#this could have been a 30 page dissertation

[cinamun]

I'm interested in the lore! I wasn't around for the beginning and darren is so fine. All of your sims look good. My dad was heavy into wutang and nas so is Darren based off like nyc street culture? My dad is 52 so I grew up listening to all that and some of the stuff you post about darren just reminds me of him and he's from queens. Sorry if you've answered this already but I do like the extras and stuff you post outside of the actual story. Nice touch cin

POV: Its 1994, and this kid comes up and asks you for a light for his blunt rolled with 2 phillies (in the bridge we call em oo-ops).

The short answer to Darren's character is, yes, he was a product of the streets of Queens. He ran with a crew (mostly drug dealing, fighting and an occassional shootout) from age 11 and, as was the case with his voice claim pictured here, he was "raised" in the most infamous housing projects of the time. As such, you can imagine the kind of wild shit he was a part of, the death, the violence, the shit burned into the back of his eyelids and that which kept him awake at night. His parents were largely absent so he spent most his time in and out of school or at the bodega with his crew trying to pick up girls or rapping.

[marigold-hills]

june 4: wildfire | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 626

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus says: “take me to bed.”

Remus say take me to bed and Sirius remembers a trip to France when he was a child, the summer air during a drought, sharp and heavy and dense enough to blanket him, and then, a week later, watching a wildfire ravage through the forest. This is the spark, Sirius thinks.

He was safe within the Manor’s wards, but the fire was a savage, hungry thing and it ate the horizon. Sirius was a wild child then, and he is wild still, and the desire to go outside and feel the burn on his skin hasn’t changed.

“I’ve finished my dissertation,” he admits, not ready for this golden moment between them to end and coming clean about the little omission is easier than facing new thoughts.

(Remus says that’s amazing, Sirius. He says good job, congratulations.)

“And I… um… tattoo.”

“You got a tattoo?” Remus reads into the jumbled words, frowns, “why didn’t you say? You’ve been going on about it all year.”

Sirius is wearing an oversized Queen T-shirt he likes to sleep in. The hem is loose. Makes it easy to lift up above his torso. Down the middle of his breastbone, exposing more than skin: the sign of the alchemical Great Wolf and below it seven intricate moons, waxing and waning.

“You… you didn’t say that’s what you were getting.”

Remus doesn’t blink, not once. Takes in the ink like reading a book – top to bottom, careful eyes. Reaches out to touch each symbol in turn, one by one, his fingers holding the same reverence Sirius has seen in him when handling ancient texts. They’re keeping his place, marking where he is on the page. For one mad moment Sirius wants the mark to be permanent.

“Why, Sirius?” Remus asks as if Sirius knew the answer. He doesn’t say Pads or Padfoot or “you great big mangy dog” as he does usually, he says Sirius and that’s how they both know it’s important.

And Sirius wants to answer – wants to give the right answer - but he can’t because he doesn’t know. Only knows this: he was there, with the money ready, and the man with the tattoo gun asked what will it be? and out of the window, out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the moon and said: this. This is what I want to touch me for the rest of my life, this is what I want to carve into my skin.

And while the ink was being needled into him, it quietened the need he has to bite and keep, to hurt.

And now, Remus’ careful fingers meld it together and satisfy the part of him which wants to be soft and gentle, sweet.

“Sirius?” Remus prods when he doesn’t answer. Splays his hand so that it lays flat across the tattoo, and has Moony always had hands this large? Has the rough edge of his fingers, from years of using a quill, always felt like that?

It must have because this is Moony – their Moony, his Moony - but it couldn’t because Sirius never once has been rendered quiet by a simple touch before. There have been so many over the years, in the Shack, after Quidditch, in the Lake, at nights filled with nightmares. Always the same hands, and yet.

Sirius let’s go of the hem of his shirt and grabs onto the hand on his chest, presses it closer into his skin like he could push it through to touch his heart (it’s beating now, so fast, so, so hard). He wants more and he wants to understand, and he’ll give into both the urges. For as long as Remus will let him.

Remus, eyes wide, lets him.

NOTES:

This is part 4! There will be 30. I suggest reading in order for the full experience but they also should work as standalone.

Don’t do this in the library. If you must, I suppose 2am is a good time.

I’ve changed Sirius’ tattoo from how it was in the movies. Originally the symbol he has on the very top is for amalgamation and here I went with antimony because it signifies the great wolf and I like the idea of that. The symbols are actually very similar looking. If you remember part one, this one goes back to the dissertation he’s writing.

not sure if I should add smut to this. Thoughts?

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[blazinghotfoggynights]

I am not spending one more second focusing on the possibility of storylines.

Will Buddie happen or won't it? Who knows? I'd love to see it, but I can enjoy the story if that subplot doesn't manifest.

Why am I just sitting back and letting the story unfold? I'll tell you.

I have a few theories. Are they accurate? You'll have to ask the producers and ABC.

1- No one who actually has any genuine, accurate information is going to say a word.

If you think these "slips" in interviews or the "accidental clues" on social media are anything other than intentional and rehearsed, I want to point out that those who have worked for large corporations know companies plan everything. Every word from every person who has genuine knowledge of a specific situation is composed, proofread, and approved by a special group.

The people who are going to be speaking about the situation are thoroughly and intensely coached.

There is also the matter of non-disclosure agreements. If you have seen one from a large corporation, you know why that coaching is imperative unless you want to be unemployed and possibly owe the company sums with five to eight zeroes at the end. No decimals.

2- Tim Minear is guaranteed at least one more FULL season to play puppeteer with our favorite characters. I even believe that a season 9 is pretty much a guarantee, unless the ratings suddenly plummet this season or early next season, but has not been officially announced.

Wouldn't it make more sense to keep everyone guessing so the ratings stay high?

It would even make sense to keep Buddie in his back pocket until the ratings begin to slip, then pull it out as a hail mary. He is literally in control of what could be the most talked about, wanted, and obsessed about ship in major network TV right now. Why play your most powerful card when you are more successful than you have ever been?

You wait until things are cooling off and play that card to get another season or two.

3- He is enjoying being free to experiment and explore.

Look at the storylines he threw at us in this abbreviated season because he is no longer on a network that we all know is a bastion of diversity, inclusion, and representation.🙄 There is a canon bi character who is not a minority or effeminate and discovered himself in his 30s. There is a canon gay character who is not a minority or effeminate and came out in his 30s. We've seen the trials that happen in marriages. There is also Eddie Diaz, who I am not trying to sum up in just one sentence. You know that man is a major mess and his actions since mid-season six, or earlier if you want to be really nitpicky and petty, could fuel a thousand-page dissertation on the effects of trauma, repression, and denial on the psyche.

He's playing around and it is paying off.

Would I like to see Buddie eventually? Of course. Do I think it will happen? Depends on the day. Do I think Tim Minear is playing chess and not checkers? Absolutely.

So, I am just going to go along for the ride. Like any fan, I'll speculate here and there, but looking for breadcrumbs and secret signs everywhere and in everything?

(I'm also kind of lazy.)

[renmackree]

For the prompt game - 126 for college!Stiles using Derek's insta DMs as a notes app

I was a Teenaged Mothman part 4 of ???? One day, one day this will be a fic.

Prompt me up!: Open

126. “we’re quite literally fugitives of the state.” - “so no pizza?”

Stiles was laying on his bed with the packet of paper in front of him. He flipped another page open and began circling words in bright red ink and adding little notations on the edge of the paper. He glanced up at the clock, sighing even deeper as he tapped the pen against his lips. It was nearly midnight and he still hadn't heard anything from Lydia on if she was coming home tonight. His roommate had found a new 'fresh face' at the bar and was trying them out before seeing if they were worthy of the great Lydia Martin ride. He had been thinking about just texting her, but the last time that happened the partner she was with had suggested a threesome.

Stiles loves Lydia to death, but no. He was far more interested in someone else right now anyways.

"We’re quite literally fugitives of the state," Steven Dex said on the TV, Stiles' eyes moving to the screen. He had put on one of the Mothman movies (specifically I Was a Teenaged Mothman Too) and couldn't help but smile as Derek Hale's character came on screen.

"So no pizza?" Erik Weizer asked, Stiles mouthing the line along with the actor. 

Stiles tossed the Dissertation from one of their potential candidates to the side and grabbed his phone. While he might not be able to text Lydia, there was someone else he could try. He wasn't sure if the man would even answer, they had only just began texting in some strange turn of events.

SS: Why did Erik Weizer always want Pizza? Did the writers just say hey, that's your one trait? Like pizza and get slammed into walls by Steven?

Stiles went back to watching the scene where Steven and Erik were tracking down where the Alpha moth had gone. It was one of the most quoted Sterik scenes in the franchise and had actually been the part where Stiles himself had started shipping them. He had actually been a little jealous of Jared Ormly who played Erik. To be that close to Derek Hale at ALL times? Yeah, that was the dream.

He heard his phone go off, checking to see if it was Lydia. Stiles jumped up in surprise, seeing Derek had texted him back. He rolled over his bed clutching his phone and kicking his feet in the most awkward and foolish way he possibly could before reading through the texts.

DH: Jared actually said a lot of those lines off the cuff. Most of our lines were improv between the two of us. DH: What movie are you watching?

Stiles grinned, typing back as fast as his fingers could go.

SS: I was a Teenaged Mothman too. 

DH: Gross, that's the one where they used Jello instead of fake blood.

SS: I couldn't eat my dad's Jello salad for a year without thinking about it. He stopped making it because I laughed too hard every time he brought it out. I kept thinking about that stupid line.

DH: "His weakness is the light, quick shine it on his blood?"

SS: That's the one. Do you remember every movie's script?

The phone started to ring, Stiles sitting up and holding it out in front of him with an almost confused look. "Oh my god, who the hell calls in the year 2023?!" The name read "Derek Hale FOR REAL" and Stiles cleared his throat as he answered the phone.

"H-hey, what's up?"

"What was the last line?" Derek's voice was soft, almost like he was trying to keep quiet while talking to Stiles. 

"Uh, Erik just said 'I hope you know what you're doing.'" Stiles looked up to the movie, watching as the scene shifted to a close up of Derek's character contemplating.

"I don't think any of us know what we're doing." Derek was saying the line in almost perfect sync with the TV, Stiles hearing the young 19 year old and the now 30 something murmuring in his ear. "We're teenagers, Erik. We shouldn't have to deal with this. But we will. And come morning, there will only be one Mothman left. It's him or me, and right now, I'm going to do my damndest to make sure it's me."

Stiles whistled low, letting out a chuckle. "Bravo. You're truly a thespian. Such a riveting line."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic, but thank you." Derek chuckled. God it was like bells ringing on a clear day and stars falling from the sky. Stiles was a fucking mess when it came to Derek Hale. "It's not the first time you've said that."

"I'll tell you you're a good actor every day. Not many people stick through a series like this and come back from the grave with a new boyfriend."

"I made them write that in to my contract. If Steven Dex is resurrected, he has to end up with Erik." Derek's phone rustled a little and he sighed. "Just like I made them remove my social media restrictions so I could answer you."

Stiles swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he licked his lips. "You.., did what?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Derek sighed. "I couldn't respond to you because my original contract I signed when I was 15 said I couldn't respond to private DMs on social media. Laura thought it was a good idea since underage and in Hollywood, but I really was glad you found me again. I didn't think you would remember."

Again. Found him AGAIN? Stiles wracked his brain, trying to remember when in his whole life he had met Derek Hale. Wait. He met Derek Hale?? Derek Hale knew who he was the whole time???

"Uh, yeah! Of course. I was wondering why you weren't responding but. Glad we could talk now."

"I have to go, we have a press conference tomorrow. Hope you finish your paper."

