#Bridging theory and practice

[lawinspire]

Education is often considered the gateway to professional success, yet many students find themselves unprepared for the realities of the workforce upon graduation.

Do Visit: https://lawinspire.com/2025/02/21/bridging-the-gap-between-education-real-world-success/

[thisisgraeme]

Celebrating Educator Experiences: The Role of Anecdata and Case Studies in Understanding Teaching

What the heck is “anecdata”? Last week, while tuning into a podcast featuring Dr. Andrew Huberman, a renowned neuroscientist with a vast online following, and Tim Ferriss, famous for his self-experimentation and books like “The Four Hour Workweek,” I stumbled upon an intriguing term: “anecdata“. This blend of ‘anecdote’ and ‘data’ was used repeatedly to describe the evidence underpinning their…

[satellite-evans]

clumsy

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Your clumsiness is going to be the death of Lando.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: injuries, fluff, worried Lando

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The first time Lando saw you trip over nothing, he thought it was a one-time thing. Maybe you were just tired, maybe the floor was uneven, maybe it was just bad luck. But after months of dating, he realized it was just... you.

You were a walking hazard. A human magnet for misfortune. A professional at collecting bruises, scrapes, and band-aids like they were limited-edition collectibles.

And, unfortunately for Lando, that meant he was constantly on high alert.

“Babe!” His panicked voice rang out as he watched you stumble over absolutely nothing on the kitchen floor. In one fluid motion, he darted forward, catching you before you could face-plant into the counter. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you from further self-destruction.

You blinked up at him, sheepish. “Oops.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, holding you steady. “How does this keep happening?”

“I have my theories.” You shrugged, playfully tapping your temple. “Faulty wiring.”

He shook his head, scanning you for any new injuries with the practiced precision of someone who had done this far too many times. “You need bubble wrap. No, actually, I’m getting you a helmet.”

You giggled, resting your hands on his chest. “A helmet for walking?”

“Yes. And knee pads. And elbow pads. And maybe a full-body suit.” He crouched slightly, running his fingers over a fresh bruise forming on your knee. His lips pressed together in frustration. “When did this happen?”

You followed his gaze, only now noticing the purple splotch decorating your skin. “Uh… I have no idea actually.”

Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Love, you’re killing me.”

You grinned, cupping his face between your hands. “But you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed dramatically, but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’ll try not to,” you teased, pecking his lips. “No promises, though.”

Despite his exaggerated complaints, he was always there to patch you up. He had a first-aid kit permanently stocked—no, actually, he had multiple, one in the car, one in the bathroom, and a travel-sized version in his bag. He had mastered the art of wrapping bandages, applying ointments, and kissing away the pain (even if you insisted that last part was unnecessary).

At this point, he was convinced he could get a medical degree solely from the amount of practice he had.

And yet, no matter how many times he swore he’d wrap you in protective gear, he never failed to hold onto you just a little tighter, watching out for stray corners, slippery floors, and rogue table edges like they were mortal enemies.

Because, as exhausting as it was, he wouldn’t trade you—or your inexplicable ability to defy gravity—for anything.

Even if it meant keeping an ice pack ready at all times.

As if on cue, you turned to walk away and immediately stubbed your toe on the kitchen island.

“Ow! Shit!”

Lando just groaned, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. I’m putting you in a bubble.”

“That seems excessive.”

“You just injured yourself standing still!”

You grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fair point.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” you corrected, snuggling into him.

He sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. My menace.”

You were chopping vegetables, fully focused—well, as focused as you ever were when handling sharp objects—when you somehow managed to cut yourself with the knife.

The sharp sting made you gasp, and almost instantly, blood welled up from the deeper cut. Before you could even fully process what had happened, Lando was already at your side. He had been watching you closely (as he often did whenever you were near anything remotely dangerous), and the moment he saw the slip, he sprang into action.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. “Alright, that’s enough knife duty for you.”

His voice was laced with worry, though he tried to mask it with his usual teasing tone. His eyes darted to your finger, the cut deeper than the usual minor scrapes you tended to collect. Without hesitation, he led you to the sink, turning on the tap and holding your hand under the cool water.

“You know, normal people don’t injure themselves every day,” he tried to joke, though his brows were furrowed as he watched the water run red.

You hissed at the sting but still managed a lopsided grin. “I like to keep life exciting.”

Lando huffed a laugh, though there was a tightness in his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’d prefer if you found a less hazardous way to do that.”

After patting your hand dry with a towel, he grabbed the first-aid kit (which, at this point, he always kept within arm’s reach). His movements were careful, almost practiced, as he disinfected the wound. His fingers ghosted over your skin with such tenderness it almost distracted you from the sting of the antiseptic.

“This is deeper than your usual cuts,” he muttered, pressing a sterile gauze pad to your finger before wrapping it securely in a bandage. “It doesn't need stitches thankfully but you really need to be more careful.”

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly. “Well, at least I have you to patch me up.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. When he was done, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“There. Good as new,” he murmured, but his grip on your hand remained firm, like he was reluctant to let go.

You wiggled your fingers dramatically. “Wow, a miraculous recovery. See? This is why I keep you around.”

Lando scoffed, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m just your personal medic now?”

“Pretty much.” You shot him a cheeky wink before immediately reaching for the knife again.

Before you could even graze the handle, Lando snatched it away with lightning-fast reflexes. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I was just gonna—”

“Nope.” He held the knife out of your reach, shooting you a pointed look. “I’m officially banning you from sharp objects.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he took over the cutting board and started chopping with ease. “So, what, I just sit here and do nothing?”

Lando smirked. “Exactly. Just sit there and be adorable.”

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “You think I’m adorable?”

His chopping faltered for a split second, and you caught the way his ears tinged pink. He rolled his eyes, refusing to meet your gaze. “Shut up.”

But when you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, you felt him smile against your touch.

A few days later, the two of you were strolling through the paddock, the soft air filled with chatter. It was the usual pre-race chaos—engineers darting between garages, reporters setting up for interviews, and fans cheering from the barriers.

Lando had a firm grip on your hand, partly because he liked holding it, but mostly because he had learned that letting go of you for even a second increased the chances of you tripping over something by approximately 100%.

Still, despite his best efforts, it happened.

One second, you were walking beside him, mid-sentence about what snacks they had in hospitality. The next, you were suddenly pitching forward with a startled yelp, your foot catching on a stray cable snaking across the ground.

Lando reacted instantly. With reflexes honed by years of racing at breakneck speeds, he lunged forward, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist just before you could crash onto the hard concrete.

“Alright, that’s it,” he huffed, keeping you firmly against him as you steadied yourself. “I’m officially holding onto you for the rest of the day.”

You barely even fought it, leaning into him with an amused grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you not break an ankle before my race,” he muttered, shooting a glance down at your shin. His jaw clenched at the sight of fresh bruises already forming. “How do you even manage this?”

You shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Raw talent.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips twitched. He tugged you even closer, keeping a protective arm around your waist as the two of you continued walking. From then on, any time there was so much as a crack in the pavement, he subtly steered you around it, refusing to take any more chances.

Lando’s race had gone well. Not a win, but a solid finish—good points, a few impressive overtakes, and, most importantly, no major mistakes. After the usual post-race interviews and debrief, all he wanted was to find you, wrap you up in a hug, and maybe gloat a little about how well he managed his tires.

But when he finally spotted you in the motorhome, his relief was short-lived.

You were sitting on one of the couches, clutching your ankle with an ice pack balanced precariously over what looked like a nasty bruise. Your expression was sheepish, but there was a telltale wince every time you shifted.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was sharp with concern as he strode over, kneeling beside you in an instant. His eyes scanned over you, heart pounding at the thought of what he might find.

You attempted a grin, lifting the ice pack slightly to show off the deepening purple splotch spreading over your skin. “Well, you told me not to break anything before your race… so I did it during your race instead.”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle, expecting him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic comment.

But Lando didn’t laugh.

His jaw clenched, his usual lighthearted expression darkened with something much more serious. “That’s not funny.” His voice was quieter now, more strained.

You swallowed, the weight of his worry sinking in. “Lando, it’s just a bruise. I didn’t actually break anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his damp curls. “What happened?”

You shifted slightly, the movement making you wince again. “I was walking back from the paddock, and some guy wasn’t looking where he was going—ran right into me. I tripped over a barrier and, well… gravity did its thing.”

Lando closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to contain his frustration. “Jesus, Y/N.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure where he could touch without hurting you.

You sighed, placing your hand over his. “Hey, it’s okay. It just looks worse than it is.”

He gave you a look—one of those signature Lando Norris you’re full of shit expressions. “Yeah? So if I press here, it won’t hurt?” He gently placed his hand near the worst of the bruise.

You immediately flinched. “Ow, okay! Point made.”

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. “I leave you alone for one race.”

