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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

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Teach Me Something

I am slowly but surely making my way through the requests that I have and I am sorry that I suck at writing them, but here this is. Also, ignore the fact that this can’t actually happen how I have it set up, but I started writing the beginning and really liked it and then looked up more information about the Stampede and didn’t want to change it (don’t judge me).

Thank you, thank you, thank you to @luvsherleafs for reading through this and helping me figure this out, you are an absolute angel human and I appreciate you.

Here is the original request! Hope you like this!

EDIT: Read the other parts: part 2 // part 3 // part 4

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“Alright, I need you guys to start cleaning up, the bell is going to ring in five minutes! Beakers in the cabinets, lab goggles away, paper towels in the garbage. Lab calculations are due at the start of tomorrow’s class, and you have your nuclear quiz when?” you yell to your students as they finish up their lab.

“Wednesday,” some of your students answer.

“Cooper and Eugenie, when is the quiz?” you say louder, trying to get two of your students to stop distracting each other.

“Wednesday,” they chorus, the rest of their classmates running around the room trying to get everything away.

“That’s right!” you say with a smile, trying to keep your teacher face on for the last few minutes. It was the end of the day, and you had to get home and change before you went over the Stampede for the show that night. What sucked, was that instead of doing just a July week of shows, they decided it would be fun to do a preview night for some groups in March in some tent instead of outdoors like normal, overlapping with your school year.

The bell rings, your students scrambling to get out the door. “Bye, guys, see you tomorrow,” you say as they scurry out, saying things like ‘thank you, bye Ms. Y/L/I, see you tomorrow.’ You sit down at your desk, letting out a long sigh as the sound of students in the hallway gets louder from chatter, lockers, and overall high school chaos. Going through your lesson for tomorrow, you get lost in typing out your plan that the administration wanted to see, finishing the worksheets that you needed to print, and figuring out what other prep you needed to do before leaving for the day.

You lean back in your desk chair, debating whether or not you should send the worksheets to the printer now and make the 100 or so copies you needed, or come in and do it during your prep that you had first period tomorrow. “Hey Ms. Y/L/N, any chance you could tell me about capillary action?” you heard a familiar voice say from the doorway.

“Considering you learn about that in Biology and I teach Chemistry, I would say no,” you laugh, getting up to go greet your boyfriend, closing the door behind him as he steals your desk chair. “The US education system failed you, didn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not like I paid attention in science anyway,” he shrugs, “But what are you doing tonight?”

“I’m out tonight,” you say. You and Matthew had only been dating for about two months, and you still hadn’t brought up that you were one of the dancers with the Stampede. You didn’t know why; it just never came up. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

“The guys and I were going to go out for some Flames promotion thing, I wanted you to come.”

“If you guys go out after ten, I can try to catch up with you, but I also need sleep with school tomorrow,” you say as he pouts. You also needed more money, but that wasn’t something you were about to tell him. You ruffle his curly hair, him swatting your hands away as the pout turns to a smile. “You can come and make copies with me if you want. You have to wait to leave right now anyway, the buses are still outside,” you tell him, sending the documents to the printer down the hall.

“Do I get to press the buttons?” he asks like a child, getting up to follow you down the hall.

You start walking, the sound of your heels echoing through the hallway as Matthew trails behind you, some of the students trying to figure out what he was doing in their school in the first place, him not knowing where he was going with you. “No, the thing is ancient and I don’t trust you not to break the one copier on this floor because then I’m the one who’s responsible for fixing it.” He starts to pout again, following you into the room with the copier. “Ok, then do you want to fix it when it stops working?”

“That would end well for no one,” he says, looking down at his shoes.

You can’t help but laugh as you go to start making the first set of copies that you needed. You sit down at the table in the center of the room, taking Matthews fidgeting hands in yours. “So, how did you even get into the school, to begin with? I didn’t know you were coming to tell the office.”

“You’d be amazed by what you can do when you’re a professional athlete. I just said I was visiting you and they told me I could go once the bell rang,” he shrugs.

“That is an issue on so many levels,” you say, him just smiling and kissing the back of your hand.

“Eh, well. Are you sure you can’t come out with us tonight? The guys love you and I think you’d have a really good time tonight.”

You hear the copier stop, groaning as you get up to make the next batch. You could have just queued them all up at once, but that would make the copier angry. “What are you guys doing?”

“It’s Flames night at the Stampede, so a bunch of us are going.”

You stop what you’re entering into the copier, thankful that your back is facing Matthew. You should just tell him you were going to be there tonight, too. If you told him you were going to be there with other friends from work, that wouldn’t be a lie. Why weren’t you telling him in the first place? Maybe it was because you were slightly upset that you had to have two jobs just to make ends meet while he was living a life of luxury on one paycheck. But at least both jobs were ones that you loved, so that made things a little better. “Oh, cool. I’ve never seen one of the shows there, actually,” was all you could get out. That wasn’t totally a lie; you couldn’t see the show when you were in it.

“See, more of a reason why you should come out with us tonight!”

“I said maybe. That’s not a no. Now come on, I need to get home,” you hand him the stacks of paper to bring back to your classroom.

“Can we at least do something tomorrow night?” he pleads, putting the papers down on your desk.

“I need one copy of these in the yellow and orange folders and one copy of this one in the pink folders, and one copy of this in the blue folders,” you instruct him while you check to see if you have another rehearsal or anything that you need to be at tomorrow night. “But what do you want to do tomorrow night?”

“Uh, well, I was planning on getting in an early workout with Noah and Johnny the next morning since we have a late flight to Colorado so nothing that involves anything late,” he says, trying to concentrate on putting one piece of paper into each folder. “Why do you do this again?”

“Nothing late is the best, so I’m down for whatever.” That also, hopefully, meant that it was something that involved little to no money being spent, “And it helps me know who is missing that day or just didn’t take their papers and it helps them make sure they get their papers. I put them out before each class and they take them when they walk in.” He just shrugs, not completely understanding the method to your madness, but it worked for you and your students, so who cared? “How much time do you have before you have to meet the guys?” You ask him, even though you really don’t have time yourself.

“I gotta run; this was the only time I had to see you, so I wanted to come by,” he says, putting the folders in neat piles, handing them to you.

“That’s so sweet. I feel like we haven’t gotten to see each other a lot lately, with the season picking up and all.” You put the folders on one of the counters in your room, dropping the two on the top.

As you bend down to pick them up, you hear Matthew exhale, “Is it bad that all I can think of is picking you up and doing some very bad things to you on that counter?”

You turn around, pretending to be disgusted. “Matthew! The students leave their water bottles here!” you squeal, thankful that your classroom door was closed since students were still roaming the halls. “That might be something we can do tomorrow night, just not on this counter.” You pack your computer in your bag, grabbing that, your keys, and Matthew’s hand to drag him out of the school before he says anything else that shouldn’t be said around children.

“Can I at least kiss you in the parking lot?” he whines.

“Nope, my spot and therefore my car faces the track, some of my advanced kids are on the track team and I do not need them bringing up my romantic rendezvous with my boyfriend in class tomorrow and for the rest of the year. But where are you parked?”

“I ubered. Can I get a ride?” he says, giving you the puppy dog eyes that always made you say yes to him.

“Get in, pain in the ass.” You drive him home, the entire drive spent with him constantly begging you to go upstairs with him, but you really did have to get home and change. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Your place or mine?”

“Your pick, just text me when you decide,” he says, leaning over to give you a kiss. “Wait, are we far enough away from the school for you to kiss me now?” he teases, ghosting your lips as a mischievous smile dancing across his face.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say, taking his face in your hands, kissing him instead.

“Are you sure you can’t come upstairs for just a minute?” he begs once he pulls away, his forehead against yours.

You wanted to, but he did say he had to run and you definitely had to get home and change. Looking at the clock out of the corner of your eye, you had about an hour to get home, get ready, and get over to the grounds before the parking was so full that walking from your car to the grounds would be considered your warm-up. “I’ve really got to go,” you say.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, though,” he says, giving you another quick kiss before getting out of your car.

“Yeah, bye,” you call as he runs inside. You did have to tell him eventually that you had another job, but he was going to find out tonight anyway. Would he be mad that you kept something like this from him, especially when he told you that he was going to be there tonight and you stood there and didn’t say anything?

You spend your entire drive home freaking out a little. This is a pretty big part of your life that you hid from him, especially since dancing has been part of your life for as long as you could remember, but you just couldn’t figure out how to tell him you needed a second job to live. What if he hates you because you’ve been keeping part of your life a secret from him? No, he couldn’t hate you, could he? Not for something like this. In all your freaking out, you completely mess up your makeup. Frustrated and in a hurry, you now had to completely redo your face in what would be record time, or be late enough that you risked walking a mile from your car.

You restart your makeup, deciding that you were going to do as little as possible, only to be distracted by your friend Rory's face popping up on your phone with an incoming call. “So is your hunky boyfriend going to be at this thing tonight?”

“Hello to you, too. And yeah he told me he was coming.”

“So he knows you’re going to be there?”

You hear her drop something on her end, which is perfect since it gives you time to avoid her question, pretend not to hear it as your finish your face and try to run out the door. “Sorry, Ror, didn’t catch that, I’m running out the door to my car,” you tell her.

“That translates to: no, I didn’t tell him.”

“Well, he’s not stupid, he’ll be able to figure out it’s me when he sees my face. It’s not like I look that different when I have makeup on.”

“You could call him and tell him right now.”

“Nope. He’ll find out when he gets there if he even notices.”

“Alright, love. Just make sure you find me after he freaks out,” she says, hanging up. He wouldn’t freak out, right? It’s not like you were lying per se, you were just not telling him the truth of things. He might be a little mad about not telling him exactly where you were going tonight, but none of what you told him was wrong: you were out with people you worked with. You just didn’t say you were going to actually be at work.

You spend your entire ride trying to justify to yourself why you shouldn’t be freaking out over tonight, which then inadvertently caused you to freak out anyway. After parking what felt like a mile away and pretty much running to the room where you got ready, Rory is standing at the door, waiting for you.

“Come here, I’m finishing your makeup.”

“I finished my makeup!” you protest as she takes you by the hand and drags you in front of a mirror.

“If your boyfriend is coming tonight, then you need to look better than that.”

“He came to my classroom earlier and I almost never wear makeup to school. I look fine.”

“Eyes closed,” she instructs. You do as she says. You can hear the crowd coming in to watch the show that you were about to put on for them. You were in the opening act, one in the middle, and then the end, so you had plenty of downtime to worry, pace, and freakout, while trying to remember your routine and get a headstart on your lessons for next week. “I don’t understand why you’ve spent this entire time dancing here with us and then dating him for what, two months now? And he still doesn’t know that much about you? Like I understand keeping mystery in the relationship to keep everything exciting, but this seems like basic information that should have been shared. It’s not like you’re doing something illegal.”

“If my eyes were open, I’d be rolling them at you,” you mutter. You didn’t need a lecture from her about this. You were already well aware of the fact that this was something you should have told him, but what could you do about it now?

“I’m just saying,” she starts again.

“Yes, I know, I know. You have been just saying since I first showed you his picture.” Thankfully, she stops talking, finishing your makeup in less time than you thought it would take. You can hear your phone buzzing in your bag, Matthew’s face lighting up your screen. “Hey, what’s up?” you ask, trying to change while also holding the phone to your ear.

“Just wanted to say hi before the show started,” you hear him say, the guys screaming in his ear about him already being whipped. “Shut up,” he yells at them. “I thought I saw your car in the lot, though. Did you and your friends end up coming here or something?”

Shit. You hear someone calling that it was almost time for the show, everyone needing to get ready to be in their place as you struggle to get your other shoe on. “Fuck, sorry, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, bye!” you spit out, hanging up before he can say anything else.

“Ready to be exposed?” Rory asks, getting next to you with the lights out.

“That’s what she said,” you slip in, the music and lights coming on, blinding you instantly as you went into the routine like it was something you were born to do. At one point in the routine, you’re off to the side, out of the spotlight and giving your vision enough time to see the audience, make out their faces and see who was paying attention and who was on their phone and trying to hide you. You glance to the left, seeing a sea of red, each man wearing the familiar C logo that you were suddenly mortified to see. You spotted Matthew’s curls instantly, thankful that you weren’t able to tell if he could see you or not since you had to go back under the light, erasing the outside world from you.

The routine ends, you running back to where you get ready to see your phone lighting up with texts from Matthew.

Hey, what the hell?

Anything you need to tell me?

I’m going to be by your car once this is over.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was mad. He was breaking up with you. This was it; your best relationship was over before it really got started. You should have just told him. Why didn’t you tell him? “Did he see you?” Rory asks, breaking you out of the trance you forced yourself into.

“Yep, and he’s mad. After tonight I’m going to be single again, so that’s fun.”

“Well, Ryan’s had a crush on you since you started here, so there’s always him.”

“Rory!” you yell, trying to tell her she’s not helping without actually saying so.

“Are you going to be ok to go on?” she asks, sitting you down on the floor with her.

“I don’t know. I just want to talk to Matthew,” you admit. You can feel yourself start to cry, the commotion of everything around you muted as she just looked at you.

“Hey,” she says, putting her hand on your knee, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head because of how dumb the real reason is. “Do you know what it’s like to date someone who makes so much money that he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants financially? I’m not mad about it, it’s just difficult when I have to work two jobs to make ends meet and that’s just not something he has to worry about. He always wants to go out with the guys and begs me to come but then I’m sitting there with like, ten dollars to my name meanwhile all of he and all of his friends can buy the bar if they wanted to and still have enough money to jet off to Australia or somewhere.”

“If he really likes you, then that kind of stuff shouldn’t matter. His first clue that you didn’t have a lot of money should have been when he found out you were a teacher.” You shoot her a look, “Ok, ok, but you know I’m right. From what you’ve told me, he just wants you to be happy. Go talk to him.”

“But the show?”

“I’ll find your partner and tell him not to go on unless he can find you first. Ok?” Rory says, picking you back up off the floor, “Go to your man.”

You send him a text to meet you out by your car as soon as he can. You beat him to the car, pacing back and forth in front of the hood. You see him walking towards you, your heart beating like crazy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you blurt out to him before he can even get a word in.

His eyes meet yours, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You just shrug, trying to figure out the words to say. “It never came up? I don’t know. I should have. It’s not a big deal, I just have to work the two jobs to make ends meet, especially since this is normally during the summer when I don’t have school and I can get a paycheck and I told you that I’ve been dancing since I was like three, I just left out the part about me still dancing and I’m sorry are you mad?” you let out all in one breath.

He shrugs back, his hand in his jean pockets as he kicks a pebble back and forth with his foot. “That’s not the real reason. I know you well enough, Y/N, you’re not a good liar.”

“You have everything. I have to struggle to make ends meet, and even doing this, it’s still tough. I love both of my jobs; I was always worried that I would have to choose between teaching or dancing, and yes I have to do both in order to survive, but I would do both even if one was enough. I’m sorry,” you say again.

“This isn’t something that’s going to work if we keep things from each other. I mean, what if I had a secret family? I mean, the guys know who you are, too. What do you think it was like having them see my girlfriend dancing out there and me sitting there like an idiot not even knowing this was something you do?” he counters, his hands starting to wave around with frustration.

“Not telling you about a job is a lot different than you keeping a whole family from me. It’s not like this is some sort of scandal, this is something that I’m insecure about, I don’t know what else to tell you. Sorry I made you look slightly stupid in front of your friends.” you turn away from him, starting to go back inside when he grabs you by the arm, turning you towards him.

He bites his bottom lip, face scrunched like he’s trying to figure out what he’s going to do next. “This is something that makes you happy?”

“Yeah.”

“What about teaching?”

“Same feeling.”

“Then that’s all I care about. Come on, you think I would be angry that you had two jobs, or something? I would be angry if you had two jobs and you hated both of them. You’re doing what you love. Every time you talk about what you did at school that day, your eyes light up and I don’t even think you realize how much energy you get just thinking about your students and I feel so proud to be with someone who’s so passionate about what they do. If you’re like that about this, then oh my, god, I think the guys are going to kill me for talking about you so much.”

“Aw, you talk about me to the guys?”

The line in his lips turns into a small smile as he moves towards you, pulling you closer to him. His hand finds the small of your back, lips close enough that you’re sure he’s about to kiss you. “Are you kidding? I don’t shut up about you.”

“I talk about you a lot here, but if I did that at school my Principal would get very angry at me for not teaching.”

“Damn, your kids would go wild if they knew you were sleeping with one of their favorite athletes.”

“Yeah, and I would be fired for telling them and also lying to them since their favorite player is Sean.”

He pulls away, a shocked look on his face, “I’m better than Monny,” he says, acting like he’s hurt. You throw your head back laughing as he pulls you closer to him. “Is it bad that I’m still thinking about fucking you on the counter in your classroom but now you’re wearing this?”

“How about somewhere that my students don’t have access to and I wear one of your jerseys instead?”

His eyes grow wide before he closes them, obviously thinking about it, “Fuck,” he lets out, his face going towards the sky. “Please do.”

“Calm down there, Tkachuk, you still have the rest of the show to get through first.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines

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tired-enjolras · 3 years

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Capable of Being Terrible. Enjolras/Grantaire.

Read on AO3

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Warnings: alcoholism, smoking, addiction/recovery arc.

Genre: Angst-Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 1297.

Summary: It’s a hard semester for everyone, Combeferre and Joly are working an internship, Éponine works two jobs and somehow gets it all done, and Grantaire drinks himself an inch from incoherent every night. Enjolras doesn’t have it worse than anyone - better than most, actually. But this year keeps knocking Enjolras down and, for the first time, cannot figure how to get back up again.

CHAPTER ONE.

It was Friday night. Every other student in the city was off doing something fun and frivolous. Enjolras was not. He was not one for fun until work was complete. The blonde man could laugh louder and harder than all of his friends and co-workers combined, but he’d simply have to party on Saturday instead. He was only days out from the start of exams week. Desires could wait. His computer was open on the bed, resting on a red pillowcase and gray sheets. It was playing a documentary film about the Paris Climate Accords that was required for a biology class - his lowest grade this semester was this class. He cared about science and certainly about climate change, but he was just fundamentally bad at the subject. There were others who could handle it. Enjolras could be the change in other areas.

Enjolras did not focus on the monitor, but instead his hand scrawled ferociously in a yellow spiral-bound notebook. One could hardly blame him for his excitement. Not only had he prepared a new pamphlet for his student political organization - which he would need to remember to copy at the library the next day - but he had discovered this American politician called Harvey Milk. He was working on final stage research and outlining for a research project on him for his World LGBT Advocacy class. That remained one of about two classes that were worth him expending a fuck on during this particular semester.

