honesty, Felix's first impression of you was that you were strangely familiar, but ultimately rather dull.

During that orientation week, he'd gotten himself to all of the introductory workshops to his course that the University had set up for students to meet their classmates and get an overview of their degrees. At every single one, you were there, hanging back, rather quiet, seeming preferring to observe the rest of your peers unless your input was specifically called for. Again, your name rang a bell to him, but you were a non-event otherwise as he focused on getting to know the people who seemed far more eager to engage. At best, you were simply a standoffish prick at the back of the room who always felt the need to wear fucking business casual to decidedly casual casual workshops.

Once, he overhears a guy he thinks is named Benji asking if he'd seen you at the club that night. Though your smile is barely a smile, more a suggestion of amusement rather than anything else, your tone is sharp and bright.

"Of course I'll be there."

"Looking forward to it," Benji grins, before heading off in the opposite direction. Felix realises he's been caught eavesdropping when your gaze meets his. He's not quite sure how to react, not to the conversation he'd overheard, nor to the curious look you're now giving him. Instead of calling him out, or even saying anything at all, you nod to him once, and take off in the direction of the dining hall.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Felix finds himself at the club that had been catering to the first years every night this week so far. He drinks, he has a good time, and he ends up going home with a pretty girl studying Chemistry, but he didn't recognise anyone there to be you.

More and more he starts seeing you around campus, or maybe it just feels like that now that you've caught his attention. Did you always have people around you or did he not notice you amongst some of the people he'd started to befriend. Our maybe he hasn't reconsidered you because he'd never seen you properly smile like that before. Everywhere Felix saw you, you were amongst friends, sometimes even one or two of his. It was never opportune moments, however, he always seemed to be on his way to or from something. He felt like he never got the opportunity to properly meet you.

Until it's eleven o'clock on a Friday night, and he hears your voice coming from around the side of one of the dorms as he was on his way to celebrate the last day of orientation week with the rest of the first years.

"- yeah, no, I know it was Decker," you sounded annoyed, and when Felix investigates, he sees you leaning against the wall by the entrance to a dorm building, phone to your ear, smoking a cigarette. Except if he hadn't just heard your voice, he'd barely be able to tell it was you; why the hell would you choose to live your life in business casual when you could look this damn good? "Because Decker's been a pain in my ass ever since -" whoever was on the other end of your call cut you off and you sighed deeply, pinching your brow out of frustration, "yeah, I just need this pulled before it can get to print for Monday," you sighed. Stubbing your cigarette out on the wall, you ducked down to pick up a dark bottle that had been hidden in the bushes by your feet.

Felix doesn't know exactly why he keeps watching, but he's fascinated. He can't look away.

"I emailed you a bunch of ads for charities we could run in its place, pick one, stick it in, it's on me, it's my good deed for the day- no, tonight!" You insisted, scowling, before you took a sip of your drink, rebuffing whoever is protesting on the other end of the line, "I'd rather the page be fucking blank- because we're not printing a homophobic hit piece on Portia De Rossi a week after she comes out!" You argued, before you sighed deeply, adding, "or ever, fucking obviously." Then, frustrated, "of course Decker fucking okayed it, you saw the shit he wrote about Rosie O'Donnell back before I -" but again, you were cut off, "I told him to cut that shit out the moment-" you took another drink, furious, "no, first thing Monday I'm having words with him." There's a terse goodbye, and your phone clicks shut, and Felix suddenly feels like he's snapping out of a trance.

"Can I help you with something?" You snapped suddenly, seemingly to no-one. Felix feels his heart rate pick up nervously. It only spikes hire when your head turns to look at him. Your gaze is ice fucking cold. You take another drink.

"Is everything okay?" Felix hears himself asking. Your lips twisted into a humourless smile, and you reached into your pocket to pull out a pocketbook of cigarettes.

"Peachy," you say bitterly, "do you have a light? I usually wouldn't ask but these pants are stupidly tight and it's going to be a hassle to get my own."

"Downside to looking that good I guess," Felix steps forward, rummaging around in his jacket pocket to find his lighter. What he's said doesn't hit him until you're leaning in to light your cigarette from his offered fire, but it seems you hadn't quite heard him, to preoccupied with your thoughts, "are you on your way out tonight?" Felix tries again, and you take a long draft, thanking him quietly as your expression scrunched up with a thoughtful kind of irritation.

"Is getting absolutely pissed tonight the smartest move? Absolutely not," you huffed, jaw set in a firm line, "am I going to do it anyways? You fucking bet." Then, you turn to him, eyebrows raised, "what about you, Catton?"

Felix kind of feels like you'd just smacked him. What?

"How did you know -?"

"Heard your name a dozen times over the week, we're in the same course," you offered easily. This Felix knew, however the alarm bells in Felix's mind just started ringing louder. There was something about you now, something almost too casual about how you choose to look away, take another sip of your drink.

"Pretty sure they only asked for our first names," he frowns. There's something rather dreadful the way you look at him out of the corner of your eye, smile curling at the edges of your lips like you're pleased.

"Perceptive one, aren't you?" The tone of your voice makes him feel like he's won the world's worst prize. Pushing off of the wall, you make a start towards him, and the path off of campus. You shove your hands in the pockets of your leather jacket as you pass, "walk with me, Felix Catton," you called out to him as he watches you pass.

He thinks you might be a trickster spirit, attempting to steal his soul. Or maybe you're just going to kill him.

For some stupid reason, he still chooses to walk with you.

He really tries not to dwell on how unsettling it was that you seemed to know more about him than you let on. He's pretty sure he recognises you from somewhere, perhaps you'd recognised him too, and you'd simply remembered.

"You're Y/N," your last name, however, does not come to mind. You confirmed easily, offering him a cigarette. He doesn't need to prompt for your last name, thankfully; you offer it. Somehow, it still doesn't feel like an equal exchange. There's several minutes of silence, broken only by the gentle sound of gravel crunching beneath both your feet, and the occasional sip you take of your drink. Finally, Felix asks who Decker is.

"Twenty stone worth of bigotry shoved into the most weasly looking cunt you've ever seen in your life," you muttered darkly, though the wording shocks a laugh from Felix, and your anger softens at the sound, wearing a pleased little grin when you look over to him, "he knows I check everything, especially his shit since I don't trust him, don't know how he thought he could pull a fast one on me like that."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"It's just the family business," you shrugged off the question with ease, "I've been helping dad out with it for years, so he's asked me to take care of a few things while he's on holiday."

"Local paper?"

"What?"

"You were talking about something going to print on Monday, does your family run a local paper back home?" When Felix's question is met with silence, he looks to you. He wasn't expecting to see you looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"Something like that," was all you offered, evasively. There's another beat of silence before you seem to shrug off your discomfort, giving him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, "our parents are friends," direct and to the point, "I used to see you at," you paused for a moment, deliberating, adding carefully, "parties." Eyes bright, there's still something careful beneath that in the way you're watching him. Parties, you say when he knows you meant events. The formal kind he fucking hated. Huh.

"That's where you got my name from," his relief, however, is short-lived when he sees the strange look you give him. But in the next minute it's gone, and you're looking out to the road ahead.

"Exactly."

For reasons Felix can't put into words, there's not a single part of him that believes you.