You pouted. “To be fair, I survived the whole weekend without getting injured until the race. I think that’s progress.”

Lando wasn’t amused. Instead, he carefully lifted your injured leg, maneuvering it so it was resting on his lap as he adjusted the ice pack. His touch was gentle, but his brows remained furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice softer now. “I just… hate seeing you get hurt.”

Your chest tightened at the genuine concern laced in his words. You reached up, cupping his face with your free hand. “I know.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Promise me you’ll at least try to be more careful?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I promise to try.”

Lando huffed, clearly not satisfied, but he let it go—mostly. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before shifting to kiss the top of your knee, just above the bruise.

“You’re still getting the bubble wrap,” he mumbled against your skin.

You giggled. “And a helmet?”

“And a helmet.”

[meownotgood]

a few anons asked me about an arcane!viktor and league!viktor fic. here it is. the machine herald and the herald of the arcane sandwich.

18+, arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

The recent influx of arcane anomalies is responsible for many, many things; the dysfunction of the Hexgates, the instability in several Hextech devices. And additionally, apparently, messing with anomalies often results in rifts, capable of bridging one universe with the next. 

You're assuming, anyway. It's the only option to logically explain why you're currently sandwiched between two Viktors.

"Are they always this… obedient?" Viktor — the menacing, Hexcore-infused, arcane-touched version of Viktor — hums, his voice deep and distinctive. It rumbles through you, threatening to displace your shaky legs with its boom alone, echoing several times before it settles in your eardrums. 

You take in a sharp breath, one you're sure the both of them can hear. The lack of space within the anomaly's pocket of unreality forces you to fall back against his chest. True to his assumption, when Viktor's hands find your waist, your limbs go limp. You pliantly allow him to lift you, until you're settled on his thigh. 

"It is difficult to tell." Viktor — the other Viktor, all metal edges and mechanical thrums — finds your jaw. With a firm, steel index finger, he guides it, carefully bringing your wandering gaze back to him. His mask is expressionless, glowing orange pools of light examining you blankly. 

But you swear, the thickness to the edges of his muffled accent, the way he grabs your chin hard, keeping you in place when your head threatens to fall back, as his counterpart's fingertips analytically skim your side — It screams jealous. 

Your eyes flicker all over his figure, unsure what to focus on. Unsure what to make of this. And Viktor laughs, maniacal and amused. His third arm, his Hexclaw-hand, reaches down towards your much smaller figure, settles on your head, and ruffles your hair in something of a playful, infantilizing gesture. Or, it would be playful, if his third hand wasn't capable of producing a dangerous, one-thousand temperature Death Ray. 

"I believe," Machine-Viktor starts, "We are intimidating them." 

Arcane-Viktor glides his palm over your chest, approving. His touch is foreign, neither rough, nor smooth. "Precisely." 

So much for trying to hide it. In this situation, how could you not be intimidated? 

Both of them are insanely intelligent, to the point it nearly scares you. They're larger, taller; you have to crane your neck up to continue looking at Machine-Viktor, gaze steady on him like he's instructed. 

And Arcane-Viktor is somehow even taller than his copy. It makes you feel helpless in his arms, with the way his figure dwarfs yours completely. You can practically feel the persistent glow of his eyes, boring into you. Examining you with a sixth sense of perception, that could only be defined as inhuman. 

The Machine Herald and the Herald of the Arcane are inscrutable. They're both impossible to read, you couldn't hope to determine what they're planning if you had a million timelines to do so. There's a strange sense of understanding between them. A form of matched intuition, perhaps, that comes with being one in the same. 

Truthfully, they've been arguing, bickering over every topic to be brought up since you got stuck here. Cosmological theories, conflicting assumptions, defining the line between the mechanical and the arcane — It's all flown over your head, honestly. Literally and figuratively. This is the first time they've focused on you since the moment you became pressed in between them. 

Yet, when you are involved, they seem to be on the exact same page. The Machine Herald gives a single nod towards the Arcane Herald, and without the need for words, they're switching tasks. 

Machine-Viktor takes your thighs, holds them instead, palms splayed underneath them to brace the weight. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locked at the ankles, his metal armor smooth yet firm against your skin — and Arcane-Viktor steps in closer. Your back presses entirely against his chest, helping to support you. 

His outline digs into your shoulder blades, golden and rib-like. And his hands, purple-hued, rich with power, grasp your face to tilt your head back. To make you look at him, instead. You aren't sure which set of eyes to focus on. The claw jutting out from his back twitches, seemingly regarding you with its own element of sentience. The other Viktor stiffens, for a moment. 

But the position you've been placed in is deliberate; it leaves you wide-open. So, he takes advantage of the opportunity his counterpart has graced him with. His third arm hums mechanically as he moves it. He brings its hand to your mouth, and your lips part to let him press his thumb inside. 

It's more analytical than anything else. 

Arcane-Viktor watches, transfixed, as your tongue swirls around the faux metal digit. It's a curious lesson in mortal instinct. You whimper, your gaze grows misty as you try your hardest to focus on him, but you barely falter. You aren't giving up. Weak and desperate, your whole body shudders, enough to be felt on his palms as a tremble rushes through you. 

Oh, you want to be made to shudder, he realizes. This is a wealth of emotion and excitement and desire for you, an addicting amalgamation of new sensations to experience. Humans love to chase this high. They cannot be distracted by fear, when raw, depraved need clouds their judgement. His machine-equivalent understands this concept, surely. 

Your plush lips meet the artificial joints: welded with clean, steel pivots. Viktor would recognize his own handiwork anywhere. But the intricate assembly around each linkage — the other Viktor has improved the design, he's made each subdivision double-jointed. 

Intriguing. Perhaps he should teach his opposite self about the arcane, as reimbursement. 

Your tongue licks a hot, slow stripe onto the end of the Machine Herald's thumb, and he breathes a half-sigh, half-huff, causing smoke to pour from the sides of his mask. 

There's warmth, coming from both of their figures. Just two different kinds of warmth. For the Arcane Herald, it's electric, like stars and static, racing across your skin. For the Machine Herald, it's more stifling, artificial. Like standing over a hot stove. It's the heat of countless individual parts of machinery, internal and external, all working in unison to support his processes. 

And you're starting to sweat. 

"Marvellous," Arcane-Viktor murmurs, oddly inquisitive. "Are they not?" 

Removing his thumb from your mouth, the metal slick with your saliva, the Machine Herald gives a rumbling hum of approval. 

"Yes. They are." 

Your throat tightens, suddenly dry. From above you, the all-powerful Herald of the Arcane tilts his head ever-so slightly, adjacent to an interested cat. He taps his thumb against your puffy bottom lip, as though he's considering repeating the display himself. Lingering residuals of magic thread through you faintly, tingling on your lips with each idle tap. 

When he decides against it, finally letting go of your face, Machine-Viktor is quick to grasp your chin with his Hexarm. Roughly guiding your gaze back in his direction. Selfishly recapturing your attention. 

Unfortunately, your attention is everywhere. It shifts, placed between the budding heat in your body, the weightlessness of your limbs as you're held in place, the press of metal armor to your thighs, the tracing of confident fingertips up your stomach. Your vision blurs around the edges, you can barely focus when you're this overwhelmed. 

Arcane-Viktor's palm is beginning to trace up your chest, and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, if either of them know how much you're enjoying this. Surely, they're well-acquainted. They fucking tower over you, and you're bare, you are pliant. For either version of them, for Viktor, you will always be just as they hypothesized. 

Obedient. 

"They are trembling. How curious," The Herald of the Arcane continues, but the deep, confident vibrato to his voice makes you believe your reaction is far from unexpected. "Theoretically, I could imagine this being too much for them." 

"No," The Machine Herald counters, "It is not." 

The Arcane Herald appears to express as much aversion as an unchanging expression is able to. His palm begins to trace back down, this time. With the same slow, methodical movements; possessive, in a way. Down to your stomach, stopping just above your pelvis. 

"You would truly place confidence in their ability to take us?" 

Hands suddenly grasping your thighs tighter, you're pulled closer, unintentionally grinding you against the ridges of his metal plating — you breathe a quick, pleasured noise, your thighs tremor hard, but you know his iron grip wouldn't let them fall — and the Machine Herald practically scoffs. 

"They will take all we give to them. Such is the essence of their potential." 

The Arcane Herald pauses, before he answers, "I believe in your own lingering sentimentality, Machine Herald, you may be vastly overestimating their limits." 

"It is not sentiment." The Machine Herald's voice is level. His thick accent curls around the words, tone rich with a downright ruthless sense of certainty. "Receptors in my central system have been allocated to measure their breathing. The pattern is not one of discomfort. They are rife with… eagerness." 

His Hexarm reaches for your neck, and your head tilts back submissively. As confirmation, your heart skips, your breath catches. Your gaze is heavy and pleading. He squeezes methodically, until your eyes are rolling back, and your arms are falling limp. 

