Gilmore Girls – 4.15: Scene in a Mall
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Gilmore Girls – 4.15: Scene in a Mall

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observe but don’t absorb.
love but don’t depend.
feel but don’t dwell.
want but don’t need.
connected and detached.
In the realm of verse, where emotions dance, Lies a profound truth, a poetic expanse. For poetry, dear friend, is a spectacle rare, A vivid portrayal of true passion laid bare.
Like a naked woman, standing unclad, Revealing her essence, the depths she's had. Her curves and contours, a captivating sight, Embodied emotions, in soft candlelight.
Yet, poetry also dons a masculine guise, A naked man, strong, with a gaze so wise. His strength and vulnerability blend in embrace, A symphony of words, his intimate grace.
But what truly captivates, what truly astounds, Is the space between them, where magic is found. It's a fragile distance, ethereal and vast, Where hearts intertwine, and emotions amass.
In that sacred void, passion finds its flight, Where longing and desire take hold of the night. It's a realm of silence, where whispers reside, Bridging souls together, where truths must abide.
For poetry is the language that all souls understand, A dance between two, in a vast poetic land. In the gap between bodies, love takes its flight, A communion of spirits, boundless and bright.
So, let us embrace the nakedness of verse, And delve into the spaces where emotions immerse. For in poetry's essence, we truly transcend, Through a naked woman, a naked man, ...and the ways that they blend.
Sometimes you don't feel strong enough to face your problems. Some days the best you can do is exist. And that's okay. It's okay to just be for now.
Academic Tip: Thank Your Professors
This is the time of year (after grades are in, during the semester break) when I send thank you emails to each of the professors that I had a class with.
Whether adjunct, fixed term, or tenured, they work very hard teaching classes, often without a lot of thanks. Sending a short email letting them know that you enjoyed their class can go a long way, and it's a good step to forming a relationship with a possible mentor.
I know that writing emails can be tricky, so here's a basic template to get you started:
Dear Dr. Lastname,
I was in your [insert name of class] this semester, and I wanted to reach out to thank you for this semester and for the effort you put into the class. I really appreciated how you worked to [something you liked about the class], and I really enjoyed learning from you.
All the best,
[Your firstname lastname]

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friends don’t kiss | jeno x y/n
a college au where y/n is best friends with jeno, but their friendship is no ordinary friendship since it consists of lots of kissing with each other.
summary: you weren’t quite sure what your relationship was with jeno. friends don’t kiss but you and jeno sure did spend a lot of time with each other, secretly kissing when no one was around. it was fun at first but then things started to get confusing and complicated when you felt like you were catching feelings for jeno, but how did jeno really feel about you? was this all just platonic or was there something more?
genre: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, mature, very suggestive, smut
warnings: very suggestive scenes, detailed smut, (unprotected) sexual intercourse, oral (f receiving), use of profanity, mature readers only, minors pls dni, strictly 18+
song inspo: nct dream - bungee
word count: 6.6k
a/n: this idea popped up in my head a few weeks ago but it just took me forever to write. idk how I feel about this story, and don’t really have much confidence in it. That being said, I think it was a fun concept to write about so I hope you enjoy. Not proofread.
What’s your typical day like?
i wake up. i malfunction. i call it a day
sometimes I hate how much modern clothing is determined to show women’s bodies
like if it’s not skimpy, it’s skin-tight- leggings, skinny jeans, bodycon dresses, etc.
doing historical costuming has made me hyper-aware of just how “on display” my body is when I’m wearing normal modern outfits, and it affects my behavior. don’t bend over to pick things up at work because men will stare at your ass. sit differently so you don’t show stomach rolls. a guy running a pop-up stand next to my shop commented so much on how I had “great legs” that I didn’t wear leggings and skirts- one of my favorite winter outfit combinations -for the rest of the season
there’s a certain freedom in medium-to-long skirts and skirt supports, I find: the freedom to define what people see of my body. men won’t stop being creepy no matter what women wear, but I like that kind of dramatic body re-framing. you don’t get to see my legs and hips, Creepy Guys. you get to see a massive bell skirt, or a bustle, or an upended trumpet flower shape. my body is to be seen only by those I’ve chosen to trust, not the world at large
of course, empowerment is different for different women. some feel comfortable and powerful showing as much of their shape as possible, and I applaud them in doing exactly that. what pisses me off is the pressure from the fashion industry for all of us to be empowered by the same thing…a thing that just so happens to tie in with the diet industry and the cosmetics industry. it’s easier to sell the idea that you have to be hairless and smooth and thin and blemish-free when it’s all on display
sometimes I just wish I could go about in a hoop skirt and a t-shirt that says “fuck off” in delicate script
BEST RESPONSE TO ANY POST OF MINE EVER
THANK YOU
Technically unless there’s a dress code for your work or whatever there’s nothing that says you can’t wear a hoop skirt everywhere.
