#-my peers and friends with their directness and implications

[cassandralexxx]

Actually no I am so pressed like it is actually absurd the number of times I have had to say “well English is my first language” while up here these past few years. to a point it’s like kind of insulting like people seem to ignore all of my background and greater details about myself and focus in on half of my ethnicity.

[harmonysanreads]

Chiaroscuro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dr Ratio x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Synopsis: There is a wilted daffodil resting between the pages of Ratio's memories. Tags: POV Dr. Ratio, Fluff and Humor and Angst, Hurt/Comfort (?), Slow-burn (oh my), Right Person Wrong Time (oh dear), Strangers to Friends, Reader is Older than Ratio, We speak in the Language of Flowers here, Literary References and Allusions, Exploration of Academic Struggles, Jealous!Ratio, Exploration of Grief, Slight Yandere!Dr Ratio, My Interpretations of Ratio's Past and Ideologies (because hyv won't tell me), Brief Aventurine Appearance TW(s): Toxic Relationships, Toxic Family Dynamics, Implications of Physical Abuse (not condoned by Ratio) Author's Note: At long last, my ‘thesis’ on Dr. Ratio is finished :') I've been working on this fic since June 2024 and finally gathered enough willpower to push through the rest of it. I started this fic with the sole goal of torturing Ratio but ended up falling in love with him halfway through this fic- as such the direction may have shifted orz Please forgive any unintentional errors and get cozy <3

「 Word Count : 11k 」 「 Artwork Credits 」 「 Read On AO3 」

i. Panorama.

They say, the best years of a human's life are spent before boards painted with chalk scribbles and around those of one's ages, filled with careless laughter and weaving hopes for the distant future.

Veritas Ratio has always disagreed with this belief and backed his own with a multitude of reasoning. For one, those so crowned ‘best years’ are not to be wasted through wishing your fantasies would come to fruition on their own. Secondly, his experiences run contrary to the images illustrated by the majority of the population. Which, fall as it might within the grounds of personal grudge, has enough weight to not be disregarded entirely, he'd argue if necessary.

If confronted on his bitter feelings regarding the schooling years of a person's life, there is a possibility that the erudite Doctor will falter and then incoherently mutter something about it not being a downright horrifying experience.

The chances of receiving further clarification from that point decreases significantly and will be entirely dependent on Ratio's mood, which, isn't perceived to be the most agreeable on most days.

In the rare case that luck shines upon the inquirer and Veritas Ratio's stern edges soften with nostalgia, there will be but one name that'll leave his lips in an uncharacteristically somber cadence.

If certain events had transpired differently, the recollections of that day would've been far sweeter than it is now — but still, the parasite known as nostalgia begs to alter his memories. It attempts to soothe the cuts gained from reaching towards aspirations far beyond his capabilities with cursory glances from the sun, and daisy petals hidden in the crevices of dusty tomes.

In the days Veritas Ratio treaded in an environment where nearly everything was twice his height, carrying expectations no one would bother to understand, he'd pledged to himself to not fold before irrational demands just because he wasn't a sight one would normally see in an institution full of burgeoning adults.

He was no stranger to the attention his genius brought, far more so the unwanted part of it.

Which was why he'd stubbornly made his goals clear to his titular peers within the first week of his attendance, much to their bewilderment.

Any suggestions for free ‘assignment completion service’ was shut down curtly and neither did the prodigious new student bother to partake in other youthful activities — but surprisingly, Veritas's distant countenance hadn't succeeded in putting a dent to his overall popularity.

Perhaps that is the reason the requests for private tutoring sessions and borrowing of notes never did cease, because despite his attitude, no one could deny his intelligence. And that, ultimately became his label in that university. Consequently, no one went out of their way to seek him out unless it concerned academics — except one person.

Ratio thinks he might've been witnessing a meteor streak the night sky instead, because relatively speaking, he couldn't trace where you appeared from with just his bare eyes.

(Though now that he thinks again, it might've been because he'd not bothered to look beyond the white board of the lecture halls, haughty as he'd been.)

—And as momentary as said event, you'd stunned him with an inquiry that did not match any of the others that'd preceded your kind.

“Why are you all alone during lunch, little boy? Whoa, you're studying even now?”

He’d barely missed the astonished gleam in your eyes when he parted from marking an important section from his book in a flinch. The unacquainted sight beside his desk had put the functions of his brain at a temporary standstill, before resuming with a barrage of questions as you observed him rather amusedly.

The small smile that appeared on your face next halted any of those inquiries from gaining voice as Veritas's reflexes worked to catch the objects tossed his way.

“Take these for now. Skipping meals isn't good for you, you know? You can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of your health first.”

Veritas blinked owlishly at the apple and sandwich now resting on his lap, the words of advice you stated in a rather sing-song tone barely registering in his head as he vacillated between demanding your identity and scoffing at your audacity.

Much to his chagrin, you evaded his burning stare and waltzed out of the vacant lecture hall before he could even open his parched mouth, again.

(What he recalls first before this peculiar interaction now is how the usually mundane sunlight had embraced your form that day.)

He only saw more and more of you from then onwards, much to his initial displeasure. For some mysterious reason, you'd made it your hobby to nag at and subtly coddle him in ways that made any other passing student raise eyebrows.

Whether it be dragging him to places and sometimes forcing him to eat lunch or separating him from his beloved books to 'refresh his mind' at some other corner of the campus, you never faltered ; despite all the scowls and passive aggressive quips he sneaked in.

Only after some research did Veritas discover you to be one among the seniors and, he'd admit it somewhat begrudgingly, you were a senior in every sense of the word.

Although, that knowledge did not aid him in answering the most begging question: why were you going out of your way to guide him through the perilous terrains of university? He'd initially suspected you to demand recompense in the same ways the others coveted. 

Perhaps you were an expert manipulator, struggling to wrap up your last year in the institute and as a result, decided to prey on the genius through teasing words and coddling.

Ratio was fully prepared to face you when you showed your true face — except, his hypothesis ended in utter failure as that expected unravelling never came.

So, on another of your usual kidnappings meetings under the old oak tree at the far end of the campus, Veritas decided to soothe the scorching paranoia in his head.

“It’s because you remind me of my little siblings! It's been such a long time since I've seen them and I just really miss them, you know?”

He doesn't know. Neither the sentiments that are apparently driving you to take care of him nor whether you're being sincere.

Here's the most annoying thing about you: despite how much of a genius Veritas is crowned to be, he's experienced repeated failures in deducing what lies beneath that benign smile of yours.

At least there are formulas and theories to explain or, get closer to the enigmas of the universe. But whatever and whoever moulded you into your present state had clearly forgotten to leave a loophole behind for curious minds like his to decipher.

“Besides, I understand how you must be feeling in this environment where everyone is half a decade older than you — even though you like to act tough. I know that there's a seed of loneliness that's ready to burst into a giant tree with the right incentive and you're just holding onto the last of your sanity to not let that happen.”

Ratio's fingers halt midway through flipping to a different page of his book. Your observation silences him long enough to make the rustles of leaves permeate the atmosphere, before he forces his brows to furrow and his lips to quirk down.

“It’s rude to make assumptions about someone you barely know.”

The purple head watched as you leaned against the palm of your hand, as though the sneer on his face was nothing worth fretting.

“Aww, did I catch little Veri off guard? No need to be in such denial, I saw you gape like an owl at my words. But owls are my favorite bird, don't worry!” The hostile expression on his face morphs into surprise as you ruffle his hair with your free hand with more enthusiasm than required.

“Rest assured, I'll take care of you for as long as I'm here, little Veri.”

“I’d appreciate it more if you don’t.”

That earned him a laugh and messier hair.

ii. Anamorphosis 

Little Veri.

If there was something he despised more than the shrill voices of his classmates, it'd be that nickname. You might've been accurate in your choice of words in a literal sense, but for the first time, honesty had bruised his ego.

The prodigy was not accustomed to being treated his age, he was always commended as ‘mature’ and being ‘beyond his years’. Yet you had never even bothered mentioning this and instead, always poked at the suppressed child that slumbered at the deepest corner of his heart.

What he loathed even more was how every repeat of that ridiculous nickname actually made him feel quote-on-quote ‘little’. No, how you allowed a leeway for that teenage heart to peek through from under a canopy of knowledge and caution.

Intentionally or not, you carved a shelter for that little boy to crawl beneath in moments that no one would care to glance at.

It was a matter of great shame although, while his teachers had handed him the basics to deciphering the laws of the universe, no one had bothered to teach him how to respond to such kindness.

Upon further digging, the genius was surprised to find that your merit resided in the top five of your entire year. While he hadn't taken you for a dimwit (he'd rather eat dirt than utter such sacrilege) his astonishment stemmed from the fact that he'd never seen an academic material accompanying you on campus.

He’d even thought your sole task was to bother him with your half-a-decade years old wisdom upon a particular session of agitation. But after clarity grasped his mind, he realized that his suspicions were simply baseless in an institution as competitive as Veritas Prime.

Instead of journals and papers concerning your major, Veritas often saw you seeking refuge in musings soaked in fantasy and your rationale behind such escapades puzzled the mind of his younger self greatly.

“And then the male lead gave a bouquet of bluebells to the female lead, declaring his feelings! Isn't that so romantic?”

Ratio scrutinized your form hunched over from giddiness derived from materials that appeared alien to his eyes, stacks of textbooks wept at the corner of the table in abandonment.

“Bluebells? I thought people gave roses for matters like this?” sunset orange eyes swept over the incredulity blooming on your visage.

You sighed as though he was the most exasperating person you had the misfortune of dealing with, “It’s because bluebells are the symbol of eternal and undying love. Roses are undoubtedly lovely but as you said, if anyone was to give roses to someone, everyone and their grandmas would have an inkling about what is happening between them! Giving someone a bouquet of bluebells on the other hand, is far more secretive and exciting.”

“I don't really understand but alright.”

Ratio almost drops his pen at the flick to his forehead, “So unromantic! You're never getting a girlfriend if you continue being like this, kid!”

His free hand whips up to shield his skin against further damage, he feels the muscles of his temple twitch in profound irritation. “I don't need—”

“Yes yes, you're too preoccupied with the pursuit of knowledge to bother with fickle things like romance blah blah blah.” Ratio's eye roll almost synchronizes with yours.

Veritas knows and he isn't ashamed to admit that he's not a romantic person. The path he walks on has no necessity for abstruse emotional attachment and sentimentalities.

On the contrary, what he abstained from seemed to be the centrepiece of your interest.

Your eyelashes flutter as you rest your elbows on the table, eyes searching for a trace of your wishes among the litany of bookshelves, “But if anyone was to confess to me, I'd want them to give me a bouquet of bluebells instead of trying to articulate their feelings.”

Ratio raised a brow as your sigh echoed throughout the grand library, “And how, pray tell, would they know of your preference?”