Precise fingertips find your forehead, they muddle your every thought and function as their prying touch seeks to enter your mind. Your thoughts converge into a singular, tightly knit thread, pounding in echoes of pleasure. A hand brushes between your spread legs, finds where you are slick and aching — 

"Viktor-" 

Your voice is weak, desperate, shuddery from the lack of use. 

And to your delight, both of your overseers react. Machine-Viktor gives your thighs a firm squeeze, he caresses your throat fondly. Arcane-Viktor teases you. His fingertips purposefully prod your waiting entrance, and Gods, they feel like magic incarnate. 

They vibrate from the intensity of their own existence. You can feel every thrum, and each lush wave of the arcane, vibrating mercilessly against your sweetest spot. Then, just as you're beginning to believe you could come apart merely from this, his hand is delicately shifting away, and you're left to quiver around nothing. 

"Fuck," You're swearing, "Please- don't stop…" 

The Herald of the Arcane, as though he wasn't just mere moments away from sinking his fingers inside you, replies in a distinctly composed tone. "Humans can be such demanding creatures." 

The Machine Herald nearly sounds annoyed. "You have forgotten our initial objective. We may switch places, if you are convinced you cannot satisfy them." 

"Whatever occurred in your timeline, it is clear you never learned patience. We have time. Our research will prove most accurate when it is fleshed out to its fullest, not when it is rushed. Unless, perhaps you have discerned a solution to getting us out of this anomaly. Do share, Machine Herald." 

Machine-Viktor remains still. Utterly unreadable, as always. 

"Hold them." 

Everything happens so quickly, so flawlessly, you'd almost swear they planned this — Arcane-Viktor takes hold of your thighs, he keeps them spread while he leans your body against his chest. And Machine-Viktor grasps your face, squeezes your cheeks, his leather glove rough against your chin. He's so close, all you can see is the orange of his makeshift eyes. Bright and intimidating, clouding your view with polychrome shapes, like if you were to glance at the sun for too long. 

His touch is distinctly different, it is steady, resolute, determined. A single thick, metal finger drags through your arousal to first get the steel slick, and then he is pressing it inside; you can feel every small joint and deliberate ridge as he fills you. One of his manufactured digits is essentially the equivalent to three of yours. 

You're left to weakly slump against his copy, completely at his mercy as he fucks you open, completely at their mercy as the two of them watch you attentively. Focused on the way his digit disappears within you, how your chest heaves as you gasp and whine. 

"This is not enough stimulus," Arcane-Viktor ascertains. Matter-of-fact, his echoing voice perfectly stable. "Their thoughts are still clouded. Preferably, we would want them- their mind, and their body- to think only of us." 

"Not enough? I thought you believed they could not handle us both." Machine-Viktor scoffs. 

It's a challenge. An analytical assumption, and if his copy is anything like him, he knows it's a notion they'll enjoy deciphering. Together. With you as the subject. 

"Well?" The Machine Herald hums, "Are you willing to put your hypothesis to the test?" 

[mylittleredgirl]

i have a theory about why deep space nine feels different than other star treks. i mean, of course there are lots of big obvious differences: the initial premise ("we're not going anywhere, people are coming to us"), to the big recurring cast, and the eventual sprawling war arc ("mods are asleep, post serial storytelling"). you can come at this from a lot of angles.

but to me, on a week by week basis, what makes it feel so different is that they don't have a bridge.

ops is initially the bridge set equivalent, but in practice, it functions more like an open office plan than a unified command and control center. sisko doesn't even have a designated place to stand, let alone a command chair. bashir visits to gossip. odo, quark, and jake rarely have a reason to be there. they have even less reason to be on the defiant, so gaining a bridge set doesn't fully resolve the absence of bridge scenes.

(for comparison, there is only one episode of tng with no scenes on the bridge!)

the lack of weekly bridge scenes means the main cast are essentially never all in the same room at the same time working together toward a common goal. in fact, the only time i can remember right now where all of those things are true is the baseball episode in season seven. (even if you don’t include jake, how often does this happen? i can think of the briefing room scene in “facets”… and???)

this changes the structure of the show on a weekly basis, because they have to rely more heavily on a/b/c stories to get everyone on camera.

voyager had a similar problem to solve in the early seasons, using sickbay b-plots to give the doctor and kes some airtime, but it's not as consistently notable to me as it is in deep space nine, because sickbay is often a natural part of the main plot.

neelix and kes are civilians, but they are still working members of the crew. and while both tng and voyager have plenty of recreational activities, the characters put down their violins and holodeck programs and go to work when the a-plot happens.

i think this is why deep space nine feels so lived-in. the famous tonal whiplash of the a/b plots and the "now for a single scene at the bar to see quark and odo" is this constant evidence that people are still gambling and dating and growing up and sometimes not even noticing the big story of the week.

[calmlb]

Higuchi’s Unrevealed Ability

my theory on what it could be…

i think that Higuchi’s ability will be called “Takekurabe” (Growing Up/Child’s Play) after her most famous work, and i believe it might have something to do with reincarnation. here’s why…

in this official art she is featured with red spider lilies, which are symbolic of death, but are also thought of as a bridge between heaven & earth…a reminder of the “cyclical nature of life & death”

Takekurabe also explores themes such as how life is fleeting. & also abt being forced into a role that you didn’t want, or wouldn’t have chosen for yourself

(plus potential foreshadowing: in this official art, Higuchi is surrounded by pinwheels— which symbolize childhood, but also the cycle of life, & the buddhist teaching of reincarnation)

back to reincarnation…

after being told that Akutagawa may never wake up, she reached out to him & a glow appeared around her hand— like she was activating an ability— before pulling away bc she remembered that he didn’t want her (or anyone’s) help

but this means that she’s able to give help in this sort of situation

additionally, the fact that she almost always appears in official arts w Akutagawa indicates that she will probably use her ability on him at some point, which makes sense considering his terminal condition

(note the pulse in the background, his bright eyes, & her white suit)

because we have yet to see her use her ability, i’m assuming that she can only use it once, so she’d be giving up her life for Akutagawa’s (a life for a life— his reincarnation)

this would imitate irl Higuchi’s unfortunately short life— with her having died at only 25 years old. it also makes sense to give her such a powerful ability since irl Higuchi is such an important figure in japanese history— japan’s first professional woman writer of modern literature

now for a less likely, but fun theory…

i wonder if Higuchi’s sister has anything to do with her ability (in bsd she’s unnamed, but her irl sister’s name was Kuniko so that’s what we’ll call her)

according to Higuchi’s bungo episode, despite her literary genius, irl Higuchi was practically useless without her sister

Kuniko was the one who made what Higuchi did possible & kept things functional behind the scenes

so i think it’d be super interesting (& a cool irl reference) if Kuniko was involved in some way with Higuchi’s ability (i also just want to see more of her bc this sister duo is so cute :’))

bonus: when i watched this anime adaptation of Takekurabe, this was the ending scene & i wonder if it was harukawa’s inspiration for this official art 🥹

white lilies represent purity, & since they were off by the side of the road, they might have represented the character’s fleeting purity. white lilies are also used at funerals to represent a soul’s return to purity & its journey to the afterlife… which circles back to the reincarnation theme 👀

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 1

(disclaimer: I envision the academy to be more of a college setting everyone is an adult in this story)

The grand lecture hall of Blueberry Yogurt Academy was alive with the quiet rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills. Golden candlelight flickered against stained glass windows, casting soft shadows over rows of students hunched over their desks, diligently transcribing notes. The air smelled of old books, melted wax, and a faint trace of ink. You sat near the middle far enough from the front to avoid your professor’s direct scrutiny, yet not so far that you could escape his line of sight entirely. Despite your best efforts to keep up, the equations scrawled across the massive chalkboard blurred together into an indecipherable mess. Your quill hovered hesitantly over your notes, your parchment an uneven battlefield of crossed-out mistakes and half-formed thoughts. Professor Almond Custard Cookie stood at the front, the very embodiment of patience. He was a well-respected scholar, known for his gentle demeanor and dedication to his students. His robes, embroidered with constellations, shimmered faintly as he gestured toward the board, explaining the intricacies of magical resonance theory with practiced ease. “Now, if we consider the fluctuation in mana flow when exposed to unstable astral properties…” His voice was steady, warm, inviting understanding. The class nodded along, following his train of thought. You, however, found yourself lost. Again. Your parchment was a disaster. The numbers weren’t aligning, and no matter how much you tried to trace back to where you went wrong, the logic continued to slip through your grasp. You tapped your quill against the desk, willing the knowledge to take root in your mind.