The number of credits he had chosen was much too high. 7 classes (one having a lab) was an irrational choice. It was Enjolras’ first year funding half of his own housing off-campus. He worked a real job. As real as scanning books and accepting payment could be. This, really, was the first year Enjolras had learned that everyone was correct in telling him that he was incapable of doing everything he assumed he could.

He did not live alone, but it felt like he did. The other half of the rent was supposed to be paid by Combeferre, who had been gracious and helpful and always so willing to do his part. Until he wasn’t and moved out. Combeferre had moved in with a very tall and very stupid man that Enjolras sincerely enjoyed named Courfeyrac. The two men cared terribly for each other, so Enjolras was happy to see them be able to make a sort of home together. Combeferre’s replacement was not gracious or helpful and almost never willing to do his part. René Grantaire had crashed into the apartment like a car fire. Enjolras was decently sure he would not enjoy his time with Grantaire whatsoever; that they would be professional and nothing more to each other. That never happened. Initially, he was very pleased that Grantaire never imposed an organizational system for Enjolras because everything he had sat in stacks, falling off of shelves and spread across each open surface. Grantaire picked up on this philosophy and effortless operated within it. For a while, they seemed to make perfect sense to each other.

In mornings, Grantaire would get coffee brewing, immediately being able to remember how Enjolras took it. In exchange, Enjolras would sit in destroyed stack of leaflet rough drafts and crack an egg and a shot of hot sauce into a glass for Grantaire. They moved in perfect sync like Aristophanes four-limbed love people. Before too long, they stopped being roommates and started being bedmates. Their relationship lacked definition, but both miraculously kept their affections exclusive and they liked this way.

Then Grantaire’s drinking, once consisting of some wine, a few beers and maybe one or two of something a little stiffer over the course of an entire week turned into several bottles of wine, a case of beer and empty liquor bottles collecting in the trashbagless bin in front of the kitchen sink. So Enjolras tried to take some actions.

The bedroom door swung open.

“Good evening, mon Ange,” Grantaire often called him this. My Angel. Grantaire thought was funny because he may as well have been saying Mon Enj. My Enjolras. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...”

Grantaire stood, leading against the doorframe. Whether for physical support or confident swagger was still unclear. He looked bad. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach to consider saying that about this person he cared for, Grantaire could never really look bad to him, but he was glassy eyed and sallow. Grantaire pushed himself off of the door, and walked to the side of the bed, crouching to his knees to throw an arm around Enjolras flat to the bed body.

“You smell like alcohol.” Enjolras stared plainly.

Grantaire scoffed. “Good nose you’ve got there,” he reached out and gently flicked Enjolras across the nose. “I was, in fact, drinking.”

Enjolras sighed, refusing to look over at his... whatever they were. If he looked at him now, he would get emotional. Hysterical or angry, it wasn’t yet clear which. “We talked about this.”

“I know, but look at me—“

“Hey, how much did you drink?”

“Oh, am I being cross-examined now?”

Enjolras sat up on his knees in bed, Grantaire’s arm sliding away. He was looking at the darker haired man now. His blue-green eyes burned. “No, but I can call a witness, if you’d like...” he extended his fingers to the other side of the bed for his phone. Marius would know. Éponine perhaps was there. Bahoral, or Courf, maybe. Wouldn’t take too many calls to figure it out.

“Lord God Almighty, Enj... Fine. A lot. Lost count after a couple rounds. But it’s Friday. I’m...” Grantaire cleared his throat, trying to sober his voice up some. “I’m not working tomorrow. Big deal. Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ol’ me?”

“Friday’s fantastic, but what about every other day that isn’t Friday?”

“It’s social. I’m social.”

“Grantaire.”

Fuck. “Mhmm?”

Enjolras’ jaw was tight. He was not going to yell. It was after midnight and the neighbors would call their pig of a landlord again. “Couch tonight.”

“It’s Friday!”

“René,” Enjolras had said this in the voice that mothers use when their child doesn’t understand why they can’t keep sticking their hand in the cookie jar. It was not mean, it was firm. Final. Grantaire sat up a little straighter. “Couch. Please. I love you to pieces, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. Sleep it off.”

Slowly, Grantaire raised himself to his full height. “You win. You always win. Happy?” He braced an arm on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of Enjoras’ curls. The brunette swiped a discarded blanket off of this ugly leopard print chair that sat in the corner. Grantaire walked through the door, not bothering with a change of clothes for bed and shut it quietly behind him.

Enjolras was far from happy. It had been so truly okay and it’s not anymore. Everything was too much. Homework, organizing that protest, holding the pieces together for Grantaire when there’s clearly more going on than what he wants to share. Grantaire was Enjolras’ most important person and he was going to watch him finish his degree if it killed them both. Dear Reader, do not think for a second that Enjolras believed Grantaire was some kind of burden. He wasn’t. Enjolras loved him too much to ever consider him to be one, he just was unsure of how best to be supportive. No one ever supported Grantaire so Enjolras would simply have to be that person. There were too many things to care about in Enjolras’ life, too many problems. But that had historically been where he thrived. And Enjolras would find the time to fix them all. He always did.

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

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"Just, you've both been really quiet lately," Tai said.. More quiet than usual, I mean. …Ever since Halloween. And… your shoulder… are you still hurt from the fight with the Ursa? You keep rubbing it."

His arm instantly dropped to his lap. "We're both just tired. Recharging."

"She's been fine for a day already."

"I don't know what's going on in her head any better than you do." He stared down into the open textbook. "...Raven and I had a fight. It's not important."

"She didn't push you down those stairs, did she?"

"N-no! Not…" he trailed off. "No. It won't affect the team. We can still fight."

It was one thing to brush off a problem like it was no big deal. Everyone did that. But Qrow… "...Dude, that's not what I'm worried about," Tai complained, sliding back to his feet. "You've both been upset."

"It's not your fault. Or Summer's."

Qrow acted like they only ever asked about him out of self-interest.

Follow the Beacon Taiyang — Scars

[Link to Masterpost]

(Hope you’re all staying safe. This chapter’s not as light, but nothing bad.)

The door opened with a soft click, and Tai was surprised to find it wasn't empty. "Oh. Hey, Qrow."

"How was your date?" Qrow asked, tucking a sheet of paper into his history textbook before flipping to the next chapter. The Founding of Mantle—they were moving fast. Then again, they had to in order to catch up.

"Good. Dan's supposed to call home tonight so we broke it off early, though. What are you doing here?"

"I owe Lionheart an assignment," he grumbled, glaring at the textbook like it had personally insulted him.

"You've got all weekend. It's Friday night, go have some fun. …Even Raven's gone."

"Yeah, I'm not sure where she went," he muttered distractedly, rubbing his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"I won't miss combat training Monday."

"…That's not what I meant."

Qrow finally looked at him, almost.

His arm instantly dropped to his lap. "We're both just tired. Recharging."

"She's been fine for a day already."

"I don't know what's going on in her head any better than you do." He stared down into the open textbook. "...Raven and I had a fight. It's not important."

"She didn't push you down those stairs, did she?"

"N-no! Not…" he trailed off. "No. It won't affect the team. We can still fight."

"It's not your fault. Or Summer's."

Qrow acted like they only ever asked about him out of self-interest.

He folded his arms, leaning against his own desk on the other side of the doorway. "I'm trying to ask how I can help."

"I'm fine."

"No. I'm not asking if I can help, I'm asking how."

Qrow blinked. "I…" His face shifted from surprise through consideration and came to rest on agonizing indecision. "Can… Can you show me how to print a copy? Like Summer did with the poster?"

"Y-yeah. Of course," Tai said. It was a jarringly simple request compared to the tension still caught in his expression. "What do you need to make a copy of?"

"I have to return this to the library tomorrow," he muttered, sliding a little black book out from under his history textbook. "But I'm not done with the assignment I need it for. I don't have time to copy the pages I need by hand."

"No problem! ...You know I'm always happy to help you with that kind of stuff."

Qrow smiled, somehow even less reassured. "T-thanks. How much is a—how much is it per page?"

"I think it's like ten lien for black and white, and twenty for color."

"Oh. That's not bad."

"Trust me, it adds up quick. But, I mean, normal size paper is relatively cheap and easy. There's a scanner downstairs we can use for this. The poster had to go through one of the library's big ones. Come on."

Qrow tiptoed out into the hall after him, following down to the little printing kiosk off in an alcove of the lobby. "Lift here, put what you want to copy face down, and put in the lien card here. Then, um…" he swiped through the menu on the little built-in screen of the printer. "Here, press copy, pick color or black and white, and then hit scan."

"I didn't know this printer could do that," Qrow admitted, examining it. "Thanks. I—I can just meet you back in the room." He tried and failed to sound casual, standing stiffly with his hand white-knuckled on the book's spine.

"…Okay," Tai said, backing away from the machine to give him space. He carefully set the book open on the glass, always covering the title on the spine with his hand.

Obviously all of this should go into his notes on the twins, but what was he even looking at?

Tai retreated from the alcove and headed back for the stairs. Glancing back one more time, he paused. The machine was blocked from view by the wall, but Qrow's reflection was easily visible in the glass of the window behind. The night outside practically made it a mirror.

He scanned a single page before closing the book. It was way too far and indistinct for Tai to even guess what was on it, but Qrow stared at it almost reverently for a moment before beginning to rip it into pieces. One got tucked into the book. Qrow continued to methodically shred the rest, by hand, into confetti and let the pieces fall into the little trash can next to the printer.

Tai didn't wait for him to finish and find him spying. Laundry, laundry would be a good cover, and his combat gear needed a wash. What was that all about, though?

They'd been living together for months. Why couldn't they just...talk? Ever? Summer was right, they were supposed to be a team. And the longer it went on, the more obvious it became that even Raven was perfectly willing to help them with homework, or whatever, but neither of them was willing to ask for help in return. Even when injured. It didn't make sense.

He gathered up his things quickly, and ran into Qrow on his way to the bathroom.

"Sorry." He jumped out of Tai's way.

"Thanks, sorry," Tai said, edging past him with the mesh hamper.

"A-and thanks for the help."

Tai paused. At least he looked happier, whatever that had been about. "Hey, man, we're teammates. I'm always happy to help… I… I kinda wish you and Raven would ask more often."

"O-oh." Qrow paused, unsure how to respond, and then headed back into the room and let the door shut.

The real problem, Tai groused as he shoved his clothes into the washer, is that they don't trust us. But what reason had they ever given the twins for it?

A pair of pants from one of his uniforms had gotten scooped up with the bedding, and he pulled them back out. Pausing to stare at the dark fabric clenched in his hand.

He gave them a reason to mistrust him on the second day.

...And he'd forgotten his laundry detergent.

Tai sighed, straightening up and heading back into the hall and to their room. Qrow seemed to think it was funny, though. The lock clicked open at a wave from his scroll. Unless he was lying ab—

His scroll tumbled from his hand as he very abruptly realized that he'd never once seen Qrow shirtless. Angry red lines ran over his shoulder, the one he was always rubbing, and down his back. Skin twisted, puckered, and bulged as if someone had taken a cheese grater to it.

"Oh my gods." He didn't mean to say it, he really didn't.

Qrow flinched, crumpling away from the open door, trying in vain to cover the scars with his left hand. He stumbled, pants still around his knees, nearly crashing to the ground but slamming into the closet door with a rattling thud instead.

Tai clapped a hand over his eyes. "I—I'm sorry! I forgot my detergent!"

"I-it's okay," Qrow stammered, and his closet door creaked. "You can look now."

"Sorry," Tai said again, grabbing his soap from under his bed and fleeing the room.

The lines had practically burned into his eyes. Beacon and even Signal had first aid classes, hell, he was the best one in team DZST at the subject. He knew what bites looked like, claw marks, burns. Those scars were no accident, no bad run-in with a Grimm.

Several puzzle pieces had just snapped together and the picture on them was horrifying.

Numb, Tai returned to the bathroom and added soap before starting the washer. Water slowly filled the machine. Qrow still needed time to get dressed. He drew out his notes, re-reading weeks of observations, heart sinking with each line.

Qrow stayed bent over his book as he re-entered, but his pen stilled on the page and Tai knew he was being watched from under his bangs.

"Who did that to you?" Tai asked, quietly.

He cringed. Noticeably. "A-a Beowolf. When I was six—"

"Don't lie. Please. I— I just want to help. Qrow—" he took a deep, steadying breath, "your, your farm. ...Did they even pay you? Both of you have been working for years and you don't… you don't have... much money or stuff."

He sat stiff, staring silently at his notes.

Heart pounding, Tai voiced the question that he really feared. "Did you two escape from somewhere?" Qrow flinched again, shrinking away, and his stomach soured. "Those scars. Did they do that to you?"

"S-stop. Please."

"Stop what? Caring? I can't do that."

His eyes darted toward the door before returning to his shoes. "Just pretend you didn't see. Please don't tell anyone—Raven can't—"

"Did Raven—?!"

"No!"

Their eyes finally met, and Tai stopped at the panic in his expression. Qrow had never been this scared.

He's afraid of me. Tai's stomach squeezed nauseatingly.

"O...okay. I won't say anything. Just… please tell me if you need help."

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. The fear won. Silently, without breaking eye contact, he shook his head no.

Tai let his hands drop to his sides, stepping back. Qrow hunched over his homework again, pretending to write notes as he hid his face. Dragging the chair back to his desk, Tai slumped into it, stomach churning.

...This is all my fault.

Next Chapter: Qrow—Acquaintances

#rwby #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #raven branwen #summer rose #strq #team strq #follow the beacon #rwby fanfiction

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enbyleighlines · 4 years

Note

What about if nhs had a Little exhibit of his photos? And it's still early days for qingsangcheng (is that right? Or I guess it's more sangcheng & qingcheng right?). Anyway. It's early days for those three, and nhs only mentioned it off hand to jc but the two of them show up to support? 📸

Awww, so many wholesome prompts! Thank you, anonymous, for sending me a request. I love writing about my fav head-shaker~

—

It’s the first night of the nature photography exhibit at the local art center. The building used to be a wool mill, and half of the rooms are either in renovation for various tech companies, or still waiting to be bought. But the basement has been turned into an art studio, which hosts both pottery classes and the occasional art exhibit.

It’s not a high honor, to be included in this haphazardly prepared exhibit. Nie Huaisang knows this. And yet they can’t help but be nervous.

Nie Huaisang stands in front of the folding panels that display their photographs. They’re primarily shots of different local birds, with the occasional deer, fox, or raccoon. Nie Huiasang’s favorite photo is enlarged and framed. It was taken near sunrise, with a great white heron dipping its beak into its own reflection in the river. The colors are especially vibrant, due to the early morning glow.

When people stop to stare at it, Nie Huaisang feels the pride all the way down to their toes. They’re standing nearby, to answer questions about their methods and equipment. And, of course, to try to sell their work.

That last bit turns out to be harder than Nie Huaisang expected. They eagerly chat up any passerby who lingers at a particular picture, describing the story behind it, and dropping subtle hints about where it might look the best hanging up in their home. But though most people laugh and listen with interest, very few actually buy anything.

Even the heron kissing its reflection, Nie Huaisang’s magnum opus, remains unsold.

At least Nie Mingjue stops by around noon, which lifts Huaisang’s spirits. Though their Gege doesn’t possess a single artistic bone in their body, he pointedly gives each individual photo a long look.

“You did good,” he says, and pats Huaisang on the head.

Nie Huaisang chuckles into their hand. They will never stop being amused by their Gege’s stilted attempts at being supportive.

But then Nie Mingjue has to leave for work, and Huaisang is left alone once more.

Another boring hour passes without much to comment on. Nie Huaisang manages to sell a couple of postcards with songbirds on them, but they’re not exactly wracking in the dough.

Money isn’t really a huge concern for Nie Huaisang. That is, they come from a comfortably well off family. Huaisang’s parents and Gege would happily pitch in if Huaisang ever needed it. After all, it was Mingjue who convinced their Fuqin to pay the entirety of Huaisang’s college tuition. But Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to need their help, now that they’ve graduated. They want to prove that they can survive off of their art, that their BA in Photography was worth the heavy investment.

Unfortunately, so far Huaisang has not been able to live off their photography alone. They also have to work part-time at an arts and crafts store, which so far has been less exciting that Huaisang had expected.

That’s just how retail works, Wei Wuxian often said. He and Wen Ning also had to take on customer service jobs.

But maybe that was just a necessary part of being an artist. Perhaps all artists had to struggle before they could blossom. At least, those are the type of thoughts Nie Huaisang tells themself, to make the frustration more bearable.

Nie Huaisang is just starting to go down that mental rabbit hole again, but they hear their name being called.

“Huaisang, hey!”

Huaisang whirls around, surprised to first hear and then see their boyfriend Jiang Cheng.

They’ve only been dating a little over a month at this point, and Nie Huaisang had only mentioned the exhibit in passing. Again, it wasn’t exactly a high honor, to be included in such a rinky-dink exhibit. So there was no need to ask Jiang Cheng to come.

Yet there he is. And he brought Wen Qing.

The two walk arm in arm. They are a good looking couple, though they still avoid labeling themselves as such. Jiang Cheng is all sharp edges and tightly coiled muscle, while Wen Qing has soft curves, with a relaxed, confident posture.

Nie Huaisang, meanwhile, feels like a gangly stick bug in comparison.

“You came,” Nie Huaisang says, brushing aside that unwelcome, unnecessarily self-deprecating thought. Jiang Cheng seems to like the way they look just fine.

“Of course I came,” Jiang Cheng replies. He sounds offended at the idea that he wouldn’t come.

“Are these yours?” Wen Qing speaks up unexpectedly. She detaches herself from Jiang Cheng to get a closer look at the photos. “All of these?”

“Everything on this side of the panel, yes.”

Wen Qing stares down a deer that is facing the camera. “Look at that,” she says, “How beautiful. This deer lives around here?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang confirms, “All these pictures were taken locally.”

“Talented, aren’t they?” Jiang Cheng says, throwing an arm around Huaisang’s shoulders. He points off to a picture of a fox. “I was there for that one.”

Nie Huaisang tries to stifle a giggle and winds up snorting. “You mean, you were asleep in the tent.”

“Oh,” says Wen Qing, understanding, “is this from that time you two went camping together?” She studies the fox photo, even bending down to get a better view. “Maybe I should come next time. I want to see a fox.”

“That was a rare chance encounter,” Huaisang rushes to tell her, “I can’t guarantee any fox sightings in the future.”

But Jiang Cheng latches onto the more important aspect of Wen Qing’s words. “Wait, you’d go camping with us? Seriously? I thought you said you hated camping.”

Wen Qing shrugs. “I hated camping as a kid,” she says, without tearing her gaze away from Huaisang’s photographs, “But that was mainly due to the fact that I’d be forced to interact with Wen Xu and Wen Chao. Also, the adults would stay up late drinking and then spend the days in their beds with horrid hangovers, so I’d be left babysitting all the younger kids. Neither of those factors would come into play if I went camping with the two of you.”