“That’s the thing, little Veri!” you snapped your fingers as though you'd solved the greatest dilemma plaguing mankind, “I wouldn't talk about these fantasies to just anyone. If someone was to give me a bouquet of bluebells, it'd mean that we're close enough to know these secrets and then there'd be a high chance that the feelings are mutual. No awkward moments, we'd know what we are without even speaking!”

The purple head observed as you rambled, the light from the sinking afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass shone on you. A scoff escaped him before he could stomp it down, his arms crossed almost derisively.

“And is that your sole ambition in life?”

“Of course not,” your reply was brisk and simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You met Ratio's perplexed gaze with an unusual calm, “If by ambition, you mean what I want to do after all this studying, well ��� I want to be a teacher.”

Veritas couldn't hold back the surprise from soaking his words this time, “A teacher? Why?”

But you seemed to find great entertainment in his reaction, if your twinkling eyes was anything to go by and the genius isn't even taken aback this time; your sources of amusement would never be the guesswork of anyone.

Your shoulders shifted as you shrugged, “Why not? Teaching is one of the most noble professions out there, but it warrants great caution and wisdom. Hmm, come to think of it— what do you want to be, Veri?”

Ratio nearly flinched as you expertly shifted the attention to him, glossing over it with a fake cough. “I…” his throat constricted as you leaned in ever so slightly, “—don’t know.”

“Whaaaat?” you backed away just as quickly, dragging the syllables of that word to emphasize your disappointment. “Tsk tsk, so you're just studying blindly without any clear goal? That isn't going to get you far, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

He knows that, but what is he supposed to do if his mind blanks when he tries to envision himself in any conventional field? In fact, he considers it as one of the flaws of the educational system. How a student is always urged to find their place in the grand scheme of matters but never guided through them ; or, at least, given clear pointers.

It'd also be careless to label Veritas completely clueless about his situation. What he does cradle, or was compelled to bear was not borne of his personal wishes. But with time, his mind accepted it as his own, though a part of his heart always ached with emptiness.

You cleared your throat upon noticing that a great conflict had rendered the genius speechless, “Well... as for the reason as to why I want to be a teacher, it's because I want to help those students who struggle to find their way in this vast world. Regardless of where they rank in the merit position or what ‘status’ society has assigned them. Granted, this struggle may continue even after someone has graduated and while I may not be able to help every single person, I still want to try my best. After all, that should be the goal of our educational system — in my opinion, at least!”

You chuckled somewhat bashfully afterwards, remnants of it settled on the way your lips curled. There was something so succinct yet undoubtedly natural about that smile, like petrichor and he felt a pang of regret hitting his ribcage for not noticing it before.

Although it might not appeal to some, to many it brought solace even before the sun could sweep aside the canopies of darkened clouds.

Something that's appearance was preceded only by the tears of the skies, it stunned the mind that such beauty could be unearthed from a phenomenon so seemingly insignificant.

And that realization appalled the young scholar.

iii. Tenebrism 

Ratio did not comprehend the value of your presence until he was deprived of it.

Due to certain circumstances, the genius had learned to be contingent with the fact that he'd have to navigate the majority of his life all by himself. Of course, ignoring simpletons and self-centered personnel came easy to him as well.

What the scholar wasn't conscious of, or was too prideful to acknowledge was the harrowing vacancy in some obscure corner of his heart that yearned for a deeper connection. It would take little effort for him to rationalize this longing with his age and return his attention to far more pressing concerns.

But it seemed that the more he tried to silence the wails of his feelings, the more cacophonous they became.

You'd spoiled Veritas a good amount, with your willing enthusiasm to tail after him whenever you had the reprieve.

So, when you abruptly stopped your usual pursuit in exchange of accompanying another person whose face he couldn't bother to remember, the young scholar was left to deal with a surge of emotions he had little control over.

Said emotions, were tame enough to be kept under check within the first few weeks as he learnt that the purpose of this sudden acquaintance had been for the completion of a group project.

Where the scholar's composure did start to falter was when you maintained your distance from him even after the fulfilment of said project.

And Ratio despised the sparks of resentment that'd flare up in his chest each time you'd pass him by while chatting so deliriously with that no-name stranger.

He was thrown in a limbo the first time he witnessed someone else in the position that he held and although he stubbornly convinced his mind that it was for the best ; each time the scene would replay in the corridors and crevices of the university, Veritas could see yellow hyacinths bloom in his peripheral.

He's certain now that he must've been losing his mind, or at least was on the verge of (and for such a childish cause at that) because he took shelter in a superstitious practice and ignored as many meals as he could in the futile hope that you'd come back and reprimand him again.

Ratio would have applauded you if he hadn't been so consumed by all those unsavory chemical reactions in his mind.

It didn't help his case that the first time he'd bothered to take in the environment, he was reminded of the fact that, you had others who'd accept you, but he only had you.

His frustration must've reached a new peak, because not even the most persistent of his irritable classmates were brave enough to approach him as he continued to brood hopelessly.

It wouldn't be long until he would gather the motivation to finally propel himself out of that dark space, but the method his younger self employed to do so, embarrasses the present him to no end.

“They did what?”

Veritas needn't open his eyes to picture your visage colored in shock, he opted instead to maintain his somber facade, arms folded, and brows furrowed to complete the act.

“But I never thought them to be that kind of person, quite the opposite, in fact.” followed your reluctant admission.

Ratio outstretched his palm as though enticing you to accept the news, “One can deduce so much about the ocean by gazing at its surface. The facts are before you, with substantial evidence. Whether you believe them or not depends entirely on you. I only thought I should inform you before it reaches the Principal, that is.”

He could envision your eyes oscillating between his firm countenance and the unseen prospects proposed by his words. Discreetly, he peered at your fidgeting and unconsciously held his breath.

He'd done the calculations before approaching you, the worry oozing from your gaze confirms that you've heard word of it from his ‘associates’ already and the fact that you didn't try to defend the person further tells him you've done some digging through the news portals of the university yourself.

Step by step, you've unknowingly assisted in concluding this problem.

The young scholar silences the quivers of his conscience before they can rage and foil all progress. As for this friend of yours, there were embers left behind from misdeeds of long ago. He merely reignited that flame so that those crimes would face proper punishment — although which was not his principal goal. To make sure you don't get caught in the inferno was, or at least, that's what he tells his conscience.

A half-resigned hum from you saves the scholar from spiralling, “I’ll believe you and will avoid them for the time being. Though I have my own theories, you have a point. There is no telling what is beneath a person's exterior.”

Veritas simply nods to that conclusion.

Your eyelashes flutter as you drift into a brief reverie, before fixating on his rigid person. “Ah, but what is going on with you, kiddo? You've been skipping meals again, haven't you?”

The young scholar blinks in stupefaction at the shrunken proximity between you two, the single finger beneath his chin with which you scrutinize his visage nearly burns his skin. He can hardly process what observation you're making through the dizzying fragrance of jasmines.

“I am in perfect health, as you can see—”

“For so long! It's only a matter of when that you'll faint while calculating nonsense.” you sharply interject and withdraw the searing contact. Strangely, Ratio makes no face this time.

“Come to think of it, it's been a while since we've had lunch together. Oh, I have so much to share with you! Let's not waste anymore time, let's go!”

There is good cause for why the wise warn against temptations. Bit by bit, piece by piece, oh so painfully obstinate — you fed him that poison, rendering his sharp mind a mess of inebriating chemical reactions.

You were none the wiser to the impact your fickle gestures made on him and soon, Ratio's biggest weakness, curiosity silenced the prodding of his conscience.

He gained little incentive to step far away from the leering shadows, as the brilliance of the sun made it so his fixation wouldn't stray towards the darkness.

iv. Tachisme

“Suffering is part and parcel of extensive intelligence and a feeling heart. A man who is really great, it seems to me, must suffer considerably here below.”

Your sigh weighs down on the silence of the university's library, a dull thud causing a crack on it as you set down the tome on the dark wooden table.

“I couldn't help but think of you while reading this novel.” bright orange eyes watch the way you cushion your cheek against your knuckles minutely.

“Suffering, misery, sadness, whatever you name it is inconsequential to any human being. But I feel like, those who are labelled as being ‘different’ than the majority experience a certain kind of those challenges. The ones that are weighty on the tongue when they attempt to express it, perhaps inscrutable to even themselves.” Ratio mulls over your musings, briefly closing his eyes.

“Everyone’s experiences are bound to be different.” comes his easy response.

The furrow in your brows suggests the conflict his words stirred instead of assurance, “You take everything so coolly, but I can't help but worry for you. You may be calm and certain about everything now but there's no guarantee you'll always be this way. On top of it all, you reject close relationships, thus narrowing your options to lean on someone should a sizable problem come.” 

Ratio catches himself before his eyes can roll sideways, “Surely you didn't drag me out of a lecture just to nag me again?” his subconscious notes the reduced exasperation that prospect stirs within himself.

You often worry for a future that has yet to seize anyone. While the young scholar commends your far-sightedness, he really cannot understand the use of losing one's mind over events that haven't happened yet.

Thinking ahead is helpful, turning that habit into an obsessive frenzy is not.

He observes the way your frown expands, deepens and ultimately loosens up with a sigh. You refrain from broaching the topic further, another quality he appreciates.

Though you don't make an attempt to defend yourself, you refuse to voice out anything else as well, settling your eyes to a distant point in existence.

For once Veritas is ruffled by the silence, so he makes an attempt to change the subject — because counting your eyelashes isn't the most productive thing for a scholar to do.

“It’s not everyday I see you carrying something that doesn't have hearts and glitters on the cover page.” his eyes settle pointedly on the book before you.

You scoff, “One does not survive in Veritas Prime simply from reading light novels.” there's a trace of pride in your admission.

“Oh? So, what does ‘one’ do to maintain their spot in the top five?” Ratio quirks a brow, holding your gaze.

The witty response he anticipates gets replaced by another sigh, puzzling him for an instance, “I’m assuming this is about me never studying within campus. Well, I just like keeping my study space and my socializing space separate. Listening to lectures here and doing the heavy lifting in my room. It's what works for me, in any case.”

There's genuine interest in his next questions, “And what do you do when you get bored while studying? Or when you feel like you can't concentrate anymore?”

You twirl a stray lock of your hair, cheek still resting on your knuckles, “Take a bath to sober myself up, I guess. When your mind is full of garbage, your body will likely not be the cleanest either.”

You shrug, your nonchalant attitude renders his mind to a blank slate. For a while he does nothing but think about your words, though the response he gives matches none of the context.

“I feel like there is so much I don't know about you.”

It's your turn to be surprised, but unfortunately for Ratio, the sight is still too brisk. You break into a fit of laughter, wiggling your brows as though you know something.

“Silly little Veri, let me tell you something. People are like icebergs! We can only see their tips with our bare eyes but to know them in their full capacity, we have to dive down.”

“But the waters are cold.” the young scholar pushes.

Your giggles soften to a smile, “That’s exactly the point.” and you refuse to elaborate further, again.