[bubblegumpopdefiance]

Speedrunning a Jewish Conversion

Please know this is said with the utmost respect to the Jews of the world. So, I have been doing a good amount of thinking on my Christianity and something broke in my head. Or fixed. Perspective is a marvelous thing.

So, I am converting to Judaism. I have found a rabbi who is willing to bear with me (the third one I reached out to funny enough). I set aside my feelings of insecurity, of being rejected for my Catholic upbringing, for feeling like "the Jews have been through enough," and finally realized that the path I was on *was* Jewish, even if I wasn't there yet. I did a lot of research--a LOT a lot of research--which included talking to another Jewish conversion student friend of mine.

I showed up to a workshop at this congregation. It's a Reconstructionist congregation. The listing on the course page *did* say all were welcome, but I definitely decided to be bold and inform the rabbi I was coming instead of asking for permission. I was aware of my potential gaffe so I showed up with a plate of cookies. After a deep breath, I walked in, set down the plate, and got settled. A few bits of idle chatter later, the rabbi introduced me and mentioned the cookies I had brought. In my insecurity, I blurted out "it's a bribe" and half the people present called back in eerie unison "you're in!"

Now, that was the miracle. If you're familiar with Jewish conversion practices, the Jews do not (usually) seek conversions. They usually are more than happy to accept converts. Your mileage may vary and do be patient with Jews who are simply hurting from 2000 years of antisemitism. It isn't you, but a bit of kindness can do a world of difference. When you seek conversion, you reach out to a rabbi and work with them on your journey. The time varies but it's usually 6 months to 2 years. Traditionally, when you're ready you stand in front of three rabbis and answer questions to test if you're a good fit. Once that is done AMAB individuals get circumcised (sometimes this is ceremonial and not real) and all converts (traditionally) are immersed in a mikvah (think of it like a Jewish baptism, but it's much more nuanced).

Now, less traditional rabbis--especially Reconstructionist rabbis--are much less strict on the technicalities of conversion. Circumcision and immersion are not always required and the Jewish dissertation defense is frequently informal. But you do need other Jews to tell you that you are a Jew. So *technically* I had done a long period of study and self reflection under the tutelage of another more experienced (potentially) Jewish person and been told by a group of more than three Jews that "I'm in." Hat trick complete! I've checked the boxes!

Of course, I'm not Jewish. Not yet, at least. The door might be open but I still need to be the one to walk through it. I need to believe it. Ultimately, the other Jews might have seen something in me that I am still nervous about. I came with earnestness and humility. I had a sense of humor. I was bold enough to swim against the current but humble enough to seek a way to minimize the potential hurt on these vulnerable Jews. I even brought food! And in the end, that is so very Jewish. And the insecurity is probably the most Jewish thing about me.

One day I'll believe it. Hopefully soon.

[zylentrix]

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[ratsoh-writes]

where does compass live?

I, of course, must know this so I may scale his walls and steal his lizards

-wisteria

I actually need to update the whole home/locations post for them. A lot of guys have been moved around.

anyways- THIS IS PROMPT COMPLIANT ONLY- the living situation for many of the skeletons in rps are different now.

Here is a link to the current ebott map if you want to see where these areas are!

Inner New Ebott City

Star/Honey: they have half of a little duplex on 10th Ave. It's a single bedroom technically but star transformed the little office room into a bedroom for himself. Since honey works from home and star likes being out all the time, he gets the bigger room.

Mal/Cash, Pesto/Flambe, Butler/Gold, Pop/Rhythm(and salsa!), Helios/Artemis, Gears/Compass (and copper!): They live in the red brick building on Marble Walk Street in inner New Ebott. It's a large apartment complex with well-maintained flats. The first floor has a little gym! The building also happens to be owned by lord.

G/Green, Snipe/Bruiser/Ace/Slim/Butch/Boss (and tempest don and madame!): They all have flats in a large apartment building called Iron Rising. It's a dark modern looking building with shiny reflective tinted windows. It has really good security. The mafias in particular all live on the same floor (with the remaining extra flat belonging to a rather clueless med student)

Wine/Coffee: They live in a flat on top of wines antique store. It's very convenient. The shop is located in the very heart of ebott, on a rather posh shopping street called Catwalk.

Charm/Sugar (and winnie!): they have a little home in inner ebott city on a street called Racers Lane that is not too far from the river splitting new ebott. The house is a style called a burrow, where only the entryway and a small seating room is above ground. The rest of the home is two stories underground. It's a three bedroom and a tad small but perfect for their little family.

Sir/Weasel: Sir owns a large home alongside the river splitting New Ebott. The street name is Twilight District and is near a string of clubs, late night restaurants and other entertainment type of businesses. It's a five-bedroom house and almost always full as he lets his workers stay with him if they're ever in-between homes.

Stein/victoria (and lizz and Anthony!): the family has a handsome but tight townhouse slitted between two high rise buildings on third street. It’s one of four homes that were strangely built between the many office high rises lol. The inside of the house is very Victorian and old fashioned, typical of the aesthetics of their au. But the outside is rather modern blending right in with the city street. It has three stories and four bedrooms.

New Ebott City Suburbs

Sans/Papyrus: They both live in a neighborhood called Harvard Ave. Its in the northern suburbs of ebott city. It's a small little starter home, only two bedrooms and one bath. It has a good-sized backyard though if they ever wanted to expand.

Pluto/Jupiter: Pluto owns a cute home with high ceilings on Oxford Ave in the northern suburbs of ebott city (only a block away from sans!) It's a three bedroom, technically four but one room Pluto has converted into a little in-home workshop. Jupiter only lives there every other week. On his work weeks he is at a fire station in ridgeside village.

Red/Edge: edge owns a handsome modern home on the western side of ebotts suburbs. Its large, five bedrooms three bath and has a beautiful, separated garage. Its rather empty with just him so he graciously lets his bother crash there too lol.

Lord/Mutt: lord (and mutt) owns an adorable little cottage on the east side of new ebotts suburbs on a street called East Gates. His front yard is almost always blooming with the many flowers lord plants. It's a three-bedroom one bath and has a pretty wrap around porch.

Oak/Willow, Rust/Noir, Basil/Lilac: when they were well enough to leave the institution, these guys all intentionally got homes near each other having bonded during their treatment. They live in an adorable rustic neighborhood called Rolling Hills on the very west edges of ebott city's suburbs. The homes have larger plots of land, designed for those intending to add onto their homes in the future. The bros all live side by side with oak and willow on the left, basil and lilac in the middle and noir and rust on the right.

Atlas (and pavo and hydros!): Atlas lives with his parents in an upper-class neighborhood south of new ebott. The street is called Ashcroft Ave. The homes entryway and front porch is decorated with a classy terra cotta and indigo color palate.

Ridgeside Village

Lens: lens lives in a little apartment shared with an old coworker of his. It belongs to snowy peaks apartments and is part of a block of six buildings along Wetstone Street. The apartment has a small balcony filled with potted plants thanks to lens.

Barin/Arwin: their guild owns the little neighborhood a little down the road from the mine entrance they use. The street the log cabins and burrows occupy is called Boar Alley. Barin and arwin live in a burrow style home with three stories underground and six bedrooms. They share the home with an elderly member of the guild and her two granddaughters. She’s an amazing cook and the brothers would actually cry if she ever chose to move lol.