“Let’s test our understanding,” professor Almond Custard Cookie said, turning toward the class. “If one were to stabilize a fluctuating mana field under a lunar eclipse, what key principle must be applied to prevent collapse?” A silence hung in the air, the pause filled only by the quiet shifting of students preparing to answer. You ducked your head slightly, praying someone else would speak first. But then…“(y/n) cookie, why don’t you give it a try?” Your stomach twisted into a knot. You could feel the weight of every gaze turning toward you, the quiet anticipation of your classmates pressing down. You swallowed, your throat dry. You scrambled for an answer, flipping through your notes in desperation. You knew you had studied this. You had read the chapter, listened to the lectures. But now, under you  professor’s expectant gaze, your thoughts tangled into a panicked blur. “I, um… Is it… increasing the leyline attunement?” you ventured, your voice barely above a whisper. A pause. Professor Almond Custard Cookie gave a long, measured sigh. Not of anger, nor disappointment, just exhaustion. The kind that had been building for weeks. “Not quite,” he said gently, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ve gone over this concept multiple times. Think back to last week’s lecture on celestial harmonics. You need to apply?...” You stared at him, wide-eyed, willing the answer to come. It didn’t. “The Principle of Arcane Equilibrium,” another student chimed in smoothly. “Exactly,” your professor said with a nod. He turned back to the board, seamlessly continuing the lesson, but the damage was done. You sank lower in your seat, heat creeping up your neck. Another mistake. Another moment where you had failed to grasp something that seemed so simple to everyone else. You risked a glance around, noting how some students had already returned to their notes, while others still cast you sideways glances. The rest of the lecture dragged painfully onward, your mind struggling to keep up, your parchment becoming messier with each passing minute. 

The lecture hall hums with quiet murmurs as professor Almond Custard Cookie wraps up the day's lesson. Parchment rustles, chairs creak, and students shuffle about, eager to flee the suffocating weight of academia. Yet, you remain firmly in your seat, your stomach twisting into knots as you recognize the familiar look of mild disappointment in Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s eyes. “Stay behind,” he instructs, his voice measured yet firm. You swallow hard, nodding as you watch your classmates file out. Some cast sympathetic glances, others remain indifferent, and a few are too absorbed in their own work to even notice. The moment the last student disappears through the doorway, the room falls into silence. Your professor exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his sharp yet patient gaze onto you. “This is becoming a pattern,” he begins, his tone even but laced with exhaustion. “Your understanding of today’s lesson was…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Lacking.” You offer a small, sheepish smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “I prefer ‘in progress.’” Your professor merely raises a brow. “If I thought humor could salvage your grasp on theoretical constructs, I’d let you continue. But we both know that isn’t the case.” Your smile falters. “I… I really am trying.” His sigh is not unkind, but it carries the weight of repeated conversations just like this one. “I know you are. And I admire that. But effort without direction is like wandering a maze blindfolded. You need guidance.” His expression softens ever so slightly. “That’s why we’re here.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in your chest. It’s not that you don’t want to improve..it’s that no matter how hard you try, the knowledge always seems just out of reach. It slips through your grasp like water through your fingers, tauntingly close yet impossible to hold. Professor Almond Custard Cookie begins asking questions, reviewing concepts you had fumbled with earlier in class. You do your best to keep up, to piece together the fragmented bits of knowledge floating around in your head, but your responses are riddled with hesitation. Every answer feels uncertain, the words sticking to your tongue with the distinct flavor of doubt. With each incorrect response, his patience, while still present, grows thinner. “Again,” he instructs. You try. You really try. But the answer slips away from you once more. A heavy silence stretches between you, thick with frustration. Both yours and the professor’s. He exhales slowly, rubbing his temples before straightening. “We need a different approach. Clearly, repetition isn’t working. Perhaps-” The door creaks open. A voice, smooth and measured, laced with an unmistakable curiosity, fills the space. “Ah, Professor. I was hoping to catch you.” You stiffen.

Standing in the doorway is none other than Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth himself. Your heart lurches. You’ve never seen him in person before. He is a figure of legend within academic circles, a scholar whose intellect is unmatched, whose wisdom is sought by the greatest minds in the Academy. A beacon of knowledge. A paragon of truth. And now he stands before you. His heterochromatic gaze sweeps the room before settling on the professor. “I have been wrestling with a theorem,” he continues, stepping inside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. “And while I am confident in my deductions, I would value your insight.” Professor Almond Custard Cookie, who had moments ago been at the end of his patience, now straightens, the weariness in his eyes momentarily lifting. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” he greets. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Your stomach churns. Of all times for such a revered figure to appear, why now? Why, when you’re floundering under scrutiny, your academic inadequacies laid bare? Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickers to you, curious but not unkind. “Ah. A student?” your professor nods. “One in need of assistance.” Your face burns. “I’ll figure it out,” you blurt out hastily, gripping the edges of your parchment as if it might shield you from their gazes. “Really, I don’t want to waste your time.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A curious notion,” he muses. “Knowledge is never a waste of time.” Your fingers tighten around the parchment. It’s hard to breathe under the weight of his presence. He teaches only the brightest, engages in discussions so profound that even your professor would hesitate before challenging him. What could he possibly gain from helping someone like you? Your professor, sensing your hesitation, sighs. “Shadow Milk, perhaps you…” “I would be delighted to assist,” the Sage of Truth interjects smoothly. “If you would permit me, of course.”

You hesitate, anxiety curling in your stomach. “I… I don’t know if I” “You are struggling,” he states plainly, though not unkindly. “That is evident. But struggling alone is folly. Allow me to help. Perhaps, in doing so, I too shall learn something new.” You freeze. He, a renowned scholar, thinks he could learn from you? Professor Almond Custard Cookie sighs once more but nods. “Very well. Let’s see how this plays out.” Shadow Milk Cookie settles beside you, exuding a quiet confidence that is neither overwhelming nor condescending. “Let’s begin,” he says, his voice smooth and patient. “Tell me where you are lost.” You swallow hard. This is going to be a long evening.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s…no, the Sage of Truth’s voice was smooth and composed as he spoke, his words woven with certainty. His mismatched eyes gleamed with an almost knowing amusement, yet his demeanor remained calm, far from the theatrical arrogance whispered about in the Academy halls. Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. He was someone who taught the highest scholars those with brilliant minds that grasped complex theories with ease, not someone who wasted time on students like you. And yet, here you were, sitting across from him, hands gripping the edge of your desk so tightly your fingers ached. “I understand that this may seem overwhelming,” the Sage of Truth said, his tone gentle, as though he sensed the weight of your unease. “But the key to knowledge is patience, and patience is something I have in abundance.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your head low. “I um, I appreciate it, but…” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Surely you have more important things to do, especially with the title you hold. You don’t have to waste your time with me.” Your professor who had been silent for the past few moments exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “For the love of-...(y/n) cookie, he’s offering to help you. Do not look a gift horse in the mouth.” You flinched at the exasperation in his tone and turned your gaze toward him in silent pleading. Please let me go. Professor Almond Custard Cookie only gave you a look that said, absolutely not. The Sage of Truth rested his chin on his hand, watching you with measured interest. “I see…” he mused. “You hold great reverence for me, yet that reverence manifests as avoidance.” He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me, do you think knowledge is only for the most gifted?” You hesitated before answering. “N-No, but… I’m not…” You clenched your fists, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I’m not like the others who study under you. I can’t even grasp the basics of what Professor Almond Custard Cookie teaches me. It’d be a waste of your time to”

“Nonsense.” His interruption was firm yet kind. “All who seek truth are worthy of learning. If you are struggling, then that is simply the nature of learning. You are no less deserving of knowledge than those who excel with ease.” The conviction in his voice left you stunned. Your professor sighed, standing and stretching out his back. “Honestly, if anyone can get through to you, it’d be him,” he muttered before making his way toward his bookshelf. You, however, were still tense, unsure of how to respond to the Sage of Truth. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of admiration and anxiety weighing heavily on you. “I” You paused, unsure how to address him without sounding foolish. You had never once uttered his name, not even in passing conversation with others. It felt too improper, too intimate, for someone of his stature. Instead, you swallowed your nerves and whispered, “I don’t want to trouble you.”

He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “It is no trouble. But if you feel so strongly about it…” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “Then prove me wrong.” Your breath hitched. “Prove to me that my time is wasted. That you are beyond help.” His tone was almost challenging, yet the warmth in his voice remained. “Show me that you cannot learn, and I shall leave you be.” It was an impossible challenge. And he knew it. You bit your lip, feeling trapped. No matter what, there was no way to argue against the Sage of Truth. “…Where do we start?” You finally whispered. His smile widened just a fraction. “Excellent.” You looked at him confused…did he not hear your question? No matter you let it go, after all you’re in no position to question anything.