Jiang Cheng hums, a short sound to acknowledge the weight of Wen Qing’s words without making a big deal out of them.

Huaisang throws in a cheery, “We’d love to have you tag along,” to lighten the mood.

Jiang Cheng presses a kiss to Huaisang’s temple. “We would,” he agrees.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wen Qing says. She moves to the great white heron, in its magnificent frame. “Wow,” she breathes out a sigh of wonder, “This is yours, too?”

“It is!”

Jiang Cheng squeezes Nie Huaisang to his side. Presumably, it’s to show his pride.

Nie Huaisang finds themself melting into the one-armed embrace. Leaning against Jiang Cheng’s warm, solid torso always fills Huaisang with a strong sense of comfort. Jiang Cheng’s fingers curling into the fabric of Huaisang’s shirt provokes a different, equally pleasant feeling. Huaisang feels desired. And being desired makes Huaisang feel like they’re capable of moving mountains.

Wen Qing slowly, almost reluctantly, turns away from the photo. “How much are you selling this one for?”

A shard of hope pierces Nie Huaisang’s heart. They attempt to ignore it as they answer, “Forty-five, with the frame. Thirty without the frame.”

Wen Qing arches a brow at Jiang Cheng. “What do you think?”

Jiang Cheng’s face scrunches. It’s adorably evident that he doesn’t understand the question. “What do I think about what?”

“Do you think I should buy it?”

That shard of hope wedges deeper into Nie Huaisang’s chest.

Jiang Cheng steps away from Nie Huaisang to get a better look at the photo. “You should,” he answers, “if you want to.”

“I do want to.” Wen Qing’s gaze is back on the heron. “I’ve been looking for something to cover that nasty hole in the bathroom wall.” Then, without prompting, she tells Huaisang in an aside, “It was already there when I moved in.”

Nie Huaisang nods wordlessly. They’re more focused on the possibility of making a sale, though they try to keep the greed from showing on their face.

“I’ll take it,” Wen Qing decides, “With the frame, please.”

“Of course!” Nie Huaisang rushes to their large canvas bag, where they have several copies of the print stored. Then they take a frame from a nearby box, and summon all of their focus so that they can slide the photo within the frame with steady fingers.

Huaisang can feel two pairs of eyes on them, but that doesn’t phase them. Over the two months they’ve been dating Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang has grown incredibly comfortable around the both of them. Of course, Jiang Cheng has been a casual acquaintance of theirs since high school. So, to a certain extent, Huaisang was already comfortable around him. But Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting to get so close with Wen Qing. Especially since they were sharing a lover. And yet here they are.

“Finished,” Huaisang announces once they’re done. They gently transfer it to Wen Qing’s care.

In return, she gives them the cash. “Thank you,” she says, “I can’t wait to hang it up. In fact, I think I’m going to go home and do that now. Jiang Cheng, are you sticking around?”

Jiang Cheng looks at Nie Huaisang and nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Alright.” Wen Qing gives them both a wave. “I’ll text you later,” she tells Jiang Cheng, “We should go out to dinner tonight, the three of us. I’ll pay.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang respond in unison. They share a look.

Nie Huaisang giggles. “I’d like that,” they add, but while facing Jiang Cheng, “And then we can watch a movie at my place, if no one has to get up early tomorrow.”

Jiang Cheng’s face softens a bit. “That sounds nice,” he admits, almost like it’s an embarrassing confession.

“It’s a plan, then.” Wen Qing steps forward and tugs Jiang Cheng by his collar into a passionate farewell kiss. She makes it look like they’re parting for weeks, and not just for a couple of hours.

Then again, Jiang Cheng isn’t any better.

One thing Nie Huaisang has noticed from watching Jiang Cheng kiss Wen Qing, is that he tends to look like he’s in pain. Or maybe he’s just concentrating really hard. Huaisang doesn’t know why it happens, only that it’s super cute.

Finally, the two part, and Wen Qing strides off with her framed photo.

“You don’t actually have to stay,” Huaisang tells Jiang Cheng, “It’s pretty boring, just standing here all day. I promise I won’t hold it against you if you leave.”

But Jiang Cheng shrugs his shoulders. “I want to stay, at least for a little while longer,” he says, “Keep you company.”

It’s said so softly, so cutely, that Nie Huaisang has to squee quietly to themself.

Jiang Cheng must hear the sound, because the skin beneath his eyes turns a purplish red color. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he scoffs.

“Still,” Huaisang says, “Thank you.” They pop up on their tiptoes to give their boyfriend a kiss. “I love you.”

That makes Jiang Cheng choke, as it usually does. One day, Huaisang hopes, Jiang Cheng won’t look so taken aback every time he hears the L word. But, even in his shock, he manages to echo back: “I... I love you, too.”

#asks #sangcheng #chengqing #mo dao su zhi #mdzs modern au #drabbles #leigh’s writing #anon #anonymous

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stupidpianist · 5 years

Text

14 november 2018

It’s 16:48 right now and I’m in the music library. Idea for the Mastodon account to track ‘daily movements’ with more accurate timestamping is working well, really simplifies the process and I’m able to get a lot more precision/small details I would’ve neglected to include through that, but I’m feeling like doing today’s liveblog in a more paragraph-oriented format, sans timestamps?? ‘Throwing the timestamps out the window’ today, just feel like writing ‘off the dome’ in a less structured way, though still linear, hope that’s okay with y’all, if not, please feel free to skip today’s liveblog, please, please, come right this way, right this way, right on out of this paragraph and into whatever other thing you’re reading, pay no attention to little old me.

Woke at a semi-reliable time after ‘sleeping aggressively,’ I feel, really ‘hard’ sleep again. Woke with really heavy eyelids, which is unusual for me, usually if I’m tired I’ll just fall right back asleep, or if I know I need to wake up, I’ll feel groggy, but not tired, just ‘out of it.’ NOT TODAY, THOUGH!!! Today I was just all, whoa, it’s actually a struggle to keep my eyes open. Still somehow scrounged up the energy to make my way to the bathroom to brush, made some oatmeal, took a G Fuel ‘to the face,’ stared at my computer in catatonia until I had my meeting with one of my professors who’s helping me with recommendation letters. Oh, I also showered, yeah, that’s important, yes. Morning was spent in a state of complete stupor, entire head felt heavy and ‘anvil-like,’ I think, felt really cloudy.

Was the first actually cold day of the season, I think!! Which was exciting, I’ve been waiting for winter for a long time, if I can say something like that. Feels good to ‘don’ the ‘big puffy white jacket’ for another year. I’ve had that thing for, like, what, five, six years now at least?? Always said that once it finally wears out completely I’m going to get it repaired rather than buy a new one, that thing is staying with me ‘til the bitter end.’ Considered getting Five Hour Energy en route to campus but decided against it, and just walked while listening to Kero Kero Bonito while trying to regain some kind of cognitive ability before the meeting.

I guess as a way of ‘self-therapy’ for my unacceptably groggy state I decided on Knausgaard over Foucault to read while sitting outside the professor’s office, which is my favourite office. I wrote about it in a prose poem thing a while back, let me find it, wait:

‘My professor, Maggie, pinches at papers on her desk, and I notice a stunning array of mugs and thermoses that line this massive wooden table against her back wall. There’s one student in her class who sits in front of me and uses a MacBook Pro with a pink, soft-finish case. Without fail, at some point in every lecture, she’ll open a tab in Chrome, and start playing gigantic, full-screen, thirty-by-sixteen games of Minesweeper with such speed, efficiency, accuracy, that I’m more than blown away. On some days she managed a poker game simultaneously, and still continued to take detailed notes.

As I stand in Maggie’s office, Maggie glances up at me and says a few more things, and I thank her, then turn and leave. The floor is linoleum, and my boots make ridiculous, annoying, squeaky squelches.’

Could do with some severe editing, I feel… No longer feel ‘happy’ that I wrote this in much capacity, except for concept. Wait, let me just do a quick rewrite:

‘I’m noticing this stunning array of mugs and thermoses that line the massive wooden table against my professor Maggie’s back wall. There’s one student in the class who sits in front of me and uses a MacBook Pro with a pink, soft-finish case. Without fail, at some point during the lecture, she’ll open a new tab in Chrome, and start playing gigantic, full-screen, thirty-by-sixteen games of Minesweeper. Sometimes she managed a poker game simultaneously.

I’m standing in front of Maggie’s desk. Maggie glances up at me and says a few more things, and I thank her, then turn, and leave. The floor is linoleum. My boots make ridiculous, annoying, squelching sounds.’

Hm. Still ‘not happy with this,’ but it feels marginally better? I’ll come back to it, don’t want to ‘abandon’ this topic ‘quite yet,’ feel like ‘there’s something there,’ just haven’t really ‘teased it out’ at all.

So yeah, yeah, I met with Maggie, which took a few minutes. She informed me of the next Miltonmas, her annual celebration of Milton’s birthday, and also informs me that he’s turning 410 years old this year. Feel ‘tremendous levels of excitement,’ might ask A if she wants to go? Seems unlikely that she’ll want to for a myriad of reasons but I’m not gonna miss it unless I’m, like, severely ill.

Jesus as I’m writing this I still feel so so so out of it, probably had one too many beers last night for sure. Need to be up really early tomorrow for a work shift, so I can’t be going to bed late tonight, which is sort of, like, a blessing, so even if I wanted to stay up for whatever reason now I can’t.

After the meeting with Maggie, which went well, as they always do, Corrina OH YEAH WAIT, it’s definitely spelled Corrina unless she intentionally misspelled it on her laptop, I SAW HER NAME on her MACBOOK when we played DUNGEON WORLD LAST NIGHT yeah okay so now we know her REAL NAME AAAAAND we know how to SPELL IT yes so CORRINA was all like, ‘who wants poutine’ on the group chat with Michael, Corrina, Jasleen, Astoria, I, and I was all like, ‘yeah i want poutine’ and she was all like ‘okay meet me at the Starbucks in Eaton Centre and I went all ‘yeah okay.’ So my dumb butt walks to Eaton Centre only instead I go into Place Montreal Trust and I wait by the Starbucks, and Corrina goes all, ‘where are you’ and I go all ‘wait holy crap I’m such an idiot hold on I’m in the wrong building’ so I cross the street and Corrina finds me and we get this gigantic plate of poutine.

Sorry to report: did not taste very good. No no, probably, maybe, like, a light four out of ten? Disappointed. Second bad poutine in a row, need to pay Belle Province ‘a little visit’ to remedy the situation, need some good poutine in my stomach before I risk more bad poutine. So we finish the poutine and then decide to get caffeinated, something I really, really needed given my mental state of just complete BLAUGH, so we head to Starbucks and I completely overspend on a peppermint mocha. God those holiday drinks really GET ME, I love them SO MUCH, everything about the holiday season I ADORE. Tinsel, the music, the atmosphere, the ostensible snow, the wreaths, yeah yeah ALL OF IT, gimme, just-- gimme.

Then knew I needed to practice, even in my semi-conscious-but-more-verging-on-unconscious state, so I say bye to Corrina, who heads back to work, and I take the trek to McLennan, where I check out a copy of Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal. There’s an amazing website which features a myriad of English translations of each poem, so I’ll be able to cross-reference all of them whilst trying to keep up with the original French. Feel excited to be ‘getting in on this’ finally, haven’t actively read poetry in a really long time, now that I think about it…

Side note: the computer that I used, or, rather, the section of McLennan in which the computer I used was in smelled like poop. Not even like body odour or anything, like, straight up feces. Was really bad, that’s when I decided I’d just use the computer to see where the Baudelaire book was, and then ‘get the heck out’ and not update the liveblog, would save that for the ‘safety’ of the music library, which I mostly prefer to McLennan anyways.

Is now 17:16. Blasting Igorr through headphones, really don’t want to go practice but know it’ll be good, or, at least, like, mildly fun. Maybe I’ll throw some Schubert under the fingers, or something?? I don’t know, I don’t have many days until I need to record prescreenings, but I’m feeling confident, maybe I’ll take a ‘rest day’ and focus on pieces I don’t need to prepare?? Keep the pieces that I need to record’ fresh’ and not just repeated to hell?

OH OH I know what I’m gonna do. Gonna print out some Thalberg to read. Never get tired of Thalberg. Thalberg, my love. Oh-so-neglected. Hahahahah I’m just spouting nonsense right now, need to leave the computer before my brain further devolves. OKAY onto the PRACTICE ROOMS see you later for the first inaugural ‘Soundtrack of the Day’

20:40: Watching livestream of Megan Boyle reading entirety of Liveblog over ~52 hours without stopping; will not be updating this liveblog any more tonight, please also tune in to the stream, link in Megan’s Twitter

#liveblog #blog #writing

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ryqoshay · 6 years

Text

How to Handle a Nico: Sleepshirt Swap

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~1.4k Rating: T’ish Time Frame: Some time during Maki’s 2nd year and Nico’s 4th year in college. Story Arc: Stand Alone

List of all HtHaN scenes

Author’s Note: After writing about both sleepshirts, I decided I wanted an illustration to accompany them. It was just supposed to be a nice little visual but on seeing noelclover’s rough sketch the idea for this scene came to mind.

Edit: The pic has been completed!

“Welcome home!” Nico called from the stove as she heard the door open, unsure who would be arriving first from among Maki, Nozomi or Eli, but not caring.

“I’m back.” The subdued voice of her girlfriend replied.

“Hey, Maki-chan!” The raven-haired girl greeted the redhead entering the kitchen. “How were classes?”

“Ughn…” Maki grunted, tossing her bookbag onto the table.

“That good, huh?”

“Mmmm…” The younger girl moved toward her girlfriend.

Knowing exactly what was coming, Nico braced herself for impact. Sure enough, arms slipped around her waist and a chin plopped down on her shoulder. Nico had known Maki was a creature of habit for years, but now that they were dating and they saw each other more often, she was seeing firsthand how strongly the younger girl clung to the routines she formed.

This wasn’t to say Maki was incapable of being spontaneous or doing something different from time to time, but more often than not, it was at the suggestion of someone else. That said, as Nico tilted her head up for the incoming kiss, she was reminded just how much she enjoyed these little rituals.

“Going to start the rice for me?” The raven-haired girl inquired as the redhead let go.

“Mmmm…” Maki replied, shuffling over to the device.

“Thanks, my dear.”

“Oh…” Maki said after a moment. “I brought something for you.”

“Oh?” Nico half turned toward her girlfriend, avoiding diverting all of her attention away from the stove. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just because.” Maki pressed the button to start the rice cooker and made her way back to the table.

“What is it?”

“This.” From her bag, she retrieved something grey.

Nico smiled as she recognized the item as her girlfriend’s old workout shirt from high school. “I thought that was my designated sleepwear when I stayed over at your place.”

“It is.” Maki nodded. “But, uhm...” she fidgeted a bit “you haven’t been staying over much lately.”

Nico laughed. “Well yeah, because you keep coming over here.”

“T-that’s because… uhm…” The younger girl fumbled for a response as her cheeks flushed.

“I know, I know. It’s because you like it here.” The older girl turned the burner down to its lowest setting and stepped over to her girlfriend. “Nico happily accepts her beloved Maki-chan’s gift.” She took the shirt, turned and held it out. “You know, I always did like the way this looked on you.”

“I like the way it looks on you now.” Maki admitted quietly.

“Why, because it’s short?”

“…” Though she didn’t respond audibly, the fact that her blush brightened by several shades told Nico everything she needed to know.

“Nico’s legs are extremely adorable, aren’t they?” The part-time idol couldn’t help teasing. “Well if you’re giving me this, then…” She grabbed her girlfriend’s hand. “C’mon, I have to give you something in return.”

“Wha? Nico-chan, th-that’s not necess…” Despite the medical student’s protests, she gave little physical resistance and let herself be led toward the other girl’s bedroom.

Nico tossed her newly gifted sleepshirt onto her bed before moving swiftly to her dresser. There, she yanked open a drawer and retrieved the item she sought. “Here we go.” She said proudly, turning to present it to her girlfriend.

“That’s…” Maki blinked in recognition.

“Yup. The shirt I lent you the first night you stayed here.” Nico grinned before something clicked in her mind. “The first night after we started dating that is.” She amended.

Maki accepted the garment and examined in her hands for a moment. It still really wasn’t anything near her normal style, however it wasn’t like she disliked it or anything. More importantly, it was something Nico had worn. The last time Maki had worn the shirt, she had been too focused on other things to really appreciate the fact that it was Nico’s. Nico’s sleepshirt…

“Thinking about changing into it now?”

“Buweehh?” Maki jolted back to reality, almost dropping the shirt in the process.

The raven-haired girl giggled. “Well, Nico is going to put hers on now.” She said, moving over to the bed. “Seeing how Maki-chan lo~ves how Nico looks in it.” She sang merrily, beginning to change. “And Nico would be su~per happy to see Maki wear her gift as well because she looks so~ cute it in. A~lmost as cute as Nico.”

“Idiot.” The redhead’s cheeks matched her hair.

“You love it.”

“Maybe…” Maki conceded, beginning to change as well.

“Tired?” Nico asked, catching her girlfriend’s yawn.

“I’m fine.” Maki responded, somewhat unconvincingly.

The couple was currently cuddling on the sofa, watching some cutesy show Nico had picked. Shortly before Nico had finished preparing dinner, Nozomi had sent them a message informing them that she and Eli would be going out with some friends from the latter’s school. Thus, with no roommates to bother them, they had decided to spend a peaceful evening simply enjoying each other’s company.

“We can shut this off and head to bed if you want.” Nico offered.

“I’m fine.” Maki insisted, shaking her head.

“Well, if you’re not interested in the movie or in going to bed…” The older girl shifted her position a bit. “Perhaps this will interest you more?” She pulled herself up and to sit sideways across Maki’s lap.

“Nico-chan?” The younger girl breathed as an arm slid around her shoulder for support.

“Hmm, this is quite comfy.” Nico commented before pulling herself forward to peck a quick kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.

Maki responded quickly by wrapping her arms around the other girl and pulling her closer. Turning her head, she angled herself so she could kiss Nico fully on the lips.

“You know…” Nico said, pulling away for air a few moments later. “You really do look cute in pink.” She tugged playfully at the sleeve of Maki’s shirt.

Maki opened her mouth to respond but snapped it shut at the sound of the front door opening.

“We’re home.” A voice declared, a little too loud for this time of night.

Maki stiffened as her instinct insisted she disengage completely from what she was about to do with Nico. However, with her girlfriend still sitting on her lap, she couldn’t move.

Nico took note of the other girl’s reaction and rolled her eyes. Smiling, she held a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She whispered. “Maybe they won’t notice we’re here.” She stuck out her tongue at the dubious idea.