Mechapolis (mettaland)

Sparks/Salt: They live in a cute cottage on Drowzy Street. Its closer to the entrance of mettaland so it has a lot of traffic. Both brothers use public transportation as its just not worth owning a car here with the insane public parking costs of this city.

Cricket (and piranha!): Technically the dump site he lives on is in-between New Ebott and Mechapolis, but cricket just says Mechapolis as it runs alongside the side of the highway going towards the city. He has a little trailer in a cleared part of the dump that he lives in. On warm nights cricket prefers to sleep outside in a hammock.

Dice/Gamble (and Cambridge!): Gamble and his soulmate and dice all own a nice home on Valentine Ave. It's a neighborhood street with a lot of young families and kids that Gamble and Cambridges son plays with. The home has four bedrooms and two baths and a big trampoline in the backyard.

Quill/Crow: they actually live in Mettaland! As a higher ranking employee of the mettas, crow gets the delight of having a high rise flat above one of the tourist shops in the theme park. It’s very modern and well equipped. Plus they have roof access. Quill likes to people watch up there.

Stitches/Tinker: they have the cutest little house on Cupids street. The walls are painted a salmon pink with a baby blue trim. The whole street is rather colorful with most of the homes boasting pastel palates. It’s a three bedroom home and is filled to the brim with crochet and vintage cartoon themed decor. The extra room is tinkers crochet/hobby room.

Corncopia

Lush/Pepper: Lush's mansion is in a very wealthy beautiful, gated neighborhood named The Lions Den. The neighborhood has a personal mini lake for boating as well as access to the large river splitting the town. The main house is a 6 bedroom 5 bath, and it comes with a pretty guest house (2 bed 1 bath), a fancy in-law suite for his mother, and a very large, separated garage. The property in all takes about three acres.

Alden/Ollivander: technically the home is actually family property owned by their grandparents. The main branch of the family lives in new hope. The Marble House, as the mansion is called, in Corncopia houses Alden, Ollie and four cousins, all grateful to have some space from their stuffy older relatives lol. Alden and Ollie have rooms on the second floor next to each other. The marble house is located in a gated community named Dragons Keep.

Cider/barley (and literally all their other family): cider and barley live on the Wingdings farm and brewery. On the east of all the wheat fields is a cul-de-sac of eight houses where the whole extended family live. Cider and barley share their home with their parents, an uncle and his soulmate and a cousin.

Cigar/Colby (and Brie!): cigar owns a private “island” home on the massive river next to Corncopia city. Its a bit of a hassle to take the boat to the main streets all the time, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a beautiful stone walled house with lots of arches, a stone wall surrounding the little island, winding pathways, fig trees and a huge balcony on the front entrance. And yet with all that Colby still fkn sleeps in the stables with his cows. Cigar honestly wonders sometimes if they’re actually related lol.

Goldenvalley

Peaches/Rancher, Ram/Pitch: peaches and rancher own a family orchid and farm that they’ve named Apples and cream farm. The main fruit grown in the orchid is apples, and the farm hosts a small herd of prized dairy cows. (There are other fruit trees and animals too though). Peaches and rancher have a pretty farmhouse with three bedrooms, a large attic and basement. They built a little cabin for ram and pitch who are full time farmhands there as well. They’re in the process of building a second farmhouse so Rosemary and Yosemite can move in comfortably. The family pie business is in one of the barns already.

Whitestone

Partner/Rowdy: they live in a partners trailer together on a little lot on whitchcaps farm. A small farm owned by a froggit family that mainly grows cactus fruits, aloe and basil. Odd mix. Anyways they aren’t the only trailers parked there. There’s about two dozen of them. And in return for getting to use the land, they all help out whenever the froggits crops are in their harvest season.

The Temple

Zen: he lives in the north tower of the temple. Zen shares his living space with a few other monks. They all have bunk beds and their own desk and dresser, but that’s it. They live a pretty minimalist life. They constantly get in trouble for feeding the pigeons from their windows lol

Saga: as the head librarian, saga has her own room on the third floor of the temple. It’s small, but lavishly decorated with beautiful antiques. One wall is completely covered in cherry wood bookcases.

The Temple Outskirts

Hilda/Shield: For a bit, Hilda and Shield dated. Of course that didn’t last long at all, but they broke up as best friends and are still glued to the hip in a very happy platonic manner. They live together in a flat in a small apartment building called the Rose building. They have their own rooms but share the walk in closet which strangely connects the rooms. The flat has a weird set up.

Steeler City

Orion: He shares a duplex with two roommates/friends along Cast Ave, a rather tightly packed street filled with duplex homes sharing space with a bread dough factory. He's pretty grateful the factory doesn't stink like that one canned veggies factory a few blocks down. The smell of bread is definitely more tolerable.

Slugger/Steel: They live in an apartment called Seaside views apartments. There is no seaside view, at least not for slugger and steel. Their flat faces another apartment building lol. Its located on Butcher's street and is only a 30 minute walk from the ocean.

Taffy/Pudding (and bonbon and cookie!): they have a pretty Victorian home in a more upper class neighborhood called Bakers street. Bonbon and cookie want to start a family soon so wanted a home with plenty of space. Taffy and pudding were happy to help pool in and the ladies formed a nice family together. The house is a five bedroom home with bonbon and cookie sharing the master bedroom.

New Hope

Moose/Maple: although the circle of cabins where the rangers live is closer to the entrance of the national park, it’s still considered to be in the bounds of New Hope city. Moose and maples mail is labeled as “Pine circle, New Hope”. They both live in one of the rangers log cabins, small homes with a single bedroom and bath. Moose has the bedroom and maple sleeps on the couch which pulls out into a full sized bed

Dandy/Filly: they have a little cottage with a nice plot of land on a hilly street in new hope named peach wood. The cottage is very small with only a single bed, bath and a combined kitchen and living space. Dandy and Filly share a room and just have a sort of curtain in the middle separating the sides. Dandy built a little greenhouse sun room on the side of the cottage where he operates his flower shop at.

Roost/Harpy: roost and harpy live in a large Greek style home on harpy’s vineyard. The vineyards name is called Rouges vines- after the grapes harpy grows. The house is beautiful with ivy growing all along the right side, and raised planter boxes on the left for a small veggie garden. And they have an outdoor oven!

Seashore

Mango/Papaya (and canary!): they have a cute tropical home on coconut walk, a street that’s only a few blocks away from the ocean! It’s a three bedroom house and the small front yard is packed with fruit trees and garden gnomes lol. Papaya has the master bedroom as he pays the majority of the mortgage

Fisher/Jasper: they live in a larger Spanish styled beach home that has direct beach access. Fisher and Jasper share the home with two other monsters, friends of fisher from their old au. Those two practically helped raise Jasper with fisher. Walking in, the house is a sea of color, tapestries, beaded decor and crystals. A real hippie house. The street its located on is called moray Street.

Finn/Sails: they live on a boathouse! The boat is a unique model made by an artist who never makes the same boat twice. What makes it extra special is that in the kitchen there’s a large glass square on the floor allowing you to see what’s in the ocean below. The boats name is Lady Kelp and finn and sails constantly change where they dock so they don’t have a set address. They have to collect their mail at a box in the post office.