"Yep! Have a good night, thanks for the call!" Stiles hung up the phone and stared at it, looking over the screen. "When the fuck did I meet Derek Hale?"

[greypetrel]

12, 16, and 18 for the Choose Violence ask game c:< (tis an evil smiley)

Here, take a torch to point down your chin as well, let's do an evil laughter together! C:<

With a change of program: we'll have 8 instead of 12 as per request!

Tis the ask game

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

*cracks knuckles*

Merrill is all but unsure of herself and weak. All she doubts about herself is how unprepared she is in an environment that is new. after her personal quest... She never doubts her ideals and her actions. She just regrets that it was all taken so badly by the clan and that they didn't listen. She doesn't regret one single choice she made. She doubts, it, yes! She doubt she should have stayed with the clan, in a world that's more familiar even if she wasn't happy! But repairing the mirror? Communicating with the demon? No. She doesn't blame herself because she's sure in the fact that "EVERY knowledge must be preserved, even the dangerous one" that's what she moves for. That is never put in doubt.

Morrigan never betrayed anyone. Solas betrays you, meaning that he used you, even regretting it, even if he didn't want to, and you couldn't do anything about it because you didn't know it was him all along until the very end. Morrigan asks you if you want to go on with the Ritual. You can say no and she will protest because she doesn't want you to die... But will not insist and force you to do it. It's not a betrayal.

The Arbor Wilds had some great potential. The quest was written badly and by all means there should have been more dialogue options for a Lavellan. Morrigan should have explained her reasons better, and it would have been possible to make her drink from the Well in a way that could be acceptable for a Lavellan. It was poorly done, but the ideas weren't half bad. Luckily there's fanfiction to correct everything.

Sera is creepy and nasty. No, not at all. She is abrasive and will restore to violence? Sure. But if you take your time to actually listen to her and take her seriously and don't diminish her, she's one of the most caring characters in game. (it's easy to miss... Just as it's easy to miss Vivienne being caring.)

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

I hate the star-crossed lovers theme with a passion if it's not done exceptionally well and with strong motivations.

I have a 30 pages dissertation ready to be exposed with a passion every time someone tells me the name of the play, against Romeo and Juliet.

I hate the Romeo and Juliet trope, always had, the only one I like is West Side Story, and because Maria doesn't die in the end (spoiler?).

I never could bear with it, the moment you give me a "We love each other but we cannot be together :<" my eyes roll in the back of my head.

I also stand VERY little the trope that love is the ultimate saving grace, it will be the cure for everything, going from loneliness to mental illnesses and child trauma. ... I wish it could be so, but from a person with child trauma that lead to mental illness, I can positively tell you that it can't. It's a help, sure! But if it's the only thing keeping your character tethered to reality... Yeah, it's not the story for me and I will read that love story as mildly abusive.

(I wouldn't want to be the only reason to live of the person I like, nobody should.) (Mo you managed this greatly in Wander, let me tell you.)

I also personally struggle, characterization-wise, with darker Cullens (...That man FUMBLES, come on let him be awkward).

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

Him. Give me more Felix content. More Felix for everyone. Bring more Felix in your life.

I can't wait to see Tevinter if you couldn't tell.

Also how Dorian fucking invented time travelling and... THE APPLICATION. Maybe that spell could be modified.

Also how if your Inky is a Knight Enchanter and in a good relationship to Dorian... They worked together in developing the Haste and Disruption Field. They got two twin spells. Aisling and Dorian totally did, the twinsies.

[silversiren1101]

"The Practical and Wartime Applicable Benefits of Holding Hands"! Is this a dissertation written by Regill? 😀

So I had completely forgotten, this is my old MASTER file of every random snippet and drabble that came to mind! It is so long and has so many different ideas in it, oh my god. And much of it is outdated in terms of lore!! I see I still have the plot of Mino leaving Egorian because she loves him rather than leaving because of the Thrune overplot, and her being murdered by her paralictor for being so good at her job she was coming for his title!

This is 30 full pages of various starts and random moments. Wow.

The title I picked because it was funny to me, and I still think it is! It was in relation to where Regill holds her hand when he pulls the shield shrapnel from her side after being attacked by what is now the woundwound but was just a balor originally.

I'm going to provide a snippet of something I had totally forgotten I'd written and still kind of slaps: This is the moment where Mino is forced to kill Camellia in self-defense, and Anevia is unable to get her to respond or move as she shuts down in the horror of what she'd been forced to do (and is wounded from a rapier stuck to her gut).

“Can you not see that I am in the middle of something?” His tone bites like iron. He usually reserves cordially politeness, cool and impassive, in spades, but this time Regill Derenge feels the courtesy unnecessary. He is, indeed, in the middle of something, hooked hammer in his hands, oversized (even for a race of average size) training dummy to his side. A rather dexterous application of force, using his admittedly unusual weapon as a lever, to handily remove the smaller arms off the dummy, standing in as counterparts for those of a glabrezu, had impressed the onlookers he was demonstrating the technique for— a group of some of the more promising armigers among his subordinates. The ones that could very well live long enough against such a demon to actually put the knowledge to use.

The crusader scout looks shakily to the ground and snaps another salute, forgetting, in his obvious nervousness, that he had already paid diligence to the Paralictor’s rank. “Sir, yes… it’s…”

“Out with it.” The young man, clearly not more than some twenty summers, jumps at the order. He goes to say something, whatever message his superior sent him along with, most likely Anevia Tirabade, but quickly bites his lips shut. Nervous eyes look around at present company.

Regill’s own eyes narrow, those owl-like yellow irises turning to knife-slits as he looks over the quivering scout and realizes several things at once. One, that this message is something meant only for his ears alone; two, such clandestine messages are usually passed along by Anevia as coded letters matched to the recipient’s cipher; and three, the combination of the lack of a letter, indicating a lack of time, and it not being Anevia herself coming to him, indicating she personally is in the midst of it, means that something both immediately pressing and most likely alarming severe has occurred.

Which very well put Regill at an impasse. He could force the scout to deliver the intended message, in the way only a veteran Hellknight of his experience can as a reminder of the discipline and resolve needed to keep this pitiful excuse for a crusade running as it should. Doing so, however, could also jeopardize whatever situation has occurred to warrant his immediate summons.

“It’s…” the scout swallows, nervously, and the haunted expression in his eyes allows a new feeling to creep in besides annoyance. A cool anxiety tells him already that something has happened regarding the Commander, something that Anevia felt that only he could help with. 

“Anevia has requested your immediate presence regarding…ah… the uh… she… she and the Commander need your assistance. Immediately.”

His hammer gracefully makes a full arc as he swings it up into the holster at his back, the familiar weight of comfortable as it settles. A single sign to the group of armigers elicits from each a coordinated salute as he turns to face them. “This lesson will resume another day. In the meantime I encourage you to find copies of Garvhost’s treatise on slaying demons. I will demonstrate in action some of the more valuable techniques in those pages at a future date. Until then, you are dismissed.” 

It’s not until he turns away, full attention devoted to the pitiable scout, that the armigers break rank and move to fulfill their individual duties, cleaning the quadrant of the training yard he had sequestered away for what should have been an entire afternoon. Instead of more ire however, the Paralictor gives him a sharp nod and bids he lead the way post-haste.

The scout sets a quick pace, mannerisms looking like he wants to break into a dead sprint or, at the least, a brisk jog, but the way his head swivels about, eyes looking most everywhere but forward, tells Regill both that they are to keep a low profile to avoid alarm, and also that they would be heading through Drezen proper, rather than into the main keep as he has assumed. A great many questions flit through his head as he follows, careful to keep an indifferent expression on his features despite the worry gnawing within. Something has happened regarding Commander Arangier, something that he happens to be the best choice for in assisting with. Was it something regarding their shared history? He did know her better than anyone else in this crusade, the only person he has ever once graced with the title of ‘friend’. Regardless, it certainly isn’t something requiring solely a gentle touch or comforting words, otherwise it would be the lackadaisical paladin, Seelah, or the Shelynite, master at flowery words and little action as he was, being led at such an awkward pace through Drezen’s streets. 

[lily-vs-uni]

long story, long problem.

I have always had this zeal of aesthetic study, real study, but after joining tumblr recently it has turned to fire. your blog is my favorite of all studyblrs here and i SO want to study like this. Please guide me where to start? These annotations, notes, texts and everything. As my new study year is just starting, so it would be the best time to start. Please?

hey! firstly, thank you, that's very kind! I'll do my best -

the mindset is so much of the battle that I reckon you're a long way there just by having the fire for it. I also don't know what stage of education you're at, and it's fair to say that some of my habits were built over an absolute lifetime of figuring out how my brain works best and how to sustain my energy and interest for a subject for as long as possible, so I think there's definitely a bit of trial and error to all of this - but it's nice to be able to embrace that, and try all sorts of different systems of note taking/different environments to work in/different working patterns before you figure yourself out completely.

I'll start with 'stuff', quote unquote. I strongly believe in the idea that you don't need any of the specialist equipment to get going, but I do have a few essentials that I absolutely couldn't do it without (again, cultivated over years of practise). after I finish my dissertation I'm thinking of making a bit of a 'shopping list' of the things I really love, but until then, I will say that I am a huge fan of:

a laptop stand/external keyboard/external mouse setup (the mouse is absolutely non-negotiable for me these days!) - altogether I reckon you could get these for less than £30 and they're just so good for posture, for your wrists, and, in the case of a laptop stand, for creating a little more space on your desk. if I was rich I would be a desktop person, I think.

a book stand to keep my texts open - again, borderline essential for a literature degree, because flipping between pages to try and copy out a quote is a nightmare

a set of great pencils (and a sharpener!) - I don't have the link for mine off the top of my head, but I have definitely linked them on my blog a couple of times. all my favourite stationery is from a site called Present and Correct

your perfect weekly/daily planner. I've said it a million times, for me it's the moleskine weekly planner in XL, soft cover, black - it's the perfect setup for dates/appointments/deadlines and notes/reading lists. I think I'm now on my 5th one.