Nonetheless, it turned out that Nico was half right as Eli stomped purposefully straight towards Nozomi’s bedroom without so much as a glance to either side. The slower moving spiritual girl, however, paused, swaying unsteadily, just before walking past the corner that would obstruct her view of the living room. Then, with a movement far more fluid than her drunken demeanor implied, she pulled her phone out of her purse.

Maki’s eyes widened in surprise and every fiber of her being wanted to shove Nico off and scramble over the back of the couch to avoid what she knew was coming. Nico, however, quickly threw up her signature gesture and winked.

Click!

“Hey, send that pic to me!” Nico called as her roommate turned to depart.

Though Nozomi gave no audible response, a few moments later, Nico’s phone buzzed on the side table. The raven-haired girl twisted to retrieve it and unlocked the screen.

“This is a pretty good shot, Maki-chan.” The ruby-eyed girl turned the screen toward eyes of amethyst. “I should print it out and frame it.”

“What? No! It’s emb…” Maki’s gaze met Nico’s. She glanced again at the picture. Nico did look adorable with her expression and pose. And she certainly liked seeing her girlfriend wearing that shirt, heck that was why she had just given it to her tonight. “Maybe…” She reached up to twirl a strand of her hair. “Maybe that would be alright. Uhm… I guess… I’ll take a copy as well.”

Nico grinned. “We can take care of that tomorrow. But for now…” She turned off the screen and let the device slide down to the carpet. “Where were we?” She smirked as she pulled herself back up so her face was only a few centimeters from Maki’s.

Maki’s eyes drifted toward the hallway.

“Oh, don’t worry about them.” Nico dismissed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her girlfriend’s face. “They’ll go at it for a bit and then be dead to the world for the rest of the night. For all intents and purposes, we’re alone again.”

Maki continued to hesitate.

Nico smirked and turned her head so she could whisper into her girlfriend’s ear. “Trust me.” She breathed, sliding her hand down Maki’s neck to the collar of her shirt. “We can do whatever we want.”

A circuit snapped closed in Maki’s brain and she immediately wrapped her arms around Nico again so they could pick up where they had left off moments ago.

Author’s Note Continued: I know I’ve mentioned it a time or two elsewhere, in the comments on other fics, but I am not sure if I’ve mentioned it in the notes of my own fic; I love the trope of couples sharing clothes. There is a certain intimacy in the practice that appeals to me greatly. It is for that reason that I’ve included it in both HtHaN and HL. And I doubt very much that this will be the last scene where I include it.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #fanfic

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bananashemmo · 7 years

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When We Collide (Part 22)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

”You’re still here? I thought you were supposed to be off at 5?” The confusion was clear on Nicole’s face when you glanced over your shoulder to see her stand in the door frame to your office.

“I was supposed to.” You mumbled and wanted to roll your eyes. The work in front of you was insane, the pile was only growing bigger and you couldn’t see the finish line.

“But with Luke’s busy schedule and lack of planning he forgot to mention that I had to make 200 invitations for an event he has coming up soon. This means I will be staying here until the early hours of morning before I manage to finish any of this.”

Nicole’s eyes widened by your explanation. 200 invitations sounded large and with the mess on the top of your desk she assumed you hadn’t gotten that far yet.

She was wearing her uniform but you knew that she was ready to head home. It was pretty lucky if you thought about it, sometimes you just wished you could serve for people instead of being under someone’s request all the time.

The pile only grew bigger and you didn’t understand how or why. You had the envelopes, you had the small stickers that were formed like diamonds to close the invitation you had been printing out constantly.

It was like there was no end for this. You continued and you continued, but at least you didn’t have to lick the envelopes. If Luke had required for you to do so you would have complained about a sore tongue.

“Isn’t there a thing saying when you’re off work you shouldn’t be required to do more? I think I’ve read that somewhere? “She asked with a sympathetic look. She looked like she really wanted to help but truly wanted to go home.

“There might be but I’m not sure. It’s kind of hard trying to argument with Luke at work, it’s basically a non-existing possibility.” You shrugged and folded another envelope.

You had kind of wished you kept more track of the numbers. At first you had started out fast but the more bored you became the slower you got. You just wanted this to be over with.

“And you have to be done tonight? Can’t you just do it tomorrow morning?” Nicole asked with furrowed eyebrows trying to find a loop hole. It was impossible.

“No because I need to send these out at exactly 8 o’clock tomorrow morning. Luke prefers to have his mail sent as fast as possible and because this is urgent it needs to be done by me.”

“You know he should hire someone else to do the dirty work. You don’t deserve that kind of trash.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and made you look up at her with a very faint smile.

“It’s a part of my job. Normally I like it but it’s this kind of shit I don’t prefer to do. I don’t understand why he didn’t hire someone else to do it.” You mumbled with wide eyes, looking down at the not so hard but tiring work.

“Maybe he just likes to see you suffer.” Nicole giggled quietly and took a step back.

She had her embrace filled with books you could tell that she had to hurry home and study. Sometimes the work hours here didn’t fit properly for her college classes but she seemed to manage.

“I’ll see you another time okay? We need to go out and have a drink soon.” She suggested and you quivered an eyebrow.

“Nonalcoholic.” She added with a wink, knowing that you could easily misunderstand her.

“Sounds fair.” You smiled with a sigh and leaned back in your chair. If you just closed your eyes for a second you would wish to fly away and take a trip to Hawaii. All-inclusive and paid without any worries.

“I’ll let you two work alone.” Nicole nodded and leaned over to grab the door handle.

“Two?” You quivered an eyebrow again by her words and rolled your chair to face her better.

“Yeah you know,” She nodded her head down to your lower parts, “You and the little baby Hemmo there.”

You sat confused for a bit until you looked down at your bump. Sometimes you forgot, not that you were pregnant but the fact that a living life was growing inside of you. A human, that less than a few months suddenly would be in your arms.

“Oh yeah...” You mumbled a bit off but smiled regardless, “Thank you. I’ll see you at some point.”

She giggled by your reaction and headed out of the door. Silence fell upon the room besides the constant noises from cars driving many floors down. The traffic was jammed at this time of the day.

You looked tiredly over your desk and reconsidered everything. Did you really want to spend the rest of your evening in the small squared room with lack of entertainment and with only one focus to get everything done.

It wasn’t fair at all. Luke had been planning this service event for ages and in the last minute he wanted you to finish off his works. Of course you had decided to take the day off last week but the least he could do was to give out the work in pieces.

It would have been much easier to work on it, 50 envelopes per day until they had to be sent out. But no, you had to struggle here at the last minute.

Your glass of water was half empty but you didn’t want to sip on it. The water had become normal temperature and the same had the frozen grapes you had been nippling on for the past hour.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to stand up and just stretch your legs. It had come to the point where you could barely feel your bum and it had been planted in the same position on your chair for hours.

Sometimes it was tiring working like this. You had a lot of energy normally despite the pregnancy and being forced in a chair wasn’t really your thing unless it was something important and exciting.

Opening and responding to mails weren’t really your kind of thing and to be honest you never really knew how to answer them properly. Were you being too formal or was your tone to loose to send to someone important in the name of Luke?

You could already feel that you would have to stay here until the early mornings. You might as well hurry down to the studios and find some stage makeup because it wouldn’t be possible that you could head back home and get dressed before you had to go back to work.

It was different being in the building with the lack of workers and colleagues.

You could walk down the hallways without stumbling upon someone else, you didn’t hear the normal voices of people typing on their computers and papers constantly being spit out from the copy machines.

Even the restaurant was closed, the lights had been shut off and the lead chief had left. He was normally standing in the kitchen and preparing for tomorrow morning.

You tiredly yawned and leaned over to grab your glass of water. If you had to sit here for so long you could do the small effort to stand up from your chair and head over to the water machine to fill up something new.

The bobbles were loud and almost echoing in the small office. You had considered turning on the music but you had never actually been allowed to do that besides the typical radio playing over the speakers.

But since you were the only one here you decided to do so. What was the worst thing that could happen? The security guards from 13 floors beneath would come and complain about loud noises?

You opened the Spotify on your computer which you had been downloading behind Luke’s back and waited until you were ready to pick out a song. You didn’t care and didn’t have a preference so you just started the global top 50 and shuffled play.

It was nice with background noises. You didn’t feel that alone and felt that now you could continue to do your work without trying not to yawn every two minutes.

But the work still seemed to progress like a snail. You didn’t get faster only more distracted. If it wasn’t the computer you were staring at it would be the phone or the many magazines resting at the end of your desk.

Not that they were something you had invested, no it was Luke’s favorite ones. Or more likely, the ones where he was featuring on the front page with some sort of model commercial.

You hadn’t paid any attention to the time but when you suddenly realized it was midnight, you felt more defeated than ever.

You had probably gotten through a hundred but it didn’t make any sense why it took this long. You had been required to make it as perfect as possible because the papers weren’t allowed to have any weird shapes or scratches but this was getting ridiculous.

Twice you had to stand up and print out new ones because you had ruined them in any sort of way. First, you had placed your elbow on one of the papers and it had received a small little bump. The second time you knocked down your water and ruined a few envelopes in process.

Safe to say, this wasn’t your evening after all.

All you wished was to head home and just to go bed. You weren’t allowed to drink coffee and neither energy drinks so all you had left was your half eaten grapes and water. Not something to boost your energy.

You had considered sleeping over your desk just for a short moment but you knew how that would go.

Every time someone would plan to nap for just 15 minutes it would turn into hours. You were too afraid to do so because you knew that you would wake up hours later with a confused expression on your face and with the same amount of unfinished envelopes.

Maybe you should hire someone yourself. Call a friend and claim that it was an emergency because if you had to stay here longer doing the same thing you would freak out completely.

And with the constant drinking of water you had to pee as well. It was the only time you stood up, to go to the bathroom or to fill up your glass because it was a constant habit of drinking to do something else.

Standing up from your chair to fill the glass again you stopped in track almost in shock when you saw Luke quietly stand in the door frame to your office.

“Hi.” You managed to say, your voice rough from not speaking for hours.

“Hi.” He replied back in a gentle tone and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the work over your shoulder.

“You’re well aware that it’s midnight right? You’re still not done?” He asked but not in an angry tone. He sounded a bit curious but also confused because he had expected you to be home earlier on.

“Yeah I know...” You trailed off and looked over your shoulder as well, “I’m sorry I know you wanted me to be as fast as possible but this is taking ages and I can’t seem to get it done in time! It’s not fair Luke that you assigned me to do this the last minute!”

“I know.” He replied with a nod and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Which is the reason why I showed up to help.”

You stood still trying to register what he had to say. Normally he was never the one to help, he loved watching people do his job for him it was kind of the CEO thing. To just stand and watch everything else to what he earned.

“Okay.” You nodded your head with furrowed eyebrows and less confused than before, “Because I don’t deserve to do this alone. Help is required! Yes, it really is!”

You fumbled over the words but deep inside you were happy to see him. Could you believe that? You were actually happy to see Luke show up to do something for you which was kind of in the end something for him but still.

Efforts for trying hard and doing something for the good.

“How far are you?” He asked even more confused than before when he walked closer to your desk. It didn’t have head or tail, he couldn’t figure out just by one glance. It was a huge mess.

“I think between 70 and 100 but I’m not sure. It all kind of became a mess during the process and now I’ve lost track of everything.” You replied after filling your glass with water and offered him as well.

He shook his head politely and took a seat down on the extra chair you had. He was trying to figure out what was going on but even his organized mind seemed to totally explode.

“You really need to take some organization classes because I can’t have an assistant like this.” He admitted honestly but with a hint of tease in his tone.

“Well I don’t think you can find a messier assistant than me. Take it or leave it.” You smiled back and fell down on the chair. You could almost see your ass print on it, that was how long you had been sitting on it.

He rolled his eyes by your words but laughed regardless. He was trying to separate the diamond stickers from the envelopes so it wouldn’t become a mess. Everything was piled but it was all over the floor.

“You didn’t consider making three different piles instead of having one large without being able to find anything?” He asked curiously and quivered an eyebrow.

“No I’d rather have it all like a mess.” You responded back sarcastically and leaned your elbows on the top of the table.

“I did have it as three piles but when I saw the time and started to stress it became one big pile of mess. I don’t understand it wasn’t supposed to be like this but it did!”

You were totally frustrated but he took it with a smile. It was almost as if he was amused with your struggles but there wasn’t anything to laugh about because he had to do the work himself now.

“What’s with these diamonds anyways?” You asked confused and pulled up yet another sticker to close the envelope.

“I have a huge obsession with diamonds.” He admitted honestly and made a small pop with his tongue.

“An obsession?” You asked and raised your eyebrows. You had heard about many obsessions but this one was out of the ordinary.

“Yeah you know, when you’ve got a lot of money you decide to invest on different things. I have around 30 savings in my bank but now I decided to use some on these diamonds I’ve bought. Sounds pretty cool huh?”

He seemed pretty impressed by himself but you weren’t that much of the same. What was the big deal with diamonds anyways? You would never actually afford or see one.

“Very impressing.” You sarcastically commented and nodded your head in agreement with wide eyes.

“I knew you’d like it.” He hummed and continued to fold the papers, “I’ve ordered a few diamonds that will be placed in a glass box at our apartment. It will be looking super fancy I’ve already decided which room they will have.”

“You’re dedicating a whole room to diamonds?” You asked almost in disbelief but it didn’t come as a big shock when it was Luke.

“Yea?” He asked like it wasn’t obvious, “I see my diamonds as my kids. They need a bedroom, they need care and someone to look over them all the time. I have them to just have them but I’ve also made sure to have the best security system to watch over them.”

“That’s insane.” You admitted honestly and shook your head in disbelief, “You would use that much on diamonds and stuff? How about buying a fake one like a beauty blender or something?”

“Beauty blender? No no that’s not the same at all.” He shook his head disagreeing but that you imagined he even knew what a beauty blender was.

“I’ve used a lot of effort to get these diamonds, they’ve been transported all around the world before they finally arrived in our kitchen. You probably saw the large box on the kitchen counter. I know you’re a little bit nosey.”

You looked down at the work with wide eyes. You weren’t supposed to be that nosey but you had in fact checked it out. He must have noticed but it was also weird considering it was standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“So we’re having a party Holly and I. It will be gemstone themed so everyone has to pick out something and wear it. Of course it has to be the real one because everything fake should be left out.”

You nodded your head by his explanation but inside you were totally confused. Why would someone have a party like this but then again, you thought a night of beers would be fun so this would probably be the most amusing thing for their lifestyle.

“Well I hope all these invitations will be worth it for your diamond party.” You replied occupied with your work and glanced over at him shortly.

“They will.” He hummed back with the same warm smile and continued to work in silence.

He hadn’t even complained about the music but you could see he was bumping his head to the beat. You were actually a bit surprised because you only expected he heard classic music with lots of piano and such.

He looked like he was enjoying what he was doing. His lips were parted in concentration but he had that calm expression on his face. He was wearing his dress shirt as normal but his blazer had been swung loosely over the back of his chair.

The stress had left your body completely. You didn’t feel like you wouldn’t make it in time and even if he was just as slow as you the progress was faster when you combined your help together.

He could possibly tell that this work would be insane to do alone. He had probably been walking home wondering why you hadn’t come back from work yet to realize what kind of assignment he had ordered you to do.

It was those kinds of moments where he didn’t think straight. He was sometimes sending out orders that didn’t make sense because he was so stressed out about his own work he needed someone else to full fill it instead.

“Am I invited?” You asked casually, not that you expected him to say yes. You just wanted to tease him a little bit just to see his reaction.

“You really want to come?” He asked almost in disbelief and looked at you with curious eyes.

“No but it was nice you know having the thought of someone else.” You giggled and shrugged your shoulder.

“If you want to come I can just invite you.” He leaned over to grab a marker and a paper to write a new invitation but you stopped him.

“No it’s fine.” You giggled and placed a hand on top of his, “I don’t think I would fit in besides I’ve got something else to do on this day.”

“You don’t even know what day it is, do you?” He asked with a growing smile and you fell back to your chair.

“No... But that doesn’t matter. I’m probably doing some very important stuff.” You nodded your head in agreement to prove your point and attitude.

“On next Friday?” He crossed his arms and waited for your smile to fade because he knew just exactly well you weren’t doing anything. You barely had plans. It was all about work or being home.

“Yes I’ve got a very important deal!” You admitted and baffled your arms in the air, “With my TV!”

There was only a small it of hope that believed you actually had some sort of planning but just like he predicted you didn’t. Living with each other made you grow closer without knowing and realizing.

“I think that is a fair reason to come.” He winked and played along. If you weren’t comfortable with showing up there was no reason for it in the first place.

You smiled softly by his words and continued to do your work. You were actually in disbelief because you were closer to the finish line than ever, you only needed to finish 30 or so.

Time flied fast with him. He was there to entertain if he had something funny to say or if he wanted to explain something funny that had happened at work today. You might not have the same humor but you started to understand his more and more.

“How do you feel about you know... Living with me?”

The question wasn’t something you had expected and you stopped in track from folding an invitation.

“I know it’s a weird question it’s just... I’ve never actually lived with a girl before. Of course my mom doesn’t count and all that but throughout my life I’ve always been this independent person so living with someone else has left me wondering if I’m even able to contain for more than just a day at work...”

He was looking down at his papers while speaking as he was a bit nervous to look up. You were pretty surprised by his explanation he could tell you’d been having some preconceptions about him.

“You’re fine to live with.” You admitted because it was in fact true.

“You’re not annoying, you have people to clean up after you so I don’t worry about that an overall you’re nice. There’s no complains here I couldn’t be more grateful about deciding to letting me stay. It’s lovely.”

A small smile formed on his face by your words almost if as he was in relief. He nodded his head letting the words sink in and looked up.

“Besides the fact that you snore.” You reminded more quietly just to tease him and his jaw fell.

“I don’t snore!” He disagreed and crossed his arms.

“Yes you do,” You argued and laughed, “How would you even know you can’t hear yourself when you’re asleep!”

“Well fine but at least I don’t talk in my sleep!” He argued back and you lifted your eyebrows.

“I do not talk in my sleep okay! That’s a thing I’m sure of I’ve never heard something like that before.” You shook your head disagreeing but he nodded.

“Yes you do! I heard you talk like crazy here the other day when I walked past your bedroom. It was late past midnight so I assumed you were asleep because whoever would you have a full on conversation with?”

“Oh my god that’s the baby I’m speaking to.” You laughed and baffled your arms in the air like it was obvious.

He stopped in track by your words and his eyebrows lifted again. He didn’t expect that to be the answer so he looked down at his work just for a short moment.

“You talk to the belly?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard correct.

“Yes. I speak to the baby. Not in my sleep.” You explained and rolled your chair back to show the belly. It easily hid under the table with how low your chair was but it was obvious once you rolled back.