Atlantis

Hook/Captain: technically their home is the navy patrol ship named The Great White, but hook and captain do have an address at Atlantis where any packages the crew orders are sent there.

Pearl/Silex (and the rest of the hadal royal family): They live in the coral palace. The name is rather misleading as it’s not made of coral nor is it a palace. Like the majority of hadals, the hadal royal family lives in caves carved underwater into the cliff side and trench of Atlantis. The coral palace boasts a large ballroom sized chamber as the entryway where they host meetings and events. Further into the trench rock are hallways and a series of other chambers housing Pearl, silex, their siblings, parents, and the homes staff.

Vanity falls

Foxglove/Periwinkle: they technically live in a trailer hooked up to their truck, but their mail goes to a collection box in vanity falls. The underground city is their main stop whenever they have a break from mapping the uncharted parts of waterfall.

Seth/Basilisk: they live in a treehouse style cabin on the outskirts of vanity falls. It’s very rustic, hand built by the brothers themselves. They did a fine job. The home is quite stable and has a lot of tribal charm with symbols from their au carved into the walls. It has four bedrooms. Basilisk insisted so his kids would have their own room whenever they visit. The street they’re located on is called troutwell.

Newts Mead

Thistle/Yarrow/the coven: thistle and yarrow live on the property of Wingdings coven in thatch huts with every one else. As single monsters, their hut consists of a single roomed home. If they were to ever settle down, the coven would add a second chamber for their mate, and more if kids happen.

Hotland Suburbs

Gem/fossil (and granite and charcoal!): they own a whitewashed stone home, the most common style in hotland. The white color on the stone helps repel the heat outside. Their street name is called obsidian walk, and is a typical hotland street full of white stone homes. It’s a bit cookie cutter to be honest.

Magma/tremor: they have a pretty white stone home in the upper parts of hotland higher on the cliff side streets. The street name is called steeps view. Magma did her best to give the home a little charm to make it stand out. A blue floral mural is painted on the front door, and cute blue and green pots line the planter boxes in the front. They have Lacey curtains too.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Y’all it’s Nutcracker Season!!! This time last year I was playing around with my sims and Harringrove Ballet au was just beginning to take root in my mind. 🥹

Right now, ballet companies around the world are casting their dancers and beginning weeks of non-stop rehearsals in preparation for winter shows. At Mrs. Harrington’s school it’s no different. This is their biggest show of the year, performed right in downtown Indianapolis for crowds of holiday theater goes. Last year Billy was a brand new face. He arrived in Hawkins in mid October, halfway through the semester and almost missed auditions entirely; but he still scored a principle role as the Rat King. A well known critic wrote a review about their production for the first time and called the battles between the Nutcracker Prince and the army of rats “electrifying”. The theater has asked the school to do an extended run this year, and is allowing the principal dancers to attend classes with Indy Ballet as they prepare of their winter show of Cinderella.

Max likes to spend as little time at home as possible so she was one of the students who stayed for the summer workshop. Billy did too, and he might be an ass and well, kinda scary, but he’s also really good, so she’d stalked him at the studio until he called her on it. But then he started giving her tips, and practicing at the same times just sort of became a thing. He’s a shitty coach from an attitude perspective but, well she’s got two solos this year as both a snowflake and a flower! Which means she gets to take the bus with Billy and the older kids to class in Indianapolis on the weekends and stay at a hotel. Lucas and Mike both got solos too so she’s not alone with the high schoolers and their drama. Nancy is pretending not to be upset that Chrissy beat her out for Clara this year, and won’t stop telling everyone who will listen how much technically more difficult the Sugar Plum fairy is. After Nancy made some comment about Chrissy eating a lot at lunch Heather like lost it and accused Nancy of being jealous, so Steve called Heather out and told her to stop being such a bitch to his girlfriend and that really pissed Billy off, since everyone’s like 90% sure that Billy and Heather are dating. Max isn’t so sure. She almost thinks Billy picks on Steve for the attention. He’s like obsessed with Steve.

Max wonders just how embarrassed Billy would be if she ever told Steve how much Billy talked about him all summer. Seriously. It was ALL summer.

[mygrowthcrafter]

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[books]

Writing Workshop Week 1: Show & Tell

Hello, writers of tumblr! It’s @bettsfic again with this week’s generative workshop. 

Today we’re doing what might be my favorite class activity: Show & Tell. 

You might be thinking, do you teach kindergarten or something? No, I teach college. But my students are often weary, downtrodden 20 year olds who are more than happy to go back to basics. Tumblr—being a website of people who care deeply about things and share that passion with others—seems like a great place to host Show & Tell.

Speaking of basics, let’s first talk a bit about…

The Writing Identity

The goal of many writers is to become better at writing. While I think this is an admirable goal it’s also a complicated one, because good writing is entirely subjective. Everyone has their own definition of what good writing looks like based on their knowledge base, history, and personal tastes. And so I often encourage my students, before they begin their journey of becoming a better writer, to step back and ask themselves, “What does good writing look like to me?”

And that’s the thing: you can’t really become a better writer. You can become a more patient writer, with the ability to write and revise multiple drafts of a work. You can become a more ambitious writer, with the ability to write longer stories and deeper themes. You can become a more detailed writer, with the ability to render images and the small details of living that maybe other people don’t notice. Writing is a skill that requires practice, but it also requires joy. You have to enjoy the work more than you fear the potential for failure. And to enjoy the work, you need to honor yourself, your interests, and your ideals. In other words, to become a better writer, you have to become more you.

I remember when I first started writing, I frantically sought out writing advice. I clung to simple adages and rules: active verbs are stronger than passive verbs; remove words like “think” and “realize” and other indicators of your characters’ interior experiences; take out adjectives and adverbs. If you were to adhere to all this advice, your writing wouldn’t become stronger, it would become colder. You would write like Hemingway. There’s nothing wrong with Hemingway, but Hemingway already did Hemingway, and that means you’re free not to be Hemingway. 

Don’t we read to feel closer to people, to experience that which we couldn’t otherwise experience? The beautiful thing about prose is that it’s the only medium that conveys consciousness, because language is the way we contain our thoughts, and writing them down offers others the chance to understand them. E.M. Forster in his book Aspects of the Novel says that the only difference between a character and a person is that a character’s secret inner life can be known, but a person’s can only be understood in observed behavior. Novels are stories of consciousness; biographies are stories of deeds. 

In my early days as a writer, those inane adages of “good writing” began to weigh on me, and I found myself frequently opening a blank document and telling myself, “I’m just going to write something for fun, for me, and so I don’t have to follow any rules.” Every time, that lawless thing I wrote would become better than anything I’d written when I followed the rules. And in this case, “better” means I was proud of it; in writing as close to myself as I could, I was able to help my technical skill reach the level of my personal taste. 

Good writing advice doesn’t spout shallow adages of what should be, it tells you all the things that could be; it opens your mind to possibilities and techniques. “Should” restrains creativity; the entire point of writing is to be creative. To be creative means to make something that has never existed before. And so one of the first things I tell my students is: You already know everything you need to know about your own writing. You already have good and important stories in you. You just have to sit down and write them.

