#and all is correct aside from academic

[simbleleven]

The rules are simple: go to pinterest, search "your name + core", and post six pictures. Then tag six people.

Got tagged by @fl0pera, tee-hee, this was fun, thanks! My search yielded so many dark-academia-adjacent pics, and, weirdly, a bunch of eye symbolism.

I'm real bad at tagging, so if anyone already got tagged, ignore this lmao – also, no pressure to participate! @cowplant-pizza @ghoulish-sims @jayveesim @localthumbcache and uhhh, anyone else who wants in on the fun.

[tojicide]

chapter three ── pepper spray.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader.

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, credit to @/haven__ly on x for the middle pic, mdni

chapter summary. ┆ caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime.

chapter warnings. ┆ slightly sexually suggestive content and a little bit of bodily harm…… but nothing too crazy i swear!

prev: chapter two. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter four.

“Aw, come on. Again?”

Caleb feels like he’s been at this for hours. Realistically, it’s been four minutes—maybe five—but time stretches a bit slower when all you do is fail.

He straightens up, tugging at the red ski mask that clings to his face. Despite the crisp morning air, the layers he’s wearing are doing him no favors. The mask in particular is itchy, tight, and, if he’s being honest, suffocating. Maybe you were right—maybe he did have big head syndrome.

But he pushes that thought aside, rolling his shoulders back and planting his feet firmly against the rooftop. With careful precision, he flicks his wrist toward the corner of Mama Louisa’s Pastry Shop—a well-loved business by both himself and every other Linkon University student running on caffeine and sugar. Hopefully she won’t mind him using her bakery as a makeshift training ground.

He tenses his wrist again, and finally—finally—a strand of silk shoots from his pulse point… only for a gentle breeze to carry it away like it’s nothing more than stray thread from a sweater.

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose. Okay. That’s fine. Progress is progress.

He tries again. Fails again, too.

But then, on his next attempt, something changes. He can feel it. A flick of his wrist, the perfect angle with just the right amount of tension.

Thwip!

The web sticks, thick and sturdy like the ones he’d shot in his dorm room, right against the bakery’s awning.

Caleb grins so wide it could rival the Empire State Building. He doesn’t fully understand why this is happening—these heightened senses, the silk-slinging, the unnatural strength—but if his research means anything, it all traces back to the spider bite in the university lab. Probably. If he were to be honest, it’s more of an educated guess for the moment.

Without thinking twice, he sprints forward and leaps from the rooftop. In hindsight, thinking twice might’ve been a good idea, because when he goes to shoot another web at the next building, his aim is—how should he put this?—gods awful.

The silk completely misses its mark, latching onto a birch tree instead. And before Caleb can course-correct, he goes slamming into it face-first.

BAM!

Leaves rustle. Branches snap. Somewhere, a pigeon squawks in alarm, and it might be simultaneously scolding Caleb in a language he can’t understand.

He groans, peeling himself away from the tree trunk, only to find himself tangled in a mess of twigs and leaves.

“Mister!”

He blinks, his brain still rattled from the impact.

“Mister! Down here!”

It takes a second for his senses to recalibrate, but once they do, he follows the tiny voice downward until his gaze lands on a little girl standing at the tree’s base. She looks no older than five, her curly hair swallowing her small face as the wind ruffles through it. Despite her tiny stature, she stands with her hands on her hips, staring up at him with a look of determination.

She points upward. “Can you get Mr. Pickles? He’s scared of heights.”

Caleb blinks again, squinting in the direction of her tiny finger.

And there, perched precariously on a flimsy branch, is a scrawny grey cat.

“Mr. Pickles?” he mutters, already moving before he can think twice. (And this time, that was a good thing.)

His fingers stick effortlessly to the tree bark as he climbs, his static cling allowing him to crawl along the surface like he was made for this. He scales the trunk with ease, reaching the trembling feline in a matter of seconds.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he coos, slowly wrapping an arm around the cat and tucking him securely against his chest. “You’re alright. No need to be scared now.”

Once he makes his way back down, he lands gracefully on his feet, adjusting the cat in his arms before handing him off.

The little girl grins, cradling Mr. Pickles like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, mister!”

Caleb smiles. “No problem, sweetheart.”

She beams up at him before dashing back toward a nearby apartment building. “I’ll give Mr. Pickles a hug for you!”

“Make it extra warm for me, yeah?”

“Okay!”

And just like that, she’s gone, disappearing behind the lobby doors with her newly rescued companion.

The air is cold, the streets quiet. No sirens, which was a luxury these days. The perfect time for a peaceful stroll.

Or, in Caleb’s case, the perfect time to fail at web-slinging.

That was fine, though. No one saw.

Except for a small child who owned a runaway cat.

Caleb walks down the sidewalk in an attempt to forget about the embarrassment of the moment, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, the ski mask still clinging uncomfortably to his face. The whole city feels half-asleep, barely stirring under the early sun, and for once, Caleb lets himself enjoy it. Well, as much as he possibly can enjoy something after a morning of throwing himself at trees and towards buildings.

“Excuse me, young man?”

Caleb halts, turning to find an elderly woman peering up at him through thick-framed glasses, her wrinkled face pulled into a look of concern. She clutches a tote bag to her side, a plaid scarf wrapped neatly around her hair.

“I just saw you help that young girl, and I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the nearest dry cleaners,” she asks, adjusting her grip on the bag. “I swear, my memory is getting worse by the day. It’s around here somewhere, I just can’t seem to—”

“Oh, yeah, it’s just a few blocks down,” he gently interrupts, gesturing toward the street corner. “Take a left at the bakery right over there and then it’s right past the old bookstore. Can’t miss it, I promise.”

The woman sighs in relief. “Oh, you’re an angel, thank you! I was walking in the wrong direction for who knows how long.”

Caleb chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Happens to the best of us.”

“I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetheart,” she says, already turning to go in the direction he’d gestured to.

He offers a charming smile that reaches his eyes. “You too, ma’am.”

And with that, he continues down the sidewalk, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s funny, really. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he actually enjoys this aspect of his new predicament more than he originally anticipated. Helping people, even if it’s just with the small stuff. Before, it seemed like those opportunities were fleeting, and now, they laid around him in abundance. 

Then, just as he’s about to take a right onto the next block…

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

His head snaps toward the alleyway up ahead. A car alarm wails through the narrow space between buildings, the sharp noise sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine.

And before he can think—before he can even process what was going on—his legs are already moving. Maybe that was a new impulse that the spider bite had brought upon him, too.

He sprints into the alley, heart hammering wildly in his chest, and that’s when he sees him.

A man hunched over the driver’s side door of an old blue sedan, hands fumbling with a crowbar against the handle. He’s working fast—too fast and too irresponsibly—not even sparing a glance over his shoulder as the alarm screeches on.

Caleb doesn’t hesitate. His wrist flicks.

Thwip!

The web shoots out before he even registers it happening, sticking clean onto the man’s hand… and the door handle he was prying open.

“What the—”

The guy jerks back instinctively, only to realize that his hand isn’t going anywhere.

Caleb halts to a stop a few feet away, breathing hard, adrenaline singing through his veins.

Sirens wail in the distance, he then realizes. 

The thief panics, tugging at his hand with increasing desperation. “What the hell? Get this off me, man! What is this—glue?”

Caleb tilts his head, taking a slow step forward. “Tch. What glue do you know that looks like that? You’ve got the mind of a real scholar, you know. Ever thought about givin’ up grand theft auto for Harvard?”

The sirens grow louder.

The man flails now, yanking at his wrist, his feet slipping against the pavement. “C’mon, man, you gotta— you gotta help me out here.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think I do,” Caleb muses, his heartbeat finally slowing to something steady, something that was almost calm. 

“What are you? A cop?”

Caleb tilts his head. Even through the mask, his deadpan is palpable. “Really, man?” he drawls. “You think I’m a cop?”

The thief scoffs, loud and hard, shaking his head like Caleb is the idiot here. “Tch. Whatever.”

Then, his free hand vanishes into his coat. When it returns to his line of sight, a blade flashes before he even has time to blink. “Don’t make me use this, kid.”

A knife. A whole kitchen knife. Serrated edges, too. Probably stolen. Probably dirty. Probably the worst attempt at a threat that he has ever seen in his entire life.

Caleb gasps. Theatrically. He drops straight to his knees, too, his arms flying up over his head in a show of fake panic. “A kitchen knife? No! No, please spare me!”

The guy nods. “Yeah, that’s right. Just let me go, and—”

Thwip!

The thief jerks, eyes so wide they nearly bulge out of his skull.

And just like that, his mouth is gone.

Well. Not gone, gone. Just… thoroughly webbed shut.

“Mmph! Mm— mmph!”

Caleb straightens up, resting his hands on his hips as he tilts his head, a layer of faux sympathy dripping from his voice. “Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t quite catch it.”

The guy flails once more.

Useless. Helpless. Pathetic.

So pathetic that it almost makes Caleb feel bad. Almost. 

Then the sirens return. They’re more persistent now. Louder. Closer. 

Flashing red and blue swallow the alley, bouncing off the walls like stage lights for the thief’s almost-perfect crime.

The man whips his head toward them. Caleb follows his gaze, then hums, turning back with a single gloved finger pressed over his own masked mouth. 

“Sh.”

He disappears before the first cop even steps out of the car, and as he whisks into the city, slipping between alleyways, a single thought loops through his mind. 

He can do something with this.

Like... really do something. 

Not just helping lost grandmas and rescuing stranded cats.

But this…

This was something that went far beyond what the Linkon PD was capable of: stopping the bad guys before they got away.

And now, he swings with a newfound ease, a confidence that wasn’t there before, flipping between buildings, twisting through the bright glow of billboards. Caleb finally gets it. The mechanics, the rhythm, the thrill of it. The way the city unfolds before him like a playground of concrete and steel.

Beneath him, people point. People cheer. People wonder.

But one man does not wonder.

One man knows.

That man stands just outside a quiet café, his untouched tea steaming in his hands, his sharp gaze never leaving the sky. He was on his way toward the Oscorp building in the distance, his badge reading Dr. Curtis Connors — Head Biologist. 

Unlike the others, he does not gape. He does not cheer.

He only watches.

His glasses slip down his nose as he tilts his head, following the figure’s trajectory with a stare so focused and precise it could slice through bone. His mind moves faster than his pulse. Not a suit. Not a rig. Not a device. No, no—it’s organic. The silk isn’t shot from him. It belongs to him.

His fingers twitch.

Click.

The photo is grainy due to the shakiness of his grip, but the silhouette is unmistakable.

Curtis Connors exhales slowly through his nose, fingers already moving, already typing, already sending. His recipients were none other than the student team who wrote for the medical journalism column in the Linkon University Chronicle. 

Curtis Connors: [image attachment] Find out as much info as you can on this figure.

He watches the message send. Then, he watches as this figure, as blissfully unaware as can be, swings off into the sky—free and untouchable.

For now.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, but you don’t have half the mind to reach for it—not when a sea of sorority girls is already waving you down with welcoming smiles and outstretched arms.

“Tara!” you greet, barely getting the word out before she yanks you into a bear hug that nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“You came!” she squeals. “I totally thought you were gonna back out at the last minute.”

“How could I?” you reply, returning the hug before reaching for Cleo, who wraps her arms around you like she hasn’t seen you in years. “I made a commitment. I had to follow through, even if midterms are coming for my throat and I haven’t touched my biology flashcards in, like… two weeks.”

Tara laughs, shaking her head. “You worry too much. Just relax, have some fun. You deserve it.” Then, she leans in conspiratorially, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Plus… he who shall not be named isn’t even here. I think he bailed. You might actually be Caleb-free today.”

Your eyes widen with a gleam that could outshine a kid in a candy store. A sunny afternoon with your friends? Caleb-free? Total score.

“I love your suit!” Cleo chirps, dragging your attention back to Earth. Her fingers lightly trace the hem of your bikini top. “It suits your skin tone so well. Where’d you get it?”

You glance toward the sky like the clouds might give you your memory back. “Uh… probably Target? Like, two years ago?”

“Well, I’m definitely raiding the swimwear section before Spring Break,” she laughs, handing you a half-full bucket of water. She pauses for a moment, then adds with a grin, “I mean seriously—that top is really working for you.”

You laugh, awkwardly tucking the large bucket against your torso. “Thanks. I thought it might’ve been… too much,” you say, gesturing a hand over your chest.

“No, no!” Tara interjects immediately, hands flying into the air like she’s warding off some curse. “It’s the perfect amount of boobage.”

You eyebrows raise. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she says with full confidence.

Before you can say much at all, Cleo’s voice cuts in like a bullet. “Looks like someone else thinks so too.”

“Someone else? Who…?”

But you don’t finish. Your voice trails off the second your eyes follow her pointed gaze.

Across the lot. Lambda Chi Alpha’s side. Shirtless guys joking and slinging sudsy water at each other like they're in a beer commercial. But your gaze settles on one in particular.

Caleb.

Shirt off. Abs fully present and accounted for—all eight of them, you made sure to count. Somehow looking even better than he did a few days ago, which is rude. Biceps glistening from the sun and suds. Hair a mess in the best possible way. And those arms—Gods, those arms should be studied in a lab.

“Yoohoo?” Tara sings, tapping your forehead like she’s knocking on a front door.

You blink, snapping out of your trance. “What?”

Tara and Cleo exchange an all-knowing look.

“I thought you didn’t want to see Caleb today,” Tara says with a lopsided smile.

“I don’t.”

“And yet…” Cleo gestures broadly, “there you were. Gawking.”

You scoff. “I can dislike someone and still objectively—totally objectively—acknowledge that they might not be the most hideous person to walk the Earth.”

Cleo hums. “Uh-huh. Totally objective.”

“It is an objective observation!”

“Sure, sure,” Tara teases. “Just science. A visual data analysis of muscle definition.”

You sigh, pointing at her. “Exactly.”

. . .

Caleb isn’t faring much better.

In fact, he’s doing worse. A lot worse.

He tries to apply logic to the situation. To rationalize the incredibly logicless mess he has found himself in.

It must be his new senses—yeah, that has to be it. His body adjusting, his nervous system overcompensating, deciding that now, of all godforsaken times, would be a great moment to send every ounce of blood in his body to a very unhelpful location.

His eyes widen, panic rising in his chest.

No. No, no, no. This is not happening.

Almost instinctively, he wrenches himself away from your general direction, physically turning his body like that alone will make his predicament less of a predicament.

It’s not his fault.

Seriously. It’s not.

No amount of superability could ever counteract the very human reality that, at the end of the day, Caleb Xia is just a man.

A man with… an appreciation for certain assets.

And today, his attention seems to have locked onto yours in particular.

Now isn’t the time for this. There would never be a time for this. He feels horrible, like a pathetic schoolboy with zero control over his own body.

Somewhere in his haze of absolute distress, his dog tag ends up wedged between his teeth, because apparently, his body has decided that biting metal is his last line of defense against catastrophic embarrassment.

Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran naked.

He squeezes his eyes shut, practically chanting the words in his head to paint a better picture like a desperate exorcism.

Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran na—

“You’re going to ruin those if you bite on them any harder.”

Caleb’s entire brain short-circuits.

His eyes snap open, locking onto yours. You’re standing there, bucket in your arms, tilting your head at him like he’s some kind of science experiment gone wrong.

He is barely keeping himself together.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

But then, you pout.

“Go on, boy,” you tease, voice dangerously sweet, mockingly condescending, like you’re talking to a dog. “Drop ‘em.”

His entire soul leaves his body. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he finally drops the dog tag from his teeth.

You beam at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair like he actually is a well-trained mutt. “Good boy!”

Caleb scoffs, swatting your hand away. “Shut up.”

You laugh, and he hates how much he likes the sound of it.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” you grin, reaching into the bucket. “Here’s your treat.”

Before he can react, a water-soaked sponge lands smack against his chest with a loud slap.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbles, peeling the sponge off as you shut off the hose and hoist your bucket back into your arms.

“Sure I am,” you chirp. “Good luck, waterboy.”

Caleb huffs, his head snapping up as you begin to walk past him. “The newbie is callin’ me a waterboy? Who brought in the most customers last year again?”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say through a sigh, waving him off. “Who cares about last year?”

He’s about to counter—because he cares, and his title as reigning champ of the car wash must be defended at all costs—but then, you stop right beside him.

And for the love of all things holy, the air thickens.

You turn slightly, tilting your chin, that same smug glint in your eyes. “I, for one, certainly don’t care about last year. You’ll have to work harder this time around, anyway.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “Why’s that?”

You don’t answer verbally. With a small sway of your fingers toward the parking lot, you point his attention elsewhere. Delta Gamma’s station currently had a long, ever-growing line of cars. A parade of eager customers at your fingertips.

Caleb exhales slowly. “Ah.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum knowingly.

And then you look him over. Blatant in a way that makes him shiver. Up. Down. Unrushed. Deliberate. Unfair.

And then, just like that, you pivot on your heel. “Gotta go.”

Before you can fully escape, his hand catches your wrist.

“Hey, hey, hey— not so fast,” he murmurs, voice dropping just slightly. Just enough. “If you’re so confident… maybe we should bet on it.”

You stop and turn back toward him. There’s a competitive glint in your eye. It’s exciting. 

And unfortunately, it’s doing nothing to help with the currently unsolved issue in his shorts.

“Alright.” It takes zero hesitation. The opportunity to publicly defeat Caleb Xia is simply too good to pass up. “You’re on.”

His lips curl into an almost-there smile. “Terms?”

Your smile should be legally registered as a deadly weapon. “Loser has to wash the winner’s car… and purposely take a B- on the next lab report.”

Caleb lifts a brow. “You don’t have much to lose.”

You shrug, all casual, all effortless charm, and it’s killing him.

“Nope,” you reply smoothly. “I have everything to gain.”

Caleb should be fighting for his life against whatever spell you’ve just cast over him.

Instead, he falls for it.

(Hook. Line. Sinker.)

“Fine,” he says, sliding his hold from your wrist to your palm, giving your hand a firm shake—his fingers lingering just a little too long against yours.

“You’re on.”

. . .

Caleb should have really thought this through.

But instead, he let you get under his skin, let your smug little grin trick him into underestimating you.

Big mistake, because not even five minutes in, the Delta Gamma girls are practically drowning in customers, and Caleb has barely started scrubbing down his first car.

Caleb squints in your direction. This is not fair.

It feels like only ten minutes pass by before he looks in your direction again, and this time, he finds himself sweating.

Partially from the sun, partially from watching you rinse off a car with zero mercy—your movements way too efficient for someone who supposedly hasn’t done this sort of thing before.

And still, he refuses to lose. He has to switch tactics.

If charm is your secret weapon, then it can be his too. It was his before it was yours, anyway.

He yawns, stretching his arms just enough to get the attention of a group of girls suspiciously and slowly passing by in a yellow slugbug.

"Hey," he greets, sending a smile their way as he leans against the car, muscles flexing just right. "Need a wash?"

And to no one’s surprise but your own, it works.

Unfortunately, by the time the car wash ends, the results are as clear as day—you won.

And now, here Caleb stood—arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line, trying to accept his defeat.

“So,” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, “when am I washing your car?”

Your grin turns dangerously smug. “Oh, I don’t have a car.”

Caleb stares at you like his brain needs a full reboot to comprehend what you just said.

“Sneaky.”

You shrug. “I prefer genius.”

"Not cool." Caleb shakes his head, his hands going to his hips. “I don’t like havin’ unpaid debts.”

“Well…” You rock back on your heels, tilting your head at him. “Maybe you can get creative. Find a new way to pay up.”

Caleb arches a brow. “Like?”

You hum, tapping your chin like you’re actually putting serious thought into it. “Hm… bring me coffee from the café every time we have a lecture.”

Caleb scoffs. “You're joking.”

“I'm not.”

He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Fine.”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb knew as well as anyone that crime woke up when the city went to sleep.

So tonight, he stayed up to witness it. Maybe he’d do something good for the city. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to try. He had to.

It felt like something was calling to him, something so instinctive and certain that he couldn’t help but listen.

That was how he found himself here, sprawled across the roof of a liquor store, killing time with a game that had no winner. He flicked a pebble toward the ledge, watching as it bounced back near his hand. Again. Again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he listened for any sounds of trouble.

The bell of the liquor store’s entrance rang, and the sudden noise jolted through him, causing his grip to slip. Instead of hitting the ledge, the pebble sailed clean over the rooftop.

“Ouch!”

Caleb froze, and then scrambled to the edge of the roof, yanking his ski mask into place. He peered over the ledge, pulse spiking.

And when he saw who he’d just pelted in the head with a rock, he really should have expected it.

You.

Of course it was you, because why wouldn’t it be?

He watched as you winced, rubbing at the spot where the pebble had struck. You glanced around but, not seeing anyone, just sighed and continued down the sidewalk, bag of groceries clenched in your hand.

And as you walked, Caleb noticed a few things.

The way your pace sped up near the alleys. The way you slowed when you passed under a streetlamp, lingering just a second longer in the light. The way your fingers curled a little tighter around the grocery bag.

You were afraid, and he could understand why.

This wasn’t the best part of the city. It was dark and lonesome, a breeding ground for all things dangerous.

So, without much thinking—without even giving himself the chance to talk himself out of it—he decided to make sure you got home safe.

For purely vigilante reasons, of course.

. . .

You swear you’re not crazy, but someone is definitely following you.