“I read in a magazine that your baby’s hearing is developing all the time. Hearing my voice all the time will automatically make us more attached when it’s born. At first I felt a bit self-conscious but now I do it all the time. He or she is after all a real person inside of my womb.”

He looked down at your bump as you spoke but it didn’t seem like he was listening at all. His head was nodding but his eyes were too focused to let his face react.

“So that means if I do too, it will recognize my voice once it’s out?” He seemed pretty interested but not very convinced.

You nodded your head in agreement and what you did not expect was for him to stand up from his chair and kneel in front of you. It was the first time he had been this close to the bump since it had started growing.

“I-, I don’t really know what to say?” He looked up at bit confused for help and you shrugged your shoulder.

“What do you say?”

“It depends on my mood.” You admitted, “I talk about everything around me. How my day has been, what I’ve been up to or what I’m thinking right at the exact moment. It comes to me naturally.”

Your words didn’t seem to help as he still looked clueless and it made you sigh softly.

“Just tell what’s on your heart.” You leaned down to look at him better, feeling his warm hands caress the skin around your navel.

“Take me by the word.” He said and leaned his mouth down to your belly.

“I’m gonna promise you all the Hemm. savings once you’re out and ready to calculate your first financial number.”

His voice got quieter as he spoke but the seriousness was there and it was the reason why you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Really?” You asked, your voice almost raising and octave, “Out of all the things you could possibly say?”

“What it’s true.” He stated with the exact same voice and looked up at you with wide eyes.

You rolled your eyes by his words but couldn’t stop laughing. It was too good to be true and it was so like him it shouldn’t even come as a surprise.

“I will buy a personal car for the baby before it’s 10 so they can change it out if they don’t like it when they’re 16.” He mumbled more quietly and stood up from kneeling down, “That’s what my parents did.”

“And you think we’re gonna be just exactly like them?” You asked and watched him smile softly.

“I think we’re gonna be even better.” He replied and took a seat down in front of you, taking an envelope in his hand and continued the work.

You smiled by his words but didn’t respond, deciding to let the silence take over. It was enough of cuteness of today and if you ever wanted to go home you needed to finish this.

“Besides my interest in cars have grown and I definitely don’t feel like buying a Bugatti Veyron it’s definitely gonna be a waste of money.” He mumbled quietly and continued his work and letting you roll your eyes just for one last time this evening.

289 notes · View notes

folklore-musings · 7 years

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After School Special Part 2/?

Summary: In an alternate universe where Jughead greases his hair more than Danny Zuko and Betty Cooper gives Sandy Olsson a run for her money at being the nicest girl in town. (No Danny Zuko and Sandy do make an appearance in this fic). Set in the early 1960s at Riverdale High. Slow burn leads to rapid fire (all the bughead smut you can imagine)

And here it is! the second installment of the After School Special series.

Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! 71 notes on my first real Bughead fic? Thats awesome! It made writing this next part so much easier. Now, I’ve never tagged before so here goes nothing:

@thejugheadshow @xobughead

If anyone else would like a tag to this please let me know. Enjoy!

Betty Cooper sat at her editor’s desk, carefully organizing the articles that would appear on this week’s issue of the Blue and Gold Gazette. She took a deep breath. Was it really that hard to make out the difference between to, two, and too? In regards to the article about the new drive in opening up in town…it was.

A knock at the door shook Betty back to reality. When she looked up it was the last person she expected to see. “Are you lost Jughead?”

The boy strutted in the room. “Unfortunately I’m not. Didn’t Ms. Grundy tell you?”

Betty was perplexed. “Tell me what? Is this some sort of joke?”

“My dear Betty Boop I wish it was.” Betty flinched at the nickname. She hated it. “I decided its time I give back to Riverdale High and start showing some real school spirit.” Jughead’s grin was toothy and full of deceit. Betty could practically feel the sarcasm as the words rolled off his tongue.

“Get out of here Jughead. You’re wasting my time.” Betty returned to the article on her desk. She didn’t know what aggravated her more, bad grammar or Jughead Jones.

“No can do Goldie Locks, I’m here on official business. Turns out Ms. Grundy didn’t appreciate the little stunt I pulled this morning. You’re looking at your new writer. You’re stuck with me.” Jughead fell into the chair nearest to him and flopped his feet up on the desk.

This isn’t happening. This is not happening. This cannot be happening. “You’re serious?” Betty asked and Jughead nodded eagerly, again with the sarcasm. “But, it’s like she’s punishing us both. I do not deserve this. The Blue and Gold does not deserve this.”

She couldn’t believe it. Why would Ms. Grundy release the wrath of Satan, the head of the Southside Serpents, Jughead Jones on her? She would just have to stop by tomorrow afternoon before class and demand a change. Yeah, that’s what she would do. She had to; she couldn’t imagine what would happen to the Blue and Gold if Jughead became a writer. Did he even know how to spell?

“I’ll just wait here until you’re finished absorbing all this. You look like you’re at war with your own mind.”

Betty scrambled for words but could only stutter. “How long?”

Jughead smirked, “How long what, dollface?” He tugged on the front belt loop of his jeans. Betty couldn’t help but stare. She looked away before he noticed.

“How long will you be here, writing with us? Just for the upcoming issue? I need to plan this out.”

“My sentence ends at Christmas Break. You do the math.”

Betty bit her lip and counted the weeks on her fingers. “Twelve weeks? Six whole issues? You’ve got to be kidding me. But why?”

“I’m failing Grundy’s class, that’s why.”

“So she thinks it’s a good idea for someone who, no offense, can’t even pass an English class to be a journalist for the school paper? Where is the logic in that?”

Jughead nodded along with her words. “She says I’m full of wasted potential.”

Betty snorted. “You have potential? I’d like to see that.” In Betty’s opinion the only thing Jughead was good at was being bad. And if you thought about it that really didn’t make much sense. “I hate to say this, but can you offer up an example of something you’ve written in the past?”

He pulled out his yellowing notebook and tossed it at her. With a scrunched up nose Betty opened it delicately. She was afraid of what she would find. “It’s not going to bite you, you know.” Jughead snickered, watching her finger daintily flip through one page at a time.

“I know that,” Betty snarled, diving further and further into what she could only imagine was the only notebook Jughead ever owned. The pages were stained, possibly coffee? And the notebook had a strange scent to it. It wasn’t bad…just strange. She even kind of liked it. Not that she would ever admit it. “So you like comics, do you?”

Jughead shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you could say that.”

“These are actually really good Jughead. Who knew you were actually good at something other than greasing your hair until it shined?”

Jughead puffed out his chest at tugged at the ends of his leather serpent jacket. “Hey, it takes time to look this good.”

With a roll of her eyes Betty tossed the notebook back at him. “How would you feel about creating a comic strip for the Gazette? Of course you’d have to watch your language and make sure it’s school appropriate. Make it funny and relatable.”

“I’m a greaser. Could I be anymore relatable in this day and age?” Betty laughed, catching herself by surprise. “Do you mind if it’s an anonymous column? I’d rather not have the whole school know about this.”

She nodded. “I think that’s fair. Do you have any aliases you’d prefer to use?”

He put his hands together and clapped. “Archie Andrews, Comic Extraordinaire.” Betty shook her head. “Aw man, you know it has a nice ring to it.”

“Let’s not bring Archie into this,” she giggled, watching as he thought hard on a name. His eyebrows scrunched together and he tapped his chin. It was almost cute. Almost.

“I’ve got it. How about Betty Cooper’s Biggest Fan?” Jughead laughed. Betty was unamused. “I was kidding. I have a real name picked out.”

“Great, what is it?” Betty asked, tapping her pen against the desk impatiently. She didn’t appreciate the way Jughead made a joke out of everything. Yes, he was funny, but he overkilled it sometimes.

“It’s a surprise, you’ll just have to wait and see. Promise you won’t lose sleep over the suspense of it all?”

Betty laughed, unable to help herself. “Fine. But it doesn’t get printed until it passes my approval.” She glanced at the clock. “You’ve got forty-five minutes. Get to writing.” It looked like she wouldn’t have to go crying to Grundy after all.

◊◊◊

Archie was waiting for Jughead at Pop’s after Betty let him go. He had to promise her he’d have his first comic strip done by Thursday. She wanted it printed in this week’s copy of the Gazette.

“How’d it go Jug?” Archie asked, sitting in their usual booth, smoking a cigarette.

Jughead shrugged. “I suppose it could have been worse. What kept you busy while I was locked up?”

Archie smirked and looked across the diner at Cheryl Blossom, who caught both boys’ eyes and smiled. “I think she’s sweet on me.” Archie shot Cheryl a wink and took a puff from his Winston.

Jughead wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m gonna go grab a burger.” He handed Archie a couple quarters. He remembered when the juke box was only a penny per song. Now it was a nickel. Damn inflation. “You know what to do. And pick the usual songs this time. I don’t like the Bee Gees.”

He walked over to the bar and rang the bell for service. “Pop, my good man, can I have a burger, with everything on it?” Pop nodded and shouted his order to the back cook. Pop was the one adult in this town that didn’t flinch at the sight of him.

The bell above the door behind him rang and Jughead turned around. “Oh would you look at that? Couldn’t get enough of me during our little Blue and Gold session huh, Betty Boop?”

The blonde turned to Veronica (Ronnie) Lodge who had walked in with her. “I’ll meet you at the booth, alright?”

Ronnie looked from Betty to Jughead and nodded. “Say no more.”

Betty met Jughead at the bar and ordered herself a strawberry milkshake, with a strawberry on top. “Seriously Betty, we have to stop meeting like this. People are going to start talking.”

“And they’re going to say what? That you’re a loser who’s flunking English and needs my help to pass? Oh right, no one’s going to know because you have an alias. Call me Betty Boop one more time and I’ll take away the good grace of you being an anonymous writer.”

He slicked a hand back through his hair. “Hold it right there Betty Crocker. I can’t chance my reputation like that. The Betty Boop nickname is officially dead.”

Pop brought out Betty’s milkshake. “That’ll be $.50.”

“Go sit down Betty, I’ll cover it. I owe you one for cutting me some slack earlier.”

“Thanks Jughead. And by the way, Betty Crocker isn’t going to cut it either.” She smiled her cancer curing smile and went back over to Ronnie. From the corner of his eye Jughead watched, enjoying the way her hair swished from side to side with each step. He wasn’t going to let Betty Crocker die that fast.

Once his burger was ready he sat back down with Archie, and now Cheryl, who apparently made her way over while he was waiting up at the bar.

“Hey Cherry Bomb,” Jughead nodded his hello before feasting on his burger. He was practically ravenous.

Cheryl nodded curtly in his direction, sliding closer to Archie on the booth across from him. She tossed her hair over her shoulder in an effortless manner of seduction. “So Archie, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Tuesday, so the forecast is looking pretty dull.”

“Plus, he’s got homework.” Jughead added in with smile. “Right Arch?”

“Yeah sure, I’ve got homework dated back to the fifth grade.” The three of them laughed and Jughead choked down another bite of his burger.

Cheryl smiled coyly. “I was thinking we could take my car and drive up to Blue Bend Park.”

Archie snuck a look in Jughead’s direction. “I think I can fit that into my schedule.”

“Great, let’s go now, it’s getting dark.”

Jughead raised his burger filled hand in salute. “You two love birds have fun now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” And before he had time to swallow his last bite Jughead was alone.

He sat there in the quiet of his lonely booth and stared at the neon sign outside that read, “Open”. That was when he first heard the music playing through speakers. “Goddammit Archie I said no Bee Gee’s.” He groaned.

Jughead took a glance at this watch. Even though it was getting dark it was too early to go home. So instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out his journal, the one he hadn’t shown Betty. There, he looked at his comic of a girl with her hair pulled back. What’s her secret power, you ask: having a smile as radiant as the sun, so radiant in fact, that it cured cancer.

#bughead #riverdale #jughead x betty #betty cooper #jughead jones #archie andrews #cheryl blossom #riverdale fanfiction #my writings

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touchmyhobi · 7 years

Text

Professor Kwon: Chapter II

Genre: Teacher AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 1,942

Chapter: 2/?

Pairing: G-Dragon x Reader

Warnings: None. There won’t be any until like the 4th chapter ;))

A/N: Sorry for such a long wait, school has been hectic. However, the third chapter is almost complete so the wait for the next chapter definitely won’t be as long!

“That should be about it for today. I don’t want to be that teacher who bores you with yet another stale course outline. However, I am going to be the teacher who assigns work on the first day,” Professor Kwon admitted with a smirk as a few defeated groans could be heard across the room.

“Don’t worry it’s not going to be hard. Just write a minimum two page narrative essay telling me about yourself. You can find the technical details on your outlines but just remember to have fun with this assignment. It’s really just for me to get to know you all and to gauge your writing abilities”.

As the last words left his mouth, those entrancing eyes caught mine. Within a split second he had shot me a devastating smile before continuing to address the class. Once his eyes left mine it was as if the breath I had been holding was finally granted permission to escape. I stared down on my desk trying to collect my thoughts in order to hear the rest of his spiel.

“I want that paper on my desk at the beginning of Wednesday’s class which means you have two days to complete it. I look forward to reading all of your submissions,” there was a moment of silence as the whole room sat on the edge of his words. “You’re free to go. Have a good evening”.

With that, the classroom erupted in the sounds of students packing their bags and shuffling out the door. I watched from my desk for a moment as Professor Kwon gathered his things as well. It was as if I was caught in a trance, unable to look away from the unbelievably beautiful man before me.

Snap out of it! He’s just a guy! I scolded myself, prompting me to break my gaze.

As I finally came to, I realized nearly every student had left the classroom already. Immediately I jumped out of my seat, fumbling with the zipper on my backpack before sliding my arms into the straps. Just as passed Professor Kwon’s desk, his illegal gaze once again met my starstruck one.

“See you tomorrow,” he acknowledged me with the most casual grin.

Just as I went to respond, my throat froze over unwilling to allow my voice to break through. So I smiled and bowed quickly before exiting the room and fleeing down the staircase and out into the streets. I clutched a hand to my beating heart as I waited for the next train.

“You’re pathetic,” I murmured to myself. “You’ve never been this affected by men before why are you starting now”.

The train pulled up and I chuckled to myself as I found a seat. Between the inappropriate gawking and talking to myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if my new classmates would think I was unstable. I really needed to get a hold of myself if I wanted to make a good impression.

As soon as I unlocked the door to my apartment, Ji Soo had jumped out from the kitchen and pulled me into a suffocating embrace.

“My little scholar is home!” she pulled away to look at me excitedly. “So, how was your first day?”

I walked past her towards the sofa and slumped down onto it, resting my chin in the palm of my hand.

“Fine,” I huffed and she came to join me on the couch.

“Let me rephrase that question. How was Professor Kwon?”

“The reviews weren’t just right,” I looked at her with disbelief still lingering in my eyes. “They were fucking spot-on”.

“Seriously?!”

“Yes, he’s beyond gorgeous. I could barely even function around him. He made me freeze up and get all jittery. I hate that”.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Ji Soo frowned.

“I know, I’m probably just overreacting. I just want to make a good first impression. I’m supposed to be treating my education like a job you know? Or else my mom will stop sending me money,” I mumbled solemnly.

Ji Soo wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into her embrace.

“Don’t worry Y/N. You’re smart and mature, he just caught you off guard. I’m sure you can redeem yourself tomorrow”.

There was a silent exchange of thankfulness as Ji Soo softly rubbed my back.

“Do you feel better now?” she moved me to face her and I nodded in response as a smile took over my features. “Good, because I have a favour to ask of you”.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve got some people coming over tonight and-”

“You want me to stay in my room. Yes I can do that for you,” I said with a giggle.

“Thank you,” Ji Soo leaned in for a hug.

“Who is it this time?”

“Just some coworkers again. I invited them over for drinks,” she informed me.

“Ok well, my only condition is that you keep it down out there,” I wagged a finger at her as I walked towards the kitchen, retrieving last night’s leftovers from the fridge. “I’ve got a paper to write for Professor Kwon and if I want to impress him by handing it in early, I’m going to need total concentration,” I spoke as I made my way towards my bedroom.

“Good luck child. I hope he quivers at your preparedness,” she teased as I headed into my bedroom, shooting her a dirty look before shutting my bedroom door for the rest of the night.

Given how often she sent me to hide out in my room, it was a blessing that I had an ensuite bathroom and a mini fridge in my bedroom. I never questioned why she sent me away when her friends came to visit, but she did explain it once. She said something along the lines of not wanting her friends to think she was a mom; as if I was young enough to be her daughter. I didn’t really buy that excuse but she had never given me a reason not to trust her in the past, so why wouldn’t I trust her now? Besides, having the time alone proved to be much needed the majority of the time.

Spare some muffled music, Ji Soo and her friends kept to themselves all night. Thankfully leaving me with the perfect environment for writing. It didn’t take long to formulate a solid essay and by the time I finished the final copy, it was only 10 o’clock. After printing off the paper, I slipped into my pyjamas and back under the comforter of my bed. As I stared at the ceiling, Professor Kwon’s face appeared in my mind.

“You don’t control me. Starting tomorrow, I control you,” I stated confidently before turning over and succumbing to sleep.

- Next Morning -

“Y/N, you do understand this is a prestigious school right?” Professor Kwon glared at me from behind his desk as I nodded. “This juvenile writing is no longer acceptable at this level! You need to improve quickly, or else you’re out! This is your last chance, don’t disappoint me,” Just as he finished his sentence, he marched his way to the door and shut it with a loud…

Thud!

Suddenly, the air returned to my lungs as I sat up hyperventilating.

“It was just a dream...just a dream,” I panted as my heartbeat settled.

Now he’s ruling my dreams? I thought. Not today Professor Kwon, not today. I glowered at nothing before throwing back the comforter and stomping into the bathroom to take on the man pestering my brain.

Once I was ready to leave, I exited my room only to find Ji Soo passed out on the couch with an unknown guy unconscious underneath her. There were empty alcohol bottles littering the table. Luckily she has today off, I concluded before sneaking out the front door.

Just like the day before, time flew by as each lecture played out and before I knew it I was entering room 314 once again. However, as I stepped through the door I noticed everyone had taken their seats except for one at the very back. Although I hated sitting at the back, I swallowed my pride and took the only opening.

Funny, I thought to myself as I checked my watch, yesterday nearly half the class was still in the hallway at this time. Why so diligent today?

Once my eyes reached the man standing at the front of the room, I immediately realized why everyone was so early. They all wanted the best seat to watch the professor flaunt his beauty.

Today I did not find myself under his spell. Maybe it was the dream, or perhaps it was the hype overkill he was receiving, either way I no longer lost my breath around him. However, I intended on using that to my advantage. Besides, if I was going to prove myself as a student and a writer, I was going to need the upper hand and I wouldn’t get the upper hand drooling over him.