To reach the heart of the iceberg, one must push through the freezing depths of the ocean. Whether Veritas Ratio has that willpower, is a question left for his future self.

v. Sotto in su

As the days lapsed, more and more memories anchored themselves in Ratio's mind. They brought with them a different seed of emotion, every exchange with his enigmatic senior nurtured and coaxed it to sprout tender leaves.

Before his syllabus could be replaced, the fact had been known to everyone regardless of their relation to the prodigy. If your recurring appearances in Ratio's life and his noticeable tolerance for your presence was anything to go by, it was apparent to anyone with a conscious mind that his opinion of you was at a level above everyone else's.

Exchanges between different years wasn't an uncommon phenomenon, but a friendship with the notoriously detached prodigy was an understandable bewilderment. Though, the students at Veritas Prime quickly learned to use it to their advantage rather than criticizing it — a unanimous realization that Ratio was just a bit more agreeable in your presence.

Not that Ratio was unaware of their schemes, the fact that they construed that he'd tolerate them solely because of your connection further cemented his belief that all these wannabe researchers were still light-years away from the truth they speak to seek.

Albeit, after noticing that he'd been more approachable for students who genuinely wanted to learn rather than to fulfill some pecuniary purpose — he begrudgingly admitted that, there was an influence taking place.

Veritas swiftly ignored the rumors. While not one to waste his time, being with you brought along perspectives that challenged his thinking style. To him, truth has always been beautiful because it will not change, even through the failures in understanding it.

But you're a human being, change is rooted in your constitution.

The cycle of erosion and accretion that makes you you hinders even a brilliant scholar like him in grasping the characteristics of your soul. This form of beauty he was not acquainted with before, admittedly.

Relying too much on either rigidity or malleability will pose problems. It is through the search of a balance can we discover the answers.

It may not be obvious at first glance, but you aspire to guide others through the murky depths of ignorance while pondering this apparent equilibrium — since neither extremes can be eliminated. As strange as that selflessness initially appeared to him, Ratio has developed a sense of respect for your ambitions.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it seemed as though you knew exactly what was transpiring.

In fact, you were conscious of a lot of things ; it's just that you preferred to pretend that you didn't for reasons that he hasn't comprehended yet.

For the longest time he interpreted that thoughtful sparkle in your eyes as just another play of light. Whenever his reactions to your teasing would come off as more animated than last and the flush that he'd try so hard to not let extend to his cheeks do just that — you'd have that nearly imperceptible realization reflected in your eyes. It scratched at the parchedness Ratio hadn't even recognized to be there.

His fear was confirmed to be true one afternoon in a vacant lecture hall, though not through words.

“Is this for me?” sunset orange eyes shone against the shadows that fell on his back.

“Well, do you see anyone else here?” your huff and his eyeroll synchronize.

You patiently held the book covered in elaborate illustrations of flowers for his taking, though what captured the scholar's attention most was the single yellow bloom tied atop with a violet ribbon on the book. He recognized the book to be a copy of the floriography manual he often saw tucked between your collections.

“You’re probably wondering ‘what value will this book bring to you’. Well, as I've said before, studious scholars should never limit their perspectives.” you almost shove the gift into his hands in response to his stunned countenance.

“And,” an accidental brush of your fingers against his hand sends an unwanted shudder through his arteries, “Happy birthday, little Veri.”

You withdraw just as quickly, the hues of the setting sun softening the smile on your face.

Ratio forces himself to look elsewhere, "You're still going to use that ridiculous nickname, huh? What a way to welcome me into adulthood." he mutters, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste that he tries to mask with sarcasm.

He feels your chuckle probing at his heart, taunting the quickened pace in which it revolts against its cage. You shift your gaze to the golden petals resting atop the book, a somber sigh tumbling from your lips.

“— Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon ;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not yet attained his noon.”

Many see fit to celebrate their first step into adulthood with enthusiastic celebrations, Ratio's eighteenth birthday brought with it a clinging bittersweetness — not that he allowed himself to dwell on it for long, his future plans taking precedence over sentiments.

The lone daffodil had been tucked between a random section of the book you gifted, hidden away from his sight. The border between cowardice and courage was thin, nearly translucent in the manner the result dictated what it would turn out to be.

The journey of uncovering the mysteries of the universe is a similar pursuit. Emerge victorious and you'll be brave, fail and you'll be heralded foolish. Ratio was far from a coward or a foolish man, sometimes not going head-fast into uncertain territories is the mark of intelligence.

He allowed the daffodil to wilt and turned not a page, for he knew in some deep crevice of his subconscious that it'd blight the clarity of his mind with another flood of emotions he did not have the capacity to process.

Luckily, his agony met a premature end as you departed from Veritas Prime by the end of the year with a certificate in hand.

Who knows how many sleepless nights and crushed dreams paved the path for the ink lines on that single piece of parchment. Ratio had been there as the first to congratulate you, it was the least he could do.

He did not proceed farther than that, as you'd made it clear that there would forever be a line he would be unable to trespass.

Ratio was fully aware of the limitations the silly crush that accumulated over the time in your acquaintance brought and he expressed no interest in pushing those boundaries either.

He found solace in the fact that he'd met you at all. He wouldn't say you illuminated his life, for even you always believed it was the individual themselves who possessed that power.

You nudged him towards the path to find his light and that lesson, he wanted to honor all his life.

The memories of your time would stay treasured in his mind and the curve of your smile would be preserved in marble. Without the echo that his ears yearned to capture, he saw fit to isolate his senses from unnecessary stimulation.

Though you'd never grace the corridors of Veritas Prime again, the footprints of your presence etched deep in the genius's memories would never fade.

vi. Trompe l'oeil

His next encounter with you was a tad unexpected, just at the horizon of Ratio putting the full stop to his years at the university.

Veritas’s fingers slackened around the handle of his umbrella, a page or two of the manuscript of his thesis slipping past his grip and drifting along the roaring wind — but his eyes couldn't chase after them. Much too fixated on the way your shoulder bumped with theirs, not at all by accident.

The rain soon cloaked your figures from his spying gaze, the droplets soaking the ends of his clothes failed still to snatch his attention away. In spite of the thunderous cries of the sky, the echo of your laugh was all he could hear.

—

Time never ceased its relentless march; life followed its direction and events moulded more memories.

For the sake of productivity, he had no choice but to push back his curiosity and stay away from your life. His studies and workload helped generously in keeping his mind from wandering to frightful territories at inconvenient instances, though a certain spark nestled deep somewhere in his subconscious.

Before long, his name resounded far beyond the gates of Veritas Prime.

Veritas Ratio, now Dr. Ratio, felt his nerves flare again as he looked at the latest discussions on the university’s online forum, the words “Dr. Ratio Will Surely Snag A Place At The Genius Society, Won’t He?” in bold only tickled his annoyance further.

Ordinarily, he would stay as far away as possible from discussions concerning himself — which was easier said than done.

Aggrandizing anything always leads to disappointment. Ratio's surroundings loved to goad his path, but he knew, such chatter would morph to whispers the moment their expectations were proven false.

Dr. Ratio’s brooding came to a halt at the collision, his reflexes acted and he clasped onto the stranger’s arm before they could fall. He heard leaves crunching under his boots, strangers threw cursory glances at the near-accident. 

His lips parted in what a spectator could assume to be the beginning of an apology, but paused upon noticing the words resignation letter on the paper in the stranger's grasp.

Orange eyes flickered, trailing upward, within the fabric of scarlet you burrowed deep in search of comfort from the scare.

You mimicked his earlier attempt, craning your neck for a second to meet his gaze and halting in recognition.

“Veritas… Ratio?”

The addressed scholar blinks, blurting out before he could think, “That’s not what you used to call me.”

There's a scintilla of surprise in your eyes at his unintentional jest, he anticipates a laugh next, but only an awkward quirk of your lips greets him.

Your eyes dart around your environment, before returning to his grasp. Feeling the weight of your stare, he releases his hold with a fake cough.

“I… apologize.” his hand found refuge on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay, accidents... happen, you know.” you wave him off with your free hand.

A breeze passes through the gap between you two.

It might've just been Ratio’s misjudgement, but he felt as if you were about to run away for a millisecond. Your fingers tightened around the paper in your hold, you gathered yourself with a deep inhale.

“Congratulations on obtaining your fourth doctorate degree! I often discuss your papers in my classes, you are an inspiration to so many people.”

A flicker of sunlight filtered through the leaves above fell and there appeared that smile he knew. Years had gone by, yet the mystery in it remained still out of his reach.

“Thank you,” he tilted his head downward, “I’m glad to hear that you pursued your dream.”

Ratio sneaked a glance, your nod faded into silence. His gaze lingered on your face, the concentrated flush on your right cheek made his brows furrow.

He was no fool to the tension in the air and your unusual fidgety demeanor. He briefly contemplated if he should just depart.

However, he couldn't deny the fact that questions had accumulated throughout the interval of your absence from his life. The differences between the you before him and the you from his memories begged him to probe, to study and learn.

He felt himself drawn to the paper in your hand again, a glint on your ring finger caught his eye. Among the myriad of inquiries battling to escape his lips, the one that’d warred the longest emerged victorious.

“Did they…” he began, uncertain.

“Give you a bouquet of bluebells?”

Your flighty gaze froze to confusion for a moment as you tried to decode his words, Ratio mirrored your gaze as you failed to answer. You quickly blinked away any hints of shock, a forceful bite stopped the trembling of your lips.

(He felt a twist somewhere in his heart.)

“Can we… talk somewhere else?” you suggested. Despite it being the middle of autumn, there's a storm brewing in your eyes. 

—

Veritas could see splinters on the cup in his grip, the dark beverage within threatening to spill.

A passing waitress threw the table a concerned glance, but could not find the courage to intervene. The sight of your antsy wringing of hands in his peripheral alerted him to breathe. He loosened his grip on the poor cup of coffee just in time, a burdened exhale following suit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, what do you intend to do now?”

You fiddled with the band on your ring finger ; within the vacancy of the cafe, to Ratio, it felt as if even such an insignificant gesture gained voice.

The insistence of your silence prompted him to continue, “The culmination of your hard-work, one that stole almost all of your life ; all of those sleepless nights, unsaid sacrifices for the sole wish of helping others — all of it, you're going to let go, just like that? Just because an idiot claims they know better?”

Dr. Ratio could not understand, no matter which angle he looked at it from. The answer to your dilemma was crystal clear to the scholar, he’d be willing to bet it’d be clear to anyone with a functioning brain — and yet, you hesitate.

You continue to shuffle and avert your gaze, sometimes parting your lips to speak but withdrawing the next second.

A person that's found the tunnel’s end should run towards it, but you remain at the precipice of darkness.

“I…” The purple head straightens up at the sound of your voice, it is weak, hopeless ; a complete stranger to who you once were.

You abruptly gather your things, “I’m sorry, please forget I ever said anything —” an innocent glass is knocked off in your haste.

Cold, your hand is chillingly cold as Ratio grabs it, preventing you from running away. The unnatural temperature of it temporarily unsettles the man, but the situation at hand prompts him to push the observation back.