The almost silent breathing. The faint but deliberate footsteps against pavement.

You pick up your pace, but curiosity is a terrible thing, and despite your better judgment, you glance over your shoulder.

And there he is: a shadow perched on the edge of a rooftop. Watching.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

What the hell? Was he… doing parkour? You huff, shaking your head. Not important.

Your pulse spikes, and your body reacts before your mind does. You do the only logical thing you can think of: you bolt.

Your bag slips from your grip, but you don’t have time to care. Every survival instinct you’ve ever had is screaming at you to run.

Like clockwork, the footsteps behind you quicken.

A voice speaks up. “Hey, you dropped your—“

Shrieking, you whip around mid-sprint, finger already slamming down on the trigger of your pepper spray.

The man barely has time to react. He coughs and chokes, stumbling backward like he just got decked in the face. Your groceries fly through the air as he flails, practically throwing them back at you in the process.

“What—” he wheezes, hands clutching his eyes as he coughs again. “What was that for?”

“You…” your breath is coming out in sharp gasps as you clutch the pepper spray tighter. “You were following me!”

He tries to open his eyes, then immediately winces. “I was making sure you got back to campus okay!”

You take a step back, grip still firm around the bottle. “Well… well why the hell did you start running after me when I ran, huh?”

“You dropped your groceries!”

You hesitate because he sounds genuinely frustrated. “Well… don’t do that again, you freak! Don’t you know you shouldn’t follow people home?”

“I wasn’t— I mean, I was, but not for any reason you might be thinking of,” he stammers.

There’s an awkward beat as he forces himself to stand upright again, shoulders tense. Then, as if realizing how bad this looks, he raises his hands in surrender.

“I mean no harm,” he says. And despite everything, he sounds sincere. “This is just… kinda what I do now. I’m looking out for the people of the city.”

You exhale sharply. Then, after a beat, your free hand dips into your grocery bag. You pull out a bottle of water and toss it to him.

“You should really work on your methods, Spider-Man,” you mutter, shaking your head as your gaze falls down to the spider design on his sweatshirt. As you turn away, you add, "Rinse your eyes. It’ll help."

Your heart is still hammering in your chest as you begin to walk away, but you manage to steady your breathing as you near the dorms. Your mind, however, is still racing.

Because the moment you calm down enough to think, a realization hits you.

The image. The blurry, low-resolution shot that Dr. Curtis Connors sent your group just days ago. The figure looked identical to the man you just encountered. The one he wanted to know more about.

Your stomach drops, and you whirl around, phone in hand with your camera ready. Much to your dismay, the figure is already gone. He has vanished into thin air without leaving so much as a single trace.

You curse under your breath, fingers flying over your phone screen as you open up the message thread.

You: I have a lead. I just ran into him. I think he’s a student at Linkon University.

series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter four.

a/n hi guys :P…. sorry i didn’t update for awhile buuuut here’s chapter 3!!! i wrote and edited some of this chapter with a 103 F fever so… if it’s illegible at any point that might be why. i’d love to know your thoughts so please share them !!! <3

also i just wanted to say that i love all of the comments and messages you guys send into my asks :,) this made me laugh so i really hurried to get this chapter out

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[chlorinecake]

☆ ☆ ☆ You’re All Skin n’ Bones, Baby

— ⊹ ⛓️ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ♯ Trouble Maker!N.RK x Good Girl!Reader 🍴

⛓️ 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 ♯ When your father, a.k.a the dean of your university, sets you on a quest to help the troubled transfer student from your art class rewrite the rebellious narrative staining his character, you two find yourselves falling for each other, discovering a new art of taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy...

⛓️ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦 ♯ Swearing, Awkward Situations, Riki Vandalizes Your University with Graffiti, Name-Calling (Flirting), Kissing (With Tongue), Hickeys (Kinda), Riki Has A Tattoo, Lingering Touches (Nothing Below The Belt), Suggestive Jokes, Reckless Behavior, Some Fluff and Angst if You Squint

⛓️ 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 ♯ 4.2k ──── 「 生きがい 」

Friday, The Dean's Office,  3:32 p.m.

“Simply put, Riki is a very misunderstood youth, and you, _____, so happen to be one of the few people who sincerely understand him.”

You stared back at your father, who sat in his leather chair at his desk, a dumbfounded expression upon your face as you crossed your arms. “And you're telling me all of this because of what again?”

“Because I need your help,” Riki butted in from where he sat beside where you stood on your feet, drawing your attention back to his casual disposition.

From the way his long legs extended lazily before him to the way his black combat boots hit the ground with loud thumps every time his foot bounced out of boredom, the poor kid was just as big as his behavioral problems...

That is, roughly 187 centimeters worth...

However, in spite of his large stature and occasional bouts of clumsiness, Riki Nishimura was lighter than a feather on his feet when it came to dancing, a.k.a., one of the few things in his life that he found joy in, aside from you, his family, and the comfort of his bed...

Looking back at your father, he gave you a pleading look, hoping that he would somehow soften your heart without the use of any more words.

And it’s not that you didn't want to help Riki...

I mean, he was one of your closest friends, and you otherwise would've leaped at any opportunity to spend more time with him, so long as it wasn't under such circumstances.

In the past, your father never really approved of your friendship with Riki, simply because he had a track record of rebellion according to the other universities he attended and ended up getting kicked out of.

'A homeschooled delinquent,' some would call him, but you preferred sweeter names for him—names that described the real him.

It's just that the whole idea of having you, the “perfect student,” coach a more troubled peer seemed like a poor excuse of a publicity stunt.

Riki was much more to you than that... he deserved better than to be scrutinized like some sort of criminal just for being his authentic self.

And the odd reality was that you and the other kids at your university with allegedly clean records were no different from Riki.

All misguided and all a little reckless here and there...

Taking risks was part of being young, last time you checked.

The only difference is that Riki wasn't as good at hiding those parts of him like the rest of the students at your university were...

They were either forced or pressured to hide behind a mask that resembled good grades, perfect attendance... stuck within a cookie-cutter framework, and exhibiting perpetual compliance to the ways of the academic world—

“Fine,” you sighed, straightening your posture to appear more obliging than you were actually feeling, “but only if you promise not to make this some sort of project, Dad... Riki's my friend, not some charity case to make you look good.”

Your father scoffed at your insulting words. “What do you take me as, some kind of crook? Such a thought never even crossed my mind, _____,” he corrected sternly before continuing, “My concerns for Riki come from a good place and have nothing to do with what I can gain from you agreeing to help us-”

“Fix him, right?” You interrupt, making a shy smirk tug at the corners of Riki's mouth at the awkward tension in the room now.

“Honey, you know that's not what this is about,” your father sighs, getting up from his seat and straightening out his suit. “Riki is not a broken lamp that he should be fixed... but a lost soul in need of positive redirecting.”

“And who better to help than a fellow peer?” Riki winks at you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Precisely,” the dean finishes, pushing his chair under the desk before making his way to the office door. “I expect you two to run into hurdles on this journey, but hopefully it's a process that helps you both grow... together...”

You shake your head, uncrossing your arms from over your chest as your father’s eyes flicker between you and Riki now.

“Oh, and one more thing, ____... this young man may be troubled to some degree, but he can certainly teach you a lesson or two on respect.”

Slam.

The office door closed slowly, but with its habitually loud locking sound, making your insides shake a bit.

You look back at Riki, who only had a shrug to offer you, though you knew your father was expecting you and Riki to see yourselves out of his office.

So y’all did, all the way to your separate homes, where you would dread the following Monday when Project: “Positively Redirect” Riki would commence!...

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Next Monday, ART Room 8080, 5:30 p.m.

The bottom of your ass was stinging given how long you had been sitting in the uncomfortable desk chair.

Your back had also started to burn with a similar pain, and the only thing that seemed to delight you amidst the lengthy "Elements of Art" lecture was once again the tall boy sitting beside you.

The voice of your instructor faded away in your ears as you observed Riki holding an ink pen, gliding its ball-tip against his skin in careful lines.

“You suck at drawing,” you whisper to him.

“And your mother’s a cow,” he retorts plainly, despite the smirk curling at his mouth.

From what you can tell, he was drawing a spiderweb in the shape of a heart on the inside of his wrist; The same romantic spiderweb design that was graffitied on your university's parking lot pavement a few days ago.

You always found it endearing how Riki's right wrist would be full of inky doodles by the end of each lecture, thanks to him being left-handed.

Though, other people found his habit to be odd… immature, even... and you never understood why those people even felt the need to speak—

“You’re really making an effort at this character development thing, aren’t you, babes?” You ask sarcastically, tilting your head at him now.

“Yup,” he answers matter-of-factly, eyes still trained on the inky design staining his pale skin.

You took in the expression on his face—the way his lips often poked out slightly like a duck whenever he focused on something.

It was a sight that always made you giggle inside… mostly because you found cute things to be humorous, but also because Riki had a way of making you feel all giddy for reasons you didn't fully understand—

“Wanna kiss ‘em or something?” He asked, looking you dead in the eye with his own piercing ones.

“E-excuse me?” You scoffed with both confusion and feigned disgust.

“I mean these,” he said, showing you the doodle of a skull on his wrist that had big, red lips to match the crimson bows at each pigtail. “Heard you like it juicy,” he continued, raising his eyebrows at you flirtatiously.

“Shut the fuck up,” you swear, shoving his shoulder slightly.

And with that, the class was concluded, and students were loading up their textbooks into their backpacks in every which direction—

“You’re really not that different from me, y’know that?” He said in a mocking tone, “Especially not with that raging potty mouth of yours...”

“I was provoked to use such language, you dick.”

“Then you have very poor emotional regulation skills for your age.”

...

“I’m leaving,” you say, getting up from the seat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, “have fun making out with your new dOodLe sKuLl giRLfriEnD... Heard you like ‘em skinny, anyways…”

“Pfft... Where’d you hear that crap?”

“Around,” you lied, knowing that Riki wasn't the type of guy to have weight preferences when it came to girls...

He only had personality preferences, and so far, you were his absolute favorite person yet, crumby attitude and all.

“Whatever,” he said, in between your brief voyage to the campus lockers where you put your things away. “Also,” Riki began again, leaning against his locker while looking at his reflection in the mirror, “should I... change?”

“What, your diaper?”

“No, my outfit, stupid. Unless you don’t mind being seen with a guy who looks like me these days...”

His words sting you for some reason, and you know exactly what he was trying to imply with that comment.

The other day, Riki heard your father complaining to an instructor in his office about student's not 'abiding by standards of clothing apparel,' and of course, the poor boy assumed the comment was specifically directed towards him-

“You look fineee, Riki,” you reassure him, closing your locker before caressing the side of his arm gently. “Besides, I'd never feel ashamed walking beside you... ripped jeans, piercings, and all...”

His mind paused for a second, focusing a little too hard on the way your touch somehow warmed him from both the outside and within.

“Hey,” you started, your voice pulling him back from his thoughts, “Earth to Riki...?”

“Y-yea, right... Earth,” he stammered, running a shy hand through his hair before adjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Let's get out of here, then,” you chuckled, walking down the hall now as he followed closely behind you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Later, On Some Unknown, Majestic Path, 6:17 p.m.

You two made it to a bridge—the crossing road where you and him expected to straighten out the crooked mess of rumors and past infamies plaguing Riki’s reputation.

“You got the letter, right?”

The letter, he heard your words replay in his mind...

The very letter in which Riki divulged a sincere handwritten apology to the Dean of your university discussing his declining academic performance, poor behavior, aptitudes to improve, and blah fucking blah...

Anyone with a good head on their shoulders could tell that Riki was a fantastic artist, but every rose had its thorn, with Riki's impulsive creative side often getting the best of him...

Aside from going against the dress code and skipping classes, Riki recently vandalized school property with a spontaneous mural of skulls, spiderwebs, and other edgy doodles on the parking lot pavement.

Nobody knew he was responsible for it aside from you, and you had no intention of ratting him out for it...

Yes, it was an unusual design to see every morning at the center of such a prestigious university, but regardless of all that, you figured the graffiti looked pretty cool, actually...

Besides, it was an art school for crying out loud; weren't students supposed to express themselves here?

Or perhaps you only felt that way because Riki was responsible for it, but I digress.

“Yeah, I double checked before we left,” he said plainly, looking down the brick road ahead. “Oh, and uh... I know I've never showed you, but my place is actually the small one right over there… with the candle-like furnace on top... you see it?”

“Yeah, I see it,” you smile softly, just as you catch on to him walking ahead of you and down the right path instead of the left one.

“Hey, the dean's office is this way, remember?”

“Uh huh... and it’s still gonna be there when we get back.”

“Bro, where’re you going?”

“Bro, nowhere,” he replied mockingly, still walking away from you, “I just need to clear my head before sending this stupid letter… just in case I run into the dean or something...”

“And would that really be so bad?” You pressed, “I swear, it’s like everyone views my dad like a scary monster just because he’s doing his job...”

Riki felt himself internally gag at the reminder that you were in fact the deans daughter.

“Since when do you, of all people, defend your dad?”

“Hey, I may be a disrespectful fart towards him at times, but that doesn't mean I can't stand up for him.”

“Uh huh,” Riki nods skeptically, “he must be giving you extra brownie points and allowance for that shit or something...”

“Yeah, actually, he is! And I don't plan on sharing any with you, either... not my brownies points NOR my petty cash...”

“Good,” he retorts playfully, mirroring your bratty behavior, “my piggy bank likes being empty, anyways... PLUS, I’m trying to cut back on sugar these days...”

“Well, good luck with that then... citrus helps, though… with the sugar cravings, I mean.”

“I know... that’s why I’m hanging out with you... duhhh!”

“Oh, so you’re implying that I'm sour, now?”

“If the shoe fits,” he shrugs, and a few moments pass before you’re walking through a front door, through his living room, and eventually onto a balcony.

The house was so dimly lit that you couldn’t make out much of anything while inside, other than the smell of tea and leather cleaner.

“What d’you think?” Riki asks, spreading his arms out to show off, “Gnarly landscape, am I right?”

“You’re so right,” you agree, walking over to the ledge and observing the large pasture that made up his backyard. “It’s beautiful here.”

The two of you look over the edge for a while, folding your arms over the stone balcony until you catch him looking off to the other side, something about him immediately catching your attention.

“Woah?” You exclaim, finding your hands in his hair as you turn his head, examining the thing that caught your eye.

“Woah what? Is there a bug on me or something?” Riki asks, bending his knees slightly so you can reach him better.

“No, it's a tattoo.” You clarify, “I didn't know you had any real ones...”

“Oh yeahhh… I uh... I got that one a while back when I was in high school... I have another one, too, but it's under my clothes, so I can't show you until we're marri-”

“What's it say?” You ask with a whisper, examining the fine textures of inky Japanese characters staining the ivory skin behind his ear.

The tattoo in itself was relatively simple, but you believe that's what made it all the more stunning...

“Ikigai...” He answers with a deep voice, looking in your eyes with his own piercing ones, which makes you retreat your touch from his hair, “it refers to something that gives us our sense of purpose... our reason to live...”

The silence is so loud after he says that that the sound of distant birds and wind-chimes fills your ears as if you were wearing headphones.

That's when you hear a door hinge creak in the distance—

“Riki?! I don’t have my glasses on, but your bedroom looked oddly tidy and you never tidy your room, so now I’m worried—”

“In a minute, Grams!” Riki called out in a deep voice, resting his hands at his sides as he looked back at you, the elderly woman having stayed outside, keeping to herself.

Despite her few wrinkles, she was a perfect shadow of Riki, from her similarly fierce eyes, the long legs she stood on, to her plump, duck-like lips—

“What’s the deal with your face right now?” Riki asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Oh, you mean my beauty?” You returned sarcastically.

“No, the other thing,” he corrected, “…made your eyes go all big and bright.”

“Oh… Possibly shock, then?”

“But from what cause?”

“Grams,” you repeated, looking over the balcony at the same shed-door the woman just came from. “I didn’t know you lived with anybody…”

“I don’t; she lives with me,” Riki continued, flicking a mosquito off his arm. “She’s kind of mental, so I gotta take care of her like she took care of me.”

“That’s sweet,” you murmur quietly to yourself, but he hears you anyway-

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing…”

“You definitely said something.”

“No I didn’t?”

“Haven’t I ever told you how terrible you are at lying?”

“No, actually,” you respond plainly, “But you have told me that you think I’m beautiful... well, indirectly, but it still counts.”

He furrows his brows at you. “When did I say that?”

“Literally a few seconds ago?”

“Seriously?”

“Damn… Now I'm starting to think you didn't mean it.”

“No no no, I meant it!” Riki says, raising his voice slightly, “P-probably...”

“Well, thanks anyway,” you return, looking back over the balcony at the sight of his grandmother roaming their garden.

“I think you're beautiful, too, Riki.”

A silence swarmed between you two now.

Not an awkward silence, but a silence nonetheless.

A pleasant peace…

Riki bit his lip to keep himself from smiling, but you had already noticed his expression by now, poking a finger at the apple of his slightly rosy cheek, making him swat your hand away playfully.

“Stop that or I'll bite you,” he threatens.

“But babyyy… you look so cute when you're blushing,” you teased, making the poor boy feel like he was just seconds from internally combusting because of you.

Riki never got worked up over compliments like this, but then again, you proved to have a stronger effect on his emotions… one that even you father could see.

“I seriously will bite you, ____,” he warns again through a contagious chuckles, grabbing a hold of your wrist at the same time your hand gripped his bicep, making him stop in his actions.

You two shyly meet each other's eyes now, faint smiles present on both your faces until you release your grip on his arm, his touch still remaining at your wrist.

“Riki.” You speak quietly, and for reasons you don’t understand at first… but that’s when he decides to speak up instead—

“I wanna show you one more thing,” he starts, still holding your wrist as he steps up with a strong lunge onto the balcony ledge, resting his foot on the wooden plank attached to it.

“Riki, get down from there!” You shout.

“Not until you join me first.” He reasons with a smirk.

Judging from the way he briefly peeks down at the ground beneath him, you can already tell that he wants you to jump with him.

“Riki… I’m not doing that... I-I can't… and I can’t let you do that, either.”

Funny thing is, you said all of this while doing a lunge yourself, joining the tall boy on the balcony ledge and holding his hand tightly as you let your feet find the wobbly plank next.

“Why not?…” He presses.

“Because… you’re all skin and bones, baby,” you sigh nervously, feeling your heart rate increase with every passing second. “I’m afraid that I’ll either hurt you or that you’ll hurt yourself.”

Riki gives you a shady look now. “You have no idea how insulting that is to me, do you?”

“Be careful, asshole!” You shriek, his strength having tugged at your hand, making you tread even further down the plank now.

“Geez, would you relax, drama queen? I’m doing fineee, see? We’re fine… Just don’t let go of my hand until I say so, okay?”

“H-how am I even supposed to trust you in a state like this?” Your voice comes out just as wobbly as you feel in your knees, being sure not to look down as that would only make things worse for you.

“Hmm… not sure,” he shrugs, “But maybe it would help if you stopped policing me for like... one fucking second?”

“Fine. A second has passed, now can we PLEASEE go back to the bridge—ahhh!”

Riki jumps first, but because you were holding hands, you fall with him, tumbling into the grassy pasture before landing on top of him.

“That was fun, right?” Riki asks while scanning your face, wind knocked out of him; he's panting slightly beneath you, chest rising and falling given the rush of adrenaline he just received.

“Are we even alive right now?” You ask back, seriously not being able to believe that you both survived such a fall... everything around you seemed light, and you weren't sure if that had something to do with your head spinning or something worse. “Please tell me this isn’t heaven.”

“Not unless you really think that’s what being on top of me feels like…”

You gave him the deadliest side-eye you could muster—

“Shut the fuck up,” you curse him, making a light chuckle rumble in his chest.

For a brief moment, you look up, just now realizing that Riki’s backpack was scattered among the grass with all of his school supplies decorating the landscape.

Sighing, you planted your palms on the ground before trying to get up, only for the strength of Riki’s arm to keeps you down, fusing your body’s together.

“Riki, the dean's office is gonna be closing soon, we gotta get going-”

“And my future can wait, ____,” he said, looking into your eyes, “just let me enjoy this moment in the present for a little longer, alright?”

You wait to answer before eventually nodding, watching his chest heave slower now, but still in a rising and falling manner.

“You're nervous about something,” you whisper, even though it was more like a question to him.

You felt your stomach flutter at the way his hand was secured at your waist now, trailing up to the side of your face with his other hand.

“I am,” he says plainly, voice deep and vulnerable, “so please, just... don't say anything or else you'll make this worse for me, okay?”

“You're not about to try and kiss me, are you!?” You ask, screwing your eyebrows at him.

“And just like that, you made it worse for me,” Riki sighs, not being brave enough to meet your eyes anymore.

His hands leave your body, falling beside him as if he were about to start making snow angels in the bed of grass.

“You think you deserve a kiss—of all things—after almost getting us killed just a few seconds ago?”

“I meannnn,” he starts, looking back at you now before repositioning his hands behind his head with latticed fingers, “one kiss wouldn't hurt, right?… Maybe even just a few…”

No words are exchanged from this point.

It just becomes a moment of you two looking at each other, your hands roaming up his torso now as you sit up to straddle him, keeping him pinned to the ground with your weight before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“You're a very odd boy, Riki Nishimura,” you say, watching a smile spread across his face as his skin still tingled where you kissed him.