I also own a clipboard, in case I need to annotate something and don't have a great surface to do it on, which has been surprisingly helpful in the past

and in the old exam days I used to keep a stack of A3 paper for mindmaps and posters, gives more space to stretch out on the page

for motivation, I recommend the following

a great classical music playlist - the older I get, the more I really believe that you can't concentrate properly with lyrics or words. This is mine, named for the latin poet that I used to find it hardest to translate - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/45dPd6VqZIKUeb3mMOXDFo?si=57f20604516e4ceb

white noise!!! if I don't feel like I'm on an airplane, I'm not gonna get anything done. this is my favourite (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co7KgV2edvI&t=4616s) but I also like brown noise and celestial noise. I play this, and my playlist, at the same time through my big headphones, and then there's no chance I'm gonna hear anything to be distracted by (but be a little careful about this, I've got no proof that it hasn't damaged my hearing...)

figure out your working rhythm. somewhere down the line I learnt that I concentrate best at 6am - it's a bummer, but I'll get two or three times as much done between 6 and 10, and that just is what it is. For you it might be after lunch, or early evening, or even not until 9pm, but when you really have to work on something, try and do it at the time when your brain is all fired up

and the obvious - a ton of cups of tea, stay hydrated. I like to keep a bar of dark chocolate nearby for a little boost when I'm flagging in the middle of the afternoon

get distance from long projects - either by putting them aside for an entire day when you need to step back and get perspective on them - or by having a nap, if your time is limited! works wonders

in the exam days, I swore by quizlet

for the 'aesthetic'

I almost never make handwritten notes anymore (for environmental reasons, for decluttering (space and mind) reasons, and because you can 'ctrl-f' a word document and you can't do that to a notebook), but when I did I had a colour scheme (I think loosely it was yellow for essential information and quotes, green for definitions, red for working things out (and for annotating the grammar in a latin text), blue for notes to self/cross referencing information). I kept it relatively minimal, and I made it stick - I did all of my latin translations in green for the whole of university because it was the colour I used to understand things

in the same vein, I used to have a look through the studyblr/study notes tag on here and see what other people were doing with their notes. I think you can overdo it and get bogged down with drawings and washi tape, but I do think that a clear set of titles and subheadings can actually really help instead of get in the way (also! put the date on all of your work! keep your learning in chronological order, it's crazy helpful for revision)

obvious - but invest in a hole punch if you use ring binder folders

a few final points, maybe specific to english/classics/humanities -

I always buy my primary texts wherever I can, which is a big privilege (always happy to get them second hand though), but basically if I can't annotate the page I am really going to struggle to process the information, and it's the one instance where I find that word processing really slows down my train of thought

read around! read widely! chase up allusions! make notes on every single read - make your own paratext out of developing your understanding. write down all of your thoughts. you never know where your train of thought is going to take you

embrace all of it. don't write something off because it's too hard - or too easy - to understand, because it references something you've never read, because it's not normally your kind of thing. all of your initial thoughts and reactions to a text are just as valuable as the ones you go on to have, and if something is trying to be inaccessible to you, then there is great value in understanding why it doesn't want to be easy to understand. you always know enough to start thinking about something, chipping away at its layers slowly - and then you learn everything else you need along the way.

there's a lot going on here - I hope some of it is helpful! when my diss is over I will consolidate some of these thoughts into more helpful posts, but until then, good luck with the beginning of the academic year - and let me know how it goes! xxx

[cowboylikedean]

Yesterday, I had my typical registration meeting with my academic advisor and we talked about my frustrations with grad school and I said that it's annoying because so much of it lately feels like when you're in a lower-level math class and the teacher asks you to show your work and you can't skip steps and in order to answer the questions and do the work, I have to dumb myself down but also do a tremendous amount of work and make the dumbed down elementary explanation of something look and sound fancy and professional which is just exhausting. I am not be challenged and I am not learning anything.

She said that it's because this is an "intro level counseling program" and I'm like "it's a grad program that prepares us to be literal CLINICIANS like???" and she said that it's a master's program so you can't expect it to go super in depth and not everyone has a social sciences background and I'm like "um, but they should. you could require social sciences background to apply for this program and then make it more complicated" and she said "yes, but we don't" and then she said something I've heard so many times:

"You'll be happier in your PhD program."

She explained that there's no way to create a textbook complex enough for a PhD program and that the readings in doctoral classes are all peer reviewed research. Journal articles, dissertations, and books written by researches, but not intended as textbooks.

I had a teacher who taught like that in community college. She expected us to to rise to her higher academic level and teach us the intro-level basics of the field of sociology by showing us the science behind it. We didn't study social-interactionism by someone writing about what social-interactionism is... we studied it by reaching Michael Schwalbe's research and applications directly... which lead to a higher understanding of the theory. Why read 15 pages of a tertiary source and write an essay and response that summarizes what you've been summarized while pretending you came up with all of those connections on your own, when you could read 30 pages of the primary source and then your essays and responses become the tertiary source? Which is grad school expectations and which is intro-level community college?

I was so lucky to have her and I hate in my whole soul that I'm expected to settle for a lower quality education because my teachers want to pad their numbers more than actually teach. Fucking bullshit.

[mrdarcysdadbod]

hi, I wonder if you could help me. I'm trying to find a good biography of Jane Austen to use as source for my dissertation (my d is about an essay about P&P, I need bio info just for the introduction). My professor is unwilling to help any longer and wants me do look by myself. I've found Tomalin and Faye. The first sounds like it's novel-like, and I just need facts. Faye (Jane Austen: A Family Record 2004) seems ideal, well-researched and everything, but it's 400 pages and doesn't exist online for free, it's about 30 in my country but money is tight rn and I'm reluctant to get it. Do you have any recs for shorter JA bios that are purely academical and not mixed with fiction? maybe even a good textbook or anthology would do, I just need to do a brief intro on her life and about P&P. If you don't, would you reccomend Tomalin or Faye?

If you can't help that's okay, I'm just desperate lol.

Have a nice day, love your blog

I mean I'm not much of a scholar on Austen herself so I haven't actually read any biographies of her. I'm sure people who have will speak up in the replies but also, I mean. If all you need is a short bio why not just check the references on her Wikipedia page or sth? I'm sure you'll be able to find something at least passably reputable there. I will say I've read some of Deirdre Le Faye's work (i don't remember if it was that specific book but it might've been) and it was pretty good, but I'm not sure I've heard of Tomalin.

[sunlight-moonrise]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much. 

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog​ and @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt​ for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins​.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness. 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name. 

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major,  I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit. 

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top. 

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.  

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.  

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag. 

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him. 

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears. 

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door. 

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed. 

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face. 

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us. 

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony. 

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead. 

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?” 

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus. 

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door. 

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work. 

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do? 

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped. 

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D? 

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel. 

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist. 

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions. 

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.  

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.  

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me. 

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man. 

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.” 

Fine, have it your way, Sir. 

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion. 

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.  

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point. 

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?” 

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy. 

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner. 

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added. 

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

[whentherewerebicycles]

hello anon!! okay, this is going to be a very long post, so buckle up. standard caveat: since i don’t know the specifics of your topic or discipline or situation, some of this will hopefully be relevant and some of it might not, so just grab what works for you and leave the rest! and if you have more specific questions that this general overview doesn’t touch on, feel free to send those in.

it sounds like you have a few different questions here:

How do I find and articulate my research question?

How do I effectively take notes on my background reading in the early stages, when I’m not sure yet what my argument is going to be?

How do I organize a long research project/paper? How do I conceptualize something that has so many moving parts & happens to be a genre (a thesis) that I’ve never written before?

How do I write something that long? 

also I am not sure if by “diss” you mean a senior thesis, master’s thesis, or a doctoral dissertation, as I know US and non-US universities use different terminology! so I will kinda just respond to this as A Very Lengthy Research Paper.

my response here will focus mostly on that first question (how to find/articulate a research question), with some thoughts at the end about notetaking in the early stages of a big research project. I’m going to lay out a method I just used with my own students to help them articulate questions & generate possible lines of inquiry to follow. I have been calling it the ‘research tier’ activity/system but it’s a pretty basic way of mapping out possible directions for a project. I use some version of this for every big project I undertake - whether it’s academic work, planning a course syllabus, or writing fic.

I want to emphasize, before I start, that the “tier” map you construct is a LIVING document, not a set-in-stone plan that has to be finished before you begin. the goal is to get past the anxiety of the blank page by generating tons and tons of ideas and questions related to your central topic -- so that if you hit a dead end, you can trace your way back and follow a different line of inquiry. when i am working on a research project, i am continually updating this planning document (i’ll say more about that at the end, once you have a sense of what the tiers look like).

Those questions are geared towards my students, who are working more in social science-y disciplines and/or on projects that have clear connections to specific communities. If you are writing a more traditional humanities discipline, here are some other examples:

I’m interested in...

the romance novel as a genre

Virginia Woolf’s writings on nature/the environment

the cultural reception and impact of the TV show Will & Grace

what queer social life looked like in 1920s New York

play and playfulness in the college classroom (my current research project, which I’ll use as an example)

once you have some idea of your focus, you can begin generating questions related to that focus. “Tier 2″ begins to get slightly more specific, though you are still very much in “big picture” mode. here’s some sentence stems I give my students to help them generate tier 2 questions:

my students are doing research projects that are ideally supposed to develop out of their preexisting community involvements or commitments, so i give them this additional advice:

[note: if your thesis topic is in a social science-y discipline (or a humanities discipline that leans closer to the social sciences), you can probably use some of those ideas or prompts. if your thesis topic is more of a purely academic humanities-type topic (for instance, a literary studies thesis about a specific novel), not all of those will apply perfectly, but some will hopefully be useful still!]

here’s an example, again using my playfulness project. I’ll list the question and then below it, in italics, I’ll explain what ‘stirred up’ that question for me.

T2: What are some core preoccupations or big-picture questions I want to explore? What are some things I’ve noticed that I want to understand?

Core Question 1: Why are college classrooms so serious? Why is there so little playfulness in most college teaching? Why so little laughter, movement, fun?

Observing my friend’s kindergarten classes made me realize how much elementary educators rely on bright colors, movement, singing, playing imaginative games together, etc. to engage young learners’ imaginations, minds, and bodies. Why do we value that so much in elementary education, but stop considering it important in college classes? Do learners “age out” of a need for highly interactive, engaging learning? I suspect no... so that’s a hunch I can begin to follow. 

Observing other college courses (and drawing on my own experience as an undergrad and grad student) made me realize how much educators rely on the same standard methods of teaching (lecturing with a discussion section; a version of Socratic seminar discussion that is primarily led by the professor). To me, these methods are antithetical to playfulness and tend to quash people’s ability or desire to playfully experiment, try things out, risk failure, etc. I wonder if the actual methods we use to teach content or to structure our classes are producing ‘serious’ classes, whether or not we personally as instructors want that to happen. That’s another hunch I could follow...

I’m thinking of a possible connection here to my past research on the origins of English literature as a discipline (in 1920s-30s England). One of the things that scholars often emphasize is how hard faculty had to work to transform English into a serious, rigorous, ‘legitimate’ discipline, akin to the hard sciences. That’s something that I think we still see today in the way people anxiously defend the value of a humanities education. I’m curious about whether the need to justify our existence as a discipline/field of study influences our methods of teaching college students. Do we banish playfulness from the classroom because it threatens that image of the humanities as a serious, rigorous discipline? That’s yet another hunch I could follow... 

Core Question 2: I have a hunch that people learn better in playful environments. Is that true -- and if so, why? What is it about playfulness that enhances learning?

I’m a lifelong fangirl, and fandoms are creative environments where people are continually engaged in acts of imaginative play. I’ve observed and have experienced firsthand how these playful environments seem to encourage people to try new things, take creative risks, learn new skills even if they’re afraid they’ll be ‘bad’ at them, and commit huge amounts of time, energy, and passion to long-term creative projects that don’t make any money or ‘earn’ them a grade. I’m curious about how we might adapt the playful, passionate energy of fan spaces to college teaching.

In my own classrooms, I’ve noticed that students get so much more into the activity (and seem to internalize the content more deeply) when I frame it as an imaginative exercise, a roleplaying activity, or a game of some kind. Teaching the same content in a way that encourages playfulness seems to produce deeper engagement (and deeper learning?) than using the traditional methods of ‘serious’ teaching.

Core Question 3: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? Could it help build a sense of community in the classroom and strengthen students’ sense of belonging? This question feels especially urgent to me given the epidemic of self-reported loneliness, anxiety, and depression on college campuses. 

*

You can have lots more than 3 core questions/preoccupations! In fact, the more ideas you can generate at this stage the better. The idea isn’t to hone in on your research question (yet) but to generate as many possible paths you could take, so that you can begin evaluating which interest you most, or which seem like the most fruitful questions to explore/answer. Doing the idea-generating for Tier 2 should already begin to set you up for Tier 3 -- which involves articulating specific sub-questions you’ll need to answer to better understand or answer those core questions/preoccupations.

and then we’ll go ahead and fold in T4, as I tend to move back and forth between T3/T4 as I brainstorm.

I’ll just take one of my Tier 2 questions as an example, but again, you can/should do this for all of yours (or at least the ones that interest you most).