“Show, Don’t Tell”

One such adage that still really gets to me is “show, don’t tell,” which a lot of writers believe. Many people take it to mean that you should describe the exterior circumstances of your narrator in order to allow the reader to interpret meaning. Instead of describing how your narrator feels, these people would rather have you describe their facial expression. But if you’re so interested in rendering the exterior rather than the interior, you’re better off becoming a director. 

Others take it less literally: you show your story instead of tell your story, which, sure, is a valid personal belief for your own work but it’s ambiguous and impractical, and also denies the nature of people to tell stories. Fairy tales and fables are stories that are told. Telling stories came long before showing them.  

In some ways, “show, don’t tell,” can be useful. If you spend a thousand words of character A lovingly and carefully describing every detail of character B, you don’t then need to say something like, “She was pining for him,” because you’ve allowed your description to do that work for you. So no, you don’t need to say it, but maybe you want to. Maybe you want to make it inarguable that character A is pining for character B; you don’t want a reader to say, “I think she’s paying that much attention because she wants to kill him and she’s looking for his weak points.”

And so that’s what it comes down to—choice. Ultimately, writing is about making decisions, and those decisions are stronger when you understand all your options.

Behind the adage is a more difficult truth to swallow: prose is both infinite in its potential and also frustratingly limited, because you have no control over your audience. You can lovingly describe every snowflake that falls in a blizzard, and your reader will be taking their own meaning from it—for people who can mentally visualize things, it’s the images their mind conjures; for those who can’t, it’s a mass of facts. And there are also those who are sleepy and missing details, or who are skimming to get to the bits they’re most interested in, or who accidentally dropped their book in the bath and now the bottom half of every page is warped and unreadable.

Or you can say, “It snowed.”

No matter what your beliefs are on “show, don’t tell,” the truth is that it’s a false dichotomy. The very nature of prose is to navigate this divide. Some stories call for more showing, for example when your narrator is at a distance, when we don’t have much access to their thoughts or feelings. Other stories will ask you to tell, especially if we’re deep in your narrator’s head and they’re giving us everything. Showing lends itself to setting, imagery, and plot. Telling lends itself to character, voice, and style. One is not inherently better than the other, in the same way that a screwdriver isn’t better than a hammer—the tool you use depends on the task at hand.

Any time you encounter a trite rule in writing, it’s usually pointing to something much greater and more fun to think about. In this case, showing and telling are two integral tools in meaning-making. For this week’s activity, we’re going to use both show and tell to make meaning.

Prompt time!

In Donald Barthelme's essay “Not-Knowing,” he calls objects magical. “What is magical about the object is that it at once invites and resists interpretation. Its artistic worth is measurable by the degree to which it remains, after interpretation, vital.” 

So what does that mean? Although this essay is a hot mess (lovingly), part of its intended work is to be a mess. In fact Barthelme describes the mess of his desk and allows it to define him. It’s covered in coffee cups, cigarette ash, unpaid bills, and unwritten novels. In reality, those objects are just objects, but when rendered in prose, they give us an impression of this particular world and the character within it. The writer renders; the reader interprets. The things we own, that mean something to us, are also things that can define us. Who is the person who carries a leather wallet embossed with their initials, with the inside holding credit cards and a stack of neat bills? Who is the person who carries a canvas wallet with a faded Punisher logo on it, attached to a chain, and the only thing inside it is a Subway rewards card?

Objects are important. Especially in this world we live in where so many things have become virtual, tangibility will always be integral to us. We are a species that reaches out and touches. We like to hold things in our hands. We love things which cannot love us back. 

For this week’s prompt fill, I want you to find a magical object for Show & Tell. Ideally, it’s something with a long personal history that’s important to you. Maybe it’s the object you would save in the event of a fire, or maybe it’s something you lost long ago. 

First, I’d like you to show us the object by describing it. Then, tell us the story of it.

You can write about how you acquired it and the memories it conjures. Allow yourself to link and associate memories and feelings. Don’t box yourself in too much—just see where it takes you. 

But you can also put a spin on it. Here are some ways you can do that:

If you want to try fiction, you can write the same story about your favorite character’s beloved object, or you could completely make up an object and its history. 

If you want to try something experimental, you can write a story from the perspective of the object, and maybe its beloved thing is you. 

If you want to try poetry, write a poem of your object. This is a separate lesson, but T.S. Eliot’s concept of an objective correlative may be illuminating to consider. 

The purpose of this activity is to dig through your memories and/or observations, connect them, and use something external to conjure meaning from them. You begin with what your object is and it will eventually lead you to what it means.

Questions? Ask ‘em here before EOD Tuesday so @bettsfic can answer them on Wednesday. And remember to tag your work #tumblr writing workshop with betts if you want her to read your work and possibly feature it on Friday!

And, for those just joining us: @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

[g1i77ers1ut]

Jujitsu Kaisen: Happy Ending

Intro

What if at the end of JJK, everything was just a dream. Yuji Itadori was in a real deep sleep and everything we have saw was just imaginary. However, everyone was still apart of Yuij’s life. Here’s a list of everything that would happen if everything was a dream.

Disclaimer, these are all my thoughts and opinions, and also not fully confirmed when making this. So, things might change during time when we get next chapters and other stuff. Another thing, I’ve barely even finished JJK, so don’t be mean and just help inform me on anything that I missed or did wrong.

The main group

Obviously, Nobara Kugisaki and Megumi Fushiguro would be Itadori main friends.

Since in the dream Nobara is seen using a hammer and nails as her like main weapon, she would have been a very like working hands person. She’s slightly tomboyish who, if this was taken in America, would work in workshop. But even working with her hands, Nobara still is girly. Shopping and being her girly pop self. But even without her weapons and cursed energy, she still has the same attitude.

Now Megumi, his main weapon are his cursed animals. Since he has a lot of them, he would probably have the same amount in the real world. Besides the elephant bc that can’t be really possible. He would have his demon dogs, snake, frogs, rabbits, and bird things. I don’t really know what it is, so I think he might just have a standard pet bird. Also, since this is supposed to be happy, Megumi would know that Toji is his dad. I believe the backstory would be that his mom and dad went through a break up, making Toji leave Megumi until he was a teen. the reason why it was long is bc Toji and Megumi don’t see each other till Megumi was like a teen. Also, Megumi’s mom is alive, bc happy family.

Second Years

There aren’t big changes, besides well Panda. Maki Zenin would be herself bc I don’t really know what to change of her cause she’s technically a normal person. She would just be her badass self.

Same with Toge Inumaki. He would be basically a quiet kid and have his friends speak for him. Instead of saying “Tuna with Mayo,” and being carful speaking, he would say one or two words out to people. If he wanted to have a full sentence he would tell it to his friends and they will speak it for him.

Now Panda, there are two ways to go at this. The first thing I thought was making him like a Tuxedo cat that would follow around the group. But my friend had a better idea. They thought of making Panda a mascot and now writing this it sounds so much better. Panda in the real world would be this big chubby dude that is cuddly like a bear, adding to the idea of bear. He volunteered to be the mascot which is, obviously, a Panda. He still is confident, loving self, but not with fur.

Sorcerers

Obviously, most of the sorcerers would be a worker at the high school. Do I know what position they would be yet? Not really, besides the principal being the principal. In the making of this, I don’t know what each sorcerer would teach or position they would be in, but I would like ideas. However, the only person I have a position for is Satoru Gojo. He would be like a Teacher’s assistant. He would still be an upper class student, but would mostly help not only teachers but lower class students. He’s also really good with time management and still has his piercing blue eyes, but doesn’t have that big power in them. They will however give you a headache if staring at them for too long.