Your hands find his that were tucked beneath his head and put them back around your body like they were before.

“I may be odd, but the least you can do is kiss me normally,” he whispers, taking hold of your face and crashing his lips into yours, eyes fluttering shut at the blissful contact.

And it feels too good to say it's your first time... It feels too right...

You tilt your head to deepen the contact, making him hum beneath you at the sudden way you took control again, feeling his hand gently cradle the nape of your neck.

“Please,” he says breathlessly in between, catching on to the way your body shuddered when his touch went under your shirt, resting at the dip of your waist, “Don't make me stop yet...”

And all you can do is pant in response, feeling your heart rate increase with the passion as his tongue just barely comes into contact with yours, making you melt into the warmth of his lips even more.

But his delicate fingers are cold as they touch you, not necessarily wandering, but inching their way up from your waist to the side of your ribs, only to pull you closer as your bodies meshed into a sprawl of flustered feelings.

“You just can't get close enough to me, can you?” You ask him through a quiet breath, making him chuckle slightly as your catty question.

“Don't rub it in, dweeb,” he replies with a raspy voice, just as a low groan slips past his pretty lips, and you're just now realizing that you were kissing along his jawline, his head thrown back against the grass as your soft lips kept peppering his skin, “I'm actually enjoying what you're doing to me for once...”

And his last sentence comes out so quietly, you otherwise would've missed it if you weren't right by his neck, humming with each kiss you placed against him, making his grip at your waist tighten slightly until you abruptly pulled away, looking back at him with your own fuzzy vision...

Despite that, you could still make out the lovesick expression taking over his gorgeous features, both his heart and mind in a haze as he looked back at you, purity dancing in his eyes.

“W-why'd you stop?” He stammers, almost pouting as a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth now, your own cheeks being dusted a rosy hue given the blood rushing to your face.

“Because,” you say plainly, crawling off of him now as he lets out an exaggerated sigh, sulking at the missing warmth of you straddling him, “that's all you deserve for the day.”

“And tomorrow?” He presses, eyes half-lidded.

“I'll tell you after we deliver this letter to the dean,” you say, looking up at the window to his house, “and when your grandma isn't watching us...”

“Wait, she's what?”

Riki sits up now, whipping his head almost instantly in the direction of his house to see what you were still blushing about, and it was none other than his grandmother, clapping in the distance at the sight of you and Riki laying beside each other on the grass.

“So that's why you've been tidying up recently; you've met a pretty girl,” she says in an old voice, making him hide his face with his hands while groaning with embarrassment. “Awww, don't be shy; she just had her lips all over you... Oh, and I'm his grandmother, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you,” you say while giggling, watching Riki practically crumble to pieces, knowing that his grandma had just seen everything.

"Well, make sure you two don't stay out too late... it's getting dark,” the woman warned, even though it was still relatively sunny outside.

Must be her vision, you thought to herself.

“Got it, Grams,” Riki sighed, sitting up now with a forced smile as he waved his grandma off, the door creaking behind her as the sound of her television program faded off with the melody of her laughter.

“You good?” You ask, catching on to the way Riki's sight pans off now, a certain thought rising to his mind as he took a few shaky breaths.

“Y-yea, I'm alright,” he answers, not meeting your eyes until he asks, “You didn't bite me, did you?”

His fingers find his neck now, grazing over the light pink spot where you had kissed him, but it was only that color because of your lip balm, not because you bit him.

“I might have nibbled, yes...” You start timidly, trying to hold back a smile at the way his eyes widened now, worried that you might mark him. “Don't blame me though when you started it.”

“No, I didn't, you blood thirsty vampire,” he scoffs with over-exaggerated offense. “There's a mark on me now, isn't there?”

"No, you idiot... Besides, I wouldn't want your grandma to have a hickey as her first impression of me,” you correct, getting up from the ground now to collect his scattered school supplies from around the yard.

Your words lingered in his mind for a bit.

A girl like you leaving a bad first impression? The thought seemed foreign to him, but at the same time, comforting...

He was finally starting to see things the way you saw them. You and him really weren't all that different—just two people from different walks of life, upholding varied reputations, but still and all with kindred spirits.

Spirits for fun and adventure... youth and romance...

“Wasn't even worth it,” you mumbled to yourself, picking up the envelope that was now stained with a bit of dirt given the fall.

“What wasn't worth it?” He repeated, looking over his shoulder to find you on your knees in the grass, hair slightly disheveled from all the action.

“Jumping, first of all... and second, kissing you...”

“Right,” he says while drawing out the syllable, side-eyeing you with his legs crossed, “Because I definitely told you to get on top of me and kiss all over my neck like a human mosquito.”

“Trust me, I regret doing that.” You tease, fake gagging, to which he chuckled at you, “Your lips tasted weird, anyway...”

“Pfft... weird how?”

“Sour,” you poke, making him look down in his lap, smiling at the memory of you two in the hallway earlier.

Eventually, he gets up to help you gather the rest of his textbooks, pencils, notes, and chocolate bars that fell from his backpack, holding it open as you loaded it up and set trail back up the hill you just jumped off of.

“And you're sure this whole letter thing is still a good idea?” He asks, adjusting the strap to his backpack over his shoulder as you two walked beside each other.

You take a second to glance at yourselves, taking in the light of your messy clothes, blushing faces.

"Oh, you’re definitely still sending that.”

“Cool… But should I revise it at all since we have extra time?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” is all you say, taking his hand in yours as y’all walk side by side...

⛓️‍💥 AUTHOR'S NOTE — I've had this fic collecting dust in my drafts since July of this year, but @microwvdstrawb3rri3s reminded me that my blog has been long overdue for a new Niki fic, so I decided to post it finally.... Also, I'm adding a special tag here for @bambangan because I REALLY feel like she‘ll enjoy this fic (considering how Niki's character is pretty similar to how I wrote for him in my Flirty TSA Series a while back 🤭)...

tysm for reading this quick lil fic !! ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆ and feel free to check out my masterlist for more !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @nishiimuranights @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 9

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You drummed your fingers against the edge of your notebook, staring at the corrections Shadow Milk Cookie had pointed out. You had already rewritten most of the problem areas, refining your explanations, filling in the missing steps. Soon, your work would be as polished as it could get. And then what? You swallowed, shifting in your chair as a thought that had been lingering in the back of your mind finally surfaced. “How many more of these do you think I’ll need?” Shadow Milk Cookie, seated across from you in his office, glanced up from his own work. His golden eyes flickered with quiet curiosity. “Clarify.” “These tutoring sessions,” you said, feigning nonchalance as you tapped your quill against the parchment. “At some point, I’ll be good enough on my own, right? So… how much longer before I don’t need them?” He regarded you carefully, setting his papers aside. “That is not a question I can answer definitively.” You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Of course not.” “Improvement is an ongoing process,” he continued, unbothered by your reaction. “It does not cease simply because one reaches a threshold of competency.” You nodded absently, but your mind had already started to drift. Of course, he was right he always was but that wasn’t really the heart of what you were asking. At some point, these tutoring sessions would end. At some point, you would stop meeting with him like this just the two of you, in the quiet of his office, surrounded by books and the faint scent of parchment and old ink. Your stomach twisted slightly. You had been struggling for so long that improvement felt like a distant dream, something to chase but never quite reach. And now? Now it was finally happening. You were getting better. He had acknowledged it himself, and though he would never coddle you with outright praise, you could tell he recognized your efforts.

But what happened when there was no more need for his guidance? Shadow Milk Cookie was a figure far beyond your reach in the academic world. He only taught high-level courses, ones you had little hope of qualifying for anytime soon. If not for these tutoring sessions, you would have had no reason to interact with him at all. And when they were over… you wouldn’t anymore. You shifted in your seat, the realization sitting uncomfortably in your chest. “I guess I was just wondering,” you murmured, eyes fixed on your notes, “when I’ll stop needing to come here at all.” Shadow Milk Cookie observed you for a moment before responding. “Is that what you desire?” You blinked, glancing up at him. Was it? You had dreaded tutoring at first dreaded the thought of being under the scrutiny of someone so renowned, someone so impossibly intelligent. And yet, now… Now, the thought of not being here felt strangely hollow. You forced a small smile, shrugging. “Well, all good things have to end eventually, right?” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice as composed as ever, he said, “Perhaps.” The single word lingered in the air between you, neither a confirmation nor a denial. And yet, something about the way he said it made your chest tighten just a little. You lowered your gaze back to your notebook. For now, at least, these sessions weren’t over yet. And you weren’t in such a hurry for them to be.

Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of your notebook, your gaze drifting from the pages to the scholar seated across from you. The warm glow of the enchanted lamps cast soft shadows across his desk, illuminating the meticulously arranged books and parchment. Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, was glancing over a separate manuscript perhaps something unrelated to your session, or perhaps some ancient text that only a mind like his could decipher with ease. You hesitated, staring at him for a moment longer than you should have. The words formed slowly, heavy on your tongue before you finally managed to voice them. “And… after all this,” you began, carefully, “would I still be allowed a fraction of your time?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes lifted from his work, meeting yours with quiet intensity. His gaze was steady, not startled, not dismissive, just… observing. As if measuring the weight of your question before offering an answer. You quickly looked back down, fingers tightening around your notebook. “I know you’re busy,” you continued, keeping your voice level. “You’re a scholar, a mentor. There are plenty of students who actually belong in your classes, who actually need your time. I’m not-I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to have these sessions in the first place, so I get it. I just…” You exhaled slowly, feeling foolish for even asking. “I just wanted to know if when this is all over I’d still be able to come to you. Even if it’s just once in a while.”

There. You had said it. There was silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable but weighted. You forced yourself to look up again, only to find Shadow Milk Cookie regarding you with that same unreadable expression. When he finally spoke, his voice was as measured as ever. “It is true that I am often occupied.” Your stomach twisted slightly. “But,” he continued, his tone softer than before, “if you have need of guidance, I would not turn you away.” Your breath caught. It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t an invitation, nor was it a promise of time freely given. It was simply… an acknowledgment. A confirmation that, despite the inevitable end of these sessions, despite the divide between your standing and his, you would not be dismissed outright. It wasn’t everything. But it was enough. You swallowed, nodding. “Right. Of course. Thank you.” Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly before returning to his work, as if nothing had changed. But for you, something had. Because even when these sessions ended, even when the structure of weekly meetings and guided lessons fell away, there would still be a path back to him. Not as a student in need of tutoring but as a scholar seeking wisdom.

You carefully gathered your things, slipping your notebook into your bag as you rose from your seat. Shadow Milk Cookie had already turned his attention back to his manuscripts, his golden eyes scanning the delicate inked text with unwavering focus. You hesitated for just a moment before speaking. “…Thank you for your time.” He didn’t look up immediately, but he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Use it wisely.” You weren’t sure if he meant the knowledge he had shared with you or the time itself. Maybe both. Either way, you nodded, gripping your bag a little tighter as you made your way to the door. The cool brass handle was smooth beneath your fingers as you stepped out into the quiet corridors of the Scholars’ Wing. The moment the door shut behind you, you released a slow breath, as if shaking off the weight of the session. Not that it was a burden no, if anything, you felt lighter in some ways. More certain of your steps. But also… heavier in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You shook your head. No use lingering on it now. You had other things to focus on. Adjusting your bag, you set off toward the dining hall, your pace brisk. You hadn’t had the chance to chat with your friends earlier, and after spending so much time analyzing, correcting, and reevaluating, a little familiarity sounded nice. If you were lucky, Chai Latte, Hazelnut Biscotti, and Earl Grey would already be there, saving a seat for you. The halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy carried their usual late-evening quiet, the kind that settled after most scholars had retreated to their dormitories or study halls. The faint glow of enchanted lanterns flickered along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal light as you made your way through the winding corridors. As you neared the grand entrance of the dining hall, the distant murmur of voices and clinking silverware greeted you. The warmth of the space seeped into your skin before you had even stepped inside, a stark contrast to the cool air of the Scholars’ Wing. And for a moment you allowed yourself to set aside formulas, calculations, and the lingering weight of scholarly expectations. For now, you just wanted to be with your friends.

Balancing your tray, you weaved through the bustling dining hall, the comforting aroma of warm, freshly prepared food lingering in the air. The glow of enchanted lanterns cast a golden hue over the long wooden tables, where groups of scholars sat in clusters, deep in conversation. Your eyes quickly found them Chai Latte, Hazelnut Biscotti, and Earl Grey, huddled together at your usual spot near the wide arched windows. The three of them were already deep in discussion, voices low but animated, leaning in as if exchanging some grand secret. Of course. They always ended up like this, discussing whatever academic gossip, theoretical debate, or absurd rumor had surfaced that day. It was tradition by now no matter how busy you all were, dinner was the time to reconnect. As you approached, Chai Latte Cookie spotted you first. Her ears perked up as she waved you over, a warm grin spreading across her face. “Oh, finally! We were starting to think Shadow Milk kidnapped you for extra lessons or something.” Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Given the way you’ve been practically living in the Scholars’ Wing, I wouldn’t have been surprised.” Earl Grey, who had been sipping his tea with an unreadable expression, finally glanced up. “I assume it went well?” You set your tray down, sliding into the open seat between Chai Latte and Hazelnut Biscotti. “Define ‘well.’” Chai Latte smirked, resting her chin in her hand. “That bad, huh?” You exhaled, picking at your food absentmindedly. “It’s not that it was bad. I just…” You hesitated, unsure how to put the feeling into words. It was true that you were improving. Shadow Milk himself had acknowledged it. But the thought of your tutoring eventually coming to an end it lingered in the back of your mind, unwelcome and difficult to shake. Earl Grey studied you for a moment before setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Something on your mind?” You glanced down at your plate. “…Just thinking about how much longer I have left before I don’t need tutoring anymore.” For a second, there was silence. Then, Chai Latte hummed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You sighed. “I mean, no. Obviously, it’s good that I’m getting better. I just…” You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I won’t really have a reason to see him after, will I?” The words felt strange coming out, but they were true.

Shadow Milk was a renowned scholar, an academic figure so highly regarded that students like you would never have had the opportunity to be taught by him under normal circumstances. He wasn’t a professor for general coursework; he lectured at the highest levels, among the greatest minds of the Academy. Once your tutoring ended, what reason would he have to spare time for you? Hazelnut Biscotti tapped a thoughtful finger against the table. “You could still ask for guidance,” he mused. “He hardly seems the type to refuse an earnest pursuit of knowledge.” Earl Grey nodded slightly. “It isn’t as though he’d suddenly forget you exist once your tutoring ends.” Chai Latte elbowed you lightly. “And hey, maybe you’ll impress him enough that he’ll let you take one of his classes someday.” You snorted. “Yeah, right. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” But despite your skepticism, their words eased something in your chest. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as simple as the end of tutoring, meaning the end of knowing him. Maybe there would still be a way a reason to stay in touch. For now, though, you shook your head, letting yourself settle into the warmth of your friends’ company. There would be plenty of time to figure things out later.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes gleaming with barely-contained excitement as she dramatically whispered, “Alright, so you all won’t believe what I heard today.” Hazelnut Biscotti sighed, already adjusting his glasses. “Here we go…” Earl Grey, ever composed, simply lifted his teacup, the slightest raise of his brow the only indication that he was mildly intrigued. You smirked, propping your elbow on the table. “Alright, let’s hear it.” Chai Latte grinned, clearly reveling in the anticipation. “So, you know that second-year alchemy student, Chestnut Praline Cookie? The one with the horrifically unstable potions?” “The one who accidentally turned the entire east corridor into a swamp last semester?” Hazelnut Biscotti deadpanned. “That’s the one!” Chai Latte beamed. “Anyway, I heard from very reliable sources” “Meaning?” Earl Grey interjected smoothly. She waved him off. “Irrelevant! The point is, I heard that during today’s lab session, they were supposed to be brewing a simple fortification tonic, but” she paused for dramatic effect, looking at each of you before continuing, “they messed up the proportions so badly that instead of a tonic, they made an unstable crystallization compound. It reacted immediately, turned rock-solid inside the cauldron, and then exploded.” You blinked. “Wait. Exploded? Like, actually exploded?” “Like boom,” she confirmed, flinging her hands outward to emphasize the blast. “Whole classroom covered in glittery, indestructible shards of whatever-the-heck they created.” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How does this keep happening?” “I have no idea,” Chai Latte admitted, clearly enjoying herself. “But here’s the best part…they panicked and tried to neutralize it with a dissolving elixir, except they grabbed the wrong bottle and-” “Oh no,” you murmured, already sensing where this was going. “Oh yes,” she grinned. “It was a growth solution. The shards expanded. The entire back half of the classroom is apparently a crystalline forest now.”

You choked on your drink. Earl Grey, despite his usual impassive demeanor, actually sighed. “Professor Mulberry must be exhausted.” “Oh, definitely,” Chai Latte agreed. “I mean, they tried to undo it, but apparently the magic stabilized too fast, so now it’s… permanent.” You buried your face in your hands. “No way.” “Oh, yes way.” She was practically vibrating with amusement now. “The Headmaster had to step in, and his solution was to just leave it there. Apparently, it looks ‘aesthetically pleasing’ and they don’t want to risk another alchemy accident trying to remove it.” “I give it three weeks before it’s declared a ‘historical landmark of academic perseverance,’” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered. You snorted. “Honestly, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing this Academy has immortalized.” “Exactly!” Chai Latte gestured wildly. “That’s why I love this place. Any other academy would call that a disaster. Here? It’s just Tuesday.” Hazelnut Biscotti sighed heavily. “Remind me why I still have hope for the future of academia?” “Because deep down, you love the chaos,” Chai Latte teased. “You pretend to be the responsible one, but I see you, Biscotti. I see the way you actually enjoy our nonsense.” He shot her a flat look. “I tolerate your nonsense.” “You enable it.” “She’s not wrong,” Earl Grey added, casually taking another sip of tea. Hazelnut Biscotti exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I should find new friends.” “No, you shouldn’t,” you said, nudging his arm with a grin. “You’d be miserable without us.” For all his grumbling, he didn’t argue. Chai Latte smirked, propping her chin in her hands. “See? This is why dinner is the best part of the day. Where else would you get quality entertainment and deep philosophical insights into the state of academia?” You chuckled, shaking your head. As much as you stressed over your studies, over the uncertainty of the future, moments like these made everything feel a little lighter. No matter what else happened, you had this this ridiculous, wonderful group of friends who made even the strangest days feel like home.

You leaned in slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tapped your fingers against the table. “Alright, since we’re on the topic of unbelievable things, I have something, too.” Chai Latte Cookie perked up immediately, eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh? Do tell.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arched a brow. “If this is about your last failed experiment” “It’s not,” you interjected quickly. “This one isn’t about me, thank you very much.” Earl Grey Cookie gestured lightly with his teacup. “Then by all means, enlighten us.” You glanced around conspiratorially, then lowered your voice. “So, I was cutting through the Academy gardens earlier today you know, taking the long way to clear my head-” “Procrastinating,” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered.

You ignored him. “when I saw something very interesting near the Moonvine Pavilion.” Chai Latte gasped. “Not the Moonvine Pavilion! You know everything that happens there is scandalous!” “Exactly,” you said, enjoying the dramatic effect. “So, I’m walking by, right? Just minding my own business. And then I see Professor Star Anise Cookie” Earl Grey blinked. “The Divination professor?” You nodded. “Yes, him. Mister ‘I Foresee All, Nothing Escapes My Gaze’ Star Anise Cookie.” You paused for effect, then leaned in closer. “Holding hands with Professor Frosted Clementine Cookie.” Chai Latte practically squealed, grabbing your arm. “WHAT?!” Hazelnut Biscotti’s spoon clattered against his saucer. “You must be mistaken.” “Oh, I am not mistaken,” you said, voice full of certainty. “They were standing real close, talking in hushed voices, and then clear as day he took her hand. And she blushed.” Earl Grey actually set his teacup down. “That… is unexpected.” “I know!” you said, grinning. “I always thought Professor Clementine was too icy for romance, but apparently-” “She’s been thawed,” Chai Latte finished dramatically. You cackled. “Exactly!” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned, rubbing his temples. “Stars above, why do we care about this?” “Because it’s deliciously interesting!” Chai Latte countered. “Think about it two esteemed professors, secret romance, destiny versus logic-” “Truly, a tale for the ages,” Earl Grey murmured, amused. Chai Latte turned back to you, grinning. “Okay, but what happened next? Did they notice you?”

You shook your head. “Nope. I stayed hidden behind the wisteria trellis.” Chai Latte gasped. “You spied?” “I observed.” “Same thing.” You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t stick around too long, but I swear, they were lingering. Like, full-on ‘I-have-more-to-say-but-should-I-say-it’ lingering.” Chai Latte fanned herself dramatically. “Oh, this is juicy. I need to know what happens next.” “We all need to know what happens next,” Earl Grey said. Hazelnut Biscotti sighed, shaking his head. “You all are ridiculous.” “And yet,” you teased, “you’re still here listening.” He scowled, but said nothing. Chai Latte grinned. “This is why dinner is essential.” She looked around the table. “Academics? Stressful. Life? Chaotic. But gossip? Gossip keeps us alive.” You laughed, shaking your head. As much as you worried about the future, about your studies, about everything, moments like this reminded you that some things friendship, laughter, and a little bit of intrigue made it all worth it.