Core question: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? etc etc

T3 subquestions (with T4 “directions for inquiry” folded into the first one, so you can see an example):

-- SubQ1 Does play actually strengthen social bonds? If so, how? Are specific kinds of play better for this than others (ie, collaborative or cooperative play compared to competitive play)? With Tier 4 folded in:

Do a library database search to try to figure out where “play” research typically happens -- is it in psychology research? Neuroscience? Early childhood education?

Then begin searching for different keyword strings that might help me gather up initial sources. Some initial ideas: play + social bonding, play + social skills, play + social development, play + cooperation, play + friendship, play + mental health. (Typically finding a couple useful/relevant articles will help you generate better keywords -- as you can begin to see the kinds of terminology that researchers use to describe your topic.)

I could also maybe interview college students themselves, or design a survey - but that would depend on the type of research I want to do. Do I want to conduct my own original research study, or is my focus more on synthesizing existing research from different fields to construct an argument? 

Could I find faculty or researchers who work on these topics, who might be able to direct me to specific resources or help me understand what kind of work has already been done on this topic? Maybe I can’t find someone who specifically researches playfulness, but an educational researcher whose work focuses on social-emotional learning would probably have a pretty good understanding of what features or pedagogical choices help create positive, affirming learning environments.

-- SQ2: Are college students lonely?

Are they reporting (or do they experience) higher rates of mental illness? What are the numbers on this?

What are some of the prevalent theories or hypotheses about why this is? Could social isolation or difficulty forming friendships be a possible contributing factor?

-- SQ3: Why are social bonds good for us - physically, mentally, emotionally?

-- SQ4: Do social bonds enhance learning? If so, how?

What if I looked to other non-academic learning environments (such as fandoms, team sports or group activities, etc where people are learning new skills in highly social settings) to make a case for playfulness in the college classroom? This isn’t direct 1:1 proof that “more playfulness in college classrooms = happier, more socially well-connected students,” but offering detailed descriptions of how those learning environments are structured might spark ideas for my audience (university instructors and administrators) or persuade them that playfulness has an important social-emotional role to play in college learning.  

*

Typically what ends up happening is I produce a huge, messy document (or fill a giant paper or whiteboard if I’m doing it by hand) that has tons and tons of different directions I might follow. usually, the initial process of creating this giant brainstorming document sparks lots of ideas for where to begin researching. then, as i go off and begin reading articles, those articles typically help flesh out my understanding of the core questions or concepts i’m interested in, or my understanding of what kind of research on this topic already exists vs. where the gaps are that my own work might be able to fill. that initial source-gathering phase of research will also usually spark new questions and sub-questions, which get added to my tier map.

having some kind of messy brainstorming map/plan also helps me read in a more focused way. instead of just opening a random article and skimming it without any clear sense of what i’m looking for, i’m now opening articles and reading them with a purpose -- i’m looking for answers to the specific questions i’ve articulated. so i can skim in a more focused way, looking for specific keywords that seem relevant, and i can also take notes in a more focused way, noting down key ideas that

having a question in mind can also help me figure out more quickly if the article is relevant to my research questions or not. for instance, let’s say i open an article about how playing competitive games in high school PE classes improve students’ self-reported moods. if i didn’t know what i was reading for, i might spend a lot of time on this article, trying to figure out if it was relevant to my research (it has the keywords, right? so maybe it’s relevant?). but if i am reading with a specific question in mind (“Do collaborative learning games help strengthen students’ sense of social connection?”) I can tell pretty quickly that this article is not going to be that useful, since it focuses on competitive physical games (probably not something I’ll integrate into an English class). so I can say with some confidence, “I probably don’t need to read this whole thing, but maybe I’ll check out their lit review section or their bibliography to see if the authors cite any other work on play/playfulness that might be more relevant to my specific questions.” 

i think i’ve kinda started to answer your second question about notetaking here, too, so i will also say that in the early stages of a big research project, i am absolutely NOT taking detailed notes on any of the sources i find. my focus is much more on amassing a large pool of highly relevant sources that i know i’m going to want to go back to and read more deeply as my research questions come into sharper focus. this is because deep reading burns through a lot of time and energy, so i want to make sure i’m saving that deep reading energy for sources that are quite likely to be relevant to my project. 

to figure out if a source is relevant, I often skim the abstract and introduction to figure out the core questions the article or chapter is seeking to answer. then I ask myself three questions:

Are the core questions of this article the same as (or very similar to) my core questions or subquestions? If so, mark this citation as HIGHLY relevant - I’m going to want to come back and read this source carefully, to see if it’s already suggested answers to the questions I’m asking. 

Do the core questions of this article seem to resonate with my core questions, even if we’re not asking them in exactly the same way, or the author of this paper is applying them to a different field? If so, mark this citation as LIKELY relevant - it may not be a perfect 1:1 with my own questions, but that can sometimes spark exciting new ideas or ways of reframing my original questions. If not, toss it.

Do the questions this article is asking suggest new questions or lines of inquiry that I am interested in exploring? Sometimes an article will introduce me to a whole new area of research or a new array of questions I hadn’t even originally thought to explore. If that’s the case, I typically pencil those sub-questions into my brainstorming tier document and mark the source as LIKELY or HIGHLY relevant, depending on how excited i am about it. 

OK I WILL CLOSE HERE FOR NOW as I have to get back to work, but I will say that when I taught my students this method, they were very confused by the initial explanation of it, but then when they went back and used the models to work through the tier brainstorming activity for themselves, they seemed to find it really useful. so if you are scratching your head, try doing a quick TIER 1 - TIER 2 - TIER 3 - TIER 4 map for your own research question to see if doing it yourself helps clarify. also: if you can’t get further than tier 2, it’s usually a sign that you need to do some more reading and freewriting about the questions that you’re curious about, or the gaps you’ve noticed in the scholarship, or the threads you’d like to follow. but you can do some of that background reading in a more focused way now, using your initial big questions to help guide your selection of background readings & give you a sense of purpose as you read.

[today-only-happens-once]

Ikigai

Title: Ikigai

Word Count: 5,955

Summary: Ikigai. (n.) a reason for being; the thing that gets you up in the morning. Or, five times Logan Sanders doubted himself as a father, and one time he didn’t. Human!AU, Parents!Logicality with focus on Paternal Analogical dynamics with moments of Paternal Logince dynamics as well.

Warnings: cursing, crying, lots of self-doubt, adoption, hospitals, car accident mention, vague mentions of death/dying, absent father/abuse in the form of emotional neglect (not perpetrated by any canon characters), anxiety and panic-attacks, mentions of depression, fluff, softness.

A/N: This fic kind of happened by accident almost. I hope it’s okay! Got some mixed feelings about it. I hope you enjoy. Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. Shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff for her help in brainstorming a few things for this fic.

 I.

The hospital linoleum floor is waxed so thoroughly that Logan thinks he can see his reflection between his shoes. The small room is crowded with nurses and a doctor as they prepare the person in the bed to move to recovery. Logan promises to check up on her soon. She gives him a tired but content smile. He does his best to stay out of the way, shifting along the wall to stand by the window that has its blinds drawn.

“Logan,” his husband says in a quiet voice.

“Yes?” Logan looks up, coming up suddenly short at the sight before him.

Patton’s flop of brown curls fall messily into his eyes. The fluorescent lights above them reflect in the lens of his glasses, even as his gaze is latched onto the bundle of cream-colored blankets in his arms. Nestled against his chest, Patton looks down at the newborn in his arms with something in his eyes that Logan can’t quite pinpoint. Love, clearly. But something else at the same time. Devotion, perhaps.  

“You wanna hold Virgil?” Patton asks, finally glancing up to meet his husband’s eyes. It’s then that Logan can see the beginnings of tears forming in the corner of Patton’s eyes.

Logan is an astrophysicist. His entire life had always centered on figuring out the universe and humanity’s place in it. He worked in fields of science and research, frequently writing long reports, dissertations, and essays that utilized precise words to explain complex phenomena. Logan understood how stars were created and destroyed, he understood patterns of behavior in the universe, and he situated those understandings in language understood by users of scientific research journals and the general public alike. He could write and speak eloquently on the complexities of String Theory in both scientific jargon and in plain English. Words rarely escaped the scientist.

He finds words failing him entirely now.

Logan nods, accepting the bundle that Patton eases gently into his arms. He cannot find the words to explain why the breath leaves his lungs so entirely when he looks down at the infant in his arms. He knows suddenly and intensely that this tiny little person in his arms is the most wonderful, breathtaking thing he’s ever seen in his life. Virgil.

Logan had always been a man of science. But a small part of him—distant and quiet but with complete conviction—can’t help but think he’s holding a miracle. He feels a sudden fear grip his lungs and squeeze at his throat. I don’t know how to be a dad, Logan realizes with a faintly dizzying surge of uncertainty. He tries to swallow the fear down.

“Hello,” Logan says softly to him. His voice comes out a whisper. “Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

II.

Logan hears the wail from his three-year old’s bedroom and shares a glance with his husband. The alarm clock on the dresser reads 11:32 PM in green block numbers. Patton gives Logan a worried look before they both roll out of bed and pad their way down the hall. Virgil had been having nightmares the past few nights. He rarely remembered them with any specificity, but they usually involved some kind of monster that was coming to get him.

“Daddy!” Virgil gasps from his bed when Logan opens the door. “There’s a monster.”

Logan sighs softly, moving to the edge of Virgil’s bed and taking a seat. Virgil has a blanket with the constellations on it on top of his head and wrapped around him so that only his face was visible. “Santa” had given it to Virgil in his stocking last Christmas. Virgil more-or-less carried it around with him everywhere.

His eyes are red and puffy. His knees are pulled up against his chest under the blanket, effectively turning himself into a ball.

“Virgil,” Logan says as his son shuffles closer to him, “I can promise you that there is no monster.”

“Yes there is!” Virgil insists. “I heard it!”

“Monsters aren’t real,” Logan explains patiently. “Sometimes our brains get confused, though.”

“It’s under my bed,” the three-year-old wails. Patton takes a seat by the foot of the bed, giving Virgil a soft and sympathetic look.

Logan purses his lips in thought. “I’ll check under the bed for monsters. Okay?” Virgil sniffles in response as Logan stands up from the bed and lowers himself to the floor, peering under Virgil’s bed. He sees a pair of socks, a couple of toys, and a coloring page. Definitively no monsters.

Logan jumps back up to his feet. “No monsters, Virgil.”

“You scared it away!” Patton adds on brightly. He shares a glance with Logan. It’s too fast for Logan to understand what his husband is trying to convey.

Virgil shakes his head adamantly. “You just can’t see it.”

“It’s invisible,” Logan repeats, managing to keep the frustration out of his voice. He can help best when he can rationalize away irrational concerns. Logan doesn’t know how to get Virgil to believe him. Imagination is a powerful instrument, and Logan doesn’t know to combat it.

He doesn’t know how to help his son feel safe, and something about that bothers Logan more than he’s willing to admit.

Patton suddenly straightens up a little, his eyes brightening. “I may have just the thing, kiddo. Stay here with daddy.” Patton jumps up from the bed and hurries down the hall. Through the doorway that is still open, Logan sees Patton slip into their own bedroom and close the door behind him.

Logan sits beside Virgil again, wrapping an arm around him when his son presses against his side. The astrophysicist leans his head back against the headboard. Virgil seems to relax under his arm a bit, and unfurls the blanket from around his head and looks down at the constellations on it.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“What do you like best?”

Logan leans his cheek on the top of Virgil’s head, sleepiness beginning to creep back to the edges of his consciousness, and looks at the blanket in his son’s lap. “Which constellation?” he asks to clarify Virgil’s meaning. His son nods. Logan hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps Pyxis Nautica. It means ‘mariner’s compass’.” He points it out on Virgil’s blanket.