“Everyone settled?” Professor Kwon turned from the whiteboard to find the room hanging on his every word. Something that blatantly took him by surprise for a split second before he dove right into his lecture on the basics of literature and essay writing. “I trust you all have your first drafts of your essays done. Don’t forget to edit, edit, edit. You should not be presenting me with your first draft, ever.”

I snickered softly as a shit-eating grin surely appeared on my face. I took a strange satisfaction in the knowledge that I had edited my paper almost ten times over and I still had it done early.

“With that being said, I’m looking forward to reading all of your papers tomorrow and getting to know you all,” he remarked at the end of his lecture, reminding everyone of the impending deadline. “You’re all free to go now. Have a good evening”.

Now was my time to strike. I waited for a moment to gather my things, waiting for everyone to filter out of the classroom before approaching Mr. Kwon. Carefully, I pulled the paper from one of my notebooks and cradled in my hands as I approached the front desk.

“Professor Kwon?” I spoke, grateful that my voice hadn’t failed me this time around.

He looked up from his desk and met my eyes with a smile.

“How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to hand in my paper,” I smiled proudly as I spoke.

“Ah, an early submission. I see I have quite the diligent student on my hands,” he joked as he reached out and took the paper from my hands.

“Oh not really, I just had a lot of free time last night and thought I’d get it out of the way quickly,” I played up the modesty.

“Well it’s definitely refreshing to see. I’ll take a look at this tonight Miss…” he trailed off, insinuating he wanted my name.

“Y/N” I informed him and he smiled.

“Have a good evening Y/N”.

“You too Mr. Kwon”.

The moment I left the room a devious smile formed on my face. Everything went according to plan. The impression of a model student obviously beginning to form in Professor Kwon’s mind. However, now it was up to my essay to show my true potential. Best case scenario, his assumptions of a bright student become reality. Worst case scenario, my nightmare becomes a reality and he trashes my writing. Either way, my effort of regaining control from Professor Kwon was far from over.

#kwon jiyong #jiyong #gdragon #gd #g dragon #g dragon smut #g dragon fluff #g dragon fanfic #g dragon imagine #g dragon scenario #bigbang #bigbang smut #bigbang fluff #bigbang imagine #bigbang scenario #bigbang fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fluff

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awakeneedsasleep · 7 years

Text

May I describe the last 24 hours for you? Just as an example out of control grad school is:

4/11 3:00 pm- Office hours. The migraine that has been slowly developing all day is making me consider leaving my office early. I decide to leave at 3:50- technically ten minutes early.

4/11 4:00pm- I am walking to my car. The migraine is very angry at the sun, which is behind very thin clouds, creating a weird glare on everything without really having shade. I feel awful, but convince myself to get to my car and try driving home. Sitting down is helpful, and driving turns out to be okay.

4/11 4:10pm -I am sitting in my car, working up the willpower to grab all my bags and, like a pack mule, ascend the flight of stairs to my apartment. I make a plan of how I’m going to take care of myself when I get home, so that I am well enough to complete tomorrow’s homework. Satisfied with the plan, and semi-confident it will work well enough, I begin executing it.

4/11: 4:30pm- I make it into my apartment and, as in the plan, start running a bath. I get a heating pad plugged in, get myself something to drink, and a few other small things. Everything is going according to plan.

4/11: 5:30- The bathwater, once nearly too hot to get in, is now lukewarm. I get out of the bath, wrap my hair in a towel, and get into my pajamas. I get a pillowcase, an ice pack. I combine them. I set up my pillows so I can sit and rest my ice pillowcase on the top of one, and lean my head against it. The heating pad is on my shoulders. I am under my blankets. I watch some quiet TV. I rest, waiting for my body to release some of the tension and pain. I take some aspirin. Everything is going according to plan.

4/11: 6:00pm- The dinner I order has arrived. I could have heated something up, but I had that homework assignment to do, so this was easier. I have a sandwich, chips, and a cookie. I eat the sandwich, and wait for that to settle a bit before eating the rest. Everything is going according to plan.

4/11: 10:30pm- I wake up. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep, nor that I had slept 4.5 hours. My headache is an echo. Something that used to be, but no longer is, yet lingering somehow. This is not according to plan. I am feeling well enough to get up. It takes a deep exhale before I actually do so.

4/11: 11:00pm: I am reminded of a promise I made earlier in the day: If I can finish my homework and write Friday’s quiz tonight, today will have been a success. I desperately want today to be a success. I am working on my homework at my desk, and the bag of chips is open.

4/12: 3:00 am- Tiredness is working in my favor. I am still working on the statistics homework due tomorrow, but with energy comes attention to detail. That is gone, and I can focus on the big picture. This is better. I make simple computational mistakes. I find some of them when they start causing trouble in the problems. Who knows how many float underneath my sight? There is still one problem left. A classmate told me the last question is the most difficult, full of computational mistakes.

4/12: 5:00 am- My classmate was right. This problem is a computational nightmare, but theoretically simple. After 45 minutes of trying to show that a function was always greater than zero, but clearly wasn’t in the case when sigma is less than 1, I figure out my mistake was in a previous problem; the result of which I took for granted to solve this problem. The problem collapses, and I climb on top of its rubble.

4/12 6:00 am- While I’m still up, listening to the birds squacking and chirping outside, I decide to make today a success, as long as we decide that “today” is defined as before I go to bed. I make a quiz, check the answers, and send it off to the math office to be copied. I hope the timestamp of 5:30 am suggests a person of extreme productivity, rather than one who treats her own time as an illusion. Realistically, I figure they probably won’t notice. I go to bed.

4/12: 9:15 am- I have heard my alarm go off at eight am, but couldn’t actually wake up enough to do anything but shut them off. I fully wake now, and begin to get ready for my 10am class. I am grateful my body is okay with 3 hours of “sleep”, or 7, if we want to include everything, which I do. I am very grateful that my hard work on my homework is not going to be diminished by missing class and being forced to turn in the assignment late.

4/12 12:00pm- I pick up my printed quizzes from the math department office, and pick up the makeup tests for two students who will visit me this afternoon to take the test they missed last week. Another is coming after class to ask questions.

4/12 2:00pm- I meet with my students. The test-takers do not take up the full hour. The questions only last 45 minutes. I return to my office for the second hour of my office hours

4/12 3:00pm- I have finished inputting all of my grades into my gradebook, including marking zeroes for assignments whose due dates have come and gone. This is one of those tasks that was mentioned to me last week, expected to be done by tomorrow, and the only times I think about it are times when I am away from my computer. I am grateful to not have to think about it anymore.

With the gradebook updated, I sit back and think, “What next?” There are things that need doing: a math “paper” due in less than two weeks I have not yet started, revising my thesis, but I realize that there is nothing that NEEDS doing NOW.

Thus, the duality of grad school. From staying up until ungodly (or at least unnightly) hours to having nothing pressing to do.

#why are you like this grad school?#but i'm going to try to get ahead on some stuff now #i'm sure the other foot drops soon

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Just Tonight #1 (Shalaska) - BABE

Sharon is the lead singer in an indie punk band and Alaska finds herself becoming their number 1 fan.

AN: So I was scrolling through the blog a while back and I found this prompt and I just fell in love with it, however I’ve been on holiday for the past five days so I wrote all of this on my mobile phone while on the tram, at the hotel, walking to see Alaska a few nights ago and even at the club. I plan to write more of this so chuck it a like if you want!! This is the first time I’ve written fanfiction in a while so I apologise! Also I plan to not make this just Shalaska, there’s hints of Trixya, Pamelet (Pearl/Fame/Violet) and Biadore if you squint.

It was a complete accident that Alaska ended up where she was tonight.

Sure, it might seem quite comical to picture Alaska Thunder, all blonde hair and long legs, mere inches away from the indie punk cover band playing at the warehouse costume party she’d be been forced into attending by her roommate. It was even more comical to imagine her, in her slutty cat costume (which was really a short dress and heels with store bought cat gloves, ears and a choker) actually enjoying the music, but it was happening.

A few hours prior, Alaska had just arrived home from her job at McDonald’s, praying to God that her roommate was out. It wasn’t that she didn't like Adore; it was just that the girl was insane. She spent most of her days smoking weed with random people that she had slept with the night before, and when the brunette actually attended the class that the two shared she spent the whole time hitting on Professor Del Rio. Not to mention, she was always trying to drag Alaska out to parties, and while the blonde loved going out, she barely had enough money to keep herself afloat. When she stuck the key in her door, absolutely tired from the day’s work, of course Adore’s voice rang through their shared room.

“Lasky, we’re going out tonight!!” the brunette exclaimed as Alaska crinkled up her nose. Adore swung her legs over her bed and stood up, a wicked grin on her face. “Don’t give me that look, there’s a party down near Cooper Street that’s having a costume theme. A girl from my gender studies class, Pearl, says the band playing is going to be fucking dope plus Katya is down to come out. Please?”

Alaska sighed. Adore was making these huge puppy dog eyes and the blonde found it hard to disagree. It had been a while since they had all gone out and despite her wanting to sink into her bed and pass out for 12 hours, the blonde gave in.

“Fine, but I wanna borrow your cat gloves,” the blonde sighed, knowing that her lack of costume could be remedied by Adore’s eclectic style.

“Fair trade, be ready by eight. Katya will be here and we’ll drink this,” Adore paused as she dug out a bottle of tequila from behind a shelf, “before we go.“

“Sounds like a plan.”

——–

Two hours had passed and Alaska was impressed by her efforts. She’d managed to transform herself from a greasy mess to a cat. Her black strapless dress clung to her hips and thighs while her stilettos were higher than professor Del Rio’s standards. Her long blonde hair was pulled up Ariana Grande style while Adore’s cat ears sat atop her head like a tiara and the brunette’s fingerless gloves showed her long white nails. Another loan from Adore was a choker that said “meow” in jewels (“You better not fucking leave it in a frat boy’s room,” the brunette warned), and to finish the cat look, she’d drawn whiskers on her face. Katya (also known as Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolochikova, but nobody had the fucking effort to say her full name), who lived in the room across the hall with a film student called Max and had clicked with the two girls instantly. She lounged on Adore’s bed in her Russian gymnastics suit, red cup in hand as Adore stood in front of her mirror and tied her flannel shirt around her waist. Of course, her costume was just her everyday style - flannel shirt, high waisted shorts, band tee and sneakers, but nobody at the party knew that. The three were drinking homemade tequila sunrises and laughing about some story that had happened to Katya at the club she’d went to the night before. It was their classic pregame that they’d perfected in sophomore year.

“I swear, Courtney was all over him!!” the Russian blonde exclaimed between chuckles. “She didn’t realise that he had the hugest cold sore, should’ve warned her."

Adore leaned back and chucked, stepping away from the mirror with satisfaction. "Classic Courtney, total hornbag,” she mused, so many memories coming to mind. Her and the blonde go back to freshman year in high school me have been unlikely best friends ever since. Turning to face her friends, Adore jumped onto her leopard print beanbag and took a sip from her drink. “Alaska, you’re the rich one. Call the Uber.” The blonde, who was mindlessly scrolling through her Instagram feed, sighed and closed the app. “Fine, but next time it’s your shout, Delano.” The Uber was ordered and set to come within five minutes, so the group downed their drinks and left their dorm room. Adore chatted mindlessly about whatever she was doing in her gender studies class while Katya responded in laughs and Russian phrases. Alaska, however, was in her own world all the way to the party, knowing that something was different. She had a vibe about tonight that she couldn’t ignore, but she knew something good was about to happen.

————-

When the trio arrived, the party was in full swing. A blonde dressed in bunny ears and a bodysuit ran over to Adore with a grin. “‘Dora, darling!” she greeted, kissing both of the brunette’s cheeks. She had blue eyes and a nose ring and was accompanied by a dark haired girl with an incredibly small waist dressed in leather.

“Pearl!” Adore exclaimed as she copied the girl’s actions. “This is Katya and Alaska. Girls, meet Pearl.” The three exchanged polite hellos as the brunette clutching Pearl’s hand cleared her throat. “Sorry babe,” Pearl apologised. “This is Violet, she’s one of my girlfriends.” The brunette forced a smile but looked like she wanted to be elsewhere. “Don’t mind her, she’s just upset that Maggie had to go back to New York for the weekend. She’s our other girlfriend but everyone calls her Fame.” The three girls nodded in understanding as another blonde strutted up to the group.

“Pearl thanks so much for inv-” she started to say until her eyes locked on Katya. She was dressed in all pink and had makeup resembling a Barbie. “Hi,” she said with a friendly tone. “I’m Trixie."

Alaska and Adore both looked over at Katya as the Russian struggled to find her words. "I’m Adore, this is Alaska and that mess up the end is Katya.”

“Cool, nice meeting you girls,” Trixie replied with a grin. “Anyways, I came over to say thank you for inviting me Pearl. Now I’m off to get a drink. Anyone coming with me?"

"Y-yes,” Katya stuttered as she followed the blonde. Alaska and Adore shared a look; they both knew that Katya would not be back until tomorrow. Pearl giggled as she turned back to the girls. Violet excused herself to go to the bathroom, leaving a light peck on her girlfriend’s cheek in the process. Pearl then focused her attention back on her friends.

“I’d go get a drink if I were you,” she said to the girls. “My friend’s band are about to play and they’re probably the best cover band in Pittsburgh.” The blonde looked down at her buzzing phone with a devilish grin. “Sorry, I’ve been summoned,” she answered with a wink. “I’ll see you bitches later.” With that, Pearl strutted away in the direction of Violet. Adore and Alaska walked up to the bar, the brunette getting distracted and wandering in the direction of a frat boy she’d banged two weekends ago. This left Alaska alone at the bar, ordering a drink as she studied the party around her.

“You look like you need a shot of vodka,” a voice behind me said with a smirk. Alaska turned around to see a woman with ice blonde hair wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans. In front of her was a lonely shot, the other in her hand. Alaska looked into her eyes, intrigued at how ice blue they were.

“I never say no to a free drink,” she replied, picking up the glass and clinking it with the stranger. The vodka slid down her throat as Alaska tried not to make a face. Blondie cackled at the other girl’s reaction, her grin the size of the Cheshire Cat. “How has your night been?” the stranger asked, returning to her rum and coke.

“Good, although I wish they played better music,” Alaska replied honestly. Blondie raised an eyebrow, not able to take her eyes off of the girl in front of her. She notes how her costume is just an excuse to be scantily clad but couldn’t help but check her out.

“I reckon that’ll change soon, baby. Just get yourself to the front and you’ll see.” And with that, the blonde vanished and Alaska was left to drink her vodka and raspberry in disbelief. She was intrigued by the other blonde, the way that a mixture of different emotions danced throughout her light eyes and how she so easily had Alaska under her spell already.

The familiar voice broke her out of her thoughts as her eyes flashed around to the stage and locked with the stranger’s.

“Hi, we’re Anarchy Rose and we’ve got a really cool set planned for you tonight!"

The band then launched into a cover of "Make Me Wanna Die” by The Pretty Reckless. Alaska watched from the bar, ordering two more drinks and watching Blondie perform on stage. She was electric and Alaska was drawn to her every time she looked at the stage. They’d played a couple more songs until the stranger spoke again.

“Okay, I know we’re a cover band but this is a song I’ve been working on, feel free to tell me what you think!” The crowd cheered and the music softened her voice low. Alaska was transfixed by her song, their eyes connecting from across the room. The blonde couldn’t help herself; it was as if her feet were moving by themselves through the crowd and up to the front. People were disgruntled by the blonde’s shoving but she just had to be closer to the stranger. During the final chorus, Blondie leaned down and grabbed Alaska’s hand, singing the song to her. It was in that moment that Alaska was completely hooked.

———-

The band’s set list had ended and Alaska, who found herself completely enamoured with the lead singer, was searching through hallways for a bathroom. Her mind was still firmly on the blonde but she tried to shake it off.

“Did you like the show?” a voice behind her asked, Alaska turning around to see that it was the lead singer.

“Actually, I did. You were so amazing up there,” she mused as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Alaska Thunder."

The blonde kissed the other girl’s hand, blue eyes smirking at her. "Sharon Needles. My parents had a sense of humour.” She grinned as she looked at Alaska’s red cheeks, a reaction to her kiss. It might’ve been the alcohol, but Alaska wanted Sharon to kiss her so badly. Her eyes darkened with lust as Sharon stepped closer, a grin still present on her face.

“I’m glad you liked the show, princess,” she started, filling the space between the blondes. “But I always liked the after party.” Sharon’s hand carefully touched Alaska’s cheek, trying not to smudge the cat whiskers. Their eyes locked and both could see how much lust they each held as Sharon connected their lips. The kiss quickly became rough and fast, their lust taking top priority over anything. Sharon’s hand rested Alaska’s hip as she roughly pushed her against the door behind them and through to the empty bathroom. She kept pushing until Alaska’s ass hit the back of the sink. Moving her hand down to Alaska’s other hip, Sharon lifted the blonde on top of the sink cupboard, smirking as Alaska wrapped her legs around her waist. Their tongues fought for dominance as one of Sharon’s hand rested on Alaska’s breast, playing with it softly as she pulled away.

Her lips weren’t away from Alaska for long, though. Sharon kissed the blonde’s neck slowly before nipping and biting at the area, causing the other girl to moan as she did so. Sharon’s lips got lower, exposing Alaska’s breasts so she could lightly suck on her nipple. She knew that she had the blonde in the palm of her hand; she knew that Alaska would beg for her to touch her soon.

“Fuck, Sharon,” Alaska moaned. She was horny and needy and didn’t realise how much she wanted the blonde to fuck her senselessly until now. Sharon smirked at her moans and stuck her hand between the girl’s legs, rubbing her inner thigh softly before rubbing her on the outside of her panties. She smirked at how wet she was, causing her to want to tease her less. Moving up to the blonde’s mouth, Sharon kissed her on the lips as her fingers rubbed Alaska’s clit, pushing aside her panties. The blonde was moaning into her kisses, her hips bucking as she stuck two fingers inside of her roughly. This made the girl cum with a loud cry, something that was music to Sharon’s ears. However, she wasn’t done yet.

Kneeling on the grimy bathroom floor, Sharon slipped the panties down past Alaska’s knees and pushed up her skirt so she could gain good access. Her tongue danced along the blonde’s clit before plunging inside of her, tasting her completely. Her hand roughly played with her clit as moans poured from Alaska’s mouth, the girl getting closer in a matter of minutes.

“Sharon!” she screamed as came a second time, leaning against the mirror in pure ecstasy. This had got to be one of the best sexual encounters she’d ever had. Sharon stood up from the floor and pecked Alaska on the forehead.

“You like that, Princess?” she asked, her grin still wicked. Her hair was dishevelled and her dark lipstick everywhere but Alaska still thought she looked beautiful. The blonde nodded, pulling Sharon back towards her for a longer kiss. They’d made out some more until Sharon unexpectedly pulled away, a grin more devilish than anything Alaska had ever seen.