Chai Latte Cookie turned toward you with a sly grin, resting her chin in her hands. “Sooo… since we’re already talking about romance in the academic world…” You froze mid-bite. “...What about it?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Chai.” “No, no, I have a valid question,” Chai Latte insisted, waving him off before turning her full attention back to you. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with the esteemed Sage of Truth lately.” Your stomach flipped. “That’s because he’s tutoring me.” “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” she teased. “Yes,” you deadpanned. Earl Grey Cookie smirked slightly over the rim of his teacup. “You do talk about him quite often.” “That’s because he’s my tutor,” you repeated, heat creeping up your neck. “And because I have to. It’s academic.” Chai Latte hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Mmmhmm. But is it just academic?” You groaned. “Yes! What else would it be?” “Well, let’s think about it,” she mused, tapping her fingers against the table. “You spend hours together, he personally reviews your work, you get that look whenever you talk about him-” “What look?” you interjected defensively. Hazelnut Biscotti exhaled through his nose. “The one you’re making right now.” You covered your face with your hands. “I hate all of you.” Chai Latte cackled. “Oh, relax! I’m just saying, if you did develop a little scholar’s crush, it would be so poetic.”

“It would be pathetic,” you muttered. Earl Grey quirked a brow. “I don’t know. There’s a certain… tragic beauty in it. A scholar seeking wisdom from an untouchable figure, only to long for something far beyond mere knowledge.” Chai Latte gasped, clutching her heart. “Ohhh, that’s good. Forbidden academia love!” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “Don’t encourage them.” You shook your head aggressively. “No. Absolutely not. He’s a respected scholar, and I am…” You gestured vaguely. “Me.” “So?” Chai Latte shrugged. “All I’m saying is, you’re getting a lot of personal time with him, and if something were to happen-” “Nothing is happening,” you interrupted firmly. Chai Latte just smirked knowingly. “Mmmhmm.” You sighed, stabbing at your food with more force than necessary. “Can we talk about literally anything else?” “Oh, of course,” Chai Latte said sweetly, before shooting you one last teasing look. “But just so you know if you ever do need to talk about a certain someone, you can always confide in me.” You groaned again, but despite yourself, a tiny, conflicted part of you wondered If all good things must come to an end… would your time with him, too?

You leveled Chai Latte Cookie with the flattest stare you could muster. “I would be caught dead before anything like that happened.” Chai Latte giggled, undeterred. “Oh, would you now?” “Yes,” you said firmly. “And even if such a ridiculous thing were to happen, I wouldn’t tell you because I know you’d never let me live it down.” She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like you’d struck her. “Me? Tease you? I would never!” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow at her. “You absolutely would.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement. “Without hesitation.” Chai Latte huffed. “Okay, maybe a little hesitation.” Then she grinned at you. “But only because I’d need time to craft the perfect response.” You groaned. “And that is exactly why you’ll never hear a word from me.” Chai Latte pouted. “Aw, c’mon! You can’t really expect me to believe you’ve never thought about it, even just a little.” “Nope.” You popped another bite of food into your mouth and chewed, staring blankly ahead as if the conversation had ended. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re a terrible liar.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice perfectly monotone. Chai Latte leaned in. “I will crack you, you know.” You met her gaze, unblinking. “No, you won’t.”

A challenge sparked in her eyes, but before she could escalate further, Hazelnut Biscotti cleared his throat. “As entertaining as this is, some of us would like to enjoy our meal without listening to Chai interrogate our friend like a suspect in a crime novel.” Earl Grey nodded. “Besides, we wouldn’t want them to actually drop dead just to avoid answering.” Chai Latte sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll drop it.” You exhaled in relief. Finally, some peace. Then she smirked. “But if I ever hear a whisper of something happening, just know I will have my moment.” You rolled your eyes. “Duly noted.” Even so, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny prickle of unease. Not because she was onto something because she wasn’t…Right? Earl Grey Cookie set down his fork with a sigh, running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “As much as I enjoy listening to Chai torment you, I have my own set of troubles to air.” You glanced at him, thankful for the change in topic. “Oh? What’s got you sighing like that?” He exhaled again, dramatically this time. “Professor Mulberry Bark assigned another impossibly long analysis on pre-Astral Convergence enchantment theory. Again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie winced. “Didn’t he just assign something similar last week?” “Yes. And the week before that. I am convinced he enjoys watching us suffer.” Earl Grey shook his head. “If I have to analyze another obscure spell construct with a name that’s longer than my lifespan, I might actually collapse.” Chai Latte Cookie snickered. “Well, at least you know what to expect. That’s something, right?” Earl Grey shot her a tired look. “That’s precisely the problem.” You chuckled but tilted your head when you noticed him studying you for a moment, like he was debating something. “What?” you asked. Earl Grey hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I heard something about you earlier.” Your stomach twisted slightly. “...Should I be concerned?” He shrugged. “Not really. Just thought you should know. There’s been a little talk about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Sage of Truth.” Your heart nearly stopped. “...Oh.” Chai Latte Cookie practically lit up. “Ohhh?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie frowned. “That’s not surprising. They’ve been struggling in class. The Sage is their tutor. That’s normal.”

Earl Grey nodded. “Right, but, you know how the academy is. If you see a student spending too much time with a high-ranking scholar, people start making assumptions.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Let me guess someone thinks I’m dating him?” Chai Latte gasped. “Are you?” “No!” Hazelnut Biscotti gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t let it bother you. You know how people love to speculate about things that have nothing to do with them.” Earl Grey hummed. “Agreed. Just figured I’d give you a heads-up. It’s nothing serious, but it’s always better to be aware.” You sighed, slumping back in your chair. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.” Chai Latte leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Well, if you ever do want to confirm or deny anything to the masses, I’d be happy to act as your spokesperson.” You shot her a glare. “I would rather let the rumors consume me whole.” She giggled. “Fair enough.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed as you mulled over Earl Grey Cookie’s words. Try as you might to brush it off, the thought itched at you. It was one thing for idle rumors to float around, but another entirely if people were actually taking note of you specifically. You leaned forward, lowering your voice just slightly. “Do they know who I am?” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you carefully before answering. “Not exactly.” You tensed. “What do you mean, not exactly?” He took a slow sip of his tea, as if weighing his words. “No one’s mentioned your name outright not that I’ve heard, anyway. But people have noticed you.” Chai Latte Cookie’s ears practically perked up. “Ohhh? So they’re talking about the Sage of Truth’s mysterious pupil rather than our dear friend?” You groaned. “That’s not better.” Earl Grey chuckled. “It means you still have some anonymity. But if you keep showing up with him, that might not last long.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie offered you a reassuring nod. “It’ll pass. The academy cycles through rumors like the seasons. By next week, they’ll be onto some other scandal about some other student.” Chai Latte Cookie wiggled her eyebrows. “Unless something happens that fuels the intrigue.” You shot her a warning glare. “You are not helping.” She grinned. “I know.” Still, you couldn’t shake the unease settling in your chest. The academy was full of whispers, and if you were becoming the subject of them… well. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You frowned, still turning it over in your head. “But how would they even know?” you asked, skeptical. “The Scholar’s Wing is only for the best of the best. Everyone there is too busy with their studies to care about me.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. “You do realize that scholars gossip just as much as anyone else, right?” You blinked. “...No, they don’t.” Chai Latte Cookie snickered. “Oh, sweet, naive you.” She leaned in, resting her chin in her palm. “You think just because they’re studying complex theories and groundbreaking spells that they don’t have the time to notice a new face trailing after the Sage of Truth?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement. “It’s a closed circle up there. Any change, no matter how small, is bound to be noticed.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. It wasn’t like you had expected to go completely unnoticed, but you hadn’t thought you’d stand out enough to be talked about. You had assumed you were nothing more than a passing presence just another struggling student seeking guidance. “So what exactly are they saying?” you asked, dreading the answer. Earl Grey took another slow sip of tea before replying, “Mostly just curiosity. Some are wondering why the Sage of Truth took on a student at all.” You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not like that. He’s just helping me with my studies.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Oh, we know that. But they don’t.” You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. This was the last thing you needed being a subject of curiosity among the scholars of the academy. It was hard enough trying to keep up with your studies without the weight of expectations or scrutiny. “Great,” you muttered. “Just what I needed. More reasons to embarrass myself.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “At least it’s just talk. Nothing malicious.” “Yet,” Chai Latte Cookie added with a playful grin. You shot her a glare. “Not helping.” She winked. “I know.” You knew she meant well attempting to lighten your mood.

Dinner had ended with laughter, the warm kind that settled in your chest and reminded you why you treasured these moments. No matter how exhausting the day had been, sitting among friends, sharing stories and teasing jabs, made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter. Even with Earl Grey’s quiet reminders of your newfound attention among the scholars, even with Chai Latte’s relentless teasing, even with the lingering ache of your tutoring session tonight, it had all felt manageable. For a little while, at least.

But now, alone in your dorm, the silence pressed in. You shut the door behind you, exhaling softly as you leaned against it. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of your enchanted study lamp casting long shadows over your desk. Your books sat in neat stacks where you’d left them that morning, your notes still open from the frantic reviewing you’d done before class. It was strange walking back in after everything that had happened today, as if stepping into a space untouched by time. Like you had changed, but your room had stayed the same. You crossed the room and sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing your hands over your face. You had asked Shadow Milk Cookie if, after all this, you’d still be allowed a fraction of his time. Even now, the question sat heavy in your chest, the weight of it something you weren’t ready to unpack. Because the truth was You didn’t want this to end. You should. It was just tutoring. Just guidance. And eventually, you’d get better. You were getting better. You were fixing mistakes faster, answering questions with more confidence. And once you had proven you could stand on your own, you wouldn’t have any reason to sit across from him in his office, feeling the steady rhythm of his voice guiding you through your work. You swallowed, running a hand through your hair. For all the exhaustion, all the frustration, all the times you had felt like you weren’t good enough, there was something about his presence that settled you. He was direct, sometimes painfully so, but there was never malice behind his words. No mockery. No disappointment. Just… expectation. And when he expected something from you, it made you want to rise to meet it. What would it feel like when that was gone? You frowned, lying back against your pillow and staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t as if you had some grand claim to his time. He was a scholar of the highest caliber, someone who spent his days immersed in pursuits far beyond your reach. Eventually, he would move on to the next great pursuit, and you…You’d go back to being just another student at Blueberry Yogurt Academy. The thought left a strange hollowness in your chest. You shut your eyes and let out a slow breath. For now, at least, it wasn’t over yet. There were still problems to solve, still concepts to master. And as long as you still had those to cling to, you had a reason to be there to see him. You just wished it didn’t feel like something you’d have to let go of too soon.

Morning came far too quickly, the night passing in what felt like mere moments. You had tossed and turned more than you’d like to admit, thoughts looping endlessly in your head, yet somehow, the sunrise still managed to sneak up on you. Still, routine was routine. You got up, dressed, and made your way to breakfast, finding comfort in the familiar sounds of the dining hall the clatter of plates, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from a particularly lively table. Your friends were already gathered in your usual spot, Chai Latte waving you over before launching into another enthusiastic recounting of last night’s gossip. You let the conversation wash over you, contributing here and there, but your mind was already half elsewhere. Lecture passed in its usual blur taking notes, trying to keep up, nodding along even when you weren’t sure if you fully grasped what was being said. But today, there was no office hours afterward. No quiet moment in Professor Almond Custard’s study. Today was a lab day. It wasn’t that lab worried you, exactly. It was necessary, practical, the kind of work that let you take theory and make it tangible. But something about it always felt daunting as if the moment you stepped into that room, everything you thought you understood would be tested under an unflinching lens. Mistakes were easy to make, and unlike a homework assignment where you could take your time correcting them, here, they were immediate. Unforgiving. Still, you steeled yourself as you made your way to the lab, tucking your notes under your arm. It would be fine. It had to be. At least there was something to look forward to after.

The laboratory was already buzzing with activity by the time you arrived, the steady hum of voices mixing with the occasional clang of glassware and the flickering glow of enchanted burners. The air carried the faint scent of alchemical reagents earthy, metallic, with an underlying sharpness that hinted at something volatile. At your shared workstation, Chai Latte Cookie was already setting up, adjusting the height of a distillation apparatus while glancing over the day’s experiment guidelines. She looked up when you approached, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “Well, well, look who finally decided to join me in our noble pursuit of scientific progress,” she teased, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I was beginning to think you were going to ditch me.” You rolled your eyes as you set down your materials. “You’ve been here for, what, five minutes?” “Five minutes alone, which is practically an eternity when there’s no one to complain to about this absolute mess of instructions,” she sighed, tapping the alchemical guide on the table. “I swear, do they try to make these as convoluted as possible?” You pulled your copy of the instructions closer, skimming the details of today’s experiment. A multi-step reaction sequence designed to test your ability to control magical yields if done correctly, it would produce a shimmering, stable potion infused with starlight essence. If done incorrectly… well, you didn’t want to think about that. “It’s not that bad,” you said, though your confidence wavered as you tried to make sense of the notations. “We just have to be careful with the reagent additions. One mistake and the whole thing destabilizes.” “Right, no pressure at all,” Chai Latte muttered, pulling on her gloves. “Okay, genius, where do we start?” You took a breath, rolling up your sleeves. “Let’s take it one step at a time.” Despite the initial nerves, there was something grounding about working in tandem with her. The two of you had fallen into a familiar rhythm over the semesters passing instruments back and forth without needing to ask, watching each other’s work to catch any potential mistakes before they became disasters.

You and Chai Latte Cookie worked in quiet concentration, the only sounds between you being the measured clink of glassware and the soft bubbling of the mixture as it reacted to each new addition. The instructions required careful precision one misstep, and the starlight essence could either dissipate entirely or, worse, cause an unstable chain reaction.

Chai Latte handled the base mixture, combining the ethereal dew and powdered astralite while you carefully calibrated the enchanted heat rune beneath the flask. The potion had to remain within an exact temperature range for the essence to bind properly too hot, and the components would burn off; too cold, and they would crystallize before infusion.

“Alright, heat’s stable,” you murmured, adjusting the rune’s glow to maintain the proper balance. “How’s the solution looking?” Chai Latte squinted at the swirling liquid in the flask, giving it a slow stir. “I think it’s at the right consistency it’s got that whole ‘liquid moonlight’ vibe going on.” She stepped back slightly and gestured at the next reagent. “Your turn. Time to add the starlight essence.” You nodded, taking the small vial of softly glowing liquid in hand. According to the instructions, the essence had to be introduced in an incremental spiral pattern a slow, deliberate movement that would ensure even diffusion throughout the solution. Lifting the dropper, you steadied yourself, exhaling before carefully letting the essence fall into the potion in a spiraling motion. As the shimmering liquid made contact, the mixture pulsed with a faint, otherworldly glow. Chai Latte whistled. “Okay, that looks really cool.” You didn’t respond immediately, too focused on ensuring the reaction stabilized. A few more careful additions, a few more slow stirs, and then, finally, the glow settled into a deep, mesmerizing blue with flickers of silver threading through it like tiny stars suspended in liquid. Chai Latte leaned in, inspecting it closely. “I think we did it.” You studied the potion as well, double-checking the indicators from your notes. “Yeah… that looks right. No weird discoloration, no sudden temperature spikes…” You allowed yourself a breath of relief. “We actually pulled it off.”

Chai Latte grinned, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “See? Maybe all that tutoring is finally starting to pay off.” You gave her a halfhearted glare, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Or maybe we’re just a good team.” “Obviously,” she said smugly, crossing her arms. “Now let’s just hope we don’t jinx ourselves. We still have to get it approved.” Right. The professor would be coming around soon to check everyone’s results. You took a final look at your work, double-checking for any overlooked mistakes. With the experiment successfully completed and approved, you packed up your station, cleaning up any stray residue while Chai Latte Cookie hummed to herself. By the time everything was put away, the weight of responsibility lifted ever so slightly. “Alright, that’s that,” Chai Latte announced, stretching her arms above her head. “And we’re free until our next class. Or, in your case, free until tutoring.” She shot you a knowing look. You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I know.” She grinned, leaning against the lab bench. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna go grab a snack before you spend the rest of your afternoon basking in the wisdom of The Sage of Truth?” Her voice took on an exaggerated, reverent tone. You gave her a dry look. “I was just thinking of walking around for a bit.” Chai Latte raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. By yourself?” “…Yes?” She huffed dramatically. “Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I haven’t noticed how much time you’ve been spending in the Scholars’ Wing lately.” Your stomach twisted slightly, though you tried not to show it. “It’s tutoring,” you reminded her. “Tutoring,” she echoed, smirking. “Right, right. Well, don’t work yourself to death. I’ll see you at dinner later?” You nodded, and with a wave, Chai Latte Cookie disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing in the now-empty lab. With still nearly an hour before your tutoring session, you had time to breathe, to wander. The idea of heading straight to the Scholars’ Wing so early felt… too much. Instead, you found yourself walking toward the academy gardens. The crisp afternoon air met you as you stepped outside, the scent of enchanted flora and old stone pathways filling your lungs. Your feet carried you forward on instinct, weaving through the familiar paths of the gardens, past the towering moonlit trees and the delicate, glimmering flowers that thrived under the academy’s protective enchantments. The place was quieter at this hour, most students still busy with their classes.

You let your mind wander. You had improved. That was undeniable. Shadow Milk Cookie had acknowledged as much himself. And yet, the closer you got to mastering your coursework, the more uneasy you felt. Because once you did what then? Would this all just… end? Would he simply nod, satisfied, and send you on your way? And then what? You’d go back to struggling through everything on your own? The thought of it left an odd hollowness in your chest. You sighed, rubbing your temples before shaking your head. You were overthinking again. For now, you still had today. You still had tutoring. You still had time. With that thought grounding you, you turned and began making your way toward the Scholars’ Wing. You hesitated at the doorway, one hand lightly gripping the frame as you took in the scene before you. The door to Shadow Milk Cookie’s office was slightly ajar, just enough for you to hear the unmistakable cadence of his voice measured, rich with knowledge, yet tinged with something… lighter. Amusement? You couldn’t make out every word, but the conversation was fluid, the way one spoke when deeply engaged in an exchange of ideas. He wasn’t alone. Another scholar, most likely. Someone of his caliber. Someone who belonged in this space. You shouldn’t feel so strange about it. And yet, you found yourself rooted to the spot, fingers tightening against the wood of the doorframe. You had always known, of course you had that he was a renowned scholar, well-respected, well-sought after. He didn’t just make time for you. Still, you’d never walked in on him mid-conversation before. You weren’t sure why that bothered you. The question now was whether you should make your presence known or wait. Logic told you it wasn’t a difficult decision. It wasn’t as if you were interrupting anything truly private. You had a scheduled session, after all. If he was too busy, he’d tell you. And yet, another part of you…the part that still struggled with being here, in his space, in his world hesitated. Would it be better to wait? To not intrude? You swallowed, debating your next move. You took a breath, steadied yourself, and knocked lightly against the door. The conversation inside paused for only a moment before Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice rang out, steady as ever. “Enter.” You pushed the door open, stepping inside. The atmosphere of the room shifted slightly not in a way that was obvious or outwardly hostile, but in a way that made you hyper-aware of your presence. Seated in the office, gathered around the central desk, were three other scholars. Two women and one man, all poised with an air of effortless intellect. Their robes were neatly arranged, their notes methodically placed before them. They belonged in this room, in this world of academia, their presence natural expected. And then there was you. Your gaze flickered between them briefly before settling on Shadow Milk Cookie. He remained as composed as ever, but you couldn’t ignore the way the three scholars regarded him. Their eyes, bright with admiration, held something deeper, something lingering beneath the surface adoration. It wasn’t surprising. Who wouldn’t look at him that way? You shifted your weight, suddenly feeling out of place. This wasn’t your space. You were just a struggling student, given the privilege of his time through necessity, not merit. “Ah,” Shadow Milk Cookie said, closing the tome in front of him. “Right on time.” That pulled you from your thoughts. You hesitated, then nodded, gripping your notebook a little tighter. “I yeah. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The man among the three scholars tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in quiet assessment. “A student of yours, Sage of Truth?”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. “Not quite,” Shadow Milk Cookie answered smoothly. “But an eager learner nonetheless.” You weren’t sure why, but that phrasing stung just a little. One of the women smiled, though there was something unreadable in her gaze. “How fortunate to receive such direct guidance.” You gave a small nod, unsure of what to say. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you briefly before gesturing to the side of the room. “Take a seat. I will conclude here shortly.” You obeyed, moving to the seat he had indicated, but even as you sat down, the sense of displacement remained. They resumed their conversation something about magical theorem applications but your mind was elsewhere, thoughts caught on the undeniable truth. You were not like them. And maybe you never would be. As the three scholars rose from their seats, they exchanged their final words with Shadow Milk Cookie, their voices carrying a warmth that felt both familiar and distant. “Until next time, Sage,” one of the women said, her fingers ghosting over the edge of his desk before she stepped away. The other woman offered a gentle smile, her eyes lingering just a second too long. “Conversations with you are always illuminating.” The man gave a slow nod, expression composed but reverent. “Your insights remain unparalleled.” Then, with a final exchange of glances ones that seemed to hold something unspoken as they departed. You hadn’t meant to watch them so closely, but there was something in the way they carried themselves that you couldn’t ignore. Something in the way their voices softened when they spoke to him, in the way their gazes lingered just a breath longer than necessary. You shifted uncomfortably, staring at the door they had left through before glancing back at Shadow Milk Cookie. You had only caught fragments of their discussion snippets of terminology and references to studies far beyond your grasp. It had been like listening to a language you had only just begun to learn, the meaning slipping past you before you could latch onto anything concrete.