You try to force your wrist out of his grasp, but he presses on, “Can’t you see, that they are ruining you? This is not who you used to be! Your so-called 'fiance' is destroying you, they’ll not stop until you're nothing but a shell of yourself and they can reshape you to their liking!”

“I really have to go —�� a vein pops on Ratio’s forehead, the wanton glass hits the floor.

“And why go? To receive another slap from them?” he feels your palm dampen from sweat, pieces of shattered crystal splaying across the tiles.

You look at him in disbelief and he blinks, the sharpness of his words finally cutting him.

The incipiency of an apology gathers at the tip of his tongue, but you halt it from escaping.

“Whatever happens between us, is none of your business, Veritas Ratio.”

If your hand was simply cold, your glare is freezing. It stuns the scholar enough to make his clasp loosen, you quickly snatch your hand away.

You’re two steps in when Veritas rushes to add, unwilling to back down, “But it was still you who reached out to me.”

The scholar hears the pause in your heels, you don't turn to address him and he doesn't move to obstruct your path either.

The bell signals your departure as the waitress from before rushes to clean the broken glass, leaving Ratio alone with his thoughts.

—

Veritas Ratio has had scarce attachments to worry about in his life.

For better or for worse, it appeared as though the direction of his life was steered towards one particular destination, everything else proved to be transient.

While his surroundings eroded and flourished within the touch of mortal delights, he remained but a spectator, destined to observe but never indulge.

Love. A simple word, yet any singular meaning behind which could still not be agreed upon.

He saw it in the way parents cradled their children, in the eyes of a couple that brushed past him in the streets. Flighty like the union between another pair of his former classmates, strengthened like the wrinkly hold of that couple that sold flowers down the street ; its form, just like its definition, is infinite.

The scholar thinks he's felt it somewhere in his past, or at least the vestiges of it — within the glow of a cryptic smile and a mind that did not yield.

Troublesome as it’d been, it did not conquer him. Ultimately, he wielded enough willpower to move on.

Some say, brilliant minds that toil too long in the territories of the unknown, become dense to the simpler aspects of life. Ratio did not see the inconvenience in this notion for a long time, not when it aided him more than burden him.

That is, until the encounter at the cafe.

If nothing else, it was clear to the prodigy that you had changed, for the worst at that.

The 'you' he’d known would know how to pick yourself up, or more accurately, that ‘you’ wouldn't have allowed things to escalate this far at all.

You would've left this rotten excuse of a relationship the first time they raised their voice, you would never concede to that fatal act of disrespect, under no circumstance would you let such an excuse of a human have such control — he… he hoped.

Ratio leaned back in his chair, a frown creeping in to his face.

For all these outrageous claims that he's been making of the you he was familiar with, how much did he actually know?

Is a year’s observation enough to grant him that badge of familiarity?

It is as you said, who is he to judge you at all?

Within the gloom of his study, his eyes unconsciously met with those etched in marble, the curve of a sun-kissed smile. He hand moved on its own, turning the table-lamp towards the sculpture and indeed, the light has always suited you more than him.

His recollections backtrack to the hazy gaze he saw that day, the encumbrance in them hoisting him up to chase after the itch for answers.

An uncounted number of hours passed, only after perusing a decent pile of tomes did it finally click in his head.

Ratio had no excuses or motivation to defend himself, he most certainly handled the situation poorly.

When the average attempts of leaving such relationships is between seven and twelve, it was insensitive of him to confront you like that.

Cognitions clouded in rage, he ignored the questions he should've asked, the sense of security he should've provided — the one you sought from him — and cornered you abruptly.

Foolish foolish foolish — he felt his fingers tug at his hair, breaths stuck in his lungs. Rationale does not always succeed in helping others see reason, how could he be so careless with you, of all people?

He didn't even know what stage of this hell you were at, how many times you’ve attempted to leave and what leverage they have over you.

Well, it would be most accurate to say he didn't know anything at all and yet, he arrogantly told you to 'just leave'.

The purple-head forced himself to breathe, the self-loathing could be shelved for a later day, what's more important now is finding you again.

He stood up from the heap of tomes, only to pause, does he deserve to seek you out again?

He betrayed your trust and you shut him off for good, should he even bother now?

A distant tug held him back.

Much like before, there is that line between you two that he cannot cross, must not cross.

He’s no longer a teenager in documents, but he doubts you see him as anything more than that ‘little Veri’.

—

The echoes of passing vehicles ricocheted around the streets, but Dr. Ratio’s attention stayed transfixed on the ivory petals in front of him.

A week or so had passed, the ruminations of those doubts kept him away from the confrontation and stole his nights.

It would be easy to cure this ailment, finding you would be but a matter of a few swipes. But that uncertainty, the ghost of a past insecurity, clung to his resolve. As such, peace abandoned him for a while.

A zephyr whispered to him, “Asphodels,”

He hummed without much thought, sunset orange eyes tracing the dulcet lines in those blooms. 

“ ‘My regrets will follow you to the grave’, it's not everyday you see someone looking at these flowers with such care.”

If anyone looked straight into the scholar’s eyes at that moment, they'd for sure be able to witness the cogs turning in his brain in them.

Ratio finds you startled once he whips to his left, your presence finally registering in his head.

A prayer, a yearning, your name escapes his lips. But any further speech is obstructed from taking shape.

You’re the first to recover, “I apologize for running away like that the other day. It… was cowardly of me to tell you to mind your own business when I was the one who confided in you first.” your head lowers in appeal.

He’s sure of it now, you must be on the quest of giving him a heart-attack, what with these continuous surprises you’re throwing at him.

Well, if not a fatality, they're at least doing a wondrous job in preventing him from processing the fact in its entirety — you're here, you’re here, you're here.

You found him, again. Just like all those years ago in the lecture hall, all those times he was skipping lunch, on his eightieth birthday and that other day ; it was always you finding him.

(Has he ever broken through his pride and cowardice and tried to find you instead?)

The scholar hastens to join you, “No, it was my incompetence in failing to understand your situation that pushed you to leave. I completely failed to provide you with safety when you trusted me. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

He couldn't see it, but he could picture your disbelief at his behavior. Your fist mirrored his, “No, it was clearly my stupidity—”

“Nonsense!” his exclamation earned him a flinch from you. He subconsciously straightened up to drive his point across, “It was me who —”

In the hurry and flurry of emotions, your head bumped with his, ending his tirade prematurely.

Your eyes settle on him, a car runs past your perplexed figures and then, the streets get cloaked in quietude ; before being filled with your giggle.

Against his control, his lips twitch and laughter bubbles in his chest. He allows them to gain voice and join yours.

You fan your face with your hand as the chuckles skid to an end, Ratio feels his cheeks warmed when he inhales. But none of you bother addressing the previous argument, its result apparent.

You take a deep breath and exhale. The scholar sees sun-glitter in your pupils, “I left them, by the way.”

That sobers him.

“Your…”

“Fiancé, yes. Or well, ex-fiancé now.” as if on cue, Ratio catches your now vacant ring finger.

“They tried to beg me to stay. But to be honest, it was not the first time they appealed to my sympathy.” you find interest in the pavement, searching for the remnants of your memories in their cracks. 

“... But I really put my foot down this time. And oh, I didn't quit my job either, in case you were wondering.” you heave, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“And where are you residing now — if you don't mind me asking?”

“I’m temporarily staying at a friend's house. Don't worry, I’m at a safe place.” you reassure, detecting the underlying concern in his inquiry.

Ratio’s shoulders sag as he exhales, the receding adrenaline dulling his worries. Turns out you didn't really need his help, not that he's astonished. It was in your nature to extend help towards others but thinking twice before asking for help.

(Although he's in no position to criticize, he so wished that you’d find it in yourself to rely on him a bit more.)

“If you ever need anything, just give me a call or a text. You still have my number, correct?” he glances down to gauge your expression.

When you nod, he murmurs a faint ‘good’ and silence takes over. He contemplates if he should add anything else, but the serenity in the atmosphere prompts him to push back those concerns.

“Well, goodbye for today?” you suggest, snapping him back to reality.

He raises his hand to do just that, but a different thought alarms him.

“Let me walk you home.” he pushes back the cringe at the excess firmness to his tone, rushing to add, “Please?”

For a blink or two, you looked at him as though you’ve just sighted an alien. He assumes it's the ‘out-of-character’ tendencies he’s been portraying that has you double-check. It seems that he was not the only one comparing the present and the past.

Luck appeared by his side — or perhaps it was just your pity — and you conceded without any complaint, letting him join your steps. The scholar barely hid his glee through his gait.

The planet that housed Veritas Prime would get decorated in the lovely shades of ripened maple leaves around this time. Civilians gathered in groups beneath these scenes, some enjoying a leisurely picnic, others focused on getting their desired pictures.

Ratio noticed your wanton glance at a pair on a picnic mat, his lips tugging down at the tell-tale signs of where your thoughts ran towards.

But before he could do anything, you turned away and picked up your pace ; the pair’s laughter but background noise.

With some haste, he caught up to you. Racking his brain to distract your mind, he found himself empty-handed.

Four doctorates and yet, his mind goes blank when he needs it the most. He couldn't be any more disappointed in himself.

Just as he’s about to start a mental berating though, you side-step a rock and Ratio’s hand bumps with yours, their frigidity alerting him.

He stops in his tracks, and you do too, looking up quizzically at him.

He extends his palm, “Give me your hand,”

Your confusion only increases, “What? Why?”

“It’s too cold. Are you certain you aren't sick?” he thinks back to the encounter he had with you at the cafe, the chill he felt when he grasped your hand. He initially thought it a coincidence, but now, he was really concerned.

“Ahh, this, you see,” you flex your fingers, a feeble attempt at warming them up. “My hands kind of respond to the temperature? Don't ask because I don't know exactly why either, during winter, they're usually cold like this. But in summer, they're very warm.”

Ratio quirks a brow, “Just the fact that it tends to happen doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, does it?”

“No…” you trail off, “But! That's what my fiance— I mean, ex-fiance would always tell me, to just get used to it.”

Your eyes flicker back to Ratio’s, the disbelief in them telling you enough of what you need to know.

The scholar ran a hand through his hair, he shuddered to ponder what other garbage they had fed your brain.

His sigh is carried by a passing breeze, “It’s okay. They aren't here to dictate your life anymore.” he once again offers you his hand, another hope-filled prayer.

You look at his extended palm and back to his patient gaze, your fingers fisting in themselves for a moment before loosening.

He sees the ebb and flow of doubt and hope in their movements, inching closer and closer to his.

He cradles your hand when it reaches him, your fingers slipping easily through the gaps of his. The difference in temperature alerts his reflexes for a second before he calms them down.

He stuffs your intertwined hands in his coat pocket — your gasp fades behind you as he resumes his gait.

Ratio does not dare glance in your direction, but he knows you're watching, scrutinizing him. It reminds him of the look you had at the end of your university days, the memory of the incident that followed makes his throat parched.

Your grip is unusually weak, combined with the knowledge of your situation, the scholar can't stop himself from adding.