A/N I forgot to post this last night LOL please enjoy this will be a slow burn so bear with me <3

Next>>>

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

hilarious in hindsight that we were pretty much given all the clues in s1 about how obsessed viktor and jayce were about each other, it's just that in s1 they were mentally stable (mostly)

evidence:

jayce makes first friend his age that also believes in his theory and immediately does two things: adds him as a creator to his project (our hextech dream) and resigns his job for him (no, he's my partner)

viktor, meanwhile, steals jayce's journal from the office uses a quip to stop him from jumping, suggests breaking and entering to prove the hypothesis, uses his cane to block the doors, and uses his new slang "crank it" in front of his new friend.

jayce prevents sad viktor from going after heimerdinger for the whole "decade of work" and gives him sad eyes the whole time,

"you should be up there with me, youre my partner" *side hug that practically envelops him*

later rubs his back when viktor is sick at the hexgates, apologizes for not mentioning their projects in his speech

hospital scene need i say more

viktor creates an atomic star and jayce is just like cool man little scary but hey i trust you <3

"first I have to save Viktor"

singed is like "if you do drugs everyone will hate you" and viktor goes "jayce wont'" (he's right, turns out). doesn't give a shit about anyone else

bridge fight lasts 6 seconds with the fastest apology in history from Jayce, and even after slapping his hand away, Viktor allows his touch again <3

"curing you" *insert heart eyes here*

jayce gets heimerdinger fired for wanting to destroy the hexcore, not really because of progress, but because it could (and does, sort of) save viktor

jayce repays their second meeting by stopping Viktor from jumping (callback baby!) and brings up a happy memory, Viktor goes "I remember you"

jayce brings viktor to the council as representation and gives him his seat <3

other evidence includes:

Viktor's cane and leg brace being both in Talis colors and having little hammers in the designs

Jayce either calling Viktor by his name or using "my partner" with such warm tones

the way Viktor says Jayce's name like it's warm honey

almost every Viktor/Jayce scene has a moment where Jayce is touching viktor comfortingly. from side hugs to waist touches, shoulder touches.

the way they look at each other jesus get a room they stare at each other like this: 🥹, 🙂, 😍 all the time

[lawinspire]

Bridging the Gap Between Education & Real-World Success

Education is often considered the gateway to professional success, yet many students find themselves unprepared for the realities of the workforce upon graduation. While academic knowledge provides a strong foundation, it often lacks the practical application required to navigate real-world challenges. The modern job market demands more than just theoretical understanding; it requires critical thinking, adaptability, and hands-on experience. However, practical skills in education, career readiness programs, and industry-relevant education are often missing from traditional curricula, leaving students struggling to bridge the gap between education and real-world success.

Dr. P. Madhurima Reddy, an entrepreneur, peak performance trainer, life & wealth coach, psychologist, and educationist, advocates for a future-ready education system that incorporates real-world learning experiences, work-integrated learning, and soft skills for career success. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the reasons behind the disconnect and provide actionable strategies to ensure that education aligns with real-world expectations.

The Disconnect Between Education and Employability

1. The Overemphasis on Theory Over Practice

Traditional education systems focus heavily on theoretical concepts, emphasizing memorization and rote learning rather than bridging theory and practice. While academic knowledge is essential, students often struggle to translate what they learn in classrooms into practical, real-world applications. This overemphasis on theory creates a skills gap, making it difficult for fresh graduates to meet industry demands.

A more effective approach would be to integrate real-world learning experiences such as:

Case studies and real-life problem-solving exercises

Project-based assignments that require research and critical thinking

Hands-on workshops and industry exposure programs

2. Lack of Career Readiness Programs

Many educational institutions lack structured career readiness programs, leaving students ill-prepared for the workforce. These programs are crucial in equipping students with the tools and skills necessary to excel in their chosen careers. Effective career readiness initiatives should include:

Resume-building workshops

Mock interview sessions with industry professionals

Career counseling and mentorship programs

Internship opportunities that provide real-world work experience

3. The Skills Gap in the Job Market

Employers today seek candidates with strong critical thinking, problem-solving abilities, and adaptability. However, many graduates lack these essential skills due to a disconnect between education and real-world success. The traditional curriculum often fails to focus on:

Soft skills for career success, such as communication, teamwork, and leadership

Technical and digital literacy, which is increasingly in demand across industries

Entrepreneurial thinking, fostering innovation, and proactive problem-solving

By incorporating skills-based learning and vocational training benefits, educational institutions can better prepare students for the workforce.

Continue Reading: https://lawinspire.com/2025/02/21/bridging-the-gap-between-education-real-world-success/

[antiterf]

Its kind of ridiculous how difficult it is to find critical intersex literature if you don't know where to look.

That said, here are frequently cited things I've found. For the one's that are behind paywalls, I have a Google Drive folder set up to hold them for access. The only things I leave behind a paywall are books by individual authors. They are not organized at all, I'm sorry.

Intersex Variations Glossary by InterACT

Narrative Symposium: Intersex—Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics (NIB) Volume 5, Number 2, Summer 2015.— Trigger warning for intersex genital mutilation (IGM), sexual assault, and medical trauma—it's honestly a lot but incredibly important. (Drive)

A human rights investigation into the medical "normalization" of intersex people - A report of a public hearing by the Human Rights Commission of the City & County of San Francisco

Surgical Progress Is Not the Answer to Intersexuality - Cheryl Chase. - TW for IGM and images of genitalia (Drive)

The Intersex Roadshow, a blog of Dr. Cary Gabriel Costello - Costello is an intersex trans man and tries to bridge the gap between trans and intersex issues

Beyond Binary Sex and Gender Ideology - Cary Grabriel Costello - Chapter 12 of The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Body and Embodiment (Drive)

Transgender and intersex: theoretical, practical, and artistic perspectives (book/textbook) (Drive)

Intersex: Stories and Statistics from Australia (Book) (Open Access)

Fixing sex: intersex, medical authority, and lived experience (Book)

The harms of medicalisation: intersex, loneliness and abandonment (Open Access Article)

Intersex: cultural and social perspectives (Open Access Article)

Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) - Technical Note on the Human Rights of Intersex People. Basically, if you want an easy way to say that doctors are going against human rights by performing IGM.

An experimental philosophical bioethical study of how human rights are applied to clitorectomy on infants identified as female and as intersex (Open Access Article) - People were more likely to support the same surgery on infants labeled as intersex than they were on infants labeled as female.

Caught in the Gender Binary Blind Spot: Intersex Erasure in Cisgender Rhetoric by Hida Viloria - About how cisgender often doesn't accurately express the experiences intersex people have. Costello, mentioned earlier with Intersex Roadshow, coined Ipsogender for this reason.

Introduction for Intersex Activism - A guide for allies

Sex, Science, and Society: Reckonings and Responsibilities for Biologists (Open Access Article)

Contesting Intersex: The Dubious Diagnosis by Georgiann Davis - TW for medical trauma

Spectacles and Scholarship: Caster Semenya, Intersex Studies, and the Problem of Race in Feminist Theory by Zine Magubane (Drive)

Owning Endosex Privilege and Supporting the Intersex Community: WPATH, Intersex Genital Mutilation (IGM), and Sex Variant Bodies by Margo Schulter

The Spectrum of Sex by Hida Viloria and Dr. Maria Nieto

A long way to go for LGBTI equality from the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights - Before the UK left the EU

If anyone wants to add, feel free! This was the non-medicalized stuff I had saved in Zotero, and definitely not all that's out there.

[bnpd]

❛❛ NERD-JO .ᐟ >ᴗ< ❜❜ :

SYNOPSIS: you're a new transfer at a big prestigious private university. what happens when the first friend you make is a cute nerd? will you get your chance to start fresh? or will your newfound 'friendship' bring you unwanted drama in the future.