Still, what unsettled you wasn’t the academic distance between you and them. It was the way they looked at him. And the quiet realization that he was always surrounded by people like that. People who understood him. You hesitated before speaking, trying to keep your voice neutral. “…Were those your friends?” Shadow Milk Cookie, who had been straightening his desk, paused only briefly before resuming. “Colleagues.” The word was delivered so smoothly that it almost seemed rehearsed. You frowned slightly. “So, not friends?” He regarded you for a moment before answering. “Friendship, in academic circles, is often secondary to the pursuit of knowledge.” That was… not exactly an answer. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but something about his response sat strangely with you. Something about the way he had said it, as if dismissing the notion entirely. “…I see,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I… really saw how much they admire you,” you said, keeping your voice light, as if it was just an idle observation. Shadow Milk Cookie looked at you with mild curiosity, but he said nothing, waiting for you to continue. You let out a small breath, averting your gaze slightly. “They just… seemed so comfortable talking to you. Like they already knew exactly what you meant before you even finished a sentence.” There was something strange in the way those scholars had interacted with him and how naturally they seemed to fit into his world. You weren’t sure why it lingered in your mind so much, but the feeling sat heavy in your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. “I guess I just…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t know why I feel this way, but… it kind of made me wonder if I’ll ever be able to understand you like that.” It was an uncomfortable thought; one you hadn’t fully grasped until you said it out loud. You had been learning, studying harder than ever, and yet somehow, today had made you feel like an outsider again. Like there was an invisible wall between you and him, between you and the world he truly belonged to. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a moment, his golden eyes steady as they regarded you. He didn’t immediately dismiss your feelings, nor did he rush to correct them. Then, with a measured tone, he finally spoke. “There are many paths to understanding,” he said. “Not all must be the same.” You met his gaze again, and though his expression remained composed, there was something deliberate in his words as if he was choosing them with care. He was not denying the gap that existed between you, nor was he pretending it wasn’t there. “I guess… I hadn’t thought about it like that,” you admitted. “But sometimes, it feels like no matter how much effort I put in, I’ll always be behind. Like I’m chasing after something I can’t quite grasp.” Shadow Milk Cookie considered this, his expression unreadable. “A scholar’s journey is not a race,” he said. “Nor is it a simple ascent. There will always be others who stand at different points along the path some ahead, some behind. But progress is not measured by where you stand in relation to them.”

You frowned slightly, tapping your fingers against the desk. “That makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a gap.” He nodded. “No, it does not. But gaps are meant to be bridged, not feared.” Something about the way he said it made you pause. He spoke as if the answer was so simple, so obvious like it wasn’t a question of whether you could catch up, but when. The thought settled strangely in your chest, a mixture of comfort and something you couldn’t quite name. You glanced down at your notes. The hesitation from earlier still lingered, but it no longer weighed as heavily as before. “I… guess I’ll just have to keep going, then.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly. “Was there ever any doubt?” You let out a quiet huff, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Maybe a little.” His lips quirked just slightly, an almost-smile, before he gestured toward your notebook. “Then let us ensure your doubts do not linger.” And just like that, the moment passed, leaving you with something new not quite confidence, but something close enough.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat before sliding your notebook toward him. “Anyway,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I finished the assignment for Professor Almond Custard’s class. I think I did well on it.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered to the notebook, and he reached for it with his usual practiced ease. You watched as he scanned through your work, his expression remaining unreadable as his fingers ghosted over the lines of your calculations and explanations. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for his reaction but you were. A part of you hoped, maybe even expected, that this time, he’d simply nod in approval and move on. That he’d confirm what you were feeling that you had done well, that you had finally gotten it right. Shadow Milk Cookie turned the pages with practiced ease, his golden eyes scanning your work with a meticulous gaze. You tried to sit still, to keep yourself from fidgeting under the weight of his silence, but every second that passed made it harder. Then, finally, he set the notebook down and looked at you. “…Well done.” You blinked. “Wait, really?” He nodded once, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the desk. “Your reasoning is clear, your calculations correct. The structure of your argument is sound. This is a marked improvement.” For a moment, you just stared at him, half-expecting some kind of ‘but’ to follow. When none came, a rush of relief, no, pride bloomed in your chest. “I actually got everything right?”

“Indeed.” You exhaled, barely resisting the urge to sag against the desk. “Finally.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with something almost amused. “Did you expect otherwise?” “Honestly?” You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah.” His expression softened, just a little. “Doubt is natural. But in this instance, unnecessary.” He tapped the notebook again, deliberate. “You are capable. This work is proof of that.” It wasn’t an elaborate speech, nor was it overly sentimental but coming from him, it meant everything. You let out a breath, rolling your shoulders back. “I’ll take that as high praise.” “It is.” Your chest felt lighter than it had all day. You beamed brightly, laughter spilling from your lips pure, unrestrained, the kind that came from deep within your soul. Just knowing you had finally done something great, something without the need for corrections, overwhelmed your senses in the best way possible. “I can’t believe it,” you admitted between quiet chuckles, shaking your head as if that would make the moment feel more real. “No mistakes? Not even one?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips curved ever so slightly. “Had there been, I would have pointed them out.” You grinned, still riding the high of accomplishment. “Wow… I actually did it.” For the first time, you weren’t scrambling to make last-minute fixes, weren’t leaving his office weighed down by another list of errors to correct. It was strange, in a way like standing at the peak of a mountain you had been climbing for so long, unable to believe you had finally made it. Shadow Milk Cookie watched you, his gaze steady. “This is the result of your perseverance. Do not diminish it with disbelief.”

You paused, taking in his words. He was right. You had worked for this. You had earned it. You straightened, exhaling a breath that carried away the lingering doubt. “Then I’ll just say… thank you.” He inclined his head slightly. “No thanks are necessary. You have proven yourself through effort alone.” Still, you smiled, warmth filling your chest.

A/N no update tomorrow I won't have time to finish the chapter, but it'll be started and then finished+editing by hopefully Wednesday latest Thursday you might be asking yourself "Odile how do you get these chapters out so fast?" The simple answer: I'm hyper-fixated...+ It...'s break week and it was raining all day...My friends and I had to call it a day early cause it was pouring...so it gave me time to use the rest of my day to write and cook a good dinner etc...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[huginsmemory]

Ford's Dreams; Attraction and Asexuality

In Bill's quips in TBOB on what the characters dream about, the quip he had on Ford caught my eye: "Sixer dreams about a pop quiz that asks him "what are you attracted to?" He usually writes "I'm attracted to logic and preparation." Not sure what to call that! Plansexual?". Immediately upon reading it, it made me question the implicit meanings of that small blurb, on Ford's sexuality (as someone whose aroace) and on the potential reason why such a dream was reoccurring, which I've explored below:

Extra addition added (Jan 6 2025)!

The first of two pages in TBOB on Bill's quips on characters dreams; this page includes Ford's, Dippers, Mabel's and Wendy's dream comments.

First of all, there are two types of quips Bill makes about the characters dreams. First, and the main type of comment, are negatively connotated, generally close to or even are nightmares. Dipper, about over hearing his parents fight about divorce, Mabel who has nightmares about waddles dying, Wendy who dreams about her Mom, who died, Stan's about Ford getting stuck in his science fair experiment, and Pacifica about the lumberjack ghost and blood that doesn't wash off her hands. Most of these are things that play off subconscious or conscious fears or grief (or memories in relation to fear or grief). The second type of quip, are goofs; such as Robbie's real hair colour, or Blubs and Durland only dreaming about each other (both on the other page, not depicted). So where does Ford's comment for in? At first glance, Ford's dream quip somewhat comes out as a goof (especially considering the horrible things he's gone through and seen). But for a central, serious character, and considering the context of the book, I really don't think this is a goof, but more of the first type of quip, on darker/nightmare sort of dreams.

But if it's is a nightmare, then why would a pop quiz about what he's attracted to be nightmare material?

First of all, regarding the set up of the dream, a quiz explicitly implies that you are being judged on your answer. There is a rubric for right or wrong answers, and someone, in a higher position of power, often in an academic institution, judges you by this. Ford is a character that's been clearly driven for the good first half of his life by excellency in academic achievement, and this implies that it's very important to him to get the quiz correct, to have the right answer, and that he fears being wrong.

Now on the subject matter of what the quiz entails; the subject of romance and attraction. Regarding canon, romance isn't one we get particularly clear images on with Ford, compared to Stan who flirts and literally goes out on a date during the series. We only really ever get two direct human interactions that could be implied to be considered romantic in nature (sorry fiddauthor's, there isn't anything from Ford's side of things that imply any extra feelings beyond cherished friend; Fiddleford in the other hand...). These are when he speaks to a girl at a dance and gets juice thrown on him, and in Journal 3 on the page that decodes on the page about himself to "LITTLE CATHY WHAT A DREAM HELD HER HAND AND MADE HER SCREAM". (There is also technically the one throw away line about Ford dating a siren in one of the Lost Legends comics, which would be the only time we know of Ford actually being in a romantic relationship; but that's something that never gets elaborated on, and when Dipper says that he's literally reading from the Bill page from Journal 3, so I'm unsure on the weight of such a statement). Compulsory heteronormativity aside as demanded by censors, both the implied attempts don't go well, and in the second one it directly implies Ford's six fingers are directly part of the reason why he's undesirable. Ford clearly deeply struggles with belonging around his 'weirdness'; case in point with the whole page about it in Journal 3. In this case, his bad luck in romance as a teen, possibly as a result of his 'wierdness', continues to alienate him from other people. As a result, a quiz focusing on romance may further remind Ford about his 'wrongness' as he doesn't have the socially expected romantic relationship.

Stanford's author pages in journal 3. The cipher on the right page decodes to what is described in the paragraph above. Note his emphasis on feeling alienated.

However, what's perhaps more telling about it is that the quiz asks what are you attracted too?, which is more sexual than really romantic in nature. And it's telling because what Ford puts down is logic and preparation. These aren't physical attributes as one may assume to answer these questions; neither is it gendered, or even really based on a person, but rather left open as the concepts (ie, he doesn't say someone who is logical and well-prepared). This Bill even jokes about, with 'plan-sexual'. And Ford's answer is not a typical 'male' answer (in the toxic sense, but also, just generally, since people experience sexual attraction) which Bill also notes with the joke. This 'incorrect' answer could be construed as another thing that's wrong with him, especially back in the day; emphasizing again Ford's wrong-ness and alienation.

Not to mention, beyond those two instances described above (interestingly, these occur previous to Ford's falling out with Stan, in which after he highly prioritizes academic achievement) Ford shows no interest in romantic relationships. This disinterest in pursuing romance is contrary to a lot of people who are still workaholics who have significant others/hook-up on the weekend in their meager time off. Ford's general disinterest in romance is also something that others him, with how our society puts so much emphasis on romantic and sexual relationships. And this is something that IMMEDIATELY caught my eye as someone whose within the general ballpark of aroace; there is a huge amount of alienation from society when you are disinterested in sexual/romantic relationships. Especially when toxic masculinity expects you to constantly be horny. So having someone ask you that question of what you are attracted too is awkward, and depending on the audience, socially difficult question to field. And often an answer to that comes out sounding exactly like Ford's, based on personality rather than physical attributes, if you don't decide to come out (not that Ford would know queer jargon anyways). So this question, posed in a quiz, with Ford being quite Ace-coded, would bring up these feelings of alienation, along with those about failure on not having the right 'answer' regarding attractiveness and the failure of not having a girlfriend.

The infamous Billford page in TBOB, of 'one thing led to another'. Also note Ford saying that Bill's "really got it all figured out".

Now, beyond that, we're also reading this in the context of TBOB. Even before the new info in TBOB, Ford openly worshipped Bill; and in TBOB it becomes clear that they certainly had something going on between them (cough, one thing lead to another, cough). This suggests that Ford found Bill attractive in some form of attraction, whether romantic, sexual or queer-platonic-ish. This especially so, considering the answer Ford puts down; logic and preparation. Bill, who corrected and furthered Ford's knowledge, who came to him as a being of pure knowledge (logic), and who helped him plan the portal, who ironically also had other plans of world domination beyond that (preparation). Bill fits the description, even if he's not human, but Ford's not bothered by that, Ford's a freak himself and it's clear in finding that acceptance he's ecstatic (freak4freak). And that attraction, that care Ford had/has for Bill? Now that's something that's horrifying, something that's filled with guilt, terror, and also embarrassment and fear of how others will react; case in point with Ford literally ripping those journal pages out so the others don't know about the extent of his and Bill's relationship, and in TBOB he acknowledges that. And that's not to mention the potential additives of negative emotions from failing to have attraction for the right person, from failing to meet toxic masculinity standards, and the emphasis of being a freak that made him fall for Bill. Now that's emotionally negatively charged for a fucking nightmare.

Like. Fuck. What are you attracted too? The being that I thought was a god of pure knowledge and thought that strung me along like a fish on line with bait of knowledge and companionship, and I ate that bait, hook, line, and sinker, so deep within my belly I fell in love with him; the being that betrayed me, that wants to destroy my world and used me to do it. The being I shouldn't even love in the first place, because you're supposed to love what's normal, but I've never been able to do that as a freak show. The being I've spent half my life hunting down to kill. And now here I am, with this fucking mess of my own making, after threats and torture and the world ending, and some small fucking part of me still loves him.

So, yeah. I don't think that's just a comedy line. I think that's a line that potentially has way more about Ford's feelings of alienation, of his failure to be attracted to the right person, of guilt and fear around his relationship with Bill, and especially so of others perceiving it.

EDIT (05/01/2025): Also for your consideration, as mentioned in the tags by @vespertin-y and @5p4ced-0ut, these DIRECT QUOTES BY FORD IN TBOB. ABOUT WHY ONE WOULD MAKE A DEAL WITH BILL.

All the scenarios listed by Ford apply to himself;

You're at a desperate low? Failing to find, or prove the universal weirdness theorum; but really, truly beneath that, being basically completely alone for all the years since college, and being desperately lonely and seeking affection and acceptance.

Lost something dear to you? A bit more abstract, but Ford's alone, and he's alone because he chose to lose Stan, to seek acceptance through academic achievement. And it's his loneliness that truly drives him to Bill; not academic achievement, even if that's part of the reason. He's trying to fill that void of love and acceptance thats been there since Stan left. That's something that's dear to him that he's lost. Although it could also just be a nod to Bill's magic, in that he can use it to fulfill things.

Throes of all-consuming monomaniacal ambition? Do I need to say anything about this? Ford caused the apocalypse (partly) out of his ambition.

Now of course these all lead up to the very last one: or perhaps you're just attracted to things that hurt you? This heavily implies Ford's felt, as I outlined above, some sort of attraction to Bill.

It's also a strong thing to say about their relationship. What's interesting about this one, is that at the beginning, their relationship wasn't a painful relationship for Ford; codependent as fuck, sure, but no one was actively hurting the other. It wasn't until they began to become jealous and petty with each other when Fiddleford began working that there is resentment and emotional pain, and then there's the big reveal, and all there is of their relationship for Ford is emotional pain and betrayal. In that manner, he wasn't originally attracted to Bill because of masochism in the literal sense; but rather due to rather an attraction built on genuine connection and companionship that ultimately ended horribly.

So basically, the 'attracted to someone that hurts you', is another line that falls under the heavy implication that Ford felt some sort of attraction to Bill; and that Ford struggles with shame and guilt around his attraction to Bill, especially as the comment is actually a lie (a common abuse victim lie) that minimizes their relationship, especially from Bill's side.

But he still says the sentence. So why is he lying/believing he's telling the truth? That comes down to what he's trying to diminish, and the guilt he has around attraction. The sentence, written of course post series when Ford is deeply jaded about Bill and his relationship, is written in a deeply bitter way. And it's a very self-directedly bitter way! Of course the being I fall in love with ends up betraying and hurting me; I never can do anything correctly. By saying that 'he's attracted to pain', he implicitly within the statement blames himself for the abuse, construing it as some way inevitable that this would occur due to his 'wrong' nature, especially around attraction as evident above. This self-blame and 'inevitability' is actually common to those who have low self-esteem and are victims of abuse, which Ford is. Ford already is shown to feel guilt and shame around his attraction to Bill for various reasons, such as the failure to be attracted to the right being, and doubly so with it ending up being an abusive relationship. This self-blame of 'i'm attracted to pain' denies that Ford was seeking genuine connection, and found it in Bill; it construes Bill as always having hurt Ford. Which is untrue! But this does function as a way to suppresses Ford's possible remaining positive emotions he has around Bill (by demonizing him as something horrible, understandable as he's been trying to kill him for 30 years) and also provides Ford an illusion of power over the situation; of course I had and remained in a relationship with Bill because I enjoy pain. It's easier to say (and delude yourself you like it, and you abuser may even encourage that, to avoid the pain) then admit you don't know how to escape, or fear escaping. And I think Ford did just that.

(Also, side note: What's also a kicker is that we are creatures of habit. So relationship dynamics we grow up in, are often ones we tend re-create later in life, because those are dynamics we are comfortable in, even if they are terrible dynamics. But that doesn't mean that it will always, nor have to be recreated. In some way, Ford did this; he recreated a dynamic from his father, in always looking up to Bill, and requiring praise from him to support his self esteem.)

Also, contextually, this negative recount of Bill makes sense as it's functioning as a warning for the reader within the page; informing the reader that no matter what, Bill will hurt you if you make a deal. This embarrassment and shame about Bill is contrary to some readings, in which Ford confesses to having cared about Bill; but this page is early in TBOB! It's before the pages all the rest of the family put in; it's possible this page was added 'before' the rest of the family read TBOB and Ford comes to acceptance with his feelings around Bill.

[qqueenofhades]

So I keep seeing people play the "Harris is a Cop, so I'm not voting for her because ACAB" card, and not even pointing out that she was a DA/Prosecutor rather than an actual cop seems to change their minds - as far as they're concerned, working with cops in any capacity makes you a cop. Do you happen to have anything that'd make for a good counterpoint to this argument (or, at the very least, something to make those of us who still plan on voting for her despite our dim views on Law Enforcement not feel so bad about it)?

....Not feel so bad about it?

First of all: these are laughably, incredibly unbelievably unserious people, and frankly, my first advice would be NOT to bother trying to engage with them at all, because there is nothing whatsoever they will ever accept in the way of logical proof to change their minds. First it was "you can't ask me to vote for Biden specifically because of [insert issue here.]" This changed a lot, from Roe getting overturned by the corrupt SCOTUS, to the train strike (hey anyone remember that?) to student loan forgiveness and then had settled firmly on Gaza. So now, lo and behold, they're given exactly what they asked for: a new younger candidate who is not Biden and explicitly more progressive on the Gaza issue (Harris was the first member of the administration to openly call for a ceasefire). So they turn their noses up, rush to their favorite 2020 disinformation founts that were first spouted when they were trying to sabotage her in favor of Bernie (who endorsed Biden pretty strongly before he dropped out), flirt with Jill "Actual Agent of Putin" Stein, and other equally expected and equally bullshit maneuvers. Lololololololol online leftists. Never change, or something.

That said: because their minds are so set that they will never vote for any Democrat ever, you can't really give them any logical information to separate them from this conclusion. I don't have the links on hand, but etc Google and Wikipedia are free: Harris's tenure as district attorney and California AG was progressive even by modern standards, and it was happening in the early 2000s: she refused to prosecute for low-level weed offenses, pushed for harder sentences for assault weapons, performed gay marriages LONG before it was legal even in San Freaking Francisco, refused to seek the death penalty, worked with restorative justice programs, etc. This was after she was a first-generation American child of brown immigrants who took advantage of equal-opportunity education programs to go to law school, and her parents were already high-achieving academics (one a cancer researcher from India and one an economics professor from Jamaica). Sure sure, she definitely seems exactly like Derek Chauvin to me. Critical thinking is great! #VoteJillStein! A literal puppet of Putin and unabashed Assad fangirl is definitely the pro-peace morally correct option here!*

In other words, the morons do not give a single shit about factual reflections of Kamala's record. They do not care about whether her time as a district attorney was progressive (it was) and whether she was actually a cop (she wasn't). They're so wedded at the hip to their braindead disinformation propaganda that now we're going to see the excuses change at lightspeed from why they can't vote for Biden specifically to why they can't vote for Harris specifically. None of it will be remotely tethered to reality and all of it will be in extreme and obvious bad faith. As I said, there are plenty of persuadable voters elsewhere who HAVE been energized by her elevation to candidacy. If you are indeed interested in winning voters to her side (as opposed to having to find reasons to justify yourself to the All Voting Is Evil crowd who will never listen to or believe you anyway), I suspect your time would be better spent elsewhere, and outside the echo-chamber leftist social media space in general.