“Mar… Marin… Mariminer?”

Logan chuckles softly and kisses the top of Virgil’s head. “Mariner. It means ‘sailor’.”

Patton comes back with what Logan recognizes as a bottle of Febreze with the label peeled off. Logan frowns, his brow furrowing in confusion. Patton winks at him.

“I found it!” he announces, brandishing the bottle.

Virgil sits up a bit more against Logan’s side. “What’s that?”

Patton holds the blue spray bottle closer for Virgil’s inspection, whispering conspiratorially. “It’s Monster-Be-Gone spray. You see, your dad worked really hard to make the perfect concoction that is scientifically proven to banish all monsters! All you gotta do is spray it around the room, and then they run away.”

Over the top of Virgil’s head, Logan quirks an eyebrow. Virgil turns huge eyes onto him, and Logan schools his expression into agreement, nodding sagely. He had the feeling that perhaps Patton’s far-fetched fabrication would be enough for Virgil. Perhaps imagination itself was really the only way to solve the problem in the first place.

“Whoa,” Virgil says, awed. “You promise it works?”

“I promise,” Patton insists emphatically. “Here. Let me show you.” Patton begins dousing Virgil’s bedroom in the lavender scented spray. He sprays under the bed, in the closet, around his window, and around his door. Virgil watches him closely and intently.

There’s a beat of silence, then Virgil gasps. “It works! I don’t hear the monster anymore.”

Logan releases a small sigh of relief. Patton is smiling. “No monster can possibly stand up to the Monster-Be-Gone. Any time you think something might be there, kiddo, we’ll give ‘em a good spray and they’re 100% guaranteed to poof away.”

Virgil nods, not protesting as Logan helps him lay down and get situated under his covers again. “T’anks,” Virgil says with a yawn. “You’re the best dads ever.”

Logan feels a small squeeze in his chest as he drops a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, Virgil.”

“Love you, kiddo,” Patton adds.

Virgil is already asleep.

 III.

Logan comes rushing into the hospital lobby through the sliding door. The nurse at the front desk looks up from her computer as he approaches, doubtlessly taken in his unusually rumpled appearance. Strands of his hair fall into his eyes but he can’t be bothered to brush them back into their usually pristine position. His shirt is wrinkled. He is still wearing pajama pants.

“I am here for my husband,” Logan says in a steady voice, despite feeling distinctly unsteady in this moment. “I received a call that he had been in an accident.”

“What’s his name, sir?”

“Patton Sanders.”

The nurse types quickly and methodically, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her. Logan glances at the clock on the wall behind her. It’s 9 o’clock in the evening. Logan had received the call at exactly 8:17 PM. He had dropped Virgil off at Valerie’s at 8:30 on the dot. It had taken him twenty-two minutes to drive here, six minutes to park, two minutes to walk to through the front door.

Logan keeps the timetable in his head because numbers are precise and certain and nothing else in his life at this moment feels that way.

“Your name?”

“Logan Sanders.”

The nurse nods. “Your husband is currently in surgery, but a doctor will be out to update friends and family as soon as they have information to give you.”

Surgery. Logan’s grip on the edge of the front desk tightens and he thinks for a moment he might be physically ill. He swallows. Nods stiffly. Turns, walks fifteen steps, and sits down in an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the lobby by the window.

Patton had been on his way home from parent-teacher conferences at the elementary school where he teaches second grade. Half an hour before Logan had received the call from the hospital, Patton had called and asked Logan if he needed to get anything from the grocery on his way home. He had promised to be home soon when he heard Virgil ask Logan where Patton was.

Thirty minutes later, when the phone rang again, Logan definitely hadn’t been expecting to hear the words “you are listed as the emergency contact for a Patton Sanders, sir?” on the other end of the line. He hadn’t known what to say except to confirm. He mostly listened.

He still hadn’t known what to say when Virgil, with a sharper intuition than a ten-year-old should have, had said, “Dad? You look pale…What’s wrong?” Logan had simply told him to grab his backpack and put on shoes.

Logan had blindly grabbed a change of clothes for Virgil from the laundry that was in the middle of being folded, his son’s asthma inhaler, and anxiety medication. He shoved his feet into shoes that were either his or Patton’s—he wasn’t paying attention—and his car keys off the kitchen counter. He called Valerie on the way, and he only hoped that she knew his empty-sounding “thank you” was out of shock rather than a lack of gratitude.

Logan twists his wedding band around his finger and thinks about Patton’s cheerful voice telling Logan that he loved him—like Patton did at the end of all their phone conversations. He’d been the one to get Logan more comfortable with the phrase in the first place, after all. Logan had said it back. He’s grateful for that.

Patton brought a spontaneity to Logan’s life that had been missing for the longest time before they met in college. His friendliness and cheery disposition had, at first, been jarring for Logan. But Patton had seemed to find something worthwhile about the astrophysicist student, and Logan found Patton to be a light of empathy and compassion on a level that Logan did not always understand but did always deeply value.

What started as spontaneity gradually became a needed constant in Logan’s life. Patton balances him. Logan had long since forgotten what life had been like before him, except that it wasn’t nearly as joyful, dynamic, or vibrant. By the time Logan proposed, he knew that he didn’t ever want anyone else by his side. That feeling had somehow—impossibly—only grown stronger since adopting Virgil.

As if on cue, Logan feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and fishes it out. He sees Valerie’s face flash across his Caller ID and feels the uneasiness in his stomach turn to ice.

“This is Logan,” he answers.

To his surprise, it’s Virgil’s voice that responds to him. “Hi, dad.”

Logan swallows hard and scrubs a hand down his face. “Virgil, are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just… worried about dad.”

Logan feels his eyes suddenly start to sting and he squeezes them shut tightly against the feeling. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, me too.” Logan does not know what else to say. He feels like a ship without a lighthouse to guide him. Patton is that light. Patton had always been that light…

“Is… dad gonna be okay?”

Logan does not know. He pulls the phone away from his face and takes in a deep, shaking breath. He feels like he is suddenly spiraling, and he doesn’t know how to correct course. Logan doesn’t know how to be a dad without his partner. They are a team. They had always been a team. Logan doesn’t know if he can be the dad that Virgil needs without Patton to help him. He doesn’t know how to do it alone.

Logan pulls the phone back to him and is honest. “I hope so, Virge.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” Logan tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know whether it’s better right now to tell Virgil that he’s afraid too so that he doesn’t feel alone in his fear or if it’s better to pretend to be strong to assuage the feeling of fear. Patton would know. Patton always has an intuition for such things. “It’s… okay to feel scared.”

There’s a long silence. “Can I come be with you at the hospital?”

Logan bows his head, brushing quickly at his eyes under his glasses. He suddenly and desperately wants to say yes. He wants to hold on to Virgil and never let go. Hold on and pray that Patton is holding on too. I don’t want to do this without him.

“Perhaps tomorrow. You should try to get some rest tonight.”

There’s a long silence. Logan expects an argument. Instead, Virgil asks, “Do you promise to call as soon as the doctors show up?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I hear anything. I promise.”

“He calls me brave,” Virgil says suddenly. Logan doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. “But I don’t feel brave right now, dad. I feel really, really…. Scared, and I know you said it’s okay to feel that way but what if I’m letting him down when he needs me—”

“Whoa, Starlight,” Logan says quickly, the rare nickname slipping out as he hears the way Virgil’s voice starts to get panicky. “Listen to me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” Logan walks him through the 4-7-8 breathing technique he’d discovered when researching anxiety coping methods after Virgil got diagnosed a few months ago.

He waits until Virgil’s breathing on the other end sounds normal before he continues. “Bravery is not fearlessness,” he says calmly. “Fearlessness means you aren’t afraid of anything. Bravery means that you act despite the fear you feel. You can be scared and brave. Those are not mutually exclusive terms.”

Another pause. “Okay.”

“But right now, all we’re asking of you, Virge, is to try to get some rest. Okay?” Logan’s voice is suddenly thick. He coughs slightly in an effort to clear it.

“Okay. I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Virgil.”

 IV.

Logan watches quietly from the doorway leading out of the kitchen as Roman Prince—his sixteen-year-old son’s best friend—ends the call and stands stock still in the middle of the Sanders’ living room. The window outside shows a dark sky and the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses against the night. The only light in the room comes from a lamp on an end-table by the couch. Above them, Logan can hear the shower running from Virgil’s bathroom and Patton watching TV upstairs.

Roman suddenly hurls his phone into the brown cushions of the couch. In the silence that follows, Logan hears the shaking inhale Roman sucks through a clenched jaw.

“Roman,” he says softly.

“I’m fine, Mr. Sanders,” Roman tells him without turning to face him.

Logan glances down at his shoes, then back up at the teen standing in the middle of his living room. “Your anger is understandable.”

Roman finally turns to face him. The golden lamplight reflects against the sheen in Roman’s eyes even as he shakes his head. “I’m not angry.”

Logan is silent. He sees Roman’s hand curl into fists moments before the teen shoves them deep into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes glance to the phone he’d thrown against the couch as if hoping there may be something that alights on the screen. It stays dark.

“I don’t need him, y’know?” Roman says, and Logan wonders for a moment if he may just be talking to himself. “I’ve never needed him, Mr. Sanders. I can take care of myself. I didn’t need him when I was seven and auditioning for the first time at the community theatre. I didn’t need him at my first opening night, or any other performance. I didn’t need him to teach me how to ride a bike, and I didn’t need him to teach me to cook, and I didn’t need him for the seventeen birthdays he didn’t show up to.”

Roman starts pacing, and Logan watches him quietly from his stationary space in the doorway. “I didn’t need him when I got outted at school two years ago. I didn’t need him to learn to drive, did I, Mr. Sanders?”

Logan meets his gaze, pretending his chest doesn’t tighten with Roman’s increasing desperation.  “No. You didn’t.”

Roman gestures towards the window, stalking away from Logan now to cross the room again. “And I’m not going to need him. No sir. Who says I even want him around? What can he teach me? I got accepted into college without him. I’ll dance at my wedding without him. I’ll build a family and I’ll be twice the father he never was in the first place--” Roman’s voice wavers, and he stops talking. He turned back to Logan, and it’s then that he realizes the tears that had been building in the corner of Roman’s eyes have finally overflowed.

Roman scrubs at his eyes with his hand and sinks himself into the couch beside his forgotten phone. “I just… I feel so stupid.”

Logan’s brow pulls together, and he steps further into the room. “Why?” He immediately thinks it might have been the wrong thing to say, from the way Roman suddenly freezes.

Logan had never done well with helping people through emotional distress. Empathy wasn’t something Logan was particularly adept at. That had always been more of Patton’s domain. But he can see the way Roman is coming apart at the seams on his couch, and Logan finds himself feeling as lost as Roman looks.

Logan doesn’t know what to do, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Because…” Roman tries, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyes, “because I just… I wasted so much of my life trying to… to…” But Roman doesn’t really need to say the words that keep evading his grasp. Because Logan already knows.

The data was all there, as far as Logan had been concerned. He’d been noticing it ever since Roman and Virgil first started being friends when they were in fifth grade. He’d seen the surprised look Roman had given Virgil when he and Patton would ask the pair about their day whenever Roman was over at their house. He remembers their eighth-grade year when Roman tried out for the basketball team even though he’d devoted much of his life to pursuing the arts, and a passing mention that his dad had once been a high school basketball star. He made the team, but he saw the increasingly angry look in Roman’s eyes when he saw Logan and Virgil and Patton in the stands, and never the one person he’d joined for in the first place. Logan had seen the barely-hidden look of disappointment in Roman’s eyes after every theatre performance thereafter, when he scanned the crowd during the bows as if he was looking for someone.