DRABBLE WRD COUNT: 2.6K pairings: rich nerd!deans nephew gojo x reader tags: cute nerd gojo, reader is kind of mysterious, gojo makes me chuckle here. NOT PROOFREAD (sorry) ill come back and remove some grammatical errors. this might be cheeks fr

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : im late to the nerd gojo party </3 but please enjoy! please do not steal my little nerdjo pngs just because they have my 'bnpd' if you want the individual png pls just shoot me a text :) lmk if there are any issues, so i can fix them !!

a tall man sits in the far back of the lecture hall. figure hunched over the desk as he scribbles away intensely in his journal. 30 minutes earlier than the usual start of the lecture. 

the glasses that sit delicately on his nose bridge slide down every once in a while. his white ruffled hair stays still as he shuffles in his seat to adjust his posture. 

many are intimidated by his silent and blank stare. everyone but students in his science club feel that way. he’s quite the chatterbox contrary to popular belief. ask him about his favorite physics theories and he’s chatting your ear off.

he doesn’t go to parties, but invite him to a museum or a bookstore? he’s already in the car.

he’s quite polished. gojo can be one of those pretentious nerds, but he doesn’t mean to! he has lived a privileged life and acts like any other rich college student would. 

comes from a wealthy family and doesn't hide it, but he also doesn't run around telling everyone.

it might seem like he dresses like a regular guy but his clothes are still expensive. you'll occasionally find him wearing a sweater vest and button up tucked into his well-tailored pants altered to fit his long legs on formal days when he has a research symposium presentation or a meeting with the steam department about improving certain aspects he finds are not up to his standards.

most of the time, he’ll wear comfortable clothes. wears glasses, cliche, but he wears them more out of practical appeal and necessity. 

his eyes are sensitive due to a medical condition he has. so, the glasses he wears are tailored to prevent his eyes from straining. his parents urge him to wear the endless supply of contacts he has but he’s quite comfortable with his glasses. 

every pair of glasses he owns has his initials engraved on the temples, whether it’s gold or silver. whatever matches the aesthetic of the pair of glasses.

when he was younger. his parents would fund his personal ‘academic’ projects. he’d be busy every summer at a science or math camp. if they sent him to a summer camp that wasn't academically related; at camp you’d find him reading far away from everyone else. whether in front of a lake or a quiet little place in the woods. 

now? he’s still the same. just bigger. doesn’t go to summer camp but definitely stacks up his summer with internships or side projects. on top of that, he’ll spend time volunteering at local schools, teaching students in high school or middle school.

very good with kids, and more patient with them than he would be with his uni study partners. 

donates whatever money he earns at internships to local communities to aid students in pursuing their education. he strongly believes that if he can pursue education freely, so should everyone else.

his timer goes off quietly and he stops scribbling down his memorized equations. he huffs out a breath of relief yet frustration. 

 i’m still missing one… he thinks to himself. if anyone with an outside perspective were to see him they’d imagine gears turning inside of his head.

he flips the page, resets his timer, and starts again.

time passes and he realizes class has now begun. he was so caught up studying, he failed to realize that the class is now packed with other students. a few scattered seats remain vacant. 

the professor enters the class and silently unpacks her bag before greeting the class and breaking the silence, “let’s have a great semester.” she wastes no time diving into the lecture. 

gojo, contrary to popular belief, sits in the middle section of the lecture hall. he’s not fond of the back because for starters, he’s easily distracted and he can’t hear from all the way back there. the middle is just right.

he’s kind of a loner, by choice. he's just always being productive on campus.

you’ll often see him sitting alone, busying himself with his studies unless he has a meeting with his club about an upcoming math or science competition. if it’s not the season of academic olympiads, he’s alone. 

he only has two close friends: geto and shoko. geto majors in psychology. shoko is, of course, pursuing her dream of being a doctor. she’s a biology major undergoing the pre-med track. 

gojo has yet to have a girlfriend in college.

not because he can’t find someone interested in him, absolutely not. he’s handsome, intelligent, quiet, kind, and rich. he's the most sought after bachelor on campus. with his brains and looks, he's every girls wet dream.

unfortunately for him, women are always hitting on him but quite frankly, he’s not interested. or sometimes he doesn’t catch on to the fact that a woman is subtly flirting with him. 

not because he’s dense, but how would he find something he’s not even looking for?

like right now, when you gently plop down on the seat next to him. you’re quite fond of sitting in the front but the lecture hall was overwhelmingly full. there were other open seats but he looked to be the most productive and you needed that.

you were a transfer. which is odd to be one this late into college, given that you’re a senior trying to complete your last year. 

the university is a pretty big private school so no one notices new transfers nor do they care. but within them, are those who do. 

like gojo. 

he doesn’t realize you’ve sat next to him until the end of the lecture. given that he was too busy scribbling away in his journal. 

one thing about gojo is that he likes to leave when everyone is already gone and the professor is free to approach. he’s a tiny bit surprised to see it seems you think the same. but for reasons he’s not aware of, you’re there for a reason other than academics. 

he silently observes you as you approach the professor. his eyebrows raise a bit when you share a hug and it has him adjusting his glasses to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. 

interesting

you continue to sit next to him in the following weeks, seeing him twice a week on tuesdays and thursdays. you began to find yourself looking forward to it. you get to sit next to a tall dorky handsome stranger? you’ll be getting perfect attendance. 

you rarely catch a glance of him outside of class, but every time you do he is so focused. 

the more you studied him while he studied something else, the more you realized how attractive he was. even if you knew that prior to your silent observations.

from the outfits you could tell he spent some time on in the morning—you assumed he woke up earlier than everyone else, to the way his obsession with organization—you took note of when he set his things down for class and neatly organized his pens, pencils and journal for notes.  

don’t be mistaken though. one tiny peek at his journal was enough to see that despite his need to tidy things on the outside…his notes were written haphazardly and quick. notes are a reflection of your mind, and if you’re constantly thinking then your notes will be a reflection of that.

you had also come to the conclusion that he was a man that was yet to become aware of his height. he moved around like he didn’t know how much of a walking tank he was. you hoped he never found out.

the best thing about him wasn’t any of the things you listed, but it was a few of the habits he had. 

everything he owned was personalized. from the pencils he used, to his backpack. you made that discovery when you forgot your pencil pouch in the library.

it took you a total of 2 minutes to gather the courage to turn to the mysterious man beside you, and ask him for a pencil. 

“excuse me,” you said gently, “im sorry, but can i bother you for a pencil? im so sorry.” 

he stared at you and you thought he would explode you with his bright blue snow glazed eyes. 

he cracked a tiny toothless smile and you figuratively crossed your fingers, hoping he wasn’t silently judging you or worse—came to the conclusion that were unprepared and incompetent. 

you watched him intently as he reached to grab his backpack, taking in the way the black expensive leather had his initials engraved in the bottom corner. he reached his hand into his backpack and pulled out–what looked to be the most elegant, technologically advanced sleek black mechanical pencil.

“don’t worry about giving it back,” he says politely but then he goes for the blow “i know you might need it in the future.” with a hint of pretentiousness. oh!

“well… thank you,” you say a bit taken back as you reluctantly take the pencil from his extended hand. your face falls a little at his response and you deflate a little in your chair.

did he think you were…poor? god forbid a girl asks for a pencil. you’d, unfortunately, been perceived. and in the worst way possible. he probably thinks you’re irresponsible, and an idiot!

you look at the pencil and realize that–of course–he has his initials engraved in his mechanical pencils too. 

g.s.

you bite back a smile that might give away how endearing you found it. that is so cute.

he has his initials on almost everything. you try not to crack a smile at how adorable yet endearing that is. 

unfortunately, you couldn’t really put the pencil to good use because he kept fidgeting in his seat the entire class. it distracted and worried you at the same time. which was odd because he never did that. 

is he upset that he had to give you one of his spare pencils? will he ask for it back? 

as you were packing your bags to leave, you felt him heavily staring at you. it makes you pause your movement and then turn to him, and sure enough, he was looking at you. you a tiny sigh leaves your lips. 

“yes? is this about your pencil? because i have my own i just needed–”

“im sorry.” he interrupts you and it shuts you up immediately. 

what?

he might have seen the confusion in your eyes. “about what i said about the pencil, i didn’t mean for it to come off that way. i was just saying because i have a lot of them so it wouldn’t have made a difference. and i was guessing maybe you didn’t. wait–no. i meant like if you didn’t–.not that i think you can’t get your own pencils or anything like that because i am super sure you can. but if you need it you can keep it. not that you need it right? because everyone needs a pencil. like one time i–”

you stare at him as he rambles on. you’re completely endeared with the way he doesn’t look you in the eyes and the way his hands move around to prove his point. 

he huffs out a breath of frustration. you on the other hand huff out a breath of amusement and the stranger before you finally moves to look at you.

“it’s okay.” you dismiss his worries, standing their idly as you mirror his movements. 

“i just thought i might have inconvenienced you by asking,” you tell him honestly, you grab your computer and gently store it away in your backpack as you continue your conversation, “im usually prepared, but i accidentally left my pencil bag in the library this morning.”

he gives you a tiny affirmative nod, taking in your words. he swings his backpack over his shoulder, and loops both arms into their respective loops, wearing the backpack on both shoulders. 

cute.

there's an awkward silence that follows you both before the door slams shut and you realize then that the professor has now walked out. 

the stranger huffs out a small awkward laugh, “you didn’t–by the way,” he speaks then, “inconvenience me, I mean”, he clarifies. now it’s your turn to nod at him. 

this is so awkward, it almost makes you laugh. 

he breaks the silence again, “im satoru gojo, by the way.” he politely introduces himself by extending his hand in a respectful manner.

you extend yours in return, shaking his hand before sharing your name with him as well. 