Aside from that, I have gotten a few hand-wringy asks about Kamala and the election overall, and I gotta say, I am not going to waste my time and effort replying to them. We have about 100 days to win this election or become a fascist dictatorship. We are already in uncharted territory, but the replacement of Biden with Harris went UNIMAGINABLY smoothly, far, far more than anyone (including me) ever expected. It reminds me of the presto-chango that the French center, left, and center-left parties pulled off to replace candidates, IN FIVE DAYS, to better position themselves to defeat the fascists. Compared to that, three and a half months is a cakewalk, but we still absolutely do not, DO NOT, have time to sit around worrying and hand-wringing about this or that hypothetical Bad Thing. It deeply unsurprises me to hear that US Online Leftists are still throwing snits and pitching their toys out of the pram rather than getting on board, but the rest of us don't have any time to waste and need to apply our energy to where it will be best put to use. So yes.

*extreme, extreme sarcasm alert

[evilminji]

:O !!! Wait a second... GHOST DINOSAURS!!!

They died. There are ghost animals. You CAN NOT tell me getting fuckin nuked from space by a GIANT rock that blasted you and everything you've ever known into near instantaneous oblivion, wouldn't leave some Unfinished Business and a shit ton of Ectoplasm.

BILLIONS of things died all at once.

Did most move on? Probably. We're any of them sentient? We have no idea! Maybe! Unlikely, but maybe! Still a MASSIVE, countries wide, molten earth lined, crater of instant death. World shaking and history making. Death in the blink of an eye.

If you're lucky.

But! I hear the arguments now. That was one event. The X or Y dinosaur lived before that! What I'm interested in came AFTER! Good points! But not RELAVENT!!! Because you know what ELSE that giant fuck-off meteor is good for? Aside for Death(tm)?

Television.

Makes for some damn good documentaries. Exciting graphics and neato visual effects. Ooooh~ look at our dramatic recreation! The cute baby animals, unsuspecting of their Doomed Fate~! Tense music! And now, a world from our advertisers!

You know who LIKES Space Documentaries? Danny. He's all ABOUT that Science Channel. Granted, they've been pulling more and more of these mid-tear "aliens built the pyramids" and "look at these swords!" Shows... but! Still! He grew up on this channel! He doesn't WANT to give up on it!

And, yeah, this is... kinda hammy... but it's still watchable!

He's enjoying the live tweeting from paleontologists who are ROASTING the thing to a lovely golden brown. Has choked on his noodles like three times already. It's great! But now? They are arguing over what the dinosaurs actually looked like again... and??

And, look, maybe it's the good mood and boredom. Maybe it's having the house to himself. Maybe it's his parents finally encouraging him to use his "ghostiness" for SCIENCE(tm)(!) the other day. Could even be his bad idea impulse acting up again, buuuuut.....

Teeeeechnically?

Nothing? Is STOPPING him? From finding out? He DOES have Zone compatible cameras. And can probably back trace where they should-ish be? He can find out. The colors might be off, but it's a starting point? Right? And heck, he's pretty sure inverse coloration in standard unless someone's shape-shifting, so he'd just have to inverse it AGAIN to get an approximately correct coloration for them!

....eh, as long as he leaves a "not exact, this was the best I could get" note, it should be fine.

Road Trip time! Better call Dani and see if she wants to ride a few giant mammals and some lizards!

(Needless to say? Some researchers get VERY exciting emails. And only accept they are POSSIBLE, because this is a DC crossover. So there is aliens and magic regularly popping up in their field of expertise, so WHY NOT? Just the other day, a whole ass TOWN that has been wiped out... got UN-wiped out! 23 years later! It's made headlines. Weird shit happens.

So gib. Release to them the Dinosaurs, mystery email man. Fork them over before they begin biting. You think this corduroy jacket means they won't hunt you down? HA! You know NOTHING of academics! WHERE ARE THE EXTINCT ANIMALS? Where are you hiding them!?!?)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @nerdpoe @ailithnight @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[athenasdaydreams]

Bucky requesttt (if you have time!)

I'm a huge sucker for coffee shop stories 😭 what about a coffee shop AU where he slowly falls for a waitress there (and vice versa ofc!)?

Thank you for your consideration!!

pairing: bucky barnes x reader (coffee shop au)

summary: coastal cafes (and the people inside them) attract a certain super soldier

chapter warnings: food (it's a coffee shop au)

A/N: man i just submitted my analysis and discussion of findings... born to write fics all day forced to be an academic weapon... anyway, hope you enjoy!! i made this very beachy coastal vibes bcs i felt like it fit the vibe... hope youre not mad :)

The first time Bucky Barnes walks into Coastal Grounds, it’s just past sunrise. The sea mist curls along the glass, and the bell above the door gives a quiet chime. He’s damp from the walk, hoodie clinging to his back, hair curling slightly from the fog. There’s something wistful in the way he stands there—like he’s stepped into a memory.

You glance up from the espresso machine, hair pinned up in a soft twist, sleeves of your oatmeal sweater tugged past your palms.

“Morning,” you say, your voice still warm from sleep. “You’re new.”

He nods, a little cautious but not unfriendly. “Just moved in. Needed coffee.”

You gesture toward the corner table with the best view of the sea. “That one’s my favorite. You can watch the waves roll in.”

He hesitates for a moment before making his way over. You follow soon after, placing a mug of black coffee and a cinnamon scone in front of him.

“I didn’t order.”

You smile, soft and sure. “I know. First one’s on the house.”

He lifts a brow. “Why?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you could use something warm.”

He huffs a small laugh, and when he takes a sip, his shoulders ease just slightly.

Bucky hadn’t planned on staying long. This town was meant to be a quiet layover. Steve had once mentioned it—something about the sea air being good for the soul.

He came because he needed the silence. Not conversation. Not comfort. Just space to breathe.

His little cottage on the hill creaks when the wind picks up, but the kettle works and the view is enough to stop him from bolting. Most nights, the quiet creeps in too deep. But then he finds himself at your café.

First once. Then again. Then every morning.

You start greeting him before he says a word, already sliding his coffee across the counter.

“Rough night?” you’ll ask gently. He never answers directly. But you never ask again.

Until one morning, he surprises you.

“You always start baking this early?” he asks, nodding at the flour dusting your cheek.

You blink, caught off guard. “Scones don’t bake themselves.” You pause. “I hum when I work. You can probably hear it.”

“I can.”

You brace yourself, but then—

“It’s nice.”

Your smile catches him off guard. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes.”

He doesn’t correct you.

You learn his rhythms.

He always sits facing the door. Keeps his gloves on. Tips with bills folded too tightly. Flinches when the wind makes the bell clang.

So you adjust. Quietly. You oil the bell hinge. Lower the music when he usually comes in. Keep a scone aside just in case he’s late.

One Thursday, he doesn’t show.

You fold napkins until your fingers ache. Burn the second tray of muffins. When the door finally opens near noon, he’s soaked to the bone.

“Hey,” you say, drying your hands. “You okay?”

“Didn’t want to miss the cinnamon scones.”

You pass him one, still warm. “I saved it for you.”

He frowns. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

He eats in silence, slower than usual. The storm doesn’t let up. And when the last customer leaves, he’s still at his table, watching the rain blur the glass.

You sit across from him, not too close. “You don’t have to talk. I just… Are you okay?”

He exhales, like the breath’s been stuck in his chest for days. “I lost a lot. Before this.”

You don’t rush him.

“I didn’t come here to find anything,” he says. “Just needed quiet. Safe.”

You reach over and place your hand atop his, glove and all. “You’ve got that now.”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I do.”

Spring arrives in cautious stretches. You open earlier. He starts coming earlier too. One day he brings a toolbox and fixes the shelf that’s been threatening to collapse since January.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, halfway through pouring a latte.

“Better than staring at the kettle.”

The next day, he replaces the kitchen bulb.

“You’ve been squinting every time you walk back here,” he says simply.

You catch yourself smiling. Fold it away like a secret.

A week later, you find a note beneath the register. Scribbled on a napkin:

Your smile’s better than the sunrise.

Just signed: B.

You tuck it into your apron pocket. You don’t stop smiling all day.

The first time he offers you his jacket, it’s instinct. You’ve forgotten yours, and the wind’s sharp. He just shrugs out of his and holds it out.

“Take it,” he says, gentle but firm.

“You’re too good,” you mutter as you slip it on.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

The café glows behind you. The ocean murmurs in the distance.

“I didn’t think I’d stay,” he says.

“What changed?”

His eyes linger on yours. “You did.”

You don’t have the words, so you nudge him with your shoulder. “Good thing you like cinnamon scones, then.”

He laughs, low and warm. “Yeah. Good thing.”

Now he brings you wildflowers. Little ones from the cliffs. You keep them in a mug near the register, right next to his napkin note.

When you burn a batch, he just grins. “Guess that means more for me.”

Locals start teasing you both gently. You brush it off. Bucky doesn’t. He wraps an arm around your waist in broad daylight like he’s always done it.

He’s quiet, steady. Reliable in the way few people are.

Sometimes, when the café is empty, you sit across from each other in silence. Not awkward. Just… full. The hum of the sea. The soft clink of mugs.

You hum when you knead dough.

Now he hums with you.

Love, you think, might just sound like that.

-

Summer softens the edges of the town. The fog rolls in later, burns off quicker. The streets fill with tourists who don’t understand the rhythm of the place, who tap their fingers impatiently on the counter and complain about the sea air curling their hair.

Bucky never complains.

He just shows up earlier. Sometimes even before you flip the sign.

You find him one morning sitting on the front steps with two paper cups of coffee—his usual, and something close to yours.

“Thought I’d try bringing it to you for once,” he says, cheeks pink from the early chill. “Hope I got it right.”

You take a sip. It’s perfect. Too perfect.

“You remembered the cinnamon?”

His grin is soft. “I remember everything.”

He starts helping you open.

Carries the chairs from their stacks. Refills the sugar jars without being asked. Sweeps the back patio. Doesn’t say much while he does it, but hums sometimes—those soft 40s ballads he plays on his scratched old record player at home.

You start keeping non-fat milk in the fridge at the café for him. Full cream feels like too much. He starts bringing you honey from the Saturday market.

People begin to notice. Not in the teasing way anymore. But in that warm, knowing way that small towns specialise in.

You don’t say anything out loud. Neither does he.

But one morning, you catch him fixing the curtain rod in the storeroom, sleeves pushed up, forehead smudged with dust—and it hits you so hard your knees nearly give.

This is a man who knows how to stay.

One night, there’s a blackout.

The storm knocks out the power line, and you’re stuck at the café, candles flickering, emergency battery lights casting golden halos against the walls.

Bucky’s already there. He’d shown up early to help you close.

You sit across from each other at a booth, hands warmed by mugs of tea boiled on the gas stove.

“This reminds me of a blackout in Brooklyn once,” he says. “I was a kid. Ma pulled out every candle in the house. Steve and I made shadow puppets.”

He pauses, eyes searching the flame. “We didn’t have much. But it always felt like enough.”

You don’t speak—just nudge your socked foot against his beneath the table.

Eventually, he shifts closer. His hand finds yours, fingers worn but gentle. Your hands slot together easily, like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

“Do you miss it?” you whisper.

“Brooklyn?” he asks, then shakes his head. “No. The people, maybe. But not the noise. Not the way things rush past you.”

He looks at you.

“This place… it slows things down.”

You smile. “You’re allowed to stay, you know. Even if you didn’t plan to.”

“I know.”

Another beat of silence.

“I think I want to,” he says softly.

The first time he kisses you, it’s unplanned.

You’ve fallen asleep on the couch in the staffroom, apron still dusted with flour, hair slipping from its clip.

He’d stopped by with dinner. Knocked. No answer.

So he let himself in, placed the takeout on the counter, and found you curled up, arms tucked under your cheek.

He crouches beside you, brushing a curl from your temple.

You stir. Eyes flutter open.

“Buck?”

“Shh. It’s okay. Brought you food.”

You blink sleepily at him, lips parting in a soft smile.

And something in his chest cracks wide open.

He leans in and kisses you—slow, reverent, like you’re something precious.

You kiss him back without hesitation.

Later, you’ll tease him about it. About kissing you when you were half-asleep.

He’ll just grin, lean against the counter, and say, “I didn’t think I’d get another chance to kiss you when you looked that peaceful.”

“You could’ve just waited.”

“I already waited seventy years, sweetheart.”

By autumn, he keeps a toothbrush at your place.

Leaves his flannel jacket on the hook by the door. Buys groceries like it’s second nature. Kisses you in the middle of sentences.

You bake with his arm slung low around your waist. He reads the paper aloud to you, voice warm with humor. He lets you fall asleep on his chest while the rain beats the windows.

You trace the lines on his hands. He runs his fingers through your hair like he’s memorizing it.

You never talk about the word love.

But it lives in the quiet.

In the way he reaches for your hand without looking. In the way you save the last slice of pie for him, even when you want it.

In the way the lights of the café always seem a little brighter when he’s in the room.

-

wc: 1.7k

[max1461]

I think that the average internet Marxist is actually not much of a materialist at all, in fact in their behavior and rhetoric they seem very concerned with moral purity, the redemptive power of suffering, and the ability of narrative to shape the actual world. As myriad as the senses of the word "materialist" have come to be, none of this would seem to comport well with any of them. This all feels very Christian.

In some cases I really do think there is a latent Christianity in it, but I think the stronger source of this trend is simply the leftist emphasis on sloganeering. Somewhere along the line, maybe with the Bolshevik policy of democratic centralism or maybe somewhere else, the importance of the slogan, the party line, the supreme power of the speech act seems to have been elevated for many leftists above all other concerns. From this follows the kind of disingenuous, obviously fallacious argument you so often see from the online ML left. The point is to say the magic words that have been carefully agreed upon, the magic incantation that will defeat all opposition.

Whether it's "I don't want to vote for a candidate who supports any amount of genocide" or "The Is-not-rael Zionist entity is on the edge of collapse!" or whatever else, a rational person can recognize the impotence of these words. They don't do anything. They're just words. But the feeling seems to be that once the perfect incantation is crafted—the incantation that makes your opponent sound maximally like a Nazi without engaging with their position in good faith, or the incantation which brushes aside all thoughts of defeat, or whatever else—once the perfect incantation is crafted, all that is left to do is say it and say it and say it, and make sure everyone else is saying it too.

This is not a materialist way of approaching politics. This is a mystical way of approaching politics.

I think it's also worth saying that this tendency in Marxism seems old, it certainly predates the internet. Lots of Marxists today are vocal critics of identity politics, of what they see as the liberal, insubstantive, and idealist Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion framework. I share this criticism to a significant degree, but I'm not very eager to let Marxists off the hook here. The modern DEI framework evolved directly out of a liberal/capitalist appropriation of earlier academic ideas about social justice from such sources as Queer Studies, Black Studies, academic Feminism and so on. I say this as a neutral, factual description of its history which I believe to be essentially accurate. In turn, disciplines like Queer Studies, Black Studies, and academic Feminism each owe a great intellectual dept to academic Marxism, and likewise to the social movements of the 1960s (here in the Anglosphere), which themselves were strongly influenced by Marxism.

Obviously as the place of these fields in the academy was cemented, they lost much (most) of their radical character in practice. To a significant degree however, I think their rhetorical or performative radicalism was retained, and was further fostered by the cloistered environment of academia. In this environment the already-extant Marxist tendency to sloganeering seems in my impression to have metastasized greatly. And so I think the political right is not actually wrong, or not wholly wrong, when they attribute the speech-act-centrism of modern American (and therefore, online) politics, its obsession with saying things right above doing things right and its constantly shifting maze of appropriate forms of expression, at least in part to Marxism.

Now I should say that I don't think the right is correct about much else in this critique, and I also don't think this is wholly attributable to Marxism. But I think there's plainly an intellectual dept there.

More than anything else, this is my genuine frustration with both Marxism as it exists today and with its intellectual legacy as a whole. I fundamentally do not believe in the great transformative power of speech acts, I do not believe in the importance of holding the correct line, I do not believe that the specifics of what you say or how you say it matter nearly as much as what you do. I do not think there is much to be gained from playing the kind of language games that Marxists often like to play, and I do not think that playing language games and calling it "materialist analysis" is a very compelling means of argument.

[ourdailybill]

Wilson Books

TL;DR: Good books are good! Links!

Cheltenham in Antarctica – Biography of Edward A. Wilson, amply illustrated, correct in its quotations where Seaver took some editorial liberties. The paperback is only available used; a very very nice deluxe leatherbound edition in a slipcase can be ordered direct from the publisher.

Discovery Illustrated – A coffee-table sized treasure trove of the rarer or otherwise unavailable images depicting the whole of the Discovery Expedition (1901-04). The actual book is nicer than the image there, which is a promo leaflet and not the cover. Also available used.

Nimrod Illustrated – Same but for the Nimrod Expedition (1907-09)

Edward Wilson's Nature Notebooks – Same sort of big juicy edition, but of Wilson's sketches, paintings, and observations of natural subjects in more temperate climes.

Edward Wilson's Antarctic Notebooks are also a thing (a glorious thing) but they're not presently available on the publisher's site or on World of Books.

Terra Nova Illustrated – Keep reading ...

Nonfiction bookselling is an unforgiving place. If you want to publish your research, you either have to convince a publisher that there's a market for it and tailor your output to the lowest common denominator, or publish academically where maybe a few dozen people will see it at best. The middle ground is going with a tiny independent press – even a vanity press – and hoping your book finds the people who are into the subject enough to appreciate something detailed and esoteric, with no marketing budget. This is where the real nerd gold is, but it's hard to source, often our of print, and with no economies of scale, expensive.

David M. Wilson, great-nephew of Our Bill, has been putting together books on Antarctic history – most, but not all, having to do with his predecessor – and these are full of stuff you will not find anywhere else. In order not to compromise on content or depth, he's published through a one-person outfit in the West Country which, aside from the digital printing, operates in roughly 1998. Sales are slow; neither of them are on social media and the books are too esoteric for most bookshops to stock.

David is currently working on the latest in his Illustrated series, and it's the big one – Terra Nova. Because of his unique connections with institutions and expedition families worldwide, it's going to be an assemblage of images that you likely haven't seen before – the whole point of it is to fill the gaps in the visual record, and oh boy there's some good stuff in there. (I have been occasionally consulting on Guy IDs and I can vouch for this.) But his publisher is hemming and hawing about his previous Illustrated books not selling well. Obviously Terra Nova Illustrated is going to be the most successful of the bunch (at least until he comes out with Endurance) but in order to give his publisher a little more confidence it would be great to shift some of the backlist.

As I am on social media, I offered to signal boost a link to the online shop, but whoa the website is terrible and that may explain why they're not selling anything. I have now taken the trouble to take you to the shop pages for each individual book, and also link you to new and used copies on World Of Books, which is kind enough to kick a little back to the author even on used copies. They also have a slightly more modern website.

Shipping in A.D. 2025 is not making anything easier, but polar fandom is a cooperative bunch, and it may be possible for multiple people in one country to group their orders and divide the combined shipping. This ought to work out cheaper for everyone than each person individually paying full price to ship from the UK.

Let's make Terra Nova Illustrated look like more of a commercial prospect!

[adelheidvonschicksal]

hii i have a request for megumi x reader where he is unaware of readers attraction to him and he is doesn’t realise the effect of when he does something like scratch his neck and his shirt lifts and it happens one too many times until she admits that he’s pretty which makes him all flustered😭 can be sfw or nsfw

Staring Problem

Five times Megumi caught you staring at him + the one time you caught him staring at you

Notes: I got carried away whoops. Flustered Megs is my fav followed by feral. (I actually had another scenario like this for Christmas except the Reader was doing it on purpose rofl; this one is just a bit ditzy). Thanks for the request. It was fun! Thank you @avidbroswer and another friend for beta reading!

Relationship: Megumi x Fem!Reader

Tags: Fluff, humor, mild sexual context but overall SFW (i.e. no sex), 5000 words

The first time Megumi notices you staring at him is after the baseball game with the Kyoto students.

The game was a big win for your group. Everyone was loudly cheering and celebrating your victory over your sister school – aside from him. It’s not that he wasn’t pleased with the victory. Who wouldn’t be? The cheering and high-fiving wasn’t his scene though. The most celebration he required was simply brushing his hand through divine dog’s fur for a job well done before dismissing the creature.

Megumi walks back to the dugout, steps into the drop-off, and peels his helmet from the top of his head. The sweat accumulated in his helmet causes his hair to cling to him, forcing it down against the back of his neck and his bangs into his line of sight more than usual. He never liked what he considered too much hair on his nape; and for some reason, Gojo hated it even more. Not that he ever understood why Gojo would care about how he styled his hair. He was just weird, he guesses.

Either way, it was annoying.

Gripping his shirt collar, he brings it to his forehead to clean the moisture away, and there’s the added bonus of the breeze cooling off his stomach as his shirt untucks from his uniform pants. He finishes off his grooming with a quick stroke of his fingers up through his bangs before reaching for his water bottle.

It isn’t until he’s finished drinking and wiping away the small bead of water that escapes his mouth to cascade down his pointed jaw with the back of his wrist that he catches the sudden sensation of someone looking at him.

He glances behind him, scanning the crowd of cheerful faces, and he catches your gaze pinning him down. There’s no mistake you’re watching him, but he isn’t sure why you have that clouded, half-lidded stare locked on him like a homing gun.

It makes him antsy even when your neutral lips turn into a gentle smile, and you move to congratulate Itadori on his victory-winning home run.  

The next time he catches you, you’re at the café with the other first years, pouring over schoolbooks together. He doesn’t often study with the others outside of class; but out of everyone in the school, he has the best head on his shoulders academically so he can’t really refuse when the three of you earnestly ask for his help for once.