“Have you been eating well? Tell me if you haven't, I'll take you to have a proper meal. But don't lie about these matters, you can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of yourself first.”

You freeze at his words and Ratio makes the mistake of returning your stare.

Seeing no change in his serious expression though, you shake your head with a chuckle, assuring him of your health.

The clicking of both of your shoes against the pavement is the only thing keeping his heart-beat at bay, his attention from focusing too much on the feel of your hand in his and the myriad of chemical reactions flooding his reward system.

When the coldness in your hand has been completely replaced with the warmth from his, you gesture to him that you’ve reached your destination.

He feels an unexpected reluctance in letting you go, something in his gut pushing him to hold on — but he ignores it.

You pause before opening the gates, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

He looks up in time to see your smile, it's not like all those times you’ve smiled before — no, no. This time, lilac petals cling to its corners.

Ratio covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the stupid curve of his lips from anyone's eyes. The lingering warmth from your hand finally allowed his heart to beat with fervor.

He wanted nothing more than to give you a bouquet of bluebells at that moment.

vii. Sfumato

The day Dr. Ratio returned to your side with the pledged bluebells, was beautiful.

The canopy of winter had begun to be swept aside as nascent leaves heralded spring, twitters of birds ornamented the breeze.

When fresh fountain ink meets parchment, it spreads with a thin halo of blue — the sky of that moment brought back this image in his mind. The sun found amusement in steering behind ivory clouds ; a cheeky, one sided game of hide and seek played with light and dark.

The sun made a mistake, a sidestep allowed rays to escape and fall on the lace ribbon of the bouquet.

Sun-glitter followed the lead of Ratio’s arm, over the arch of his wrist, finding their way from beneath the crevices of his fingers — shining, glimmering, as lapis petals caressed the tombstone.

How strange, didn't it usually rain and roar for scenes like these in those light novels of yours?

Veritas could not feel his breaths, it's as if the mechanisms of his respiratory system halted for that matter, he couldn't even feel his eyes flutter.

Idiocy.

He contemplated turning away altogether, what was he even thinking, bringing bluebells to the cemetery like a young lover?

A dead leaf crunched from his retreating step, the note stunning him in place.

Perhaps he should've brought the chopped off, bleeding excuse of a skull of that man — if only, if only if only any being, any listening existence in this wretched world would reassure him that it’d bring you back. 

The scholar felt his fingers lax from their cocoon, but he knew, that would be impracticable. If a life for a life resurrected the other, his fingers wouldn't tremble in usurping that leverage and bringing justice to your final moments.

But he knew, oh how the erudite scholar despised knowledge for the first time in his life — that it’d soothe him, but leave a hollow far worse in his heart.

A sigh forced its way past his lips, onerous was its euphony. Windswept locks of violet poked at the way crystalline orange held onto the engraving on the silver stone ; the name, once his boon, now his bane.

Splinters of marble flew, papers, pens, innocent objects were tossed aside like fickle trash. Rouge flecked once pristine alabaster. Midst the carnage, a book fell betwixt Veritas’s path.

A withered daffodil lamented rationality’s fall.

Newspapers and channels boldly flashed the incident for a week — individual apprehended for the charge of murdering their ex-fiancé — before being swallowed by other, more fascinating pieces of events.

Ratio found himself scoffing at their tone, picking apart their every word and spacing, frowning at how quick people's interest moved on.

Indeed, the world waits for none. The ones lingering are always tormented.

With the last person in close association with you behind the bars of the psych ward and your acquaintances grieving, the scholar took it upon himself to deliver your files and belongings to your family.

But that decision turned out to be a lesson, the universe once again pointing out without mercy the mediocrity of his knowledge.

“Does that mean we’ll have to turn to the streets now?” whispered a little too loudly, a little too carelessly, your step-mother to your father.

Ignorance.

Perhaps Ratio’s disbelief had been too loud on his face, for your father shushed her quickly and attempted to smooth over the slip-up with a barely-strung lament.

But the scholar had learned what was to be surmised from this family, all of their next speeches effortlessly ignored by him.

So the reason you ultimately didn't quit your job was for them, Veritas's eyes dimmed. Feelings were never his forte, this messy heap of them he had no clue what to do with.

And the siblings you used to so dearly miss back in your university days? The second-oldest after you put back her headphones after he finished delivering the news and the youngest couldn't even recall your name.

Ratio seldom used the phrase, but it was truly a miracle he left that fetid establishment without causing damage.

He decided against disclosing your remaining belongings to them and instead, gave them away for charity as written in a journal he accidentally stumbled upon while sorting through them.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew this would happen.

But you refused to confide in anyone, tolerating the farce of a content life.

Ratio could not understand, did not even know where to begin in decoding what was going through your head when you lied to him and what had coerced him into believing it.

Of course you didn't leave them, that would've been too perfect and too merciful an end and clearly, the universe would not allow it. Of course he needed to be shown how much of an idiot he still is, the extent of his wishful thinking.

Ratio concurs he deserves it.

But did you deserve to meet such an end? No, your life shouldn't have been shaped this way to begin with! And yet, it had been.

For long did he stare off into vacant space, casting aside the need for slumber, attempting to answer what was to be done now. The silence beckoned him, that it was nothing.

Perhaps, you were at peace now at last.

Perhaps the craving for this serenity was what had prompted you from not fighting off that axe.

Perhaps, you had closed your eyes without any regrets.

When the haze in his head cleared a bit, he visited your grave again. Dust had gathered on the lifeless petals of the bluebells he’d left, the scholar tenderly rid them from the surface.

He dug a section beside your resting place and planted fresh asphodels. An elderly woman saw the scene in passing but did not comment, pity clung at the edges of her eyes.

Foolishness.

In fear of the tides of time burying the traces of your foot-steps, Ratio chased after them. The places you spoke so fondly of, the flowers and stories you cherished and the students you stood proud beside.

They spoke of your passion, your vision and your resilience to him.

They say, even a lifetime of ‘knowing’ someone is not sufficient in knowing them.

Although he’d known you for a miniscule timeframe, he squandered no effort in trying to understand you. Only at this juncture, did your nature become clear to him. You were an expert in keeping your lips shut, a seasoned performer of half-truths and no stranger to the art of survival.

It was no coy act, you trusted no one with your actual thoughts and motivations — that was the naked truth.

So then, it begs the question, what exactly did you try so hard to eradicate?

Supposing that this universe suffers from a common ailment, and it is so persistent, so adhesive, so elusive that it plagues the dullest to the most brilliant mind — that despite all attempts at curing it, only its surface has been scratched. And this truth had been so frustrating, even you could not stand back.

Ratio tapped his fingers against his desk, what other malady does an educator aspire to cure other than ignorance?

Foolishness? Idiocy? Stupidity? All synonymous, yet capable of clasping and corrupting irrespective of a person’s standing in the path of life.

To rid them, scholars, researchers and teachers attempt to disseminate knowledge with the vow of indiscrimination.

But Dr. Ratio knew, the oasis of knowledge is but a mirage in the desert of ignorance. For the populace to reach that base awareness, to recognize that mirage — that, is what is needed.

The scholar saw the early light of dawn from betwixt the crevices of his window, the hinges groaned as he pushed them open and for the first time — the sun embraced him and the shadows fell behind his form.

But the meteor that briefly illuminated his sky, is gone — as tends to be their destiny. He can do nothing but carry the memories of its glow.

—

Light glinted over the edge of the cone, approaching footsteps reminded the doctor to tuck it away from prying eyes.

Ratio tsk-ed upon feeling the absence of his headpiece, cracks on the alabaster had demanded a remake.

The scholar’s eyes met with the ones cradling the remnants of a bygone sunset, melting into hues of ocean blue.

“Doc! Didn't expect to see you here.” drawled an unfortunately familiar man. Ratio offered a blink in greeting.

“Yes, how astonishing it is to see a member of the Intelligentsia Guild in its corridors.” the doctor muttered plainly, the Stoneheart in the spotlight merely maintained his smile.

Ratio noticed his other hand to be occupied, “And what about you? Busy squandering your time as usual, gambler?”

Contrary to his expectations, the quirk of Aventurine’s lips widened as though he’d struck gold, he smoothed over the lapels of his suit. The erudite scholar subconsciously braced himself for whatever trick was to be brought next.

“Now now, it's not squandering if you're spending it with a dear person.” he winked.

Veritas caught a silhouette peeking from behind the blonde, “Meaning?”

“Ah, how uncourteous of me.” though there's a note of glee in his voice. “Allow me to introduce you to…”

Dr. Ratio observed as a figure emerged from Aventurine’s shadow, the passing question of how he hadn't noticed them sooner was pushed aside as they joined the Stoneheart in the spotlight.

“My dearest, precious jewel or— how did you prefer it again? Hmm I can't seem to remember~” an elbow to his side and huff broke through his theatrics ; the vacant halls gained life through laughter, petrichor bloomed in their notes.

“Just kidding, my bluebell.”

A meteor crossed the orbit of Ratio’s life again.

© harmonysanreads | do not cross-post, translate, plagiarise, copy on a different platform or use my works to train ai.

Thank you so much for reading!

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[niki-phoria]

떠오른 달 그 위로 / 이 밤을 날아 crazy over you

megumi, yuuji, yuuta, and toge boyfriend headcannons!

notes: gn!reader (no pronouns specified), 400ish words each, part two of my ramblings with @ffinnamon, this is not proofread please forgive any mistakes lmao, 圣诞快乐！happy holidays everyone :)), title from enhypen - moonstruck

━━ boyfriend!megumi who doesn’t confess to you - gojo does. it only takes one offhand comment from your teacher as he scrolls through his phone, snickering to himself when you begin sprinting towards the dorms

━━ boyfriend!megumi who smiles softly when you confess. your words jumble together as you rush to tell him that you like him too. you only stop when he softly chuckles, quietly reminding you to calm down and take a breath. he hopes that his flushed cheeks don’t look as red as they feel as he clings to the remains of his nonchalant reputation

━━ boyfriend!megumi who always carries a digital camera in his pocket. you rarely notice, but he pulls it out at random, taking a few moments to snap candid photos of his favourite moments: when you kneel down to pet a stray cat wandering through the streets of kyoto; how bright your smile is when you beat yuuji in a sparring match; snowflakes decorate your hair on winter days when you drag him outside for a walk despite the cold

━━ boyfriend!megumi who kisses you first. it’s another moment where your beauty shines through despite the world around you. he’s always worried - always on alert for another curse or waiting for a sign of danger. but your touch sends shivers racing down his spine. your smile is outshines the sun. and when your lips meet his own, the weight of the world doesn’t feel so heavy anymore

━━ boyfriend!megumi whose friends are constantly teasing him. yuuji has enough grace to bite his tongue when he realizes the implication of his words, but nobara kicks him beneath the table when he rolls his eyes, swearing, “we’re just trying to help!”