“i have time to kill,” he offers, “why don’t we take a walk around campus before then? the weather is great.”

after your shared walk with gojo you learned a lot about him. 

he recently discovered his interest in kpop after his friend, shoko, played a song during a shared car ride. 

he’s a senior, like you, studying engineering and double minoring in business and mathematics. he originally wanted to minor in physics but he said his father urged him to do business instead. he had to compromise.

that doesn’t stop him from taking physics courses out of pure enjoyment though, exceeding the 18 credit limit. 

he’s also an on-campus tutor and does a work study job at the library. the old librarian on campus loves him and appreciates his extensive knowledge on literature and figured that if he spent all his time there already, might as well let him get paid for him. 

when she approached him, his ears turned a light shade of pink and you could just imagine gojo pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before they slipped as he hurried to apologize. 

she waved him off and urged him to just work there already. gojo then started working with them a week later after financial aid finalized the paperwork. he remembers the look of the financial aid lady when she looked at his file and saw that he was beyond in need of financial aid. 

all she did was raise and eyebrow but clicked away. thankfully, gojo managed to get the work-study payments signed off as a form of volunteering hours rather than an extra below minimum wage salary.

he didn’t share with you the last part about his tiny altercation with financial aid though. he assumed you had no idea who he was. and you hoped to keep it that way. 

you in turn shared with him that you were transferred from another school. he already knew that (he paid a visit to the dean but he’ll never tell you that, given that the dean is his uncle afterall) he didn't know why. so, he asked.

“i transferred because there were some personal issues there and now i just want to start fresh.”

gojo raises a questioning eyebrow, but decides to respect your privacy. he hopes one day you’ll trust him enough to tell him. 

the rest of the chat was quite delightful. you were about to invite him to the cute nearby cafe you saw on your way to school, but before you could muster up the courage. 

a chime was heard from gojos pants pocket. he excused himself to check his phone. you stood there idly as he let out a tiny groan of frustration. 

“im sorry–” he apologized again. the look of pure regret made your lip quirk up again. he was so cute and polite.

“i hate to cut our…trip—short but it kind of slipped my mind that i scheduled a study group with a class i T.A. for.”

you wave him off, “it’s okay!” you reassure him with an upbeat tone in your voice, “we share a class so i’ll see you around.”

he bids you a quick goodbye and you watch his retreating figure. you sigh and head to the opposite direction. 

this semester will be exciting. 

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @bloopsstuff : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @rjswrld : @fartm : @bammbi-jeon127 : @gojoslefttoenail : @laviefantasie : @red-viewe : @danakul : @xchannelorange : @honoredalone : @plutosgold : @jotarohat : @shadowytiger : @um-no-ok : @lavender-hvze : @nvmlolo : @rintcrous : @jaelahh-blog-blog : @fuckerenyaeger : @bigbodiezz : @simp-plague : @lialia3945 : @gojostit : @fangirlingoverfanfic : @deluluforcarlos55 : @manyno :

omg! i didn't realize how many people signed up for my taglist <33 tysm ! currently working on a masterlist too. long shot gojo. i have not forgotten you.

©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[christopherisfoive]

hellooo! for the prompt list, i was wondering if you could do bang chan x idol reader with prompts:

7. "you can't flirt your way out of this one." and

9. secret relationship reveal

can be fluffy, crack or a bit angsty (happy ending tho lol). thank you so much!!🙆🖤

Request complete 💌 Thank you so much for trusting me with this one. I had such a lovely time writing it—hope it brings a little something special to your day 🤍 Feel free to send more anytime!

૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

There were a lot of unspoken rules in the industry.

Smile. Be polite. Say thank you. Stay out of scandals.

And definitely—definitely—don’t get caught dating another idol.

Which made what just happened on stage a complete disaster.

The moment you stepped off the award show stage, your hands were still trembling. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was panic. Or maybe it was because Bang Chan, the leader of Stray Kids and the man you’d been secretly dating for nearly a year, had just placed a hand on your waist—on live camera.

You’d both tried to play it cool. Smile. Bow. Wave. But even you couldn’t ignore the shift in energy backstage as you re-entered the holding area. The staff had gone quiet. A monitor replayed the clip in an endless loop. And in the footage? Chan, clearly grinning, clearly touching you. And you? Clearly leaning into it.

Your group’s youngest member, Yuna, was frozen in place near the monitor, blinking at the screen like it was glitching. Then she slowly turned to look at you, jaw dropping.

“Y/N… they know.”

You whipped around, dread forming in the pit of your stomach—only to see Chan striding toward you, cool as ever in his tailored black suit, like he hadn’t just blown your carefully constructed secret sky-high.

He looked… unfairly good. Confident. Dangerous. Like he had no regrets.

“Chan,” you warned under your breath the moment he reached you. "Congrats, baby girl. Always so gorgeous on the stage monitors." “You can’t flirt your way out of this one.”

He leaned in, voice low, eyes sparkling. “Did I flirt? I thought I was just congratulating my girlfriend on her win.”

“Christopher,” you hissed.

He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly soft. “Relax. We didn’t kiss on stage or anything.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to will your heart rate into submission.

He nudged your arm gently. “Hey,” he said, softer now. “You okay?”

You looked up at him, and for just a second, the frustration faltered. Underneath all the chaos, all the tension, there was still that stupid warmth he always gave you—like no matter what the world threw at you, he’d be there.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

Chan exhaled, long and slow. Then, without another word, he reached for your hand and laced his fingers through yours.

The gesture was quiet. Intentional.

Comforting.

And that’s when it happened.

“Y/N AND BANG CHAN?!” your leader screamed from the other end of the hallway, practically throwing herself out of the dressing room. “I knew it!”

You closed your eyes. “We’re dead.”

Chan grinned, squeezing your hand. “Nah. We’re just getting started.”

It didn’t take long.

By the time you were back in your dressing room, the clip had gone viral. Twitter was flooded with theories, fancams, and unedited screenshots. Dispatch was probably sharpening their lenses. Your manager was hyperventilating in the corner.

And you? You were sitting on the makeup counter, still holding Chan’s jacket like it could shield you from the world.

Your members kept stealing glances. Some looked amused. Others looked like they were trying to figure out how to kill him without leaving evidence.

“You have to talk to him,” your leader said finally, arms crossed. “Like… really talk. This can’t just blow over.”

You nodded, already slipping off the counter. “Yeah. I know.”

Chan was waiting near the staff hallway, bouncing slightly on his heels like he wasn’t the reason half the fandom had gone into cardiac arrest.

The moment he saw you, he straightened. “Come with me.”

You didn’t argue.

He led you to one of the quieter stairwells, tucked between two storage areas. It was empty, dimly lit, and blessedly silent.

He stopped, turned to face you, and the light teasing expression on his face faded into something raw.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“I should’ve been more careful,” he continued. “You didn’t sign up for this kind of reveal. I got caught up in the moment, and I didn’t think about what it might cost you.”

Your breath hitched. Because… he meant it. All of it.

You stepped closer. “I’m scared,” you admitted. “Not because I don’t care. But because I do. So much it makes me stupid.”

Chan smiled faintly. “We’re already stupid. May as well be in love too.”

You let out a choked laugh and finally—finally—wrapped your arms around his neck. He held you tight, no cameras this time. No pretense.

Just you and him.

It took less than a week for the internet to go wild.

#YNNIECHAN trended. Memes were made. Your agency made a statement, carefully vague but not denying anything.

And through it all, Chan didn’t let go of your hand.

Not in the car. Not in the practice rooms. Not even when fans screamed both your names during the encore stage.

When one reporter finally got brave enough to ask during an interview, Chan just grinned.

“She's someone I care about a lot,” he said simply. “And I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

Your group teased you relentlessly afterward, but it didn’t matter. You’d spent so long hiding, guarding your heart like it was breakable glass.

Now it felt steady.

Held.

Loved.

And when Chan kissed your temple backstage that night, whispering, “Still not flirting, by the way,” you rolled your eyes and kissed him back.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the fancams.”

[astronomodome]

I think it’s kind of crazy how Skizz’s arc in the life series is so integrally defined by his being a loyal soldier of the Red Army in third life, a position in which he felt comfortable and confident in his value to the server. The archetype he sees as the ideal team, one that not only protects each other but works for the wellbeing of the server, that template that he follows is the Red Army. Every season since, he falls into a leadership role whether he intends to or not, and every time he tries to recreate that formula with the team he leads. And here’s the thing: it never works.

In Last Life, team BEST’s first objective is to not only secure the enchanting table, but to make it free to use for everyone. Their goal here is to become the “heroes of the server” through this, and Skizz openly says that. However, any victories they achieve are plagued by the fact that… well… there never really was a team BEST. There’s a team BE and a team ST and they work together in theory, but as soon as there’s cracks in the foundation- a boogeyman here, an accidental death there, it falls apart (never all the way while Skizz is alive, but still). Skizz dies a lonely failure of a red life, wearing the initials of his team on his head and haunting them after he dies.