As he draws one leg over the other, Megumi shifts his weight to sit more comfortably in his chair. He rests his chin against his palm, allowing his lengthy fingers to massage the increasingly growing migraine from his throbbing temple while his elbow braces against the table to support the position. His other hand tightens around the handle of his mug and brings it to his mouth. The drink – coffee, black, always – is the only thing stopping his mind from going numb at reviewing the same information he already knows as Nobara struggles to read the chart on this particular page.

“Toos-day.”

“Tuesday.”

“When-is-day.”

“Wednesday,” Megumi corrects.

Stomping onto her feet, her hands slam on the table causing it to shake. Megumi holds his drink closer to his chest to avoid it spilling over as she growls out. “This is so stupid! Why do we need to know English anyway? Why couldn’t it be something like French? Then, we could at least hit up Paris Fashion Week.” She pulls at her hair in frustration, stopping only when you mention that she’ll cause split ends. Sighing, she releases her tension and falls back in her chair. "I need a break."

On that, you're all in agreement.

Taking the opportunity to ease his head, Megumi blows away the steam swirling from his coffee. He closes his eyes if only for a moment to bask in the roast. The liquid is hot and smooth on his tongue, a welcome sensation after walking through the cool evening to get here. It’s enough to earn a small sigh of approval.  

When he opens his eyes, he sees that you’re nursing your own drink by pinching your straw between your lips. However, your eyes are on him 'or maybe the mug near his mouth?' he thinks. Regardless, you’re doing it attentively with an affectionate glint like you were smiling on the inside. It makes his eye twitch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You flinch like you’re snapping out a hypnotic trance. Slowly, a meek smile forms as you innocently tilt your head and place down your drink. “I was?”

“You were," Itadori corroborates. "You do it a lot actually," Itadori adds between bites of his sandwich. The fact is something Megumi has begun to notice recently as well. 

Noticing everyone looking at you, your eyes widen slightly before you force them back down to look at your textbook. You slide your hands from the table and rest them in your lap. “I must’ve zoned out,” you say apologetically.

Megumi scoffs.

“If you’re going to ask me to help you study, you could at least pay attention.” Megumi sighs at the growing remorse on your face. “Forget it,” he dismisses and decides to go back to his coffee, but the peace doesn’t last long as he catches that same gaze from you a minute later.

Your eyebrows push in together as you narrow your eyes briefly in thought, and he can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your mind as you cock your head to the side again.

“Ne, Fushiguro,” you begin hesitantly and quietly. He doesn’t think he would’ve noticed you speaking to him with how soft your voice was had he not already been looking at you. “Did anyone ever tell you that your voice is kinda husky in English?”

Suddenly, his face is hot along with his tongue as he inadvertently chokes on his drink while the other two at the table burst out laughing, drowning out your frantic mutterings as you collapse your face into your palms.

It seems to be a cycle now. Megumi would be going about his day when he would occasionally (usually twice a day) get this sensation of being watched. Sure enough, he could find you following him with your eyes. There isn’t any anger when you’re doing it so he’s fairly sure that you’re not cornering him with your sight out of aggression, but he couldn’t think of another reason his presence would be of interest to you.

Megumi tried to ask Gojo the reason why someone might stare at him. When he explained that you were the one doing it, the older man only laughed at his predicament. Megumi didn’t know why he expected him to be any help in the first place anyway.

Maki was even less help (she seemed reluctant even), but at least she didn't look at him like he was an idiot like Nobara. Finally, there was Itadori, who only caused him more difficulty.

(“Are you sure she doesn’t just LIKE you?” Itadori suggested.

Megumi could only roll his eyes then. It always came back to that with him. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously—“

”I am!”)

Megumi almost entertained it until he thought ‘what reason would she like me?’ After all, you didn’t know each other that well. There was no explanation available so it had to be something else.

Out of everyone, he decides to take Maki’s advice that it's best to get the answer from the source.

However, whenever he asks what’s the problem, you never seem to give him a direct answer, explaining away your strange…habit. Even stranger was that he was starting to become accustomed to it, slowly losing the annoyance he held for it early on in your relationship – or maybe he was getting better at ignoring it.

Nonetheless, it would still be nice to have an explanation.

When he sees you early at breakfast, and you undoubtedly see him early at breakfast, he finally decides to broach the topic. He sits himself and his plate at your table, and he doesn’t give you the time to make excuses when he knows for certain you were staring at him.

“Alright. Enough already. What's the deal?"

“Hmm?”

“The staring,” he reiterates.

Your mouth opens like you want to say something but throughout the many times he’s confronted you on your manners, not once have you ever given him a straightforward answer.

“Don’t try to give an excuse. You were definitely watching me.”

As the small silence extends in the air so does the embarrassment on your face until it finally fades away along with your resolve. “Okay, this time I was,” you admit very specifically.

“Why?”

“There’s not really a reason," you explain while looking anywhere but directly at him, and it's an easy tell to sense that you're lying.

Megumi narrows his eyes at you. 

“For some reason, I feel like that's not the case."

There has to be some reason your attention is on him so much. He’d at least like to know if it was something he did to you.

“It’s nothing bad really,” you confess, avoiding eye contact with him while your fingers fidget. “Do…you want me to stop?”

Megumi would very much like to say he wants you to stop but somehow he doesn’t think he would be able to force you not to look at him. “I’d prefer it.”

“No problem,” you say and purse your lips tightly. “But…I probably wouldn’t be able to help it every now and then,” you warn him, which piques his curiosity even more.

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, that’s because, uhm—to tell you the truth,“ you pause, and he wants to prod more from you but you’re quick to excuse yourself, leaving him with two weeks free from your staring. Or, at least you attempted for that long.

As he accepts that you're not going to stop, it comes to him that he doesn't really care anymore in the following months. It's just how you are, he figures sentimentally. It would feel weird if you stopped at this point. However, it leads to you catching him off guard too often, especially in moments like these.

The two of you were assigned to a mission to dispatch some low-level curses together. It was surprisingly easier than what the mission report suggested, not that he would complain about an easy mission.

Nue is behind him as he requests a ride back to the school over the phone. The bird shikigami is being needier than usual, nudging at the width of Megumi’s back with his head causing Megumi’s voice to be unsteady as the thick plate of Nue’s mask braces between his shoulder blades.

“Cut it out,” he scolds gently, reaching his free hand back to briefly ruffle at random mounds of feathers.

There’s a soft crooning in his ear, begging for attention. He isn’t used to Nue being this affectionate, not like his divine dogs. As he hangs up the call, Nue starts to stroke his head against his side again.

Amused, he huffs softly - as close to a laugh as anyone has ever heard from the taciturn teen – and raises his arm to let the bird cradle better against his side. The gentle cuddling from the shikigami is enough to lighten his mood as auburn feathers tickle against his fingers and coax the smallest smile from him.

“Alright. Alright. That’s enough,” he says affectionately before returning to the serious matters at hand. “We need to regroup with our partner. Can you go scout for her?” Megumi asks; but to his surprise, Nue flutters his wings and twists his head around to stare directly to the side of him…at you, a few feet away.

Megumi didn’t know how long you’d been standing there, watching him. He thinks any time was probably too long in this situation. (He also thinks he might demand you start wearing a bell when you go on missions together.)

With a goofy smile, you walk towards him, and his heart is pounding, anticipating what you could possibly be about to say as you shorten the distance between the two of you, so close that an outreached arm would be enough to close it. The childishly smug look on your face makes his cheeks burn as you gently begin to trace the outline on Nue’s faceplate and press your head against the top of Nue’s.

“Before you say anything, I wasn’t watching you. I was admiring Nue.”

Megumi scoffs. He can’t say he isn’t amused that out of all things to say, you start with that. As if it isn’t obvious by now that he knows that you’re failing hard to hide your bad habit – for whatever reason you have it. And even more amusing was the way your face would highlight in embarrassment as you tried to hide the fact.

“Convenient story.”

“It’s the truth. Isn’t that right, Nue? You’re so handsome that I can’t tear my eyes away,” you praise, cuddling the owl until he ruffles his feathers and chitters, happily letting you drown him in attention.

And for the first time, he finds himself watching you instead with your face buried against his shikigami, and Nue is equally happy for your touch. It’s a sweet scene as Megumi concludes where Nue might have started to learn these overly affectionate tendencies. That is until you turn your head, naturally searching for his presence. When you meet his gaze, you smile warmly at him causing heat to crawl up the back of his neck and his heart to jump in his throat. With your focus on him this way, he is overwhelmed by a new sensation that he isn’t sure why he’s feeling in the first place. It’s not like he was unused to you looking in his direction.

Astonished by the moment, you point out, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

Confused, Megumi blinks at you. Had he been smiling?

Your expression softens. “It suits you.”

Surprised by your tender observation, he shifts his head away, hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks from you.

“Let’s head to the meeting point,” he manages, thanking whoever above that he was able to keep his voice steady at least.

One day, you decided to stop at the café together again. This time it’s only the two of you since the others are still out on their own duo mission. Even with that being the case, he would still have accepted your invitation regardless of the availability status of your other two friends. He isn’t really sure when he started to be okay being alone with you, and he also isn’t sure when you began to get comfortable with him as well. But he finds he doesn't mind either of those anymore.  

“You’re staring,” he points out flatly, not bothering to look up from his book to confirm his accusation. He knows it’s true. “What is it this time?”

There’s a laugh from you, drawing his attention up. “Nothing.”

Normally, he would let you get away with that answer nowadays; but today, Megumi is determined to finally get to the bottom of whatever is up with you and him. 

“Nothing?” he questions again skeptically. You nod, and he holds his gaze on you, pointedly, securely, determined to not even blink as he watches your face.

You frown. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asks, one long blink to reset himself before firmly keeping royal blue eyes locked on you once more.

“That,” you say, motioning to all of him.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Uh-huh."

There’s a small beat of quiet as you return your focus to your book, but you look up every so often (probably to check if he's stopped eye-ing you down, which he doesn't). Holding an arm across your chest to scratch at the other, you squirm. As awful as it is, he feels a bit smug at the way you curve in and start to grow self-conscious.

“This is weird.”

“It is,” he agrees bluntly causing you to pout. He notes how funny it is to finally see the tables turned between the two of you and to have you overly aware of his watch. Even if he doesn’t get his answer, teasing you like this and eliciting that cute reaction is strangely worth it.

“How long are you going to do that?”

Megumi crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, never letting you leave his vision. He shrugs. “Depends. Are you going to tell me?”

You scowl but manage to hold your resolve for the better half of five minutes.

“Okay, I get it. I’ll stop,” you say, but he isn’t satisfied with that answer. Choosing to keep his rebellious challenge against you, he leans in closer and keeps up the wall until you finally start to crack under the pressure. “Well…it’s nothing really.”

“Then, tell me.”

“It’s,” you begin then pause.

He hunches in closer as if to keep your secret.

“It’s just that…” he can see you start to fidget in your chair, and for some reason, he feels his own anticipation growing. “You have a really pretty way about you.”

That was not the answer he was expecting.

“Huh? I have…a pretty way about me?” he repeats in disbelief, his face scrunching. “You must be joking.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “It’s something in the way you move, it makes it hard to concentrate.”

Megumi could only guess what kind of answer you would have but it wasn’t one that instantly makes his temperature skyrocket and causes his heart to start swelling against his ribcage, spreading the feeling of liquid butterflies through his veins.

“That's the only reason,” you repeat, noticing the way he seemed to completely stop functioning. “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

He uncrosses his arms, trying to sputter out a coherent sentence but his mind wouldn’t supply him with one as he fights to keep his own blushing down. “No. I’m not—it’s not that I’m—I just didn’t know what it was about—I—pretty?” he stammers, completely bewildered to the point he thinks his voice might crack for the first time in years. 

You nod, growing more embarrassed. “I mean in a masculine way! Like your eyes, your hands, your voice, and the way your shirt drapes your shoulders. Ah! Basically…you’re really handsome,” you finish quickly when you realize you are rambling stupidly, and you squeeze onto the edge of your chair to calm yourself.

It’s so quiet between the two of you that you could possibly hear one of the cheap plastic straws from the front counter drop.

“Fushiguro-kun?” you ask bashfully.

He focuses his attention on the passerby's walking by the window as he shifts and squeezes at his uniform collar, attempting desperately to hide a fraction of his burning face behind the dark blue fabric. You…were simply attracted to him for some reason he would probably never understand (why in the world would you think any of that about him is attractive?) all this time.

“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened,” he tells you frantically.

Nodding, you confirm. “Yeah! That’s a good idea.”

For once, you’re not staring at him yet Megumi still feels like he can’t breathe despite the rapid rising and falling of his chest showing that he was very well breathing. As his face continues to burn and his stomach churns with this unfamiliarly pleasant and confusing emotion, he wishes his shadow would open and swallow him whole. Forever, perhaps.

It isn’t until later that night when his mind is heavy with thoughts of you, he admits to himself that he doesn’t exactly hate your reason.

Bonus

Before you enrolled in this school, your clan already outlined your priorities in life. Study, learn, become the best sorcerer you can for the benefit of the clan and your own survival. There isn’t time for things like friendship and even less for love, your family taught you, at least not until you’re older.

You agreed with that sentiment, going through your younger teen years not ever having a crush on someone or a strong preoccupation with romance. However, this school is proving that you still very much feel attraction.

Specifically for your withdrawn classmate.

Something about him was just so pretty. You’re not sure if it was the way his hair falls ever so neatly over his forehead before turning back into spiked peaks, or how deep blue his eyes are especially when shadowed by gorgeous rows of midnight eyelashes, or the way he carried himself like the stoic protagonists in the love comics your friends were obsessed with last year.

Maybe it was the entire package.

At the time you first started to notice him, you didn’t have the answer pieced together yet. Seeing that you also hadn’t learned anything proper about romance and attraction from your clan let alone flirting, the only thing you could do was stare at him as you failed to decipher this newfound infatuation that made your heart stutter and your lower body hot with tingles similar to the sensation of ginger spice on your tongue.

‘Is this that puberty thing they were talking about in health class all those years back,’ you wondered. They did say it could happen late, but this late? You weren’t sure, but you did like looking at him. That much was certain.

So, you continued to do so.

It's not like you were exactly going against what your clan told you.

After all, your clan would always say it’s important to be aware of your surroundings as a sorcerer, remember every little detail, and save it to memory, that could be the difference between death and victory in a battle.

Shouldn’t you take that advice to heart when it comes to your teammates as well? After all, these are the people you will be relying on while working. It’s important to learn their mannerisms.

Another thing your clan told you was that hands are an important thing to watch. Any sorcerers’ hands were a danger from Itadori’s hand-to-hand combat style, Gojo-sensei’s domain expansion, and Fushiguro’s entire technique.

His hands were always coming together to summon shadows, and he talked and explained things frequently with them to the point it became a distraction for you.

You also like the way his dominant hand always seems to climb up and curve around the back of his neck in the mornings as he stretches out the tightness from a cramped sleep. You would watch as he glosses each finger across his nape and shoulder, wondering what it would be like to have them coming across your own and to have fingers that could expertly craft signs tickling at your skin.  Would you shudder or would it tickle or would it feel like nothing?  Fortunately, you always resist the shaking urge to glide your own hand across your collar to find the answer.

It isn’t always the way his palm brushes his neck that entirely gets you but the way his sweatshirt rises, barely revealing a ring of beige skin that was normally hidden away under layers of comfortable cotton. It not only exposes him to the stagnant air of the school building but to your wandering eyes that had a bad problem of not being able to remain where they should be.

Objectively speaking, you were aware from day one that Itadori was strong and well-built under his clothes, but you didn’t realize the same could be said for Megumi until you saw the slip of his lower abdominal and the constellation of pale brown freckles hidden in the groove of his hip.

By the time your attention would return to his hands, you would be locked on the gentle way his knuckle catches the edge of his shirt's neckline. It was unknowing to him during those times that the action was teasing you by causing the fabric to lightly shift and expose the crux of his collarbone. 

Then, you didn’t even want to get started on his face or eyes. The same ones that are gorgeously blue even when stormy with annoyance or softened with confusion every time he would catch you.

From your point of view, you admit that both looks were handsome on his face. However, you’re starting to realize from your last interaction that maybe you were being a tad…invasive.  You refused to say creepy without a pillow to scream into.

So, you convince yourself to stop staring whenever you notice your eyes drifting to him. Only small peeks for his comfort unless you were talking to him or he to you. In hindsight, you think you are better at talking to him without embarrassing yourself all the time at least.

Your new resolve would be tested today as you prepare to head to the training field for another day of close combat drills with your upperclassmen. You dress in layers, wearing a light jacket and thigh socks with your shorts, fully intending to ditch both once it heats up a little more in the afternoon.

When you make it to the practice field, you notice two things: that Megumi is there (which you swear you only took note of for two seconds) and that you’re the last to arrive, meaning that you’re going to be the first put through the wringer with Maki-senpai.

The only positive is that you manage to last an extra round against her more than usual, and you’re left with only an aching butt as you hit the ground. You hiss and rub your wounded rear before dusting the ripped-up blades of grass from your lap. Noticing your socks bunched against your ankles, you click your tongue. Bending your legs, you start to shuffle one back up the length of your calf then your thigh. You unfurl it as high as you can until there’s only a small circumference of skin left between your shorts and the top of your sock. Satisfied, you start to repeat the process with your other leg before Maki taps your hip with her staff.

“Megumi is staring at you,” she grunts in a quiet warning, and you blink at her before trying to glance back over to the first row of bleachers. “Not too obvious.”

You force your gaze back to her, using the opportunity to catch Megumi in your periphery. Sure enough, you could barely make him out looking in your direction while Itadori talked to him. That was weird. You don't think you can recall a time where he was watching you unless you did it first. ‘He was probably watching me train,’ you begin to decide.

Before you can register what's going on completely, Maki calls out dryly, "Hey, Megumi, pictures last longer!” 

Barely from this distance, you can see his head snap back and a scowl glowering on his face as he glares at her direction. “What are you talking about?”

“So, you want to play that way,” she mumbles and singles him out with a point of her staff and a crooked smile. “In that case, I’ll explain while we train!”

Megumi looks more annoyed than you have seen him in the last few days as he declares from the bleachers that he’s training with Panda instead as soon as he’s done with Nobara.

“That guy,” Maki grumbles quietly, slapping her staff back against her shoulder and layering a hand on her hip. “He makes things so difficult for everyone, including himself. I guess I’ll have to have a chat with him later.”

"Huh?" you huff as she twists her waist to look at you.

“Well, I can’t exactly have my darling little relative turning out like the rest of those perverts from the clan, after all,” she explains vaguely but instead of anger, there’s a rare hint of sarcastic amusement in her words. Suddenly, it starts to dawn on you what Maki means as your fingers brush the side of your inner thigh, and your throat starts to tighten with something akin to anxiety, and you want desperately to bury your face in your hands as you realize that he was looking at your legs. That he must like your legs…

The thought makes your heart pound, and something pulses inside you with what feels like anticipation as you catch his attention on you again. You were used to lusting after him but it was a different feeling to experience it in reverse – mutually even.

Is this what it felt like? Have you ever made him feel like this by watching him?

You didn’t know what to do.

“What do I do?”

She gives an incredulous look. “Call him out naturally, especially if it bothers you,” she replies. "But that isn't what you want, right?"

You frown, not entirely sure yourself. It didn’t bother you necessarily. If anything, you like his attention on you. It makes your body otherworldly hot when he gives it to you. Pulling your knees to your chest, you think back to what someone in one of those television dramas would do in this situation. It takes some courage, but you find your answer.

You wink at him.

It elicits an immediate response that involves him shoving his hands in his pockets and scrambling to break eye contact; so much that you can see Itadori twisting towards him with concern.

“Hah, that was a good one." Maki lets out a short and harsh snort. "Wait until I tell Panda.”

Smiling proudly, you can’t resist staring at the flush that he has to stand and stalk off to the other side of the field closer to Inumaki and Panda to hide. Out of all the attractive things about him, you think that might top your list; and truthfully, you wanted to see it again.

[mac-n-cheese-flavored-arson]

stop paying for shit you can pirate

this (OceanOfPDF) is a good website for pirating books thats a lot easier than looking for vk epubs, there are pdfs and epubs for a LOT of books and the site is the easiest to use and most comprehensive of the ones that I've found

the free kindle app (don't pay for amazon kindle) lets you send these files to all of you devices with the kindle app at the same time, you can use this site or find the email addresses for your devices in your amazon account (this is amazon tutorial for how to use the send to kindle email), the files are identical to ebooks that you buy for kindle, you can also upload any epub or pdf files from your device to google books and read them there exactly the same

this (12 Foot) is a good site for reading any articles that are behind a paywall for free, not sure it if works with academic journals and papers but it definitely works for stuff like the nyt

this (the Pirates Bay) is the classic and one of the best sites for pirating movies, tv shows, video games, books, and more, you will need to have a torrent installed to download and use these files, I use utorrent (free)

this (the internet archive) is a site that's good for a lot of stuff, its a nonproft free library type program, the book downloads do not work with the kindle app even if the file type is correct but the pdfs can be opened normally with any pdf reader

this is a cracked spotify apk, I think this one might be for android only and this is a link to spotiflyer which is an app that lets you pirate songs from spotify, youtube, and a few others to put on an mp3 player or flashdrive or cd or just to have them downloaded but separate from the spotify app, works on android, windows and mac

this is a very detailed step by step tutorial on getting ALL of the sims 4 dlc for free (it takes a LONG time to download the actual dlc, set aside at least 12 hours where you won't need to restart or turn off your computer but it works perfectly) you will need a torrent and file extractor but the tutorial links to reliable free apps for both

[graciescott27]

Aristotle’s Got Nothing on Me! - Tabito Karasu

Tabito Karasu x AFAB!Academic Rival!Reader

I love caw caw bitch sm - I know I did his accent wrong

cw: language, suggestive at some parts possibly, Otoya, Karasu’s a loser

kinda possibly some of my worst writing recently but that’s ok

wc: 1k

Tabito Karasu’s resolve to do anything was cracking and he couldn’t figure out why. Otoya insisted that he knew, but he refused to tell Karasu. He just kept saying that it’d be a “bad omen” if he didn’t “learn for himself”, whatever the hell that meant. What Otoya did insist on telling him was how hot that “one chick in his class” was. Every single day without fail Otoya would bring up your appearance. Yeah, Tabito Karasu didn’t need any reminders of that.