━━ boyfriend!megumi who lets you take care of him. he sighs as you tuck the blankets snugly around his body, forcing him to lay down and stay in his dorm. he swears your fussing is annoying, but you meet no resistance when you force him to lay down, complete with a new box of tissues and a full water bottle by his side. “get some rest, megumi,” you say as you tug his curtains closed. “you can’t exercise any curses unless you’re feeling healthy”

━━ boyfriend!megumi who opens up to you. his shoulder just barely brushes against yours as he moves to sit beside you. he doesn’t move away when you reach over, gingerly taking his hand into your own. your fingertips stroke against the bruises decorating his knuckles when he quietly speaks. “i had a sister,” he begins. “her name was tsumiki”

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who doesn’t have any experience with dating and never wanted to. he had never paid attention to gossip from his peers. he lives life in the moment, too caught up with the experiences of right now to worry about labels

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who sheepishly smiles when you ask him what your relationship status is. he casually shrugs as he turns to face you, washing your worries away easily. “honestly i’m not sure.” he shoves his hands into his pockets. “but i like you. a lot”

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who loves to watch movies with you. he curls up against your side, his arm thrown lazily around your waist and his legs half entangled with yours. he smiles brightly when he leans upwards just enough to press a chaste kiss against the skin of your cheek. “i bet you’ll love this one,” he says

━━ boyfriend!yuuji whose dates are almost always impulsive. he’s never been good at planning. outings consist of him excitedly tugging on your wrist as he leads you in the direction of a new sushi restaurant he hadn’t noticed before or closing his eyes and pointing to a poster to pick which movie you’ll watch

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who kisses you first. his hands clumsily rest on your shoulders, awkwardly holding you close. his lips feel chapped against your own. the kiss itself is short and a little messy. admittedly, he’s never done this before. but he makes up for it when he leans in again, this time slower, and all but melts into the comforting feeling of your touch

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who acts impulsively. he charges headfirst into danger with no regard for personal safety, focused only on saving everyone around him. his hands are littered in bruises and his uniform is soaked in blood, but none of that matters when he’s standing in front of you, still breathing. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. “i’ll be more careful. i promise”

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who brings you to his grandfather’s grave. the soles of your shoes sink into the muddy earth. you silently watch as he carefully places a small bouquet of flowers beside the headstone, whispering a few words beneath his breath

━━ boyfriend!yuuji who snores. loudly. it’s almost impossible to sleep beside him because he’s so loud. his body sprawls across the provided twin sized mattress like a starfish; his legs threaten to fall off of the bed. you chuckle softly at the sight as you lean down. he doesn’t even stir when you brush a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “good night, yuuji”

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who is oblivious to his feelings at first. he annoys all his friends with his rambling about you and your small habits. toge sighs when he derails the walk home to buy a keychain for a movie you like or to buy you a snack from a nearby vending machine. despite everything, he doesn’t realize how deep his feelings really are until maki swats at his shoulder, huffing as she rolls her eyes. “you have a crush, dumbass”

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who confesses with a bouquet of flowers and a sweet love letter. he anxiously fidgets with his hands as you accept the gift, waiting with his heart in his throat and butterflies in his stomach as he waits for your reaction. life seems to pause until you pull him into a tight hug, whispering a soft, “i’d love to go on a date with you”

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who refuses to let you walk home alone. he intertwines his fingers with your own as you move side-by-side down the small sidewalk. your quiet reassurances that he doesn’t have to join you all the way home are silenced when he gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “but i want to,” he smiles

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who calls you everyday when he’s away. even if he has to wake up in the middle of the night, he makes sure you both talk at least once a day. your conversations can last for hours as you talk about anything that comes to mind

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who is constantly worried about your well-being. he constantly fusses over you: he all but forces a pair of thick wool gloves over your hands in the winter; he insists you visit shoko after every mission; at even the smallest signs you’re catching a cold he begs gojo to cancel your missions and makes you soup

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who wants to kiss you so badly but always chickens out at the last second. it’s embarrassing, really, how he gets so nervous around you. his face flushes a deep shade of red and his hands shake at his sides as he curls his fingers into fists in the hopes that you won’t notice his nerves

━━ boyfriend!yuuta who clings to you every time you kiss him. his hands rest gingerly against your cheeks or fist tightly into the fabric of your sweater - anything to keep you close to him. his eyes flutter shut as he melts into you; he’s never the first to pull away

━━ boyfriend!toge who confesses with a handwritten note and a bag of your favourite snacks. he awkwardly stares at the dirt covering his shoes as you read it. his handwriting is a little messy and the ink is smudged in a few places, but you accept it with a bright smile nonetheless

━━ boyfriend!toge who laughs loudly when you kiss him for the first time. his face brightens in an undeniable blush as he pulls you into a tight hug. he presses another kiss against your cheek and hides his face in the crook of your neck. he never mentions it, but there’s a big smile on his face for the rest of the day

━━ boyfriend!toge who is a little insecure about his speech. it’s not easy just being able to communicate in origini ingredients. but you always notice when he falls more silent than usual and make sure to ease his worries as much as you can

━━ boyfriend!toge who shows his affection through quality time. during your lunch breaks or down time he’ll occasionally move to sit beside you. his shoulder just barely brushes against your own as he silently watches you gossip with maki or yell out words of encouragement that make megumi scoff

━━ boyfriend!toge who smiles the brightest you have ever seen when you hesitantly show him the first sentences you had learned in sign language. his face flushes almost immediately; blood spreads across his cheeks and ears, painting his features a soft shade of pink

━━ boyfriend!toge who only exposes his face around you. your fingertips gently trace against the deep indents on his skin. his eyes flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes him as he leans further into your touch

━━ boyfriend!toge who hates when you go on missions. his hands gently grip onto your wrist as he pulls you into a tight hug. he leans his head into the crook of your neck, peppering faint kisses against any skin he can reach. he stares into your eyes when he finally pulls away, doing his best as he silently reminds you to be safe

━━ boyfriend!toge who teaches you how to play his favourite video games. he sits behind you with his arms wrapped gingerly around your waist, guiding your hands on the controller or showing you which route to take. sometimes yuuta or yuuji will join and the night will end with all of you asleep in a pile on the couch

━━ boyfriend!toge who hates waking up in the morning. his arms snake around your waist, pulling you back towards your bed as he curls his body against you. he blinks up at you with tired eyes, whispering a quiet “fish flakes”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @ffinnamon @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or reblogging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[heytheredelulu]

Hey i hope you’re doing well i have an idea for a one shot and was wondering if you could write it.

So basically Bucky hears the reader talking to Natasha or anyone that she thinks she’s too heavy for any partner and that she has given up on dating for a while because of that, and of course Bucky hearing that he starts lifting heavy stuff such as weights, machines or even Steve😭 around the reader to show her he can easily lift her weight as well because he has feelings for her and you can add or change whatever you like and make it smutty idk whatever you think is right i trust your skills.

Hi! I’m doing good, how are you?

This request? Uh, YES. 🙌🏻

I love this idea!

I wrote this fully intending on Steve being like, “She ain’t lookin’, Buck. Lift me.” and then changed my mind and rewrote it when it took on a life of its own. 😂

I live and breathe smut so I definitely threw that in there in the form of Bucky needing to blow off some steam when he thinks about the reader. 😉

Anyway, thank you for the request and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

💋Sj

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Size Reader

18+

Word Count: 2.9k

CW: Male masturbation while fantasizing about oral (f receiving) and sex

“Bullshit.”

Bucky’s ears perk up as he passes the garage and hears Natasha fussing at someone in a string of curses, but it’s your voice that has him peering around the concrete wall with interest.

“I ain’t lyin’ Nat.”

You’re bent over the open hood of an old hot rod, your ass accentuated by the denim jeans hugging your curves. You blindly reach out towards the red headed assassin wiggling your fingers at her that are blackened with grease. Natasha rolls her eyes, pushing off the wall and picking up a socket wrench that she holds just barely in your reach. You let out a sigh, standing upright and snatching it from her.

“Look.” You tell her pointedly, blowing a loose piece of hair back from your face with a huff from your pouty lips. “It’s been months. I’m sufferin’, I am, really. But I’m just over it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” She replies, leaning her hip against the side of the car, watching you with a skeptical frown. “If you’re suffering, just come out with me. We can hit up that rooftop bar downtown. Have a couple drinks, dance a bit, pick up some hot strangers and scratch that itch. Come on.”

Scratch that itch?

A muscle jumps in Bucky’s jaw at Nat’s comment and he can feel his jealousy simmering low in his gut.

He’s been pining after you damn near since you’d arrived at the compound. The sweet little engineer Tony brought on to help take on his workload was only supposed to stick around and help out for a few months but when the team expressed their disappointment in you leaving and Tony realized despite his astronomically sized ego that he could get twice as much done with your help, giving him the opportunity for more free time with his family- you were brought on full time.

“I can scratch my own itches, thanks.”

Your curt reply to Nat brought Bucky’s attention back to the conversation he was eavesdropping on while the implication caught the attention of his cock, his jeans suddenly feeling tighter as he continued to listen.

“You’re crazy. You need to get laid.”

“Nat.” You warn and turn your back to her to grab a hand towel.

“Come on.” She pleaded, crossing her arms. “You’ve been so wound up. Nothing loosens you up better than a big, thick-“

Nat’s cut off by the hand towel being tossed in her direction and she catches it with a chuckle.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid to get laid.” She counters.

“I’m not afraid.” You protest, raking a hand through your hair. “I’m just- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Nat’s expression softens as she hangs the hand towel over the open hood. “Try?” She asks. “We’re friends, you know you can talk to me.”

Bucky watches you shift uncomfortably and for a moment he feels guilty for listening in, as it’s clear you’re debating on confiding in Natasha and it feels wrong to eavesdrop on something so private. But as soon as you let out that defeated sigh and begin to explain yourself, he’s so goddamn grateful that this was the conversation he had a chance to overhear.

“Men just don’t know how to handle me.” You admit, leaning back over the car and pretending to inspect something to avoid eye contact with Natasha but she isn’t having any of it, bending down to hold your gaze. “How so?”

“They just-“ You huff out a breath of annoyance, bracing your palms on the front of the car and standing upright. “I’m curvy, yeah? And I want a man that’s gonna pick me up, toss me around, hold me up and fuck me on a wall or somethin’ but the last couple guys I went home with they’re so.. boring. Missionary. Doggy. Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face? I swear, it’s like they’re afraid. I ain’t ashamed of my body, I like the way I look but shit, Nat. It really fucks with a girls head to feel like she’s too heavy or something to really be satisfied.”

Natasha’s moving closer to you, beginning to say something about ‘weak men with noodle arms’ but Bucky can’t hear it over the steady thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

He can’t believe that your experiences have been so lousy that you won’t even entertain the idea of going out with Nat if she was wanting to pick up guys. Honestly, he’s relieved by that, since the idea of you hooking up with anyone has the knuckles of his flesh hand bleached white with how hard he’s clenching his fist. He flexes his fingers, trying to relax his hand as he feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him. How could he be angry or even jealous when he’s been too shy to make a move?

C’mon Barnes, grow a pair.