It had been plain to Logan for some time. It didn’t mean that Logan knew what to say, but he figures he has to say something. Logan chooses to speak from honesty. Patton had always told him that was best.

“Roman,” Logan says, crossing the distance between them and crouching down to be eye-level with the teen sitting on the sofa. Roman looks up at him. Logan sighs. “I am aware that this may be… insignificant of me to say in this moment. But should you have any doubt… you are a talented, courageous, and dedicated young man. I am… grateful that you and my son became friends. And if nothing else, know that I am proud of you. Not only for your numerous achievements, but also for who you are as a person.”

Logan doesn’t know if it’s enough, or perhaps too much. He is not Roman’s dad in any official capacity, though the affection Logan feels for the teen before him does bare comparison to the love he feels for his own son. He had known Roman long enough to see him try and fail and succeed and everything in-between. He’d seen Roman get figuratively back up again and again and again, and if Roman were his son… Logan can’t help but feel he’d be damn proud of him.

But Roman stares at him with wide eyes, and Logan can’t help but feel he may have mis-stepped somehow. Logan’s lips press into a line before he opens his mouth to apologize—

And then promptly finds himself with an armful of the teen as Roman launches himself straight into Logan in a desperate hug. He can feel Roman shaking against him, can feel his shirt getting damp, and Logan only hopes that he hasn’t upset Roman further. It was the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to do.

“Roman,” he tries, “if I said something that upset you, I sincerely apologize—”

“No, Mr. Sanders,” Roman says hurriedly, pulling back and sniffling. His eyes are red and Logan can see tears still falling. Roman brushes at them, his face coloring in embarrassment. “I…” he swallows thickly, and seems to re-think what he’d been about to say. “Don’t apologize. I’m… thank you, sir.”

Logan gives him a small, kind smile. “You do not need to thank me, Roman. Especially when I spoke only the truth.”

Roman’s voice catches a little in his throat again, and he coughs. He wipes the back of his hands against his eyes. “I… Mr. Sanders, would it…. Be alright if I slept here for the night?”

“Of course. I’ll grab some pillows and a few blankets, as it can get cold in here during the night. If you want to grab a shower—after Virgil is done, of course—there is a spare set of towels in the bathroom down here.” Logan stands up, running through the mental checklist. “I generally arise early in the morning, but I promise to do my best to not wake you. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of snacks in the pantry and you are welcome to help yourself, though I do encourage you to not eat too much as it’s already late and you should try to get optimal rest.”

Roman makes a sound that sounds almost like a laugh. “Okay. Thank you.”

 V.

Logan is doing the dishes when he glances over at his seventeen-year-old son, sitting at the kitchen table with his fingers buried in his hair. He’s scowling darkly at his homework. Logan’s quick glance over his shoulder two hours ago had been enough for Logan to know it’s chemistry homework—Virgil’s hardest class, if his passing comments to Patton during dinner last night had been anything to go by. Logan rinses off a plate and sets in the dishwasher.

Virgil had been acting unusual for the majority of the time that Logan had been home. He’d been unusually brusque with Patton when asked to set the table for dinner and hadn’t eaten as much as he usually did. He’d seemed…. tense. His shoulders hunched, barely making eye contact, barely speaking—and a tendency to be monosyllabic when he did. All indicators, from Logan’s previous experience and knowledge, that pointed to today being a particularly bad day for Virgil’s anxiety.

“Virgil?”

“Mm?”

Logan grabs a sponge and scrubs out a pot, keeping his attention on the sink. “If assistance with your chemistry would be beneficial to you, I would be more than happy to provide it.”

“I’m fine, dad.”

Logan places the pot in the dishwasher and closes it before turning off the faucet. “You do not need to be… ashamed of requiring help.”

He sees Virgil’s grip on pencil tighten. “I’m fine.”

Logan sighs. “Virgil, you appear to have been stuck on the same problem for the past hour—”

“For crying out loud, dad,” Virgil snaps, shoving back from the table. “It’s not the chem, okay? Sorry for not being fast enough at it for you, but I’m fine! I’m fine. For once in my life I actually understand this shit, I just—” Virgil is speaking faster now. His voice sounds strained. “It’s all the other shit that I can’t—I can’t understand, like why I can’t just… just… fuck.”

Virgil shoves his hands harshly into the pockets of his hoodie as his voice cuts off. He rushes out of the room and Logan hears a door slam shut. From where the bang sounds in the house, Logan quickly understands that it’s not Virgil’s own room. It’s the bathroom.

Logan frowns. There were many things that Logan didn’t understand about what Virgil just said. Strong language aside, something certainly seemed to be troubling him. Logan may not know what, but if it was a cognitive distortion, perhaps Logan could help him think through it.

Logan sighs again, drying his hands off on the towel before following after his son. The door is closed. Logan raps a knuckle against the door. “Virgil?”

He hears a faucet turn off. “Go away. Please.”

“I wish to be of assistance. But I can’t help if you don’t talk to me and tell me what is going on.”

He hears a huff of frustration. “You wanna know what’s going on, dad? I don’t even know! I’m a fuck-up of a kid with fucked up anxiety and maybe depression and I can’t even do my fucking homework without being a burden on everyone and everything. You can’t help me. Nobody can. So just… leave me alone.” He hears Virgil’s voice crack through the door.

Logan leans his head against the closed door. He doesn’t know what to say, really. When Virgil’s cognitive distortions turned inwards towards himself, Logan had always struggled to get him to disentangle them. Logan could get Virgil to look at situations and talk through them, as long as the stressors were external. When they became internalized, experience told Logan that Virgil would absently nod along and not believe a word Logan was telling him.

Logan doesn’t know how to help him in this moment. And it clenches something in Logan’s chest to admit that to himself.

Still, he can try, can’t he?

“Virgil Sanders, you are not a burden on any of us. And you are not alone, though I understand you may feel that way.”

Silence. Logan opens his mouth to continue speaking, but he doesn’t know what else to say that will help his son on the other side of the door. All the same, Logan refuses to abandon Virgil right now. Logan is not a believer in empty platitudes. He never spoke for sentiment alone, preferring to back the words he expressed with actions.

So Logan does the only thing that he thinks will show Virgil he means what he says. He sits down on the floor in the hall across from the door. And he waits.

Almost an hour later, the door opens and Virgil steps out, wiping at his eyes. He stops short at the sight of Logan sitting outside the door in the hall. Logan pushes himself to his feet.

“You… Were you out here the entire time?” Virgil asks, with an expression that Logan doesn’t know how to read.

“Yes,” Logan replies simply, confused at the way Virgil is staring at him. “I told you that you were not alone—” Logan stumbles back a step as Virgil launches himself straight into his dad’s chest.

Logan doesn’t hesitate to return his hug.

 +1

The night air is calm and quiet. A gentle late spring breeze plays with the loose strands of Logan’s hair as he sits on the front porch of the house. Crickets and chatter from inside the house create a background of sound against which distant thunder rumbles. Logan takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Behind him, someone opens the front door and Logan hears cheerful shouting and music flood from the house and out into the night before the door closes. Footsteps creak against the wooden porch floor.

“Hey, dad.”

Virgil sinks himself into the rocking chair beside his father. Logan glances at him as he does so. In the back of his mind, Logan finds it hard to believe that his son just graduated college. It hadn’t seemed quite that long ago that Logan had been laying on his back with Virgil under the stars teaching him the different constellations.

“Evening,” Logan greets. He quirks an eyebrow. “The festivities a bit much?”

Virgil huffs an amused laugh. “Roman’s had a bit too much and is trying to convince dad to start Disney karaoke.”

Logan smiles. “It would not take much to convince him, I’m afraid.”

“Which is why I got the heck out of there.” Virgil sighs and leans back into the chair, rocking it back and forth slightly. He slips his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, staring out across the yard.

Logan glances at him. “Are you all right?”

Virgil meets his gaze quickly, then nods and looks back out at the night sky. “Yeah, actually. I’m good.” His voice is subdued a bit, but calm. He sounds like he means it. “Glad to be graduated… I think.”

“You aren’t sure?” Logan remembers the sunken eyes and tense shoulders he’d seen his son come home with on the holidays, brushing off concern and questions. College had been hard for Virgil. And stressful. Though he’d come out on the other side of those four-and-a-half years with a respectable GPA and a degree under his belt, Logan would have expected that his son would be ready to wash his hands of higher education. At least for the time being.

Virgil sighs, pausing before he answers. “I mean, I won’t lie, dad. I’m glad to be done with the tests and projects and paper-writing. But the real world is…” He trails off, shrugging.

“Intimidating,” Logan finishes for him.

“Yeah.” Beside him, Virgil rocks the chair back and forth, back and forth. The wood creaks a bit in a rhythm that blends with the distant storm they can see rolling in over the horizon line through the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses that surrounded theirs.

“I dunno,” Virgil says suddenly. “Maybe that’s dumb.”

Logan shakes his head. “On the contrary. I think perceiving the ‘real world’, as you call it, to be an intimidating space is… normal, for where you are in your life. It is more than understandable.”

Virgil scoffs, but there’s no real malice in it. “No offense, dad, but I don’t think you find anything intimidating.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies simply.

“Yeah? What have you ever found intimidating?”

Fatherhood. “Plenty of things, Virgil. I am not as brave as you may believe.”

He can feel Virgil’s gaze on him now. Logan keeps his own trained out on the stars and the distant storm. “Bravery isn’t the same thing as fearlessness, it’s acting in spite of the fear you feel. You know how taught me that?”

“Hm?”

“You did. The night dad was in that wreck when I was ten.”

Logan smiles faintly, affection warming in his chest.  “I’m surprised you remember that,” he admits.

“I remember a lot of stuff you guys taught me. I mean, I wouldn’t be here without it, y’know?”

Logan looks over at his son. His long bangs still fall across his eyes, he still has dark eyeshadow smudged underneath them, he is still wearing the plaid-patched hoodie that he’d had for God-knows how long. Even in the dark, though, Logan can see something earnest in Virgil’s gaze that is meeting his unwaveringly. As if Virgil is trying to get Logan to understand something, except that Logan isn’t quite sure what it is.

“It’s our job to help you and support you,” Logan says softly after a moment.

“Sure, yeah, I guess.” Virgil sits up a little more, leaning forward towards his father. “But… You and dad are the best parents I could’ve asked for. I don’t know what I would’ve done without either one of you. And any time I start to get like, freaked out about the future and everything…I just…. I remember all you taught me, yeah? And it helps me feel a little better.”

Logan blinks at him. He doesn’t know what to say and there’s an unexpected lump forming in his throat that he swallows past.

Virgil glances down at his shoes and keeps talking. “I know I wasn’t always the easiest kid to manage—” Logan opens his mouth to reply but Virgil presses on—"but you never once gave up on me. You forgave me before I ever apologized, and you were patient when I was frustrated, and at every single twist and turn—and we’ve had a lot of them—you were there, dad. You let me explore the world for my own but any time I got lost, you were that compass that kept pulling me back to North. Like Pyxis.”

Logan is grateful for the dark because his eyes are stinging a little. To his surprise, he can see a slight sheen to Virgil’s eyes too. But there’s also a small smile.

He sniffles and brushes his hoodie sleeve across his eyes. “You and dad need to go on a vacation or something now that your job is done, yeah?” He gives his dad a crooked grin.

Logan runs a hand across his mouth and looks back at his son. “We are always going to be your dads, Virge. Our job isn’t over just because you’ve graduated.” Virgil huffs a laugh. Logan stands up and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Virgil leans into Logan’s form a little.