Cursed Spirits

Since there are many cursed spirits we could talk about, I’m just gonna talk about the main four.

Let’s start off with the icon who created the group and is technically not a cursed spirit, Suguru Geto. He is basically, for my goofy obsession people out there right now, Bradly Uppercrust the Third. However, Geto isn’t that snooty and stuff. He’s still his chill controlling self, and taunts Itadori and his gang while in school. Just imagine Itadori, Megumi and Nobara passing by Geto, Mahito and Jogo in the hauls. While passing by in the hauls Itadori and Geto make anger eye contact. Mostly Itadori glaring while Geto is smirking and looking straight into Itadori’s eyes.

Now onto the crackhead Mahito. He’s basically just himself but just doesn’t reform others when touching them. He still touches them but the only reason why the thought of reforming others came to mind is bc when Mahito touches you, it is so uncomfortable that your whole organs move around weirdly. Also his hands are so cold that it makes your limbs twist and turn.

Lastly, the fireball himself, Jogo. So, he’s obviously a person, not a pimple looking volcano. Also before I continue, if it sounds like I’m insulting him, it’s bc I am. Jogo is definitely a big back gremlin. That’s really the only thing I think of if he was a human.

Jogo definitely, as a kid, set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. As a teen, he uses illegal fireworks and small strong fire sticks. He also sets trash cans on fire. Basically, Jogo is an arsonist.

Junpei Yoshino

So, there’s a reason why I have a hatred for Mahito. It’s not bc he touches people but it’s bc he killed the adorable Junpei. I could go the happy way and make Junpei live, however there’s another way.

The alive way is the scene from the first season intro, where we see Junpei hanging out with Itadori and his gang.

The other way is while walking to school, Itadori would pass by a cemetery, and see a grave stone with Junpei’s name on it. This is giving justice to the hurtful death of Junpei Yoshino 😭

Anyway, that’s it for now. Have any ideas, pls send suggestions. Anyway, bye 😘 ✌️

[trofysisters]

Университет. Ч.1

Семестр не успел начаться, а Ада, написав курсовую, уже готова была сдавать итоговые экзамены. Ну и чем ей теперь заниматься? (The semester had not yet begun, and Ada, having written her coursework, was already ready to take the final exams. So what should she do now?)

В Театральной академии Ада решила притвориться девушкой с тонкой душевной организацией, погрузиться в мир искусства, попробовать себя в балете, побывать на концерте, (At the Theater Academy, Ada decided to pretend to be a girl with a subtle mental organization, immerse herself in the world of art, try herself in ballet, attend a concert,)

пока по-настоящему нежная и хрупкая Карина развивала технические навыки в мастерской. (while the truly tender and fragile Karina developed her technical skills in the workshop)

А если меньше спать, то можно больше изучить. Вообще, сон для слабаков, а Ада физически сильная. Ее даже в баскетбольную команду пригласили вместо балета. (And if you sleep less, you can study more. In general, sleep is for weaklings, and Ada is physically strong. She was even invited to the basketball team instead of ballet)

Задира-Коров был в восхищении от Ады, даже попытался ей признаться в любви, но девушка не оценила. (Bully-Cow was delighted with Ada, he even tried to confess his love to her, but the girl did not appreciate it)

Карина завидовала подруге, вынужденная сидеть на скучных лекциях вместо занятий техникой. (Karina was jealous of her friend, forced to sit through boring lectures instead of mechanics classes)

Экзамены обе девушки сдали на отлично, но Карина с ужасом осознала, что ей снова придется учиться, учиться и еще раз учиться. Ада была расслаблена, т.к. собиралась быстро сделать курсовую, чтобы оставшееся время посвятить себе. (Both girls passed the exams with flying colors, but Karina realized with horror that she would have to study, study, and study again. Ada was relaxed because she was going to quickly do her coursework so that she could devote the remaining time to herself)

На занятиях по программированию она даже позволяла себе играть в компьютерные игры, не боясь гнева профессора. А что ей сделают - лучшей ученице в университете? (During programming classes, she even allowed herself to play computer games without fear of the professor’s wrath. And what will they do to her, the best student at the university?)

На этих же занятиях она закончила писать курсовую работу и теперь была свободна от посещений уроков. Вечером Ада потащила Карину в молодежный центр, где девушки потратили стипендию на новенькие мобильные телефоны и приняли участие в конкурсе танцоров, чтобы хоть частично возместить их стоимость. (During the same classes, she finished writing her course work and was now free from attending classes. In the evening, Ada dragged Karina to the youth center, where the girls spent their stipend on brand new mobile phones and took part in a dancing competition to at least partially reimburse their cost)

Карина победила, чем привлекла к себе внимание ребят из элитного клуба. (Karina won, which attracted the attention of the guys from the elite club)

Ада встретила парня, в которого была влюблена, но имя которого не запомнила. Если бы она не валилась с ног от усталости, то обязательно узнала бы его получше, но, видимо, не судьба. (Ada met a guy with whom she was in love, but whose name she did not remember. If she had not collapsed from fatigue, she would definitely have gotten to know him better, but, apparently, this was not fate)

Хотя старая цыганка пыталась убедить девушек, что судьба к ним благосклонна, и подарила старую масляную лампу. Похоже, в городе открылся завод по производству этих ламп, уж больно много их стало в последнее время. (Although the old gypsy tried to convince the girls that fate was favorable to them, and gave them an old oil lamp. It looks like a factory has opened in the city to produce these lamps; there have been too many of them lately)

Ада даже не задумывалась, что отвлекает Карину от занятий, приглашая то сыграть в бильярд, то пообедать в кафе. Карина не возражала и просто плыла по течению, не зная уже, чего вообще хочет от этой жизни. (Ada didn’t even think about what was distracting Karina from her studies, inviting her to play billiards or have lunch in a cafe. Karina didn’t mind and just went with the flow, no longer knowing what she wanted from this life)

- Ты можешь стать инженером или механиком, - воодушевленно вещала Ада, - тебе же нравиться техника! (- You can become an engineer or a mechanic,” Ada said enthusiastically, - you like mechanics!)

Обсудить эту тему, как и пообедать, девушкам не удалось, поскольку в кафе началась драка. По крайней мере, Карину это взбодрило. (The girls were unable to discuss this topic or have lunch because a fight broke out in the cafe. At least Karina was cheered up by this)

В поисках себя Карина даже попыталась заняться спортом. (In search of herself, Karina even tried to play sports)

Но в деканате всё решили за нее и определили Карину на кафедру философии. К сожалению, ее оценки в этом семестре ощутимо снизились, зато настроение повысилось, поскольку ей больше не нужно самой ничего решать. Ну а Ада как всегда была в списке лучших студентов. (But the dean’s office decided everything for her and assigned Karina to the philosophy department. Unfortunately, her grades have dropped significantly this semester, but her mood has improved because she no longer has to decide anything on her own. Well, Ada, as always, was on the list of the best students)

[gumballavocadoharry]

You break it, I'll fix it!