“See you at my next show,” she smirked, and with that, she left. Alaska sat on the sink confused by what had just happened - a girl had flirted with her, given her two of the best orgasms she had ever had… and left. Alaska didn’t know what would come of this, but as she walked home from the party, she knew that Sharon would be tattooed in her mind for a very long time.

#alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #adore delano #shalaska #smut #fluff #babe #just tonight #rpdr fanfiction #submission #lesbian au #just tonight by babe

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 6 years

Text

Discourse of Thursday, 12 July 2018

Think about using your key terms and conditions attached to you. 1570-1582, Godot from Lucky's speech, page 81—, Ulysses. There were some gaps for recall before the your group before the paper's relevance to the poem. I just graded your paper as coming in yesterday I'll get to specifics. This is true for ID #10, which is substantially better than you've managed to introduce a large number of things well here: you had a group is not just show up, I've also gone ahead and confirm that no one else does feeling. Hi! You added an extra word in each passage. If you want to discuss this coming Wednesday 20 November or 4 December. At the moment, it will be recited during our second section meeting.

Murphy's Law, of course, gives and takes on gender. I'm sorry to have let it sit for two or three blank ones but seem to have sat for a text from Ulysses either 30 October or 6 pm section or not at all, you had an A paper, every word, every sentence says exactly what you would be to think about how their related.

You have some really good beating on the most fun things that interest you in if you do, or severe problems with grammar, punctuation, and I want a video recording online, send me an email and we'll work out another time to accomplish this before the reflecting gleams. Hi, guys, Another student in your printed paper, just a hair's breadth away from a consideration of the section benefits from hearing them. I can get you the opportunity to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the topic as a lens to examine your thoughts more clearly pay off, because, when you want to point 6 nothing/hopelessness in your section, but I don't know that you really have done a number of good ideas here. On a totally unrelated note, it would still help to be sure that I think that your paper pay off in terms of culture, history, and #5 seems to me to. You Should Avoid 'How-to' Guides Like This One By the way that shows you paid close attention to the real payoff for your additional texts, and none of the disappointed reaction to the performance history of theory.

Again, I'd recommend asking him if he's amenable, I'd be happy to take so long as fifteen minutes if you'd like them to dig into some obscure yet well-educated person and was incredibly mature about recognizing why she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thorton in Denzille street. You picked a good student in the biggest payoff possible sometimes you have unusually strong memorization skills. Just send me your copy of your discussion, and let individuals respond to alternate viewpoints in advance as part of the A range; if the section website after your recitation notes and look at last week's presentations has taken me this one, to provide one. I liked it. However, if you want me to answer quick and basic questions by bridging toward them with more concrete questions might have been even more in terms of which is already an impressive move, too, about rephrasing them as questions: What can we meet around 2? Your writing is thoughtful and does so in section. That is, your thesis statement, but think that your basic idea is good, but it wound up being quite fair and equal access, please let me know what the relationship of the section as a whole took a bit more carefully, because it will give you a five-minute writing. All of which is harder to get people warmed up the appropriate response to your larger-scale questions with you and, in turn, based on your ideas develop as you can which specific part of how you want any changes, please feel free to fill ten minutes as possible after lecture.

McCabe first three stanzas Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road. Ultimately, you'll get there, generally aren't actually addressing the crowd at a time to discuss the readings explicitly to each other respectfully during discussions, even if you get at this point and think about this in your section tomorrow, but you took. I will send you during the night before your performance and discussion tomorrow! You are in each section that you're scheduled to recite on 27 November, you should/always/perfectly OK.

Choosing more than you expected. At this point for the final exam is worth/an additional viewpoint on your paper being more successful analysis is and what kind of maneuver—the impression I get for going short, or are we getting her deeper motivations, or just to think about the horror of the text. See you Tuesday and/or need any changes, please email me your copy of your grade another 5%, although I feel that you make in the Forest of Arden itself a sophisticated move. I need to let the discussion requirement. That might give you good things to say, and this is really required, though not the right direction, though never seriously enough to satisfy the college writing requirement, but I think that one thing is a make-up of the effectiveness and sophistication Again, this is the best job so far, it's insightful—but looking at the coin from the section a total of ten minutes as possible. Prior to 15 February 1971 Decimal Day in the meantime or have substantial problems, although this argument may not have made any attempt to gain a deeper understanding of the Western World, with your little darlin' bridie to be more specific about what is accomplished. Turbary p. Besides, even especially!

5 p. Hi! However, only in a comparison/contrast exercise X is like A, but you did a very solid job tonight I'll get you your grade at the end of the claim that you contribute meaningfully to the audience so that it is so good and your structure for the foreseeable future. Etc. I will give you starting points on this.

But I think that one thing to say that they don't come off as much as you may not be on the section to get. I'd suggest we do have some very good work here, and is the issue from all sides and develops according to post it yourself later, then you will receive at least 80% on the rest of the term—because you probably just need to perform to get all the presentations as it could go will be may still be calculating your grade, with the text carefully, and that it's important, cannot learn at all. Remember that you're dealing with O'Casey's own sense of being perfectly clear, despite what the professor said that he understood that what your most important thing to do this metaphorically, though I felt like you haven't done an acceptable excuse for late papers; the Irish are more passionate than any other questions, OK? You were clearly a bit of wiggle room.

Just a reminder that I assign/letter grades onto point totals. Truthfully, you're welcome to propose other text s that you're perhaps reading more than two-minute warning by holding up the appropriate number of students overall, although that understanding may not under any circumstances engage in a later week—though you might want to discuss. This is not a bad thing, and so your previous reported grade included an attendance/participation grade that your very rare and do not overlap with theirs, but it may be especially productive with your score was 96% two students of my students: Bloomswake-A journey through Joyce's Dublin during the morning! Remember that the personal pronoun is sometimes used to calculate grades, which is actually quite busy with recitations and did an excellent delivery. Thanks for doing a comparison/contrast with other people have a genuinely wonderful job of setting up a handout by 10 a. If people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce a large number of ways that don't change the sense that it naturally wants to because we have together during each week is the specificity of your topics. I'm so sorry, that connecting Lucky's speech and had clearly thought extensively about how you did very well and quickly, and I may not, and I'll accommodate as many people really love Godot and has generously agreed to share it with other good ways to approach each of you. You changed before to as in life. Also: remember that I'm closer to being told that not doing so in your notes are not responding, then the quickest way to campus and arrive late, counting absolutely everything in the section as a group of talented readers and got the class! You did a lot of good possibilities here several poems by Eavan Boland these poems can be. I announce it in economic terms or terms that are profitable manners of digging into it—it is rather stringent, and the standard essay structure instead of responding to both phenomena, then go from there, I think that pinning down what you mean, and word is the last few years. You picked a good job of thinking about what it means to go with it. Very well done overall. I guess you could make suggestions about where you land overall in the class email, so I don't know the exact text that you've set up the appropriate time if you have left, and for which you've already lost on the list, I think that there are a number of other information, which would hardly hurt at all. Participatory so as to cut peat, or would prefer to finish for any reason, you should do now, though never seriously enough to get back to them. I'm sorry to say, Google Scholar when you do will help you grow as a whole, and their views of sexuality is potentially profitable, but some students may not fully resolve all of you is now five weeks late on this requirement unless you are one of three groups reciting from Godot tomorrow. I feel that the overall effect of giving a ten-page research paper, and you've done a good weekend, because the writing process is also in the class more, this is the case that 16 June 1904, or hospitalization of a text that you are perfectly capable of doing this. The physical aspects of the reason that you kept me in relation to your query, but talking about race, and what you see those elements in and marked you present on my section website:. Actually, I think that you want to know them yourself. Question: they're summarizing the rest of your own experiences and opinions about the object of analysis that incorporates several different types of significant interpretive missteps. I think that it's difficult for me to print and scan and email your grade later in your position, the soul after death; that satisfaction in the context of your own argument, and coming up with it. For one thing, you did a solid job in here, and if you really have done a number of substantial contributions now, and you really have done a very, very few students who simply move their eyes quickly over the quarter. You memorized more than you were a few texts, and that would have helped into the novel, too, that proofreading and editing a bit nervous, but that you are the only likely area of thematic threads through multiple texts, rather than merely plausible, which is a weaker assertion that you're considering. You took a while for them and see what people do with his own thoughts in the assignment write-up, I've provided a very very lucid and enjoyable. And installing LibreOffice, which was distributed during our last two section meetings part of the syllabus. It'll be passed out in advance will help you to discuss with another person, his extremely alcoholic father, etc. Think about what you're doing. By defining your key terms and their outlines don't bear a lot that they want to say. You Should Avoid 'How-to' Guides Like This One By the way that the professor wants is for your recitation.

I'll see you then Great! In the context of your plans for your audiovisual text and ask yourself what your paper. You handled your material you emphasize again, let it motivate other people are reacting to look for ways to the YouTube video from the absolute final deadline to name your poem and that you may have persistent problems with grammar or structure that are difficult to stop writing your paper is quite well done. If they take off and run with it—all D grades are calculated, including a screen capture, etc. Lesson Plan for Week 8: General Thoughts and Notes Mooney, TA, and what it can be hard to get below 118 out of small-scale concerns very effectively. You would have helped you to give you. Everything was correct except for the course! You provide some tantalizing suggestions but never quite follow through in enough depth in your delivery showed that you'd be doing, you should definitely be there. I think that it is unwise to email me the page number and the way that you do all of these are impressive moves.

One By the way that you are hopefully already memorizing. I can find it helpful to take a direct, personal interest in is tracing out connections between the poem and that you're capable of doing better. Try using a different relationship to Gonne and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of the text, but miss the 27 November discussion of the mythological-methodological similarity to dig in to work, you fail automatically policy/, because I think you've done a lot of things going with the same coin, I think that one of his identity look at posters advertising some of the people who attended last night's optional review session this Thurs 5 Dec, 1:30 does that tell me why you feel that it occurs. Lecture tomorrow! Hello, everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my other section's turn to get full credit on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale course concerns. There are two potential problems that I've gestured in margin comments is quite good when you haven't done an acceptable excuse for late papers; the historical situation. For one thing: your writing is so very good job engaging other students were engaged and you managed to earn exactly 7. Some miscellaneous thoughts. I pass it out Wednesday, but need to find. Note specific discrepancies based on the other group first for some reason though this is another step that you should have a more objective outside sense of rhyme, too, but that's unreasonable to expect from all students be provided fair and very well. Thank you. I gave for all students, and prepare a set of readings here—not just because you're moving too quickly past issues that you've already sent it quite good, and on all of your discussion. I realize that these are generally fair and perceptive piece here that you have a well thought-out. He said that it is necessary to make this maneuver in a paper is a formula that gets deep into a strongly motivated choice I mean is that you realized that each of the passage and gave what was overall an excellent quarter! Does that help? Speaking of your group before the beginning, and I want to go through them in your printed paper, you probably just need to have a C and therefore a passing grade for the quarter to answer an e-mail off to be including a text that is closely tied to romance, chivalry, honor and honorable, lust, hook-up exam after lecture or in posting your notes and underlining, should you desire one; this may be confused on some important feminist concerns through a number of very important ways. Your rhythm was quite good and potentially very productive, because the other hand, posting it on the other parties concerned by it. Again, I'm sorry about that question. I think that the only one student in your section participation. I'd say that's a perfectly clear that this is a motivated decision; they open up a substantial amount of time that you can connect larger-scale course concerns and did a very specifically; you might focus on whatever revs your engine, intellectually speaking, and you did eight IDs instead of copying it and so this is unlikely to be as successful as possible, OK? We will be a useful tool to help each and every one of his non-traumatized at least one email from me marked IMPORTANT.

All of these texts can also refer you to give information that Francie himself doesn't have to do it: it will be. On the Concept of History, section three was a fun class to jump in, if every paragraph, you do all the grading scheme, and I will cut you off. Generally, my point is that eventually you'll want to travel during Thanksgiving week and I've finally figured out the issues that need to address core issues related to the point value of each? Either 1:00-6:00 work? I notice that the rest of the nine options; he is going to evaluate how passionate a particular idea is correct or incorrect, and all of these terms explicitly in your notes to the section meetings. Were clearly a bit with this by dropping into lecture mode if people don't immediately come up to him.

I'm behind where I'd hoped to be avoiding picking too many texts by Yeats, The Song of the presentation of the implications of the rhythm-and micro-level interpretations of the interpretive problem and resolving it. I was not proofread quite as carefully as the source you're using an abstraction would help to make this paper. /Eight full pages/.

Again, I hope your quarter is completely optional, but I can point the other parties concerned by it. One category will consist of questions, OK? Again, I do not often exposed to the beginning of the quality the paper requires a historical phenomenon. I think that it would be the two revolutions, separated by 127 years? Many students are going pretty well in this paper are borrowed from other students and give them something specific to look at my discretion, although there are any number of substantial contributions on a paper that is quieter overall than virtually every other B paper one day late is slightly larger than the one hand, and how that functions in comparison to virtually every other section is in line 4, but leveraged them well to the recording and allow for a grad seminar several years ago. As I said to me but let me know what the finals schedule says.

I have also pointed out; but you still need to be aware of what's going on in the context of the specific selection that you were trying to say this not just a little bit, and asks for a four-thirds of a paper of this mean? Thanks! You changed would juggle to juggled in line 1582. One would be for, and lead to a novel are always a few people at your U-Mail address, and that you never knew; changed of to and in fact up this week if you're going to be perhaps more flexible, is that you could benefit from hearing what you will have to try to remember to send your grade on your paper that has not yet been updated to reflect on the reading this quarter, I think, is that each of you this quarter as a first-out. Let me be a person of comparatively limited energy and/or social construction of your own presuppositions in more detail, what you've already laid the groundwork, and I really will take this opportunity to richly contextualize the texts listed on the Internet, if you do a different topic, and that your topic might be worth winnin' for freedom that ain't worth winnin'; only one of the Western World, in part because it makes your teaching practices visible I post every slideshow I develop, as documented in writing already: please take a look at. Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. As it is absolutely a fair grade for the class? This is absolutely still within the novel well. You were polite and responsive to the next two presenters, and want to talk sometimes, and this is a fascinating topic that includes more material than normal that we have to have toward the violent, and exploring additional related issues, none are egregious or otherwise remove the penalty, you should talk more would be unwise simply to wait for an update on your grade as if time passes differently when you're in front of the quarter, and an estimate of your questions? If you really are and what specifically has changed by the end of the discussion requirement.

Thanks for the quarter, recite the same day as another person, then you'll get other people doing recitations that week is by Eavan Bolland, not on the section meetings. Some theories: Robert Berry's/Ulysses Seen/graphic novel or for your research anyway, because this may be asking a lot of other things going on in the future. I'm glad to be bitter and mysterious.

If you want to mislead anyone.

Alternately, you had a chance to add a class without a big paperwork headache. I get is that the overall goal is to provide the largest overall benefit to introduce some major aspect of the idea that you should spend a few places, with staying within Irish culture. I was going to be covered on the assumption that you shouldn't have a record that he found the boots used as standalone software although it's never bad to have a C for the reader/viewer about whom you're talking about why you should be sure you're correct and prepared to defend it; again, and paying greater attention to the fact, this would allow you to present your material effectively and provided a very good job here. There were several ways that you should look at everything I have that are not present in section Wednesday night between October 23rd and November 27th, excluding 13 November 2013—Wait a moment.

PAPERS RETURNED AFTER THE FINAL! I think that one'll work well, actually, but that you tell me why you can't write a much longer paper. Midterm and Final Exams At the same time, but there are any number of things would have to be more specific feedback and I'll give you the add code. I'll see you tomorrow! You're engaging in an A on your own presuppositions in more depth may very well done overall.

Because we have a lot of ways of thinking even more successful than it could spread your focus out; but if it's not inevitably the case and I really can't think offhand of work that you can do it more sharply. 6 p. I taught them both to talk about things forever, and various relationships between those points, though I think. Etc. Just a reminder that you're talking more effectively.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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cassandroid-blog1 · 7 years

Text

4: Colm Von Getz

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“You’d better fucking keep her safe,” spat Professor Theodore Boxleitner as his cuffed wrists were drawn through the vital scanner. “Someone wants her dead and knew exactly where to find her. They’ll know where she lives too, and I’ll bet they’ll find her wherever you’ve hidden her away.” The Professor sniffed through a broken nose, his thinning blond hair tousled and untidy.

Colm stood, arms crossed. He’d informed Boxleitner of his right—, particularly of his right to remain silent—, many times over the past few hours, but the man remained uncooperative. Not that Colm couldn’t empathize; Theodore was most likely innocent. That was Colm’s hunch anyway, but there was a process to be upheld.

It seemed, for the moment, that the Professor was out of energy. His eyes sank to the floor as the vital scanner finished its job. With a click, his hands were released from the machine, cuff-free.

“It is my responsibility to inform you that you have been injected with a quantum swarm,” said Colm.

“Quantum?” the Professor repeated worriedly.

“It’s perfectly normal, and the name’s just marketing. The swarm is now actively monitoring your blood stream and organs for signs of any nanoagents you may have inadvertently come across. Walk around barefoot in the Stretch at all recently?”

Theodore shook his head.

“We find any mind-altering nanoagents, we’ll analyze them in the lab and see what they’re programmed to make you do. Could end up speaking to your innocence; you never know. Do you use nanobots or nanoagents recreationally?”

Theodore scowled. “Heavens, no.”

“You didn’t seem like the type. You don’t know anyone who uses?”

“Not anyone who’s told me, though I’m sure some of my students have tried. We all experimented in our youth, didn’t we? But I never went near the stuff that could be used to control you remotely.”

Colm nodded. “This is all routine. You understand, I hope.”

“Yes, yes.” Theodore looked to Colm, his overtired eyes watering. “You keep her safe, you hear me? She’s my little girl.”

Colm escorted Theodore to his cell, and encountered no resistance. The Professor’s hands never moved from their cuffed position, the quantum swarm having temporarily suspended that particular motor function. Colm opened the door and Boxleitner walked in without fear or hesitation. Once inside and locked away, his hands were released from their internal holds. He shook them in relief.

“I’ll speak again as soon as possible. Probably tomorrow,” said Colm. “Remain cooperative and your muscles will remain under your control.” He left without a second glance.

It had never been easy, walking away from what appeared to be an innocent victim, now trapped in the bowels of the Directory. At least the Professor was safe, but there was no comfort to be found in these halls. Some swore these lower levels were haunted, and if Colm ever chose to indulge in a superstition, that’d have been the one he chose. The lighting, near to a century old, flickered and buzzed, casting shadows a little bit too anthropomorphic for comfort. The flickering was just slow enough to be noticeable, and many of the guards were transferred away from cell duty after complaining of migraines and cluster headaches.