Fight the man.
Wear a hoop skirt if you want.
I see this post a lot and I’m sure I’ve seen someone I follow add on this as well but if you agree with the sentiment of this post I really hope you also support hijabis and niqabis, because that is more or less the core of how we dress. Observing hijab is religious, yes, but dressing modestly is like as OP said “my body is to be seen only by those I’ve chosen to trust, not the world at large”. that is the exact sentiment behind why I wear niqab (the religious reasons for wearing it I don’t feel comfortable talking about a lot, because how i express my faith is personal and between me and Allah(SWT)), because I get to choose who sees my body and how much of it they see and because I like having that control and I think it’s fun and I enjoy it!
If you now support people choosing to dress modestly for whatever reason, you must include supporting hijabis and niqabis who have been dressing modestly forever.
thoughts on?
No. Thoughts are currently off.
❝ 10 things i know about you ❞ l.jn
synopsis: there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.
request: “if you’re still accepting requests, can u make a domestic roommate!jeno? 🥺🥺 thank you and have a nice dayyy”
word count: 7.1k (bruhhh)
sharing an apartment with lee jeno isn’t ideal.
it’s not that he’s a lousy roommate or that you disliked him in any way; you just didn’t know him. you had first met through a mutual friend. they knew jeno was looking for someone to split rent with and that you happened to need a place to stay. they promised you he would give you privacy and assured jeno you were excellent roommate material. with that, arrangements were made and soon enough you moved in together. of course, it was a bit awkward at first but you two eventually got used to each other’s presence. although you were never in the same room for too long and oftentimes went days without speaking, you coexisted.
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I don't feel particularly proud of myself. But when I walk alone in the woods or lie in the meadows, all is well.
— Franz Kafka, Letters to Friends, Family, and Editors
🚨🚨🚨 i’m gonna s*t on the both of you
Boyfriend Jaehyun ♡
1-800-Chaos (m)
PAIRING: Nakamoto Yuta × Reader
GENRE: smut (lots of smut) and fluff. if you look closely, you might see faint angst, too.
SUMMARY: You try to spice up your sex life by calling your boyfriend and talking dirty. However, what you don’t realise is the wrong number that you have called and what you don’t expect is the relationship that blossoms along with that call.
WORD COUNT: 28k words (i couldn’t stop, i’m sorry)
WARNING: phone sex (twice), penetration, fingering, oral sex (f)
A/N: this is heavily (and i mean, supremely) inspired from the movie watcha wearing and it’s merely just a fanfic version of that story with an alternate ending. i mean, i couldn’t stop picturing yuta in the story and i knew i needed to suffice my thirst and so, this happened. and i thought i should share if y'all ever just did think like me. and so, voila. with much, much love.
You stretch your back and remove the hairpin from your hair, allowing your luscious black hair to drop and gracefully fall against your back. Your hands proceed to remove your clothes and change into your favorite piece of lingerie – a black lace that hugs your curves perfectly and pushes up your breasts – one that you had made. At this point, you genuinely hope anything you did would work and save your relationship.
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study sessions [m]
summary: you never thought that yuta, of all people, would be willing to help you with your salient project. though, one study session turned into two, three, and that was enough for you to get down on your knees, ready to thank him in a special way
❀ pairing: nerd!yuta & reader insert || university!AU
❀ includes: smut (oral, masturbation, public foreplay, thigh riding, dirty talk)
❀ wc: 14k
❀ note: A sarcastic, submissive nerd yuta is such a concept ftw, enjoy~ ^~^
University had always been stressful.
Students would bustle to and fro from classes to dense libraries, or even coop themselves up in the claustrophobic comfort of their dorm room to crank in some study time. Free days were rare; you would infrequently see other students lounging for hours on end around campus. The only true breaks present would be lunch or last minute plans created after what felt like eons of being studious.
Or perhaps that was just your institute.
Prestigious as it was, that was the life behind the scene of your school. Studying appeared to be the only facet that everyone knew—that each student shared. And since it was crunch week for one of your classes, everything was amplified. There was a grand project that was assigned at the second week of class, and it would take part in a substantial amount of one’s grade. It was an individual project of a plethora of research and proper essays down to the core. There were the students at your school who had started the second they were made aware of the paramount project, and then there was people like you—the certain ones that believed procrastinating was the better option.
So there you were, situated at your desk during class with your jaw dropped to the floor. It was not hanging open from the lack of understanding towards your professor’s words, but because moments ago he said, nonchalant at best, “The project is due a week from today—it wouldn’t fit in with our class schedule if I made it due any later. I’m assuming you all started and some even finished.”