Yn's thoughts seemed to drag on the more the teacher's lips moved 50 words a minute. Mr. Walcurst, didn't really seem to know how to entertain his students with his long lectures of mechanics and engineering in the same way he would demonstrate techniques with different machines he had brought in.

Yn's head was seated on top of her her crossed arms that were neatly settled on her desk; barricading her opened notebook that had only a few scribbled notes and sketches that she claimed helped with her memory in tests and assignments. "Yn?" Her head shot up to the piercing eyes of the bygone teacher. "Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?"

"Yn?"

Her head shot up, the sudden sound cutting through the droning monologue. Mr. Walcurst stood at the front of the lecture hall, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his eyes, sharp and unforgiving, fixed directly on her. He was a walking paradox – brilliant in his field, a master of the machine, yet utterly devoid of the ability to translate that passion into engaging instruction. Lectures were a marathon of technical jargon, delivered at a pace that left most students gasping for air, or, in Yn's case, using her arms as a makeshift pillow.

"Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?" His voice was flat, devoid of warmth, the kind of tone that could curdle milk.

Yn’s mind scrambled. Number four? The only numbers she’d processed in the last ten minutes were the ones marking her growing boredom. She glanced down at her notebook, the few scattered notes offering no salvation. A faint flush crept up her neck. "I… I'm sorry, Mr. Walcurst. I seem to have missed that part."

A collective ripple went through the class – a mix of pity and silent commiseration. Mr. Walcurst merely sighed, a theatrical sound of weary disappointment that felt disproportionately heavy. "Perhaps if you were paying attention, Ms. Yn, you wouldn't miss crucial information," he stated, the implication hanging heavy in the air. He turned away before she could stammer another apology, calling on someone else.

Yn sank back into her seat, mortification burning in her cheeks. It wasn't that she didn't want to learn. She did. Engineering was fascinating, a puzzle of physics and ingenuity. But Mr. Walcurst's method felt less like learning and more like enduring a verbal battering ram.

The rest of the lecture was a blur of technical terms and diagrams she couldn't follow. The only thing that solidified in her mind was the announcement of the next major assignment: designing and building a working pulley system capable of lifting a specific weight. It had to be physically demonstrated and submitted next week. A knot of dread formed in her stomach. Pulleys. Simple in concept, maybe, but the mechanics and structural integrity felt like a mountain she was ill-equipped to climb.

After class, Yn hurried out, the air cool on her flushed face. The university grounds were bustling, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the lecture hall. She needed coffee, and she needed to wrap her head around this pulley, and more importantly, around Mr. Walcurst's palpable disapproval.

Back in her cozy, meticulously organized apartment, the dread intensified. Textbooks lay open on her desk, diagrams of levers and ropes staring back at her like cryptic runes. She gathered materials – a few scraps of wood, some string, various potential wheels she’d repurposed from old toys and appliances. Hours bled into one another. Her apartment, usually a haven of calm, became a workshop of frustration.

Attempt one: The wheel wobbled precariously, the string slipping off. Attempt two: The frame buckled under the slightest tension. Attempt three: The whole contraption collapsed spectacularly, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

With each failure, Walcurst’s disappointed sigh echoed in her mind. She wasn't stupid; she was intelligent, methodical, and usually capable. But this… this felt insurmountable. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. Why couldn't she grasp this? Why did it feel so endlessly complicated?

She slumped onto her couch, staring at the scattered remnants of her failed attempts. Her gaze fell upon her laptop, still open to the class forum. Scrolling through, she saw a few posts about the assignment, mostly complaints about the difficulty. Then, a name caught her eye: Harry.

She remembered the ease with which he seemed to grasp everything, the way his eyes lit up when talking about mechanics, even in the dry confines of Walcurst’s class. He was the class genius, effortlessly navigating the very concepts that were drowning her.

Asking for help went against every fiber of her independent, cautious nature. And asking him? The eccentric inventor who seemed to live on a different plane of existence. The idea felt awkward, maybe even embarrassing. What if he thought she was stupid? What if he was as dismissive as Walcurst, just in a different, perhaps kinder, way?

But the deadline loomed, a guillotine poised over her academic standing. Swallowing her pride, and the last reserves of her self-reliance on this issue, Yn pulled out her laptop. She found the class roster, located his name – Harry Styles– and his university email address.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What to write? "Help, I'm an idiot and can't make a pulley?" She finally settled on something simple, direct, and hopefully not too revealing of her utter helplessness.

Subject: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment

Hi Harry,

We're in Mr. Walcurst's engineering class together. I'm really struggling with the pulley system assignment. I've spent hours on it, but I can't seem to get it to work or fully understand the practical mechanics.

I was wondering, since you seem to have a good handle on this stuff, if you might possibly be willing to spare a little time to help me out? No worries at all if you're busy, I completely understand.

Thanks, Yn Ln

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Relief warred with anxiety. Now she just had to wait.

The reply came surprisingly fast, pinging into her inbox less than ten minutes later.

Subject: Re: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment

Hi Yn,

Absolutely! I'd be delighted to try and help. Pulley systems are quite elegant once you see how the forces distribute. Sometimes wrestling with the materials helps more than diagrams alone.

Are you free sometime tomorrow? I have a workshop setup at my place that might be easier to work in than an apartment desk. Lots of bits and bobs if we need them.

Let me know what time works for you!

Best, Harry

His response was just as she expected – warm, kind, and slightly… unique. "Bits and bobs." A workshop setup? It sounded less like a student's room and more like a real inventor's lair. Despite her nervousness, a spark of hope ignited.

Across the room, she saw him. Harry. The guy everyone privately (and sometimes not-so-privately) referred to as ‘the eccentric genius.’ He had a mane of dark brown hair that brushed his neck, often slightly disheveled, and striking green eyes that seemed to hold a perpetual flicker of curiosity. While others wrestled with equations, Harry would be sketching fantastical contraptions in his notebook or humming softly to himself, oblivious to the classroom tension.

He answered Mr. Walcurst’s most challenging questions with an almost casual insight, often offering alternative, elegant solutions that left the professor momentarily speechless before he’d gruffly acknowledge their validity. He felt utterly out of place in the rigid structure of the lecture hall, a free spirit bottled in a room of precise calculations. Yn had always found him… intriguing, yes, but also a little perplexing, like a complex equation she hadn't bothered to solve.

He wore mismatched clothes sometimes and had a habit of fiddling with strange gadgets in his hands. He rarely spoke unless directly addressed, and even then, his responses were often unexpected, bordering on brilliant yet delivered with an almost childlike enthusiasm that sometimes threw people off.

He was definitely eccentric, maybe even socially awkward, but Mr. Walcurst, for all his harshness, seemed to treat Harry with a degree of grudging respect when he did contribute, which was usually to offer a surprisingly insightful solution to a complex problem the rest of the class floundered with.

***********************************

Harry's 'place' turned out to be a small, slightly cluttered house with a surprisingly large toolshed in the backyard. This, she quickly realized, was the legendary 'workshop'. Stepping inside was like entering another dimension. Tools hung on every available surface, shelves overflowed with wires, gears, screws, and components she couldn't even name. A half-finished contraption involving springs and copper tubing sat on a workbench. The air smelled of metal, oil, and a faint, pleasant scent of sawdust. It was chaos, but a vibrant, organized chaos that spoke of constant creation.