“I’m so proud of you,” he adds. He waits until Virgil pulls away first before he pulls back to head inside. “Congratulations on graduating. Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

///

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig

[wishingforatypewriter]

Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you + akisako pls!

When Hayama Akira went down to the kitchen for his morning coffee, his French press was nowhere to be found. His wife sat on a stool by the island, surrounded by marked-up journal articles, anatomical maps of the human body, and dried plants labeled with their Latin names. 

So Dr. Arato was in this morning. Akira smirked as he watched her grind away with her mortar and pestle; he had not seen so much academic disarray from her since she was writing her dissertation. 

He had been standing there for about a minute, watching her shift between her herbs and a leather-bound book with yellowed pages he was sure he had been in her family for a hundred years, before she noticed him. 

“Good morning, love,” she said with such casual affection that Akira knew her mind was truly elsewhere. What miracle herbs had she put together to be so focused at 6:30 in the morning? 

“Morning.” He kissed Hisako on the forehead, then righted the reading glasses that were sliding down the bridge of her nose. “What are you up to so early?” 

“I’m designing the new winter menu for Doctor’s Orders,” she said, gesturing at vaguely at her notepad. “Speaking of which...” She eyed him carefully, and he knew he was about to become her research assistant. “Are you busy?”

In truth, Akira had a conference call in an hour, and had been counting on coffee and breakfast to keep him from berating anyone too harshly, but who could say no to that brink-of-discovery smile of hers? He sighed. “Not really. What’s going on?” 

“I’m thinking of making a marinade for a pork dish with juniper berries, which have antiseptic properties, and are really effective for bronchitis and other respiratory issues that come up during flu season. I’ve blended them with garlic, black pepper, bay leaf, and mirin, but there’s still not enough impact.” 

At once, Akira’s nose led him to the bowl that housed the marinade in question. He closed his eyes and considered it for a moment, processing the blend through his keen olfactory sense. “Try adding orange peel, and trade out the mirin for port.” 

Hisako thought this over for a minute, tapping the pen against her lips before jotting it down on her notepad. “Thanks. I’ll test it out after I finish with the cauliflower flight.” 

Akira gave her an incredulous look. The thought of a whiskey flight excited people, or one of chocolate or bacon or some other guilty pleasure...but cauliflower? “Dare I ask?”

“They’re a great source of antioxidants, and some studies suggest that the compounds within them are anti-carcinogenic,” she explained. “People can really benefit from eating more of them.” 

There she was again, right at the intersection of fine dining and public health. “You’ll have to convince your customers of their viability as a main course.” 

“Pity I can’t just seduce them with meat and spices,” she replied with a wry smile. “Truffle oil should help, though, and pecorino romano.” 

“Now you’re speaking to the masses.” He smirked at her then. “So what else is on the agenda?” 

“Let’s see.” She stood then, and kissed him briefly. “There’s that. Now, I’m going to make you a cup of coffee because your caffeine dependency is what it is at this point, and I won’t be responsible for you firing people.” 

Akira sighed. Here she goes again. “It’s not a dependen—” 

“We’re not having this argument today,” she said. “But thanks for helping me, and the public good, before sunrise.” 

[costellos]

ok i know i said dissertation but it’s basically like akaashi’s list of bokuto’s weaknesses except it’s nanami’s good points and it’s just 73 pages of his face bc it’s Nanami Kento, everything is his good point. his only flaw is that ppl have bad taste and put gojo over him in popularity polls 😔

YES I HAVE, SADLY. my parents have tried all sorts of ways but it just does not agree with my taste buds and stomach, no matter how it’s cooked or what spices are used 😭 i think part of it is the texture too? i like crunchy fruits but not vegetables lmao. so like i do enjoy spinach, mushrooms, and eggplant. (apparently potatoes are considered veggies too??? but who doesn’t like potatoes) with that said, i still don’t like some other softer veggies (or crunchier ones cooked to be soft) like tomatoes and peppers, though i can eat them if they’re in sauce form 🙈

ty nanami, once again reminding us all why he’s the best date ever 🥺 and pls, ugly food won’t deter me, i’m no foodie like nanamin but taste is def much more important than how it looks!

also ty to you for the tip! i appreciate it even tho i might not actually use it bc my social anxiety has me asking my mexican friends to order for me instead and i don’t want to make it even more complicated for them as it is 🤧 i’ll just pick the cilantro out individually, it’s okay

BTW!! two questions from me, it’s v important alright i need it for Science

1. how do you think nanami feels about pineapple on pizza?

2. who would you take out on a date, why, and where would you take them? 👀

GUY. I KNOW!!! ugh see you just get me. I mean Gojo’s an interesting character but. where’s the spice. the pizazz. I bet he doesn’t have a 401k like Nanami does. 

whomp whomp. I’m sorry, friend! veggies are good but I get they’re not for everyone.  you can try mixin them in a smoothie! getcha vitamins w/o the awful taste.

and of course!! also rip to your fingers.... picking out the cilantro is no easy task...... but I’ll give you kudos. and trust me, the camareros would much rather you tell them no cilantro so that it can go to someone who doesn’t have this shit gene! go get the food you deserve, nanamindate anon!!

as for ur questions ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ OKAY SO I firmly believe that Nanami would be indifferent to pineapple on pizza. mostly because pizza wouldn’t be his first choice to begin with; it’s too messy. but he does like the contrasting flavors, and he thinks that the people who don’t like it are the same people who haven’t tried it. he enjoys it, but again, it’s not his first choice just because he’s eh towards pizza.

AND AH. a date for me..... thank you for asking! I uh. I’ve never come this far lmao. honestly, my first thought was Atsumu! I have a lot of energy to burn so it’d probably be something physical. I’d love to take him to a neat hiking spot! or go on a 30-mile bike ride along the mountainside!! (but then we might both get super competitive and run each other off a cliff oop.) I would also love to check out some shopping district we’ve never been to, burn off all the calories walking, then get those cals back from eating so much street food. we could do a double date and I’ll keep Atsumu from annoying you too much eheh (๑´ㅂ`๑)

[aperrywilliams]

A Normal Conversation Ch05 (Spencer Reid x Maxine Brenner)

Previous Chapter / Ch05 / Next Chapter

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Chapter 5: First date

Summary: Spencer and Max first date

Word Count: 3510

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

A/N: It's like I wish the first date was

--------------------

Waking up the next morning, Spencer was in a very good mood. As soon as the alarm clock rang, he jump off the bed and went to the closet to choose his outfit for the day. He gathered all his clothes and left them on the bed while he went to shower.

After the shower he quickly get dressed. He looked his clock and it was still early. Breakfast was prepared. While he ate his toasts, he checked his cell phone and realized that Max sent him a message with the address of where he would go to pick her up after school. "Excellent. It is not far away” he said to himself. He finished eating and brushed his teeth, pick his bag, and went out hoping that morning would pass as quickly as possible.

Max woke up that morning with the sound of the alarm programmed into the cell phone. Even sleeping she stayed for a few seconds thinking about what day it was. When she was more awake she got up quickly and sat on the bed. Max picked up the cell phone and texted Spencer with her school's address. She’d forgotten to send it to him the night before. As she did so at that moment she thought and smiled. "Oh Max. What are you getting yourself into?” She said to herself before standing up and going to shower. Before that she left preparing coffee.

When Max left the bathroom she went to the closet to choose her clothes. She meditated a little. "It's just a coffee," she said to herself. After that she chose the clothes and started getting dressed. When she was ready set up on couch with her breakfast and TV on to watch some news before leaving. Finished the breakfast, she got ready, she turned off the TV and went to work. "I hope this morning does not become so endless," she thought as she took her bag and closed the door behind her.

The anxiety of both made the morning the opposite of what they expected: it felt extremely long and heavy. Max had to deal with two classes where the children seemed to have been possessed by hyperactivity. It took a lot of effort to get them to focus and do the class activities.

In his side, Spencer had to face a box full of records from previous cases that Emily urgently asked him to review in order to present it in an inventory of expenses in front of other area heads of the bureau during the afternoon. It was a tedious and not very challenging task for him, but he knew that Emily needed help fast and who better than someone who is able to read at the rate of 10 pages per minute.

The clock struck 2:10 p.m. and Reid had already finished his task. He went to Emily's office to report his findings. As he knocked on the door and after Prentiss let him in, he began to "spit out" information.

“Of all the cases involving more than a single suspect, the costs in human and monetary resources rise to over 30% and that correspond to 45% of the cases we had last year. In those where a direct alliance was made with the local police before arriving, the costs were reduced by 10% and the cases that were in the DC area had an increase in the resources of the bureau by 25%. The average work time per person was 2.3 days per assigned case...” Prentiss looked at Spencer in amazement and not because she did not believe everything he said, but because his "speed" was higher than the average she was used to.

“Reid… stop… do you have all this information in a written report?”

“Yeah right. I was going to give it to you now” he handed her a folder with a two-page report of all his work. Prentiss started laughing.

“What…?” Spencer said somewhat misled.

“You could have just handed me this and I'd be happy. You didn't have to do a dissertation on the data” Emily pointed out.

“I thought a summary would be useful before reading it” he said convinced.

“Yes, I really appreciate it. But you just "spit out" everything out faster than you usually do. Something happens?” Emily could read Reid as well as J.J.

“Ehhh, no ... it's just that I have to go now. I must be at 3:00 p.m. in ... a place...” Emily knew she was right, something was happening to Spencer.

“So ... why didn't you start there? It's already more than 14:20. Go away!” Emily said after checking her watch. Prentiss had no idea what Spencer's plans were, but she was sure it was important to him.

“Do you need anything else?...” Reid asked anxiously.

“Spencer, go now!. You're late” Prentiss ordered.

“Okay. Thank you!” It wasn't long before Spencer ran out of the office to take his belongings. Prentiss couldn't help but laugh at seeing him leave in such a hurry. "Spencer 'running away' from work at this time on a Friday?... Oh boy, it must be something really big" she thought, then returned to her own job.

It was 2:59 p.m. and Spencer was standing outside Max's school. He took advantage of that extra minute to adjust his tie and adjust his blazer. On time, he saw Max come out through the main gate. She saw him and smiled. Spencer thought he was going to melt right then. He saw her approach to him and thought "wow! she is so beautiful!”. It had only been a week since he met this woman and he was as stunned as a teenager.

Max went out the school looking among the people and saw him standing by the gate. Perfectly ordered in a suit that "fit him perfectly," she thought. “But look at those eyes, Max” she told herself. “Michelle was right ... he really is handsome ...". When they made eye contact, they both gave each other an open smile. Max approached him repeating inside her head “don't look nervous... don't look nervous... don't look ..."

“Hey! Just in time!” Max said when she was already in front of Spencer.

“Hey! Hi. I had just arrived” Spencer replied, not knowing if that greeting was enough. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but they weren't close enough to his judgment to do that.

“Well ... Where will we go for our coffee?”

“I know a place that I think you will like and it is relatively close in this neighborhood, we can go on foot if it doesn't bother you” Spencer said.

“I think it's great. I like to walk” Max said with enthusiasm.

“Me too. Come on then...” Spencer gestured for Max to start walking first.

“Let’s go...” Max said starting the walk.

They walked a few blocks and Spencer stopped in front of a place called "The Biggest Art Coffee". Max looked at the premises and exclaimed with enthusiasm.

“Hey! Whenever I passed by here I saw this place, but had never had the opportunity to enter” Max said cheerfully.

“Okay, now is the time. We get inside?” Spencer asked. Max nodded.

The place was tight at the entrance, but passing a second door opened a large room where in the center is the barista's bar and around tables and benches to sit. The walls were decorated with pictures that emulated paints of great artists in landscape and portrait painting. Max was fascinated. Her eyes sparkled. Spencer couldn't stop staring her and he was truly delighted to see her so excited.