Unfortunately, your personality was far more rotten than your looks. You were argumentative, obnoxious, way too determined, and way too smart for your own good. All objectively hot traits in his mind, of course, but coming from you it was… unflattering. All of your perfectionism and sass was directed towards him solely because of how competitive you two were. Both of you had silently decided at some point that you had to beat each other academically no matter what. Every time you got a 99 on a test, he assured you that he’d get a 100 on the next one. Every time you had to give a classmate notes on their essay, you would correct every possible error you could find in his.

He was walking with Otoya and Yukimiya to soccer practice when he spotted you talking to your friend by your locker. Recently, he had found that his eyes followed you whenever you two were in the same room. That was unusual. You were whispering about something, a distressed look on your face. What were you so worried about?

Karasu nearly tripped over his own feet as he continued to stare at you long after he had passed you. Yukimiya and Otoya were on either side of him, exchanging unimpressed looks every so often.

“Karasu. Dude,” Otoya raised a brow. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“Uh, yeah,” Karasu rolled his eyes, his head snapping back towards his stupid best friend. “Ya were talkin’ about Fight Club. Ya never shut up about that damn movie.”

“Fuck you, it’s sick,” Otoya scoffed.

Yukimiya huffed out a laugh. “Nineties movies aside, Karasu, why are you staring at that poor girl like a creep?”

“Oh, yeah, you don’t know about his girlfriend yet,” Otoya nodded.

“Not my goddamn girlfriend,” Karasu grumbled, scoffing. He had never thought much about it before. He didn’t think about love or crushes very frequently, admittedly. He had dated a few girls, sure, but all of them were either friends with one of Otoya’s girlfriends or they asked him out first. The idea of actually dating you, however, interested him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re still into her, though,” Otoya insisted, his expression still as relaxed as ever.

“Yer inta Megan Fox,” Karasu retorted. “Doesn’t mean yer gonna date Megan Fox.”

“Yeah, obviously not. But if Megan Fox wanted to date me, hell yeah I would date Megan Fox.”

Yukimiya raised a brow, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “So a random girl at our school is Megan Fox, and Karasu would date her if she was into him? But under no other circumstances?”

“Basically.”

“Makes a lot of sense, thank you, Eita,” Yukimiya nodded sarcastically.

“Okay, I wouldn’t date ‘er under any circumstances ’cause she thinks I’m a dick,” Karasu rolled his eyes. He glanced back at you once they turned the corner. Someone new had walked over to you since they had passed. He was tall, pale, had baby blue hair, and-

You were friends with Hiori Yo. Fucking hell. Yeah, he officially could never get with you. There was no chance you would ever be into him now. Who knew the kind of shit Hiori was telling you about him? Hiori hated him more than you did. He had tried to be nice to the guy, he really had, but he was still such a bitch towards him. If Hiori was your friend and you mentioned Karasu to him, he might end up dead.

After a month, the Hiori incident started to matter less and less. Karasu had finally started to talk to you about something other than grades. Whatever Hiori had told you clearly wasn’t too bad. You could still stand to look at him.

You walked up to his desk after school ended, trying to catch him before he left for soccer practice. He was packing up his bag when you cleared your throat, and his head snapped up to look at you. His signature smirk came across his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you smiled awkwardly in response. “You going on that museum field trip for history?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I was plannin’ on it.”

“Cool,” You said, relaxing a bit finally. “I’m going, too, so. See you there?”

“I’ll definitely see ya there, don’t worry.”

He was actually not planning on going on the field trip. It sounded like fun, sure, but it definitely interfered with his schedule a bit too much. He was for sure going now, though. He could probably convince Otoya and Yukimiya to tag along, too.

Karasu hadn’t left your side since arriving at the museum. You kept dragging him around exhibits, ranting to him about everything you knew about each display. You were a total dork. That much was obvious. He loved it.

You passed by a set of samurai armor, grinning up at him as you continued walking. “How many samurai do you think there were in Japan?”

“Probably not very many, right?” he guessed. He wore his usual smirk as he glanced down at you every so often. “That was feudal times, so there were probably…two million people in Japan? I’d say twenty thousand.”

“Closer to four hundred thousand,” you correct, smiling. “There were way more than people think. Most people say it was about five to ten percent of Japan’s whole population. They were their own social class, actually.”

God, he could have listened to you talk for hours. And he did. Karasu spent the entire day following you around the museum like an eager-eyes puppy following its owner. Otoya passed by them a few times, grinning at Karasu every time. Karasu would just roll his eyes at him.

That bastard didn’t need to know that you had kissed him.

[drdemonprince]

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

[shini--chan]

If you don’t mind me asking, what type of yandere do you think Ukraine would be?

That is a very good question. I'll shall use one of the sheets to get to the bottom of this.

As I've said with the Russia character sheet - ongoing world events are not to be addressed here. I'll delete the comments/asks of anybody who does. This is about low-budget anime characters in a dark romance setting, not about politics.

Yandere Character Sheet I - 1p! Ukraine (Kateryna Chenko)

Trigger warnings: social isolation, delusions, manipulation, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, medical malpractice,

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

Katernya would be of the smothering sort yandere. You'd be constantly observed and berated and given unsolicited advice. In her eyes, you wouldn't be capable of handling your own life, which is why you would need her to manage you. Micromanaging would become the norm, and she would constantly try to spend time with you. What's more, she would severely curtail your freedoms and hobbies - you would be made to live her lifestyle, and only engage in the leisure activities that she adores. Your wants and needs would be swept aside if they wouldn't align or overlap with her's. Additionally, she would shy away from being stern and even wrathful should you stray from the sanctioned path. After all, she would know what is best for you, and what else would be in your best interest other than to copy her way of life? Surely with all her maternal wisdom and life experience she would have already selected the best path and all that you'd have to do would be to emulate her?

Another matter would be how her possessiveness would manifest. Katernya would feel completely entitled to you, be it your time, your affection or even your secrets. Should you want to spend less time with her in order to give your attention to family or also friends, it would be met with incomprehension. You should be at her beck and call at all times. When she'd tell you to jump, the correct response would be to ask how high. Early on in the relationship, she would start isolating you from your loved ones. Spending more time with her, devoting more attention to her would be regarded as self-evident and she would become clingy and demanding should you not be of the same opinion. 

Tieing into the two form aspects would be how delusional she'd be regarding the whole relationship.  Fate would have already dictated that the two of you must be together and to resist would be worse than heresy - it would be a crime against the laws of nature. Love for each other would be a given, so all that would be left would be to seamlessly slot in one another’s lives (though it would be more her assimilating you into her life than anything else) and then live happily ever after. Resistance from your side would be seen as insanity, and she would therefore then treat you like an invalid. 

Underneath it all, she would be jaded, however. With everything that she’s been through, she would regard being in a relationship as her god given right and she would just want to settle down with you and live a simple life. She would be wary of you trying to escape, or of you being unhappy with her, so she would bury it down, just as much as it would set her off. Registering your resistance would happen on a more subconscious scale, therefore, and she wouldn’t be fully cognisant of her actions. It would be impulsive and convoluted even to herself. Likewise, she would fear somebody else trying to steal you from her - this would be one of her fears that she would be more open about. Social isolation on your part would also start with her expressing her observations about your friends, of all their faults and rough edges.  

Katernya would be secretive - to you, to the people around you and even towards herself. Deep down, there would be the academical awareness of the wrongness of her actions. She would become skilled in ignoring this as time would pass, especially if there would be nobody to obstruct her deeds. In a relationship with you, she would be inclined to keep you in the dark about many of her actions, in particular her more unsavoury one. Meanwhile, she would demand full information on all yours. In terms of the dynamics of your relationship - she would have a tendency to sweep the more unpleasant stuff under the rug. This would be one of the reasons it would take a long time for you to recognise her true colours. Ths would also be a manifestation of Katernya’s yearning for a carefree life, for an idyll without any problems.  

Cornering - How would they get you?

With the promise of a better life. She'd do her best to perfect the picture of a rural idyll, make it seem like living in the country would be paradise on earth. And that she would choose you to share this life with her because you're so special. Perhaps she would even make you prove yourself through performing feats of competence or labours to display your loyalty to her. The logic behind this would be once you'd have to pay to be by her side through blood, sweat and tears, then you'd be less inclined to leave her once the going would become rough. 

On top of that, she would gradually sever your social bonds and find ways to absolve you of any obligations that don't solely involve her. Meanwhile, she would present herself as your saviour, and convince you to let her handle all your tedious tasks. By the time she would be finished, life without her would be unthinkable, perhaps even impossible. There would then be no need to fear you running away then. 

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

On one side, you would be expected to be pliant and tender. Just for her, mind you - she would seeth at the thought of you being that way to somebody else. No, you must be like a spring lamb with Katernya, something cute that she could dote on and show off, the brightest jewel in her crown. She would make paintings of you, knit socks and tailor clothes for you. Domestic bliss is something she'd want with you, and domestic bliss is what she'd get. Perhaps she would have to cut parts of you away and bolster others for you to fit this fantasy, yet it would be all worthwhile in her eyes. 

Accompanying that would be the demand for you to be vulnerable with her. She would want to be privy to all your secrets, be confided in all your problems. Furthermore, it wouldn't be enough to know of all that, she would want to hear it directly from you. In the case of you displaying hesitance, then she wouldn't be as kind as not to provide … incentive. Likewise, she would love playing nurse for you - tending your wounds, nursing you back to health and giving you medicine. It would be the perfect bonding experience in her eyes, and also a way to make you love her … but more to that later. 

Reliance on her would be important. She would have been betrayed and hurt so often in the past, filled with sweet words only to discover them hollow. As such, she would need assurances that you wouldn't leave her lying in the dust on a whim, best in a tangible form or in the shape of negative consequences. Or through you having invested so much, or paid so much to be with her, that you would shy away from even thinking about abandoning her. Eitherway, when it wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows, you should have a good reason to stay, aside from notions of love. Additionally, these should also hinder you from acting against her. 

However, she would also desire for you to act as her protector and benefactor. While she would be no stranger to hard work, there would be something so enticing about not having to throw her back out and being able enjoy the finer things in life. This would come coupled with a habit of overindulgence and somewhat wayward priorities. Here, she might pull at your heart strings so that you'd help her. Once you are in the same boat as her, you'd have all the more reason to come to her aid. 

Honestly, she would also prefer it if you wouldn't question her. Since she would know what is best for you, it would frustrate her to no end should you push back. Likewise, she wouldn't be really tolerant of any talking back. Requirements are to be met swiftly, and without any protest. While she might sometimes go out of her way to explain her reasons to you (in a condescending manner), it wouldn't be a given. Preserving her kind image to you would be one of the reasons behind this behaviour. And to make sure you have less information to formulate an escape plan, once the cat is out of the bag. 

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

She would tell everybody worth their salt that she would never, ever let you go. Very unrealistic however, since there would be circumstances where she would. 

One of these would be if she would be too absorbed with other matters. It would give you a large enough window of opportunity to slip away. She also wouldn’t be able to devote as much time and resources to retrieving you as she would like to. Chances are that a lot of blood and treasure would be devoted to the crisis at hand and that she therefore wouldn’t be able to hunt you down to begin with. With so many other problems taking up her time and energy, she might even forget you for some time. 

Another option would be if she just wouldn’t have the means to take care of you. Of course, you would be a great source of comfort in hard times, yet she wouldn’t be willing to keep you with her if that would mean starving or also having nothing to wear. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be weak in front of you. Appearances of weakness wouldn’t disturb her, since it would have the benefit of you underestimating her, and being unlikely to deem her dangerous. Actually being weak and being seen as such would be a completely different story for her.

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

Here is the category where Katernya would be especially devious. One method of her’s would be to drain a litre of your blood every once in a while. You would be very weak afterwards, as you would have to expend energy to regenerate the lost blood. Thus, you would be completely dependent on her. In your delirious state, you would be more likely to spill the beans on your secrets and you would be more malleable, more open to her influences. Your clumsiness would be cute in her eyes and she would use any accidents or mishaps that would happen to blackmail or guilt trip you. It would also be a boon, since she wouldn’t have to keep an eye on you to prevent you from escaping. 

She might go even further and break bones, only to go through the arduous task of mending them again. Furthermore, things like hypothermia , burns and deliriousness might be purposefully induced from her, so that she could fuss over and put you in your place at the same time. Should you be of the anxious sort, then she might spring a diagnosis on you and watch as you would dissolve into tears or start worrying. And still, she might even use this as an excuse to execute deep lifestyle changes, like cutting your hair, changing your diet or severely altering your activities. 

Humiliation would be another favourite of hers - laying you over her lap and spanking you would even be fun for her and it wouldn’t take much for her to bend you over. Something else that she would do, would be to tie you to a pole or a post and make you remain there for a day or two. The helplessness would result in you feeling closer to her, and being more grateful for her affection, or not? 

Or, she would simply ignore you and your needs. You would probably really notice the breadth of her love and commitment in the sudden absence of it. Indeed, if she would be feeling very wronged, then she would even make fun of you for your plights, perhaps even blame you for them. She would have you begging her to be kind again, have you demonstrate your sincerity on your hands and knees.

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

Worry, and in her worry, she would become furious. You would just be a lost little lamb, and without her shining light to guide you in the darkness, you would end up with the wolves. She would hastily call her compatriots to action and have aid her in this retrieval. In the commotion, you might even stand a better chance of slipping away. 

Beware of being caught though - what would follow would be a lengthy berating and one of the punishments from the section above. Above all, you would have privileges revoked and it would take a long time to regain even a fraction of the trust you had squandered with that stunt. She would most likely keep you under lock and key; perhaps even put you in a straightjacket so that you could contemplate your wrong-doings in peace.

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO? 

If you wouldn’t be cognisant of the whole matter, then nothing much would change. Katernya would largely operate on the level of emotional manipulation and psychological tricks and as long as those would hold, she would see the need to change her MO. There wouldn’t be the need to change her methods. Should you successfully rebel, then that would be a different story. 

Then she would call on the help of others to bring you down and teach you your place in the pecking order.

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition? 

On a large part, she would focus on keeping you to herself above keeping other people out of the picture. It would be easier to focus and conserve energy that way, by only focusing on you and your opinions instead of also being on the lookout. 

Should it come to competition - she might take matters in her own hand, such as by slandering them and making them socially isolated. She would have them sacked, and ostracised from their family, with even the authorities turning away should they try to seek help. If she would be feeling particularly spiteful, then she would visit them personally and have a thorough talking to with them. 

Other than that, she might pay some hooligans to beat them up, have them robbed blind or even conveniently make them disappear. The options would be endless, and it would only be limited by money and the creativity of Katernya and her mooks.

Don't own the art, don't own the characters.

[mothhball]

Prologue

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Your mentor is unhappy with your career choices. But her worries only serve to make you more curious.

warnings none! this is just a little prologue

notes a little intro to kick things off. I'll shortly post the first chapter as well haha Also, Potomac is just a name I borrowed from the DC universe. I know it's different in the comics, so don't shoot me please <3

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 1.1k

“Look… I just don’t get why you wouldn’t want to go back to Potomac. From what I’ve read in your sophomore internship review, Dr. Rabin was genuinely impressed with you and said he’d be excited to have you back for the Senior internship. What happened? I – I would’ve understood anything, really. But Arkham? You really applied there?”

Professor Campbell’s office is a time capsule. A familiar, cozy environment that you’ve been inhabiting for a whole hour per week since the start of the last semester. Decorated with undemanding potted plants and cheesy motivational posters on the walls around you. The smell of paper and hibiscus hangs in the dry air, warmed up to an almost uncomfortable temperature by the ever-running radiator mounted to the wall. Usually, your presence in this room is accompanied by a sense of inner peace. One hour per week during which you’re allowed to fantasize about a glowing future as you sit in front of your academic mentor. But today, the tiny woman with the prominent smile lines is looking at you with thinly-veiled indignation. It’s an ugly expression on her, you decide. People like Campbell are better off smiling and laughing, like the human embodiment of a Golden Retriever.

You shift in your seat, resisting the urge to gesture with your hands to avoid seeming defensive. No, you keep your posture open and inviting on purpose. The body language of a genuine person.

“Potomac Psychiatric Hospital is just not what I want,” you start, speaking gently in an effort to make her emphasize with you. “I need a challenge. I don’t want to hang around rich people with mild cases of burnout all the time.”

Professor Campbell’s face scrunches up with mild displeasure, and you feel the need to quickly correct yourself.

“No offense, of course. But my main interest does lie in… the tough cases. And there are tough cases at Potomac. Jeremiah Arkham himself called his asylum the ‘Ivy League of insanity’. And Dr. Crane used to be a professor here. You knew him, right?”

Campbell flinches, and you could swear you were able to see an expression of genuine fear in her eyes for a fraction of a second. And for that fraction of a second, you were speaking to a prey animal instead of your favorite psychology professor.

“Well… Professor Crane – Doctor Crane was a… well-known member of the faculty. By which I mean everyone knew of him and the kind of seminars he held. Nobody really knew anything about the man aside from his special interest in fear-based disorders and most likely crippling caffeine addiction. Back when I knew him, he was… eccentric to say the least. But he knew what he was teaching about. Students fled his lecture hall as soon as he was done speaking, but he really was a brilliant mind. He was a professor for a reason, after all.”

You nod along to her words, unable to stop that little spark of personal curiosity from growing and festering within you. If everything goes well, you’d be able to witness firsthand how peculiar this man is for the entire summer. Much to her dismay, Campbell’s tales only serve to encourage your decision.

“So, if the two of you knew each other, there’s already a networking opportunity here,” you conclude, folding your hands in your lap.

“Yes but –“

“Also, Arkham is right here in Gotham. I don’t have to rent a new apartment anywhere else, I already know the city, and so on and so forth.” You feel a little bad for cutting her off, but it’s almost ridiculous how much she’s trying to dissuade you from your plans. Campbell doesn’t bother to hide her displeasure anymore, letting out a sigh as she taps a manicured nail against the porcelain of her teacup.

“Listen,” she starts, choosing her words carefully, “we’ve had many students apply to Arkham Asylum for an internship over the years. And those whose spirits didn’t get crushed during the interview were worn down by the work itself. Besides, the influx of applications is monumental. There’s no guarantee that you’ll even get invited to the interview. In my humble opinion, you should write Potomac an email and – “

“I already got invited.” Campbell’s eyes widen, and the silence prompts you to continue. It’s a little difficult to not seem smug as you speak, but you manage. “The interview is this Friday.”

“Friday…” Campbell reaches out for her cup of tea, trying to wash away the bitter taste on her tongue with a mouthful of hibiscus and apple. In that moment, you feel a little bad for the professor. She’s always tried to make time for you and dutifully offered help wherever she could. And in return, you’re acting childish, trying to incite a one-sided contest over an internship. You let out a sigh along with her, shifting in your seat; softening up.

“This is… something that’s really important to me,” you offer, trying to apologize without saying it. “Potomac was a huge help for getting into the swing of things. I… learned a lot about the basics. And for anyone else, that hospital is the perfect match. But I don’t want to graduate, secretly doubting whether I’ll ever be ready for the real work. I know Arkham is a baptism by fire. But it’s what I need.”

Campbell hums in response, stirring a third sugar cube into her tea. It’s just a habit to keep her hands busy at this point. You’re pretty sure the crystals don’t even dissolve anymore.

“Besides,” you continue, smiling at her because you know this will give her at least a shred of hope, “even though I got through to the interview, I might not even get an internship spot. So… this entire conversation might be redundant anyway.”

This gets you the response you were hoping for, and the professor nods thoughtfully as the smile you’re used to returns to her face. She sounds relieved when she answers you.

“If that should happen, I’m sure you could still send an application to Dr. Rabin and he’ll have you on his team in no time at all. Oh, why am I even worrying? You’ll figure it out.”

You nod, feeling in real time how your smile relaxes into something more genuine. Suddenly, the warmth in the room doesn’t feel oppressive anymore. As the mood switches to something more cheerful, the two of you talk some more about your final thesis before you decide to end the conversation on a good note. Campbell rises from her seat along with you, and you mirror her smile, relieved to finally be done with this interrogation. Your mentor heads to the door after you, gently patting your shoulder.

“Let me walk with you. At least until the staff lounge. I need a fresh cup of tea.”

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