You wanted to clout yourself; how could you had been so off guard? Of course he was going to pull that move—he did it with the other large assignments, but what made you believe otherwise? Your eyes scanned the perimeter to catch the aghast expressions of your surrounding classmates, but each one of them appeared calm and collected—like this was a card they were well aware that the professor was going to play.
You sighed and dug your face into your palms, allowing the weight of the world to sink down on your shoulders. “You’re kidding me,” you mumbled.
And so for the rest of the lecture you were drowning in stress, unable to pay attention to your professor’s informative words until the end.
The second the professor dismissed the class you bolted out of the room and started to rush to the library—then, you became like every other student at your campus. You entered the library hastily like a veritable tornado, sending several loose papers that rested on the surface of the front desk flying like baby birds. Stress was igniting the flame within you, fueling your being to get lost in the labyrinthine of a library and search for every single book in regards to your chosen topic that would aid your project. It took a while of a desperate search, but you finally found the treasure that was the informative tome.
Now, all you had to do was find an empty place to study. Amidst the quietude your angry steps was the only sound that was audible to each person; it boomed throughout the sections you were in and traveled along your side like a penumbra. Your bag was hiked over your shoulder, arms full with notebooks and the books, and you grew tired with every step. You started to trudge after the excursion for information and, like you had seen an oasis in the middle of a parched desert, you found an open seat. You kicked up your pace and bolted for the vacancy; soon, you reached it and occupied the area with your belongings.
The frantic rustles of papers and slams of notebooks over one another caught the student’s, who was situated next to you, attention. He lifted his nose from his book at batted his lashes your way, scrutinizing you with curious eyes. You were too caught up in organizing your belongings to notice the belittling way he was gawking at you; it was not until he cleared his throat for you to come down from your clouds of thought.
“Yes?” you asked him.
The boy looked at you, his expression niche. “Is all that for Professor Sung’s psychology class?”
You blinked twice and tilted your head, wondering how he knew the reason behind your scamper. “Um,” you looked at your open notebooks and took a pen in hand, “yes, why?”
The boy nodded and turned to the next page of the novel he was reading. “It’s an easy project,” he told you. “It will only take a good three days to finish, to be honest.”
You rolled your eyes and took notice of his study area. His notebooks were closed and in a superlative condition, each stacked perfectly upon one another. He was reading a new novel from the fiction section; a sore stand out compared to the other students who were at the library to study, or catch up on the work they pushed off like you.
“How would you know?” you asked him with a sigh. “He assigned this at the beginning of the class, there’s no way. And are you even in his class?”
The boy licked his lips and hesitated. He raised an eyebrow at you, tossing out a look of disbelief.
“What?” you asked again.
“I am in your class, (y/n),” he told you straightforwardly.
“What?!” you repeated, that time with more surprise. There was more raw shock in your tone than interest, and you attempted to recall every detail in your psychology class. You thought you knew everyone’s face in the lecture room, but apparently not. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he responded, a little irked by your ignorance, “I’m Nakamoto Yuta.”
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cr.
Too Cool
Genre: so much fluff my dudes, domestic!jaehyun
Word Count: 2k (v short)
Excerpt: “I know baby, this sucks. Trust our shitty heater to break during the coldest week of the winter.” Jaehyun spoke against your neck, nuzzling into the warm skin to inhale your scent.“You smell like me.” He hummed, smiling into your neck.
“Because I’m wearing your sweatshirt doofus.”
“Yea, well, it’s cute.”
Masterlist
A/N: I literally wrote this in one sitting also it’s mostly dialogue but uhhh yea I hope it’s ok lol
You brushed the stray snowflakes from your jacket, pulling off your gloves to stuff them into your pocket. Kicking your boots off, careful not to knock anymore snow onto the floor, you stumbled around the entrance of your apartment. A low humming filled the air as you stepped around your discarded belongings, following the source of the noise. It grew louder the closer you got to your bedroom, heat radiating from the room and you knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open.
“Is the heating still not working in here?” You groaned, immediately spotting Jaehyun squatted near the space heater at the end of your bed.
“Oh, baby, I didn’t hear you come in.” He stood up, rushing to embrace you in a warm hug. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, a sweatshirt and sweatpants adorning his body in hopes of maintaining some form of heat.
“Yea it’s fucking freezing out there dude.” You mumbled into his chest, burrowing your cold nose into his sweatshirt, hoping to steal some warmth from him.
“We’ve been dating for a year and a half and you still call me dude.” He pouts, pulling your face away from his chest to squish your cheeks.
“It’s a term of endearment, dude.” You replied, laughing at his expression of distaste.
“How can it be a term of endearment if you call everyone dude?”
“Because you’re my dude.”
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