She wants strong? You can show her strong.

He sucks in a breath, steeling his nerves before rounding the corner and strolling into the garage with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey Nat.” He says with a friendly nod before slowly swinging his gaze over to you. “Doll.” He drawls. “What are you ladies up to this morning?” Your cheeks heat under the warmth of his cerulean eyes roaming over your body and you fumble the socket wrench, earning a lopsided grin from the handsome brunette. “Just- just workin’ on my project.” You stammer, bending down to pick up the tool. Damn, one flash of this man’s pearly whites is all it takes for you to lose control of your fine motor skills? Maybe you do need that itch scratched more than you’ve let on to your best friend and she can tell too, her brow lifting as she watches the scene unfolding.

“Mustang?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips. His eyes follow you as you bend over and reach for the socket wrench that’s just out of your reach underneath the car. When you stretch, your baggy t-shirt rises up your midriff, giving him a glimpse of that cute little pooch tucked into the dark-wash denim jeans that are deliciously hugging your hips and thighs.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “1960’s?” He asks, leaning down behind you. God, what he’d do to bring his palm down hard on your perfect, round ass and watch the flesh redden with each swat of his hand.

“‘62.” You grunt, your fingertips brushing the tool that’s just barely out of reach. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it lazily over the workbench before stepping in even closer to you. “Here, lemme get that for you, doll.” He murmurs, his vibranium hand settling on the underside of the Mustang. Before you can eke out a reply, he’s lifting the vehicle off the garage floor like a goddamn carjack with enough ease that it makes the 3500 pound car seem as if it were cut from styrofoam. You’re frozen in place on your hands and knees from the show of brawn so it’s Natasha that crouches down and quickly grabs up the socket wrench before you snap out of your trance and scramble to your feet.

Nat presses the tool firmly into your palm while giving you a look that screamed, ‘do not fuck this up’ and saunters backwards admist the low groan of your car being set back down on its tires. “I gotta meet Steve for a briefing.” She tells you, which you know is a damn lie- but you nod nonetheless and stutter out a, “Y-yeah, yeah. Catch you later.” She gives you a little wave and jogs off, her red waves bouncing in stride. When you turn back around, Bucky is leaning against the car with his arms crossed, his biceps testing the integrity of his black tshirt.

Goddamn, that’s some quality fabric.

His gaze is locked on you, making you sweat a little under the intense stare so you awkwardly begin picking up the rest of your tools and putting them back in their rightful place at your workbench. A strong arm comes into view in your periphery as Bucky plucks up his jacket and you nearly lose your breath at the scent of cedarwood and leather. He slings the coat over his right shoulder, holding it with his flesh hand, his vibranium hand reaching up to rake through his cropped hair. “Finished so soon?” He asks. “You ain’t gotta quit workin’ just ‘cause I stopped by.”

“Oh, no. No, I-“ You swallow thickly at the way the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. “I actually was just getting to a stopping point.” You tell him, absentmindedly pulling your hair up into a ponytail. With your neck exposed, he wets his bottom lip at the thought of dragging his teeth across the skin and that little glimpse of his tongue flicking out has you struggling to focus anywhere but his mouth. “Got somewhere you gotta be?” He asks, his voice low and gruff.

Fuck, this man is sex on legs. On two thick, strong legs.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I got a meeting with Tony about a new project.” You explain, though it comes out an octave higher than usual. He quirks a brow. “Yeah? You got a new project?”

“Yep. Yeah. I better get going.” You teeter on your heel, ready to flee.

Chicken shit.

“Hey, wait. Hold on.” He says gently, reaching to grab your wrist and setting your skin ablaze with the touch. You glance over your shoulder at him. “Hm?”

“What’re you doin’ tonight, doll?”

“What am I..?”

Holy fucking shit. Is he gonna-

No, no way. This is Bucky fuckin’ Barnes. You two are friends. He’s your friend. Your insanely hot friend that you’ve definitely had some filthy, sinful thoughts about, but he’s never led you to believe that he’s ever thought of you as more than a friend.

Or has he? I mean, you’ve caught his eyes lingering on you on a few occasions but that doesn’t mean-

“Lemme take you to dinner.”

Oh. Oh.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re staring at him like an idiot with your mouth agape before you click your jaw shut and nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, alright.” You manage.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as tries to reign in his eagerness.

“That sounds- that sounds great.”

“Great.” He repeats, toeing the ground with his boot before taking a step backwards towards the open garage door. He sweeps his eyes over you one last time. “It’s a date, then.” And he ducks out of the garage back toward the compound.

You said yes.

You said yes.

He slips into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him and he falls back onto his bed, letting out a breath of disbelief. He’s taking you out. He finally fucking asked.

Laying in silence for several minutes he replays the interaction over in his mind like he typically did after he was around you. He had a tendency to over analyze your body language, your expressions, hang on to your every word like it kept him afloat in his sea of anxiety; though sometimes, most times, he let himself drown. He drowned in the worry that maybe he was imaging the way your voice caught around him. The way you tensed when he got close.

But you said yes.

You wouldn’t have said yes if he was just imagining it, right?

He lets out a huff, scrubbing a hand down his face as your words to Nat echo through his head like a shout in a cavern.

“Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face?”

And there’s his cock again, straining against his jeans just from the thought.

He groans softly, flicking the button open and unzipping his fly to give himself some relief from the pressure as he stares at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round and..

It takes all of the self control he can muster not to reach into his boxers so his hands fist in the sheets in restraint.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked his fist to the thought of you. Hell, it wouldn’t be the 2nd, 5th or even 10th time he’d done it.

He lets his eyes slip closed, imagining your plush thighs straddling his head as you smother him with your pretty, wet cunt. His aching cock twitching with need from neglect as he focuses all of his attention on delving his tongue into your tight, warm, hole.. closing his lips around that swollen button that makes you writhe in pleasure.. your puffy pussy lips grinding against his face as you use him to chase your release .. your sweet, sweet slick coating his chin and-

Fuck it.

He shifts his weight on the mattress, tugging his jeans down enough for his erection to spring free, spitting in his flesh hand and slowly stroking himself. He groans, squeezing the crown of his cock, a bead of pearly precum gathering at his slit that he rubs roughly with his thumb. Bucky can imagine you on top of him, your pouty lips parting with a soft gasp as you sink down onto him, maybe even a hiss or shit- a whimper from the stretch when he splits you open. He knows he’s thicker than most men, a side effect of the serum- everything about him is bigger, thicker, better. Fuck those other men who couldn’t satisfy you. Fuck them. He strokes himself faster, the thought of you bouncing on his cock making his toes curl. Your tits, those big beautiful tits, swinging, slapping together with every thrust.

He’d reach up and pinch one of your pebbled nipples, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers, cupping the other with his hand to give it equal attention. It’d be heavy in his palm, he just knows it. Heavy, warm and filling his whole fucking hand. He imagines yanking you forward and burying his face in those perfect breasts before trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses up through the valley of them. He’d trace the tip of his nose across the swell and sink his teeth into the supple flesh, soothing the sting with a lave of his tongue, making you collapse forward against him as you cry out in pleasure. He could fuck up into you deeper at that angle, feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix over and over until you see stars and lose your rhythm as your orgasm tears through you.

Yeah, he’d make you come so hard you’re limp on top of him and he’d reach behind you, grabbing a handful of your plump, round ass and taking control, moving you up and down the length of him at a frenzied pace until he-

His fantasy fades as his climax crests and he grunts, thick ropes of come spilling over his fist and onto his pubic bone.

He lies still and silent, his heartbeat a metronome in his ear, keeping time of the minutes that stretch on while he steadies his ragged breathing. With a sigh he sits up, looking down at the mess in his lap as his euphoria dissipates and the shame starts to creep in.

He’s certain of two things in that moment-

One, he needs a goddamn shower and two, this will be the last time he fantasizes about fucking you.

Pulling himself to his feet, he glances over at the clock.

14:17.

He smiles to himself, crossing the threshold into the bathroom and twisting the shower on. His flesh hand tests the water, the warm spray cleaning the sticky release from between his fingers before he steps in, letting the water cascade over him.

Less than four hours. He thinks to himself.

In less than four hours he’ll be sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, watching your eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he prompts you about your favorite things just so he can see the way you light up when you talk about your passions. He smiles to himself at the image of your hands gesturing wildly as you talk, the sound of your infectious laugh and the way your breasts bounce when it bubbles up from your chest.

He begins to stiffen again at the thought.

Goddamnit, his cock just won’t quit, will it?

He turns the knob, the water quickly growing ice cold and he grits his teeth at the temperature change, cursing the serum for making his refractory period so short. He’s grateful for it in the proper circumstance, but when he’s alone it’s a fuckin’ nuisance.

Bucky’s eyes slip shut, focusing in on the feeling of the frigid water splashing against the top of his head and rolling down the taut muscle of his back. Eventually the ache ebbs and he cranks the temperature back up, reaching for his shampoo. The cedarwood fragrance clings to the steam, filling his nostrils as he massages it into his scalp. Tipping his head back under the steady stream, he sighs contentedly.

Tonight’s the night he finally gets his girl.

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 8

I apologize for not posting last week. How about this longer chapter to make up for it?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: First day of HYDRA work, social gatherings

Word Count: 2,270

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7]

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. You only know this because you happened to pass by a window covered in frost on your way to one of the HYDRA labs within the facility. 

Your first few hours on site had you running through various tests and exams to study your mental capacity and knowledge on the interest that HYDRA holds in the biology field. There was nothing shocking or unexpected that your new supervisors asked you, but the implications of what they expect from you sends shivers down your spine. You studied and memorized and read for weeks in preparation for this assignment last year, and you’re so glad that your brain retains this kind of information like a sponge – you’d have been disposed of on the spot if your background hadn’t checked out.

But now you’ve ‘officially’ joined HYDRA. The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you wash it down with the knowledge that what you’re doing is going to help the world by eliminating whatever disgusting and horrible work is being done here.

The plan is to spend as much time as it takes to gain HYDRA’s confidence in your abilities and allow you access to the higher level projects – the world-ending projects. This could take weeks. Or months. Hopefully not years? Being Bucky’s sister for that long would drive you insane.

“You,” a scientist snaps from behind their desk as you pass their open office door. You stop in your tracks and peer into the dingy office, noticing scuff marks and mysterious stains on the floor. The man’s desk has every square inch covered in files and papers. So much so that there is a noticeable curvature on the desktop, the cheap material unable to handle the amount of weight it has been subjected to over the years.

“Yes, sir?” you inquire.

He refuses to look up from his work, instead opting to dangle a set of keys from his fingers in your direction. “Go and grab the files for project 0B276HG21 in storage room C.”

Repeating the string of numbers and letters in your head, you take the keys from his outstretched hand and make your way to the storage room. There are so many rooms within the facility that you would be lost without the information your informant sent the team. But even with it, the facility has undergone changes since the last facility plans were uploaded, so you run into dead ends where there should be access doors.