“It's fantastic. It's like being in a mini museum!” she exclaimed.

"I knew you would like it" Spencer said with satisfaction.

“Yes, very much” Max looked at Spencer and gave him a smile. “Shall we order?” she said pointing to the barista's bar.

“Sure” Spencer said. “What do you want to drink?”

“Double espresso with a whipped milk bud" Max said confidently and without thinking twice.

“You know very well what you like...” he pointed out. Max laughed at the observation.

“I hope it's not a bad thing...” Max said.

“Of course not! Is a good thing indeed. After saying this, Spencer went directly to the bar to order the coffees, while Max sent herself to a table located in a corner, which allowed her to observe the place in greater detail. When Spencer returned with the coffees, he sat across from her passing what she had asked for.

“Thank you...” Max said enjoying the smell that came out of his cup. Spencer couldn't help but watch her and examine how she took her cup, how she slowly blew and tried to drink sips of her coffee without getting burned. While she was talking about the photos and pictures that were on the walls of the place. He could bet she knew the history of all those paintings.

Suddenly Max realized that Spencer was looking at her almost without blinking. “Is something wrong?” she ask. At the time Spencer realized that he didn’t have been very discreet when looking at her.

“No. It’s ok. Very well, in fact ... I was listening to you carefully” Spencer said.

“Excellent” Max said smiling. Then she took her cup and held it up to Spencer's cup. “For our first date” she said making a toast. He responded by doing the same.

“For our first date” they toasted and each took a sip. "You know... it's funny..." Spencer started to speak. Max looked at him closely.

“What it is funny?” Max asked.

“Well, I'm not going to deny that I'm nervous about this” he said this referring to him and her. “Well, since the fact I didn't know how to invite you out. I rehearsed it a thousand times on the plane when I got back to DC”. Max was watching him intently, she didn't want to interrupt him “…And well, I finally ended up calling you. You know, I think it's funny that we have been talking for a week and this is our first... ‘date’”.

“Does the word "date" complicate you?” Max asked. Spencer shook his head not knowing if to say yes or no. “We can use another word if you feel uncomfortable...”

“No, is not that. It is the opposite, in fact. I like it ...”. Max was somewhat confused.

“Ok, let's clarify this. I think we are getting a little complicated” she said. “We are going to start with the essentials: Why did you invite me out in the first place? Did you feel forced by the message I sent you?” said Max.

“No no no. I invited you out because I wanted it... I like to talk to you ... and if it is in person, better”

“Ok... so, we agree that this is natural and that it should happen...”

“Yes...”

“What I am saying is that it is normal for people who have just met and have been in contact for a few days want to see each other again at some point. I think this needed to happen” Max said. Spencer nodded. Max continued with her idea. “Ok. I understand that you're a little nervous. I am also nervous right now” she confessed. Spencer looked at her and grimaced.

“Are you?... I could say that you hide it much better than me” he sentenced. Max started to laugh.

“Good, thank you. I thought it was more evident” they both laughed. Max continued: “Do you agree if we make this... I don't know... more relaxed? I think it is a nice symbol of what it was like when we first met. No pressure. Let's take things slow and see what happens”

“Take things slow… yes of course. I can do that. It is not my intention to do otherwise. I think you may have noticed by now that I'm not the ‘fast’ type” Spencer shrugged. Max smiled.

"I like that ... despite how solemn you are when invite someone out for coffee" Max joked.

“Solemn. Yes that's me” Spencer smiled as he drank his coffee.

“So ... did we reach an agreement?” Max asked.

“So is. We go slowly seeing how things turn out. No pressures” Spencer said.

“Excellent. We agree. Let's make another toast then…”. The toast was broken by a cracking sound that Spencer felt in his stomach and made him wince. Max noticed. “Did you have lunch?” she asked.

“Ehh, no... I passed the hour at the office” he explained.

“And have you been hungry all this time?” Max reproached.

"I hadn't really noticed I was hungry" said Spencer.

“No, no, no sir. You're not going to faint on our first date. Come on, let’s go” Max said getting up from his chair to leave.

“Where are we going?” Spencer asked.

“To feed your poor stomach. I know a good place” Max stated.

They headed out to the place Max had in mind so Spencer could eat. They walked a few blocks near the park where they were first met. During the walk Max reproached Spencer for his unhealthy habits.

“Okay, I'm not the example of a healthy person, but at least I avoid skipping meals. I don't know how someone could think fatigued, it doesn't work for me” Max said.

"I think in my case it would be worse to try to think without caffeine..." said Spencer.

“I give you that one. I agree. It happens to me too. Anyway, I think if a person is going to have bad habits, let them be the least”. Spencer nodded.

"I don't smoke and I don't drink," Spencer said. Max looked at him raising an eyebrow.

“Don't you smoke ... nothing? ... you never drink alcohol...?” Max asked curiously.

“I don’t smoke. Nothing. I drink alcohol only on very special occasions... that is, almost never...”. He thought with a grimace.

“Ok, I'm thinking that maybe the one with the least healthy behavior is me...” Max laughed.

“If I had said it before... would I have avoided this whole speech?” Spencer asked looking at Max reproachfully.

“Maybe...”. Max said with a shrug. “Okay, here we are”.

They had reached a local food restaurant. It was similar to a food truck, but it was slightly larger and had a hallway with a bar where people could sit. They approached the inn and the tenant asked them what they were going to eat. Without asking Spencer, Max asked for the house special burrito and two bottles of water. Spencer watched as Max made the request and said nothing to him. When it was time to pay, Spencer approached to take the account, before which he received a pat from Max in his arm.

“What are you doing? I invite you. You paid for the coffee, it's fair for me do this”. Spencer wanted to insist, but he sensed that perhaps it was not a good idea to argue with Max about it. In addition, his eyes fell quickly on the burrito that was provided to him for the tenant. In that minute he realized that he was really hungry. They took the food and sat at the bar.

“What am I about to eat?” Spencer asked as he pulled the paper out of his burrito.

“The best burrito you will eat in this city. I am not going to say that it is the best in the country, considering that you surely know more cities than me. This burrito is the precise balance between meat, bread, and dressings. It will leave you feeling itchy but very pleasant”. Spencer took his burrito and took his first bite with enthusiasm. He chewed and chewed, savoring exactly what Max had described.

"Wow!... This is... really tasty" Spencer took another bite as Max took sips from his water bottle and looked at him with satisfaction.

“I like to come here when I feel I need a good burrito. The better thing is that you can order to take home”. Max said while Spencer just nodded and decided to finish his burrito in one last bite.

“Really ... delicious. I must say that you were absolutely right about this”. Spencer said removing residue dressing from his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip from his water bottle.

They decided to stand up from the bar and continue walking, since the place began to fill up with people. Near the place there was a small square with benches. They decided to go there to be able to sit down.

“Your look better now. Do you see that it is necessary to eat?” Max said as she sat down on one of the benches.

“You can be sure that now I won't faint. But you have created a new need for me with that burrito” Spencer said. Max smiled.

“Nothing is perfect. Sorry” Max said with a shrug.

“The truth is… if we speak about perfection is risky to say it because each person can judge only for they own what they considered as perfection. Independently we have ideas of what perfect is, though there are studies that say empathy could finally generate a shared canon...” He realized he was rambling and  Max was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Ok... but it is clear that what I am saying is not relevant now…”. Max laughed out loud.

“No, is not that. I'm sure it does make sense. What's more, I could give you my opinion on that if you're interested, of course...”. Spencer looked at Max curiously and nodded. Max started talking: “you are a scientist, correct ?, that is, you believe in scientific facts rather than myths and legends...”

“Yes, although many myths and legends interconnect with scientific observations of the world...” Spencer said.

“Totally agree. But well, what if someone, with whom you empathize a lot, I don't know, could be a family member, a friend... if that person told you that he/she had a scientifically unorthodox experience, would that give more credibility to his/her story than if it were someone who didn't you know”. Spencer thought for a bit.

"No ..." said Spencer.

“Would you make him/her notice...?” Max asked counteract.

“Probably…”

“Even if that means a conflict between you?”

“In that case, maybe not”

“That's my point! I don't think there is a shared canon between people thanks to empathy, but rather that empathy is rather ‘accepting that the other is looking for something different’. And many times it is accepted to avoid conflict and the possibility of ‘not fitting in’”. Spencer was speechless. He just nodded. Max's reasoning was very reasonable even though it was in a completely different paradigm than his.

"Wow, that makes a lot of sense" said Spencer.

“It is not that I am very studious on the subject, but it is what I see in children. And we know that children's behavior teaches a lot”.

“You're right. In fact, our first social interaction is in childhood and that says a lot about how our future experiences might or might not be…” said Spencer. Max nodded.

Spencer was very pleased to be able to discuss things like this with Max. They were like his sociology classes, but applied to real life. It seemed that her experience in life and her work made her very accurate in her observations and very pedagogical in her explanations. He liked that. He certainly liked it.

They were talking for a few more hours when they realized that it was already getting dark. Max winced at her watch.

“It's getting late, I think I better go”

“Yes me too. Will you walk to your apartment?”

“No, I will take a cab. My apartment is not close to here.

“I'll go with you until you take it”

"Fine, thanks" Max smiled as they walked toward the corner of the street.

"I hope I lived up in this... first date" Spencer said as they waited for a cab to come. Max nodded at him.

“I had a great time with you Spencer today. Thank you” Max gestured to a cab that was coming a block away.

"Special credit to the burrito you bought me" Spencer said and they both laughed. The cab stopped and Spencer opened the door for her.

“Goodbye Spencer” Max said giving him a farewell smile. Before getting on the cab Spencer stopped her for a second taking her arm.

“Ok, It's my turn...”. He bent down a little to kiss her on the cheek. “Good night Max...”. Then he helped her to get into the cab. She smiled, staring at him and grimacing.

“Good night...” Max said before closing the door of the taxi and starting the way to her house.

This time Spencer didn’t want to walk to his apartment. He stood on the sidewalk for a while until he stopped a cab for himself. He was pleased. “Not bad for a first date” he told himself. “Alright Spencer. Achievement unlocked” he concluded saying to himself with a satisfied smile on his face.

------------

[amerioxfordan]

Considering my boyfriend teased me this morning for sleeping in really late, reading half of the proceedings of a conference on African Cultural Astronomy was a surprisingly productive day. I haven’t really gotten to the actual scientific discoveries in it yet, but that will have to wait for tomorrow - which I guess means revision for my actual degree waiting until Friday.

22nd July - What is your dream vacation?

Pretty sure I answered this during the earlier quarantine challenge, and I think I gave the same answer then - I want to visit Sri Lanka, where my grandmother is from. I saw my mum’s response to a twitter thread recently, about how she stays in touch with her roots there through her cooking, and while it’s been amazing the foods she has introduced us to, I want to see the whole country, the whole culture for myself, not just the bits people have attempted to take away an recreate. That’s never going to be quite the same.

Actually sent an email to an academic in indigenous studies! I hope I did it right; but whether or not he responds, at least I, who used to be so mortally afraid of sending emails, managed to do my bit and get that email out there! I didn’t read his whole 300 page dissertation, just his 30 page slightly more public-facing article. I might look back at his dissertation in the future, but like I said at the top, I skipped ahead in the reading list (a couple of things weren’t hyperlinked, so I could check for them in SOLO, but I thought the title on this one looked interesting anyway) to African Cultural Astronomy. Probably another subject I’ll need to do a bunch of Googling for when I try to understand the context of the actual research. Outside science, the only interesting thing that happened was us ordering takeout from the restaurant where I always get bibimbap, and... I got japchae instead of bibimbap. Look at me being brave.