He led her through a house that was indeed "lived-in" – stacks of books and papers covered surfaces, but everything felt intentional, like a mind in constant motion. The air was thick with the faint scent of coffee and something metallic she couldn't place.

The workshop was a revelation. It was a detached garage transformed into a vibrant, organized chaos. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, workbenches were covered in various projects in different stages of completion, and shelves overflowed with components, wires, and peculiar gadgets. It smelled of metal, wood, and something that reminded her faintly of burnt sugar. It was Harry’s world, a physical manifestation of the brilliant, free-spirited mind she’d only glimpsed in class.

"Wow," Yn breathed, genuinely impressed. "This is… amazing."

Harry himself was exactly as she remembered, only perhaps a little more vibrant in his own space. His green eyes lit up when he saw her. "Yn! Come in, come in! Mind the pile of solenoid here, almost broke my neck on it yesterday. So, the pulley!" He gestured excitedly towards a clear space on the main workbench. "Show me what you've tried, tell me about the issues."

Yn, feeling a little awkward but disarmed by his immediate warmth, laid out her dismantled attempts and explained her struggles. As she spoke, Harry didn't interrupt or judge. He listened intently, nodding, his brow furrowed in thought. He picked up a piece of her failed structure, examining it with a thoughtful hum.

"Ah, I see," he said gently. "The stress point here… you've got a shearing force on the axle; it needs more lateral support. And for the wheel material, cardboard will compress too much under load. You need something rigid, something that won't deform."

He didn't make her feel stupid. He simply pointed out technical details, explaining the physics behind them in a way that was clear, concise, and somehow, genuinely interesting. As they started working together, picking out materials from his vast collection – sturdy wood, a smooth metal rod for the axle, a solid plastic wheel – Yn began to relax.

Harry worked with a quiet, focused intensity, but his movements were gentle and precise. He patiently guided her hands, showing her how to measure, how to cut, how to join pieces securely. He explained the principles of mechanical advantage not like a dry textbook, but like revealing a fascinating secret about how the world worked.

"It's easy to get caught up in the equations and forget the simple physics. Think of it like this…"

He didn’t just tell her. He showed her. He used a sturdy beam in the workshop ceiling and a length of rope. He created a single fixed pulley, demonstrating how it only changed direction. Then he added a movable pulley, explaining the concept of sharing the load, the ropes supporting the weight. His explanations were clear, interspersed with quirky analogies that suddenly made perfect sense. He spoke of forces "holding hands" and mechanical advantage as "getting the ropes to do the heavy lifting for you."

As they worked, side-by-side at the workbench, Harry was incredibly patient. When Yn fumbled with a knot, he gently guided her hands, his touch brief and warm. When she looked confused, he’d pause, rephrase, or draw a quick, simple sketch on a scrap of wood with a pencil. He celebrated her small victories – a knot tied correctly, a wheel spinning freely on its axle – with genuine enthusiasm.

"See? You've got it!" he’d say, his smile infectious. "Just needed a little hands-on wrestling match."

Yn, initially tense and embarrassed by her lack of understanding, found herself relaxing. Harry’s kindness was disarming. His genius wasn’t intimidating; it was generous. He wasn’t just helping her pass an assignment; he was sharing his passion, inviting her into his world of mechanical wonders.

As the pulley system began to take shape under their combined efforts, Yn started seeing Harry in a new light. Beyond the kind eyes and gentle hands, she noticed the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the almost artistic way he handled the tools, the subtle enthusiasm that radiated from him when a concept clicked for her. He was more than just the 'weird genius' from class; he was warm, understanding, and incredibly sweet. The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty workshop windows, illuminating the motes dancing in the air around them, creating an almost magical atmosphere.

They talked as they worked. He asked about her interests outside of engineering, listened attentively to her answers, and shared stories about his own projects, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He talked about his dream of inventing things that made life easier, his optimistic belief in the power of ingenuity. Yn found herself laughing easily, drawn in by his free-spirited nature and genuine warmth.

With Harry's guidance, piece by piece, the pulley system came together. They tested it, lifting a small weight. It worked perfectly, the wheels turning smoothly, the rope running freely, reducing the effort required exactly as the calculations predicted.

"We did it!" Harry exclaimed, sounding as pleased as if it were his own project. He looked at Yn, his green eyes full of warmth and pride for her effort. "You figured it out."

Looking at him in that moment, flushed with the success of their creation and the unexpected joy of his company, Yn felt a different kind of mechanism click into place within her. It wasn't just gratitude she felt. It was admiration for his mind, affection for his gentle nature, and a undeniable pull, a sweet, burgeoning romantic feeling that had blossomed in the sawdust-filled air of his workshop. The 'weird' guy had transformed into something entirely wonderful.

Harry’s smile lingered, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, a hint of unspoken feeling that mirrored her own sudden revelation. He seemed just as affected by the shared experience as she was. But then, almost imperceptibly, a familiar caution seemed to cloud his expression, and he gently released her gaze, turning to begin tidying up a few tools.

"So," he said, his voice returning to its easy gentleness, though perhaps with a faint tremor, "you should be all set for Walcurst now."

"Yes," Yn managed, her voice a little breathless. "Harry, thank you. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done."

"Anytime, Yn," he said, meeting her eyes again, his smile soft. "Seriously. Don't hesitate to ask if you ever get stuck again. It's easier to build things together."

Walking home that evening, the finished pulley system felt incredibly light in her bag compared to the complex, heavy emotions swirling inside her. She had gone to Harry’s house seeking help with a technical problem and had left having discovered a connection she hadn’t anticipated. She was undeniably, surprisingly, falling for the eccentric genius.

The next day in class, presenting her working pulley system to Mr. Walcurst felt anticlimactic after the profound shift in her personal world. Mr. Walcurst examined her work thoroughly, testing the mechanism with the weight. He checked her calculations, tugged on the rope.

"Satisfactory, Ms. Ln" he finally stated, his tone neutral, offering no praise but no further criticism either. "Meets the specified requirements."

A quiet wave of relief washed over Yn. She had passed. Thanks to Harry.

She glanced across the room. Harry was sketching quietly in his notebook, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as Mr. Walcurst dismissed her. When her eyes met his, his smile widened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of their shared victory and the secret connection forged in his workshop.

They continued to see each other in class, the sterile air of Walcurst's lecture hall now humming with an unspoken awareness between them. Harry remained his kind, gentle, eccentric self, occasionally offering Yn a subtle smile across the room or a quiet word about the lecture after class. Yn, usually cautious and reserved, found herself gravitating towards him, lingering after class, asking him questions about the material she now understood, just to have an excuse to talk.

The romantic feelings she had developed for Harry pulsed beneath the surface of her interactions with him. She saw the subtle signs of his reciprocal interest – the way his eyes lingered on her, the slight blush that sometimes dusted his cheeks when she paid him a compliment, the genuine pleasure he took in her company. Yet, neither of them acted on it. Yn, mature and cautious, was hesitant to potentially complicate their academic lives or risk the warmth of their newfound friendship.

The rest of Mr. Walcurst's lectures still felt like a challenge, but now, Yn had something new to look forward to. Glancing back at Harry, she realized that the path of engineering had just become infinitely more interesting, illuminated by the quiet brilliance and unexpected warmth of the 'weird' guy with the kind green eyes.