In Limited Life, he gets a chance to try again. Bdubs was the most obvious point of failure for BEST, so why not replace him with sweet and reliable Impulse? And yes, as a group, TIES works much better. Unfortunately, this season doesn’t go well for Skizz, and he’s in the weeds so to speak pretty much the whole time. But one of their crowning achievements- blowing up Bread Bridge- is rationalized by Skizz to his team as a heroic and charitable act. Another set of heroes. But not the strongest players out there. Skizz dies to keep it going just a little longer.

In Secret Life, he has the Heart Foundation, which differs a lot from what Skizz claimed it to be. On paper it’s three people, but in practice it’s just him and Tango (I love BigB but he really was not the most engaged with the group here). On paper Tango’s the leader, but Skizz can’t really keep from taking charge. Again, we get a charitable motive: using the heart-giving system for good (and profit, of course). And Skizz even has plans for when it goes south: they turn the heart’s smile upside-down and start killing. But even this plan fails; as in Last Life, people take advantage of the team’s kindness, and then the heart itself burns down before they get a chance to change it. Skizz dies trying and failing to right this wrong, even by proxy.

What makes this so so interesting is how formulaic it is. I don’t even mean that in a bad way. It’s fascinating how Skizz always, always falls into this pattern. Icarus reaches for the sun and, for his hubris, falls the same way every time. And Tango is there

[arminsumi]

it's the hair.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: lol this is just a dum fluff drabble i wrote instead of studying

SUMMARY — your childhood friend and classmate satoru positively kills you with his new haircut. but he misunderstands your reactions and behaviors, thinking he did something wrong.

WARNINGS — lowercase used, not proofread, misunderstandings between u n gojo, angst if you squint ??

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1.3k

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you've been eyeing out gojo all day. he's not sure what to make of your expression — it's something mixed between comical worry and genuine distress.

"what? what is it?" he keeps asking you each time you give him the side eye look-over. "do i have something on my face?"

"no. it's nothing." you reply curtly.

he squints skeptically at you.

from class to class, he ponders alongside suguru. did he say something? were you mad at him? was it because he stole your soda from the vending machine yesterday? but he always does that, so why would you be mad now? maybe you were just not feeling well? did you not sleep well?

and suguru's ears flooded with all these theories.

"did i say something to y/n? she's acting strange today."

his best friend stifles a smirk. "dunno, did you?"

"i think she's mad at me. was it because i stole her soda? but y'know it's not my fault we like the same soda! and i promised to buy one for her next time!"

suguru now lowers his head into his arms, resting on the desk, trying so hard to keep his laughter in.

"maybe it's the weather — probably the flu — yeah, definitely the flu. i'll go get something for y/n at the store, d'you need anything, suguru? what! what are you laughing at!"

"nothing, nothing. i don't need anything from the store, thanks — unless maybe something spicy that catches your eye. 'better run quick, store's gonna close soon."

satoru furrows his brows in confusion, and eventually his entire expression becomes serious, like an old philosopher in deep thought about the universe. but it's not the abyssal void beyond the stratosphere that's in his thoughts, no, it's you — you're pervading his entire mind as he walks across the roads of tokyo, to the station, and boards the train.

holding onto the handles as it shudders and sways, shoulders taught as they always are when he's in thought. were you really sick? what if he did something bad? maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just overthinking it. maybe it didn't even involve him. did it have to do with suguru? or perhaps you were upset about something in the past, something irrational and long-forgotten, like the fact that he didn't attend your 7th birthday party. it's not like he had a choice, his parents barely allowed him to visit your side because they didn't want their prodigy son hanging out with...

he texts you.

satoru — are u home yet

he stares and waits for you to come online, then watches as those three dots move up and down and you start typing.

you — no why

satoru — where are u

you — bridge

satoru — what are u doing

you — lol so many questions

you — the sunset looks rlly good today i'm taking pics

satoru — wtf without me??

you — lol sorry didn't think u wanted to waste ur time watching the sunset

satoru — see u there

he's just boarding off the train, coming through its doors, when he texts you that. thank the benefit of his long legs for speeding to the store in time before it closes. he picks up your favorite.

when you see him come into view, you're waiting with your arms draped around the railing of the bridge.

"trying out for the track team?" you laugh, as he practically runs up to you. "did you run this whole way?"

he's catching his breath, clutching a plastic bag of goodies.

"are you sick?" he asks.

"what? no?"

"i thought you might have the flu." he's asking with genuine concern, it's bizarre. he usually doesn't talk like this unless he knows he's in trouble with you, or if something's really wrong.

"i'm fine." you blink, "i've just been watching the sunset. you missed the best part."

"i didn't know you enjoyed sunsets."

"why didn't you invite me!" he groans, coming over to assume an oddly attractive position by the railing. he slacks against the metal, leaning his weight on it. he lets the plastic bag with yours and suguru's favorites in it thud to the ground.

the cityscape is so pretty, and yet he's still prettier, you think.

"i don't care for them." he admits, "but of course i'll enjoy a sunset if you're watching it with me."

you look at him. he's not even facing the sunset. was something on his mind? you can hardly theorize, because you're giving him that peculiar look again.

he catches you looking at him, "what!"

"what?"

"did i do something wrong?" his breath is stable now, "are you mad at me?"

"no? why d'you think I'm mad at you?" you ask confusedly.

"because you keep lookin' at me like that!"

"like what?" you feel your cheeks warm up.

"like something about me is offensive to your eyes."

you break out laughing. "no! i'm not — it's not — you misunderstand me, like always..."

"what the hell?" he whines, "is it nothing serious? i've been worried. you've been looking at me weird since sunday and — oh... OH MY GOD."

you giggle, chin pressing on the railing. "did you just realize something?"

"is it the haircut!"

"it's the haircut."

"why do you not like it!" he fumes, that familiar satoru playfulness coming back now as he was put at ease knowing he didn't upset you. "you know it cost a lot, 'n i styled it and everything."

"i didn't say i didn't like it! it's the opposite."

"so you like it? then why do you look at me like you're having an internal crisis?"

you groan, "because you're giving me a crisis! you know i'm weak for undercuts!"

he shuts up. his heart races a bit. oh, so he misunderstood you not a little bit but entirely. oops. now why didn't he realize that his haircut would have this effect on you? when he subconsciously went to get an undercut because you mentioned you liked them in passing one school afternoon.

"oh."

"you're so dumb, satoru."

"well sorry!" he rolls his eyes.

now there's silence. he stops leaning his back against the railing and turns to face the final stages of the sunset. the streetlights come on, one is gleaming not too far from you two. it casts a dreamy light on his hair.

it really is a good cut, and it's styled in such a way that... well it gets your daydreams going, let's just say that. and here gojo was worried when he came out of the salon, thinking it was too short now. truthfully, it was a bit short compared to his other haircuts, but he wore it well. of course he did.

"so you like it?"

"i love it."

"well if you love it, then show it love." he teases.

"what on earth d'you mean?" you laugh shortly.

"fluff my hair." he says.

"no way, lice-boy."

"hey!" he pinches your cheek in retaliation, and your reaction endears him as much as it always has since you two were kids. "that was one time, i haven't ever had lice again."

he pouts. you look over. he is pouting. pouting. he's a nineteen year old boy pouting about not getting his hair fluffed by his childhood friend who he maybe sorta kinda has a crush on.

and then he encourages you. he leans his head on your shoulder. his hair tickles your cheek.

"damn. you're like an attention-starved cat." you joke.

he places your hand on his head himself. the brief warmth and glimpse at the size difference between his hand and your hand made him giddy.

you ruffle his hair lightly, and then he wears a satisfied smile. now early night has settled. it's quiet at the bridge except for the distant city sounds and lull of the highway.

"i was really worried that i did something wrong." he admits.

"i'm sorry."

he sighs, snuggling your shoulder. there's a nice silence between you and him.

then he breaks it.

"hey, i didn't say stop fluffing." his deep voice reverbs in your chest. he's playful and lively, but you can tell he's also tired from running all the way here.

"you're a menace." you tell him.

"but you like me, right?" it's more of an insecure question. he wants to hear you say it back, not as a playful joke.

"of course i do."

"good, good."

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[rassicas]

just wondering is the "Pearl breaking the reef" thing canon or was it just fan theory

canon

Minegishi: As for Pearl’s voice, if you listen carefully to the past recordings on Marina’s chat room, you'll catch a glimpse of how she destroys things without any ill will on her part. Sato: Incidentally, the reason why the bridge on The Reef is now a stone bridge is because of the power of Pearl’s voice. --Such a backstory! There was some information about Pearl’s voice in the Sunken Scrolls of Splatoon 2, wasn't there? Amano: That's right. Pearl’s singing voice could cause trouble, so she had a practice area in the middle of nowhere, and that's where she met Marina.

In the first trailers for Splatoon 2, the bridge was made of wood, rather than stone. so her destroying the bridge with her voice is the in-universe explanation.