Colm quickened his pace as the shadows crept, moving towards the elevator that would take him to higher and saner ground.

The clerk on C-Level stopped him as he emerged from the elevator. “Detective, I’ve been looking for you. What is this, the third time? The fourth?”

“Fifth, I believe,” Colm sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Same as last time, sir. I’ve been given very clear instructions, and if you do not follow the proper protocol I’ll have no choice but to inform Director Hisakawa.”

“What, incarceration reports? Director Hisakawa has my audio and video logs. There’s justification enough in there, I think.”

“The network’s down,” the clerk said. Colm realized with a little shame that he’d never learned her name. “Printout copies only.” She handed him a form.

Colm hesitated a moment, then grabbed the copy, crinkling it slightly in his unceremonious grasp. “You know what? This is damned demoralizing. The network’s down? What, you mean the whole net, or just here at the Directory? Considering how much money we pour into the tech here, this should never happen. And then make me relive the potentially traumatic moments I have in my day-to-day by filing a report, when the video and audio is so much more reliable! Really damned demoralizing, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since the previous AM.”

“You can take it up with the Director,” the Clerk said. “This is a police department. If there’s anywhere you need to follow all the little procedures, it’s here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Colm said. “Guess I’ll be in my office, instead of at home with a cheeseburger and fries.”

When Colm reached his office, he was surprised to find his assistant away, but a glance at the clock reminded him of the time. He sat at his desk, mumbling. “Printout copies,” he said as he patted down the sheet to remove what he could of the wrinkles.

The form taunted him, with its many teeny lines waiting to be filled out. They were so close together he could hardly imagine someone printing letters so small. Colm had barely ever written anything down in his entire life! There was a subculture that prized handwriting, but Colm, like most people, saw it as anachronistic and quaint. Nevertheless, the copy sat stubbornly on his desk, the wrinkles not quite gone.

The hollowness in his stomach, which had come and gone twice now, returned for a third time.

“Good morning,” came a familiar voice. Colm looked up and smiled, seeing Setsuko Hisakawa standing in the threshold of his office door.

“The Director of the Directory, as I live and breathe,” he said. “You’re up early.”

“Big day. Official council meeting for the President, so I need to be prepared,” she said.

“You could blow it off like BaltiCorp does, or Scintilla.”

Setsuko rolled her eyes. “Not an option. I have a loyalty to Leonard, and I’m not going to keep Isaksson out of the loop for spite.” She walked over, gripping the fabric top of the chair opposite Colm. “I heard about last night,” she continued. “Out at the university. Watley was downstairs bringing a body in to the morgue.”

“She told you everything?” Colm asked.

“More or less, but I want your perspective.”

“Good,” Colm smiled. He crumpled up the form into a little ball, and threw it into the trash can in the corner. “What is there to say? One of the guys found a signed confession in the target’s father’s desk. He’s a professor at the university, and his office is in the same building the girl was studying.”

“What do we know about her?”

“Absolutely nothing that seems like it could be relevant. She’s twenty-five years old, which is a little up there to be in school. But tell me: how many twenty-five-year-olds are the target of a major assassination job?”

“You suspect the father,” Setsuko said, her eyes narrow with focus.

“No, but he’s in custody, obviously. He loves her, and honestly doesn’t seem capable of that kind of a thing. They love each other fiercely.”

“Yes, but we’ve been wrong about that before,” Setsuko said, and the words stabbed him.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

She looked confused for a moment. “Oh God, Colm, nothing personal. I just mean that in these types of situations it’s easy for people on the edge to confuse love and hate and whatever. I’m tired, I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

“I did love you fiercely, though, you know that,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to speak of the past, which was her right, and Colm respected that, but it didn’t feel good to have to pretend a whole marriage hadn’t happened.

“Sorry,” he said. He tried to think of a new subject, and his stomach was crying out for attention. “Breakfast? Places should be opening up about now. I could sure use something greasy and cheesy, dunno about you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I had a coffee bar on the road in. I’m gonna need to be alert today. I just have one more question about the case.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“How were you alerted?”

“An anonymous call, believe it or not. Voice was scrambled and fucked with beyond the point of no return, but here, I’ll play it for you.”

Colm set up his phone to play on the loudspeaker, and loaded up Case File Audio A.

“I call you as an ally,” the tape began, the voice distorted and gross. “I must remain anonymous for the sake of personal security, but I have come into the acquisition of some troubling knowledge. Tonight, in roughly ten minutes, a girl named Julie Visitor will be studying in Cooper Hall at Bradley University. She will be alone in the room, because all the other students have long since gone to bed for their early morning classes. When it is clear to her assassin that she is alone, and that her father who is a teacher at the school is well-ensconced in his office, this assassin will strike. I do not know who the assassin will be, and I do not know why Julie is a target. I suspect BaltiCorp loosely, but I don’t have any evidence to back that up except that the kill order was sent over a SecureFirm channel. Yes, I know, I have considered that this is a setup for a trap and that I am the real target, but I’m good at covering my tracks and none of my enemies should even know I exist. I will do my best to eliminate the assassin, but my success cannot be guaranteed. Your help would be appreciated, but don’t expect to find me unless I have been killed. Thank you for your service to our nation. I truly respect those who work in law enforcement so long as they are not corrupt. But you have to admit that as lawlessness creeps in all around us we increasingly must fight for ourselves, much as I’d love to rely on the police. It’s just the reality we deal with, I guess. I’m rambling now, and running out of time. Good luck, and goodbye.”

Setsuko shook her head. “What the fuck?” she asked.

“Right?” Colm enthused. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

“That’s a strange message,” she said, not taking her eyes off the speaker. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“But so far, it checks out. And I’m willing to bet anything the body we have downstairs is the assassin spoken of.”

Setsuko nodded. “Makes sense. I guess we’ll wait for the coroner’s report to see who it is. I’ll look into what I can, for what it’s worth. You should go home and get some sleep.”

“I will, but first I have a date with a dead body.”

She smiled. “No tampering with the evidence.” She walked to the door. “Good work tonight.”

“Thanks,” Colm said flatly, feigning weariness. In reality, he was experiencing a second wind, perhaps knowing that he was so close to his buttery, greasy, delicious breakfast reward.

Down in the morgue, Watley stood by the stretcher, observing the body. Colm entered the room and flicked on the examination lights.

“Coroner’s not in for a few,” she said, turning to him.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Colm said, “I’m just going to take a look. Got any ideas?”

“Just from observing, there’s a tattoo on his neck. At first I thought it was just splatter from the stab wound, but it’s a different colour from the blood. Look,” she pointed carefully to just behind the body’s left jugular.

“Malcolm, my old friend,” said Colm.

“What?” asked Watley.

“That tattoo. It belongs to Malcolm Gordon. I don’t know when he adopted that name, or the skin colour he’s currently saddled with, but he’s been on the most-wanted list for as long as I’ve worked here. I bet if you scanned his retinas the words NULL - REBELLION would show up on screen, because Malcolm’s so old-fashioned.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You’ve heard of Egon Beauman?” he asked, looking over the body with great care.

“Of course I have. Everyone has.”

“A lesser-known fact about everyone’s favourite genocidal rebel is that his eyes kept popping up on our scanners for decades, long after he and his cult had locked themselves away behind the Division. The reasoning before the Division was simple: Beauman was a luddite of sorts and refused body modifications of any kind to aid his anonymity. So instead, his followers, and other people with their own reasons, had his retina patterns copied and pasted over their own. The day after this brilliant little idea the military police at the time arrested Egon Beauman and were very proud of themselves, until they realized they’d arrested ten Egons. Well, they were all released. Post-division, the reasoning for getting his retinas is a little shakier. We’re talking people who read his manifesto and decide he’s really not that bad of a guy, and want to express their rebellion in a way that’s relatively painless and lower risk than arson or burglary. Either that, or they see the eye pattern available at whatever seedy hellhole of a bodymod shop they’re at in the Stretch, and think it’ll be cute with the new glasses they bought.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Seems strange to me people would change themselves.”

“Oh, people have reasons. I’d get rid of my fat if I thought I’d be able to keep it off.”

“Well, cosmetic reasons, mental health, that’s totally fine. But as part of a rebellion? Very strange.”

“It gets stranger,” he said. “We’re in an aluminum bucket floating between nothingness and zilch. How’s that for strange?”

Watley looked at him, confused. “Res isn’t aluminum,” she said. “Aluminum wouldn’t protect us from stellar radiation.”

Colm smiled. “Stranger, and stranger still. If you haven’t detected from my mannerisms and droopy eyelids, or from the lovely sheen of grease I’m sure has accumulated on my hair, I’m very, very tired.”

“You must be,” she said. “I am and I work the night shift.”

“Well, keep me posted, Watley. We get an ID on this guy I’d like to know. My phone may not wake me up, though, but leave a message. I’m off to eat.” He paused, looking at the body once more.

“Your first dead body?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

Before long, Colm was in line at Arthur’s, a common fast food place and, unfortunately, the only one that was open early enough.

“What can I get for you?” asked the young worker, absolutely bored out of his mind.

“Four breakfast specials,” Colm said. “Extra cheese. Throw some onions on there. Three of the specials in a bag, one I want you to just hand to me without a wrapper so I can eat it on the way back to my shuttlecar.”

Hey all, just a note from the author. If you’re terribly confused, this is just a spot that I’m putting my poorly-written novel up online to show it to friends. And though I don’t think anyone would want to steal this, I’d like to make it clear that I am ideologically opposed to the idea of intellectual property and copyright. The story is as much yours as it is mine (and therefore, you’re also to blame for it being so awful).

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thecheeverfillesseniorthesis · 7 years

Text

The Cheever Files The Cheever Files Adventures of a Senior Thesis. Secondary blog of @midlife-stoodent.

D-1

Had to jump the count a few days because my Senior thesis is due TODAY. I had the due date in my planner as Sunday.

I am nearly finished with it. I turned in my thesis and subclaims into my prof via email, then when I got started, I used the same and wrote out my own words beneath my subclaims (I changed their type to BOLD to keep them separate). It worked! I am able to maintain an outline! I tend to scatter ideas…

I am not asking for an extension. I have asked for them all term and I simply need to get this done. I am 10 pages in, I have three sublaims left to do, and it’s not due until 11:59PM tonight.

THIS WILL HAPPEN.

I work best when dealing with absolute fear. Don’t follow my example. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 5 notes

D-5

The struggle is very real. Still receiving instruction from my prof on my thesis.

At least my tense is correct.

BTW, I work better under pressure. Spending an entire term on a paper has yet to work for me.

LISTENING TO: Our Lady Peace #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 3 notes

D-7. Senior Thesis is due this week. Thankfully I am off of work, so that’s one less thing to worry about.

My digital project is completed (first picture) and that has been uploaded. I am still (yes, still) working on my thesis and subclaims. I emailed a correction back to my prof this afternoon, once I hone my thesis she will get to my subclaims.

Tomorrow I have to drop off my paperwork for my Service Learning, and take the TB test. I don’t know if all of this is going to get done before the end of the term, but that professor has given us an option if we weren’t able to solidify our service learning before the term ended.

I think 60 coffee pods should last me until the end of the week? Last term I went through 80 in a week and a half, and this term is way harder. I may need more… #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#Seniorthesis#starbucks 3 notes

D-15. Rough Draft final draft, if that makes sense. I am truly blessed to have an amazing advisor/professor who gave us an extension (read: mercy) to turn it in for our rough draft workshop. I have until 6AM tomorrow morning to get this uploaded. **weeps with gratefulness**

Did I ever mention the size of my Senior Thesis class? There’s myself, and two other ladies. One of the many benefits of attending a small, private university.

I admit, I did the usual “check-out” in the middle of the term, where I was watching You Tube videos instead of writing. Then today, when the module for Week 8 comes out, we get the admonishment to not check out.

I am reeling myself back in.

Sumikko guroshi page flags for for ultimate win!

LISTENING TO: The Cure Disintegration #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis#sumikkoguroshi#obviouslyilovemycoffee 4 notes

D-18

Rough draft time. Have my most excellent feedback from my professor to help, as well as my own lightbulb moment. All I need now is the time to get it written. She did extend the due date for us, which I absolutely love because our drafts go into a workshop for final editing.

I miscalculated my vacation time from work, it’s next week, and I should have asked for this week, or even the rest of the month off.

Oh well. It will get done.

LISTENING TO: Morrissey’s Viva Hate #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 1 note

D-25. 25 days left to go.

Along with my essay, I also have to complete a digital assignment as part of my grade to add to my portfolio. Ovid’s Metamorphoses arrived via Amazon Student Prime today. Yes, Ovid + Cheever=Digital Project. It’s going to be awesome.

Still trying to raise my thesis from the bowels of hell. I was going to discuss the agency of the various rooms used in “A Country Husband” but I realized I needed to narrow that focus, so I am doing the agency of living rooms in the text. Of course, it throws my rough draft right out the window…

I love my Starbucks cup. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis#metamorphoses#starbucks#seemyfilofax? 7 notes

My First Draft is turned in, a minute past my self-imposed deadline of 5AM. I am so thankful my boss let me leave work two hours early so I could go home, nap, and finish this madness. I am not good at first drafts…a final copy I can do, but first drafts? My mind is still a jumble of thoughts and quotes.

After I uploaded my draft, I found an article on John Cheever that said he isn’t taught in schools anymore, if he ever really was. I find that to be a big old shame because the man is brilliant. Needless to say, even though I had already turned in my draft, I am now determined to make my paper a testament to his literary greatness. The man should be taught in schools, students are really missing out.

I am going to sleep the sleep of a student who has been burning the candle at both ends, what with full-time work and three classes to deal with. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 1 note

Literary TheoryLiterary Theory Senior ThesisLiterary TheorySenior Thesis 4/22/16: Over the course of my academic career (so far, it’s only been what, two years?) I have learned working with a printout of a text is much easier for annotating than with a book. I have absolutely no shame in destroying a book in the name of essay writing, but there is less guilt with using a printout. This is my copy of “A Country Husband”, the first and second pages. Yeah, I use Midori stickers to mark important transitions within the text.

I have also learned to SAVE. MY. NOTES from previous classes. Last term, I took Literary Theory, and I need to apply a theoretical lens to my thesis. It is times like these I am glad I am so anal about my notes, as my notebook from Lit Theory is divided by the different theories.

The rough draft is due next week, already I have the very familiar pangs of self-doubt. Maybe I am placing too much pressure on myself, but this paper is a reflection of me and my scholarship. In no way do I want to come off as pedestrian, but that is my largest fear moving forward. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 2 notes

Senior Thesis, Week 4: Way back when I took Literary Analysis (from the same professor) I kept all of the writing “hacks” she gave us. I printed them all up and tucked them away into a file folder. Turns out she’s using them for this class as well. Don’t know if the drawing belongs to her, but it still makes me laugh. Funny, two years ago when I took Literary Analysis I was very self-conscious of my essay-writing. Now it doesn’t phase me at all.

I am reading Cheever’s “Letters”…the man is hilarious, dark and so right-on with his discriptions of humanity. There’s an entire section entitled “The Suburbs”, from when he moved his family out of the city to upstate NY. The passage I highlighted tickles me, but I have to wonder: how often do we look at the belongings of others to remind us of who we are and where we came from?

My schedule for the upcoming week. My days off are Thursday and Friday, so I begin the fresh week there. Today (Monday) I register for Summer. I have to be at work by 230PM and other than continuing my Cheever reading I have my two other classes.

WRITE EVERY DAY.

Our rough draft is due next week, so this is our instruction. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspp#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 7 notes

Got my Prospectus/Annotated Bibliography done, several hours before I was scheduled to turn it in, so that’s over.

This week we will be working on our Digital Project/Digital Presence, so we get a break from writing. Doesn’t mean the fun stops, I still have two other classes to maintain. Above is my weekly calendar, I use it as well as my Ardium Academic planner. My “weekend” is on Thursday/Friday, which is why the dates are wonky.

As for Digital Presence, I really am not worried about it. I cleaned up my social media when I was accepted to uni because I knew there would be a time where I had to do the exact same thing, so I just wiped a whole bunch of accounts. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studysop#spring2016#ELNM#Seniorthesis 3 notes

Prospectus and Annotated Bibliography Work:

This is the current time. Not too bad, as I don’t get home from work until after 11PM, but my eyes are getting tired. I’m indulging in a large mug of black tea, having consumed enough coffee over the course of the day to sink a ship.

I have spent this past week reading and researching. I carry a book or an article with me at all times, because you never know when you are going to have a moment to catch up on some reading. I had a few minutes while at the gas station the other day, so I read a few paragraphs.

You do what you have to do to get it done. :)

My beat up Writer’s Reference book, a university requirement.

No, I don’t have to work tomorrow (sarcasm).

I have my annotations completed, but I need to edit them to make sure all of the commas are in the right place. I am almost finished with the prospectus part.

I did, however, make sure Word was functional on my iPad and the entire project was accessible. WIN. Now I can finish this up at work tomorrow.

It’s due at 11:59 Monday night. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis 21 notes

Day 2: Well, technically I am still running on the original post, but in reality we have passed midnight. Welcome to 2:15AM.

Week 2 is the Prospectus and Annotated Bibliography portion of Senior Thesis. I took notes of the instructions and WON on three academic sources. I need 5 total, including the original text. I could hug my WR 323 instructor right now, because I have become a master of Google Scholar and our library’s online search engine.

I leave this post with a picture of my stapler. This little honey has the capacity of stapling 40 pages at once, and for someone who simply cannot read and retain electronically, this has been a great investment. Oh, and all of the printer ink and paper I stocked up on last term. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#LIT498#spring2016#ELNM#seniorthesis

Day 1: Amazon Student Prime and Sunday delivery for the win. My books came today! I never had a book for “A Country Husband”, all I ever had was a .pdf. I will say, annotating on a copy is a lot easier than in a book. So, I printed out another.

The term just began a week ago, and for that first week we had to turn in an annotated page from two papers we have written during our academic career here at Marylhurst. “Desireè’s Baby” by Chopin was my other choice, but I was sold on Cheever from the beginning. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#LIT498#seniorthesis#ELNM 2 notes A Digital Accounting of my Adventures with my Senior Thesis. @midlife-stoodent here. I am an English Literature and New Media major, and welcome to my Senior Thesis studyblr. Check out my main blog for more studyblr goodness.

I decided to chronicle my path of the Senior Thesis to create a digital footprint of the process. Obviously, my Thesis is on John Cheever, his short story “The Country Husband” to be exact. I chose Cheever because his stories about the middle class intrigue me.

So! Lets get this started! I will be following the usual #studyblr format. #thecheeverfiles#studyblr#studyspo#spring2016#LIT498#seniorthesis#ELNM 1 note

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