You can only hope that your experience and knowledge will allow you to work your way up quickly – you don’t know how long you can stand to be a lackey. You roll your eyes at the errands you’ve had to run so far, but you know that the new person never gets given the big jobs on the first day.

And so the rest of the shift passes in the same manner and you arrive back at your and Bucky’s house with little energy and even less information.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” Bucky reassures. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“That’s such a stupid fable,” you grumble. “The hare would have won if it didn’t have such an inflated ego.”

Bucky grins at your disgruntled face before you flop your head backwards to rest. You release a sigh and relax further into the couch where you collapsed after walking in the front door, relieved to smell dinner simmering away on the stove since you arrived home later than expected and hadn’t had the opportunity to grab lunch. 

You tilt your head and watch as Bucky shuffles around the kitchen. He’s long since showered after his time at the repair shop: his hair nearly dry and the strands sticking out in a way that you know he tousled it with his towel and let it finish air drying. The new shorter strands allowed for the minimal work to pay off in dividends because it was damn near impossible to remember how soft his hair used to be and not be able to run your fingers through it now. 

Your fingers itch to reach out, but you grip the cushion instead. No one said that this would be easy. Well, no one has said it’d be anything because Nat’s mission has her radio silent and Wanda is busy spending time with Vis for you to complain about your one-sided love with someone who doesn’t know the feeling. You know that if they knew what was happening right now, they’d be plying you with ideas on how to survive this mission with minimal heartbreak.

“The food is done,” Bucky says as he gathers plates and utensils to set the table. “Are you coming in here or do you want me to bring you a bowl?”

Unfortunately, your best friends aren’t available to provide their wisdom, so here you are: suffering in silence with no outlet. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” you respond. You unclench your fist from the couch’s fabric and stretch out your stiff fingers. Rising from your seat, you make your way into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as Bucky brings the pot over from the stove. You stare intently into the soup as Bucky ladles it into a bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Did something happen today?” he questions with a worried expression.

“You know HYDRA,” you tiredly reply. Looking up into his eyes for the first time this evening, you see the crease between his brows and mentally slap yourself. “I’m fine, Bucky. They don’t have me working on anything specific yet.”

“I know,” he says, “but just be careful with those people, okay?”

You smile up at him and nod your head, your heart squeezing in your chest.

You’re both silent through dinner with the exception of your compliments on Bucky’s cooking. It’s hard to clear the air after bringing up HYDRA and their actions, even in the vaguest way.

***

The week stretches on for an eternity, but eventually Saturday rolls around and you and Bucky prepare to meet the neighborhood.

You arrive at the restaurant right on time. Light pours from the windows and the snow on the ground glistens gold. As soon as you open the car door, you hear laughter and chatter forcing their way through the walls.

“I hate entering a party where everybody is already best friends with each other and then you’re left standing there like a loner,” you decry, already dreading the feeling of ‘otherness’ you will be experiencing in a few short moments.

“You’re not a loner,” Bucky laughs. “You make friends as easily as breathing.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can make ‘friends’ with strangers, but it’s never anything real. I’m a spy, remember? It’s literally life or death to get people to like me.”

“Trust me, doll,” Bucky says as he looks intently at you from across the car. “People can’t help but love you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you hope the light from the restaurant isn’t bright enough to reveal them to Bucky. The feelings squirming around in your stomach feel suspiciously like hope, and you can’t have that. You deflect any seriousness by laughing off Bucky’s comment.

“Tell that to all the people I’ve thrown in prison.”

Bucky calls your name with some disappointment and a slight frown on his face. You shrug your shoulders and motion towards the entrance. “It’s time to head inside. Come on.” 

You walk away from him and lead the way into the building. Upon opening the door, a blast of warm, humid air hits you. The smell of beer and sweat sweeps up your nostrils, and the interior design reminds you more of a local dive bar than a restaurant. But everyone is laughing and having a good time, so you plaster a smile on your face and look around for the Gretens.

You see Christopher speaking to a short, skinny man, deep in conversation and barely acknowledging anyone else. Tessa stands in a corner surrounded by three other women, all of them laughing and having a good time. Bucky walks up behind you as you stand in the doorway and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Divide and conquer?” he asks. You nod your head and make your way over to the group of women.

When you’re within ten feet of her, Tessa notices you. She beams at you and raises her hand to usher you closer. 

“Ladies!” Tessa introduces. “Meet our newest neighbor!”

A round of introductions follows and you can’t help but admire how blatantly obvious these women are about their curiosity.  Tessa seems to have already told them everything she knows about you, but they have to ask their own questions. 

“And where’s that brother of yours?” one of them asks. “Tessa’s told us how handsome he is! I’ve got a daughter I’ve been trying to get out of the house for ages.”

You laugh through the twist of your guts, replying merrily, “Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate the introduction.”

Before the woman can demand a personal introduction, Tessa interrupts when the entrance opens once again and lets in a blast of cold air.

“Petre!” She performs the same waving hand motion that brought you over earlier to the new arrival. “Come here!”

Glancing back, you see a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes making his way over to you. He stops in front of Tessa and wraps her in a quick hug.

“This is my son, Petre. Petre, this is our neighbor.”

Petre greets you warmly. “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since you moved in.”

You giggle when Tessa pats his arm roughly and shake his proffered hand. His skin is warm and dry, the skin on the back of his knuckles chapped from the winter weather. Tessa not-so-subtly draws the other women away from you and Petre and into another conversation, leaving you to speak with each other.

“Your mother seems to think we’d make a good pair,” you comment with a glance over at her.

“Ah, yes,” Petre says while fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She’s been introducing me to every woman of marrying age. I think she’s afraid I’ll end up alone.”

You can’t help but laugh at his deprecating tone of voice. “We’re young – we’ve still got time.”

“Try telling her that,” he responds. “Being 30 and unmarried is one of the worst things you can be in her eyes.”

You chat with Petre between introductions for the next couple of hours. He sticks close by his mother which keeps him close to you, as Tessa demands everyone that walks by to greet you. Countless faces come and go, but there seems to be someone missing.

You turn to Tessa when the party seems to be winding down and a few people have started to leave. “Where’s your daughter?” you question.

“Kerri and Chrissie are right over there,” she nods, indicating the two young women in a cluster a few feet from you.

“Yes, I remember them from a little while ago. Where’s your other daughter? Sasha?”

At this, Tessa’s face drops and Petre looks at her worriedly. He places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and brings her into his side. “She’s not well,” Petre answers for his mother. “She has been sick for a while now.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s alright,” Tessa responds with a sorrowful smile. “She’s at home. Resting.”

“Well I hope she gets better soon,” you reply hopefully. Petre and Tessa nod tersely before steering the conversation off to something else.

It isn’t long after that when you feel Bucky sidle up next to you. He places his hand on your upper arm and pulls you closer into his side. “You ready to go?” he questions.

You hum and say your goodbyes to the people standing around you, promising to come out with Tessa to more gatherings. You and Bucky make your way back out into the cold night, the moon full and bright in the sky.

The car doors close behind you and Bucky starts the engine. You rumble along the road for a few minutes before Bucky says anything.

“Who were you talking to all night?” he asks you.

“Ah.” You sigh. “That was Tessa’s eldest son. The one she mentioned at dinner.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And…?”

“You were with him all night – what was he like? Anything seem off with him?”

You’re not exactly sure what Bucky is getting at, as he’d been talking with a couple of the same people throughout the night as well. “Well no, but it’s not like I could dig any deeper than surface level with so many people coming in and out of the conversation.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. You furrow your brow, but brush it off. “Did you find anything out from Christopher?”

“Not really. I did notice that one of his daughters wasn’t there tonight. Sarah?”

“Sasha,” you correct. “And no, I asked about her, as well. Petre and Tessa seemed really bothered when I brought her up: apparently she’s been pretty sick lately.”

“How sick?” Bucky asks.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t seem like they wanted to talk about it, though.”

“You think she’s been sick enough to require hospital stays?” he proposes, leading the conversation towards what could have possibly happened to the family’s financials that has lead to their worn down clothing and home.

“It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

Part 9

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[see-arcane]

considering it was the late 1800s, do you think Seward and VH are oblivious to Jonathan's watchfulness because Stoker couldn't justify writing Jonathan implying that "vampirism and blasphemy are fine if it's for Mina, actually" beyond his initial declaration? We don't seem to get much more of it directly from Jonathan's entries either after that, just by implication.

I wouldn't be surprised if that was a factor.

Considering all the very potent metaphors at work in the premise of 'God has denied love and protection to my beloved over X Violation and/or X State of Being which is beyond their control, and I have decided our love is more holy than any decision of the Almighty, and I would rather be a monster with her than shun/destroy her As Is the Righteous Thing to Do,' Stoker was already dancing on the edge of acceptability with Jonathan making his secret vow even once.

But thankfully, that single vow--and the adamant refusal to even pretend to make a new 'Yes honey, I will absolutely vampire martyr-murder you like a good Christian boy! God says it's chill just like it was for Lucy and everyone else Dracula has snacked on for untold centuries! God's will be done!'--likely flew over a lot of heads back in the day (as it does now) and simply landed in a lot of hearts with the more obvious factor of...

"Oh. He is literally willing to brave Hell and eternal damnation as the conscripted undead, possibly even cutting down his stake-wielding friends, just to protect and be with his beloved? ...That's kind of hot."

Especially during a period when romance was basically just a bonus to tack on to the Job of Being Married. Jonathan Harker is proven multiple times to be the un-Victorian Victorian man, running from the Brides (mistress stand-ins), happily letting his wife take the lead and holding her up as his equal until he's peer pressured out of it (which leads to dangerous consequences! Social mores fucked everything up! And He Only Follows New Directions with Mina's Approval Going Forward!), and now here's this romantic motherfucker ready to skin Dracula and French kiss the Devil so long as it sees his beloved safe and un-slaughtered, even if she isn't ~perfect and saintly and non-monstrous~.

Girls gays and goths of 1897 were definitely fanning themselves at the next tea party book club once they reached October 3rd.

Even without the ell gee bee tee undertones to glean from Stoker's own romantic leanings, the idea of 'selfish' personal love, of a mere human being, getting held up as more important than God, someone worth Hell, was extremely spicy to depict during that period. If Stoker had had Jonathan repeating himself over and over regarding his secret plans, it would have started to sound a bit like writing a smitten Poe protagonist. Which would also be sexy! But it'd risk taking some of the heroic shine off of him towards the end.

Better to let it hang over the narrative's neck in silence like an axe waiting to fall.

Or a kukri.

[saellefanwork]

𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓹𝓼

Contains major KNY / Demon Slayer manga ending spoilers.

Modern Era, Reincarnation. Polyamory Kamado Sumihiko x F!Reader x Rengoku Tojuro

The story is in second person. Unamed Reader. Reader's features are not described.

This Demon Slayer fic is rated Teen. There are sexual implications in some dialogs, but that's it. (I know, it's shocking).

As always, Yoshiteru laments about his single status. That's just how you know it was another typical day at school. Usually, he can find comfort in the fact that his classmate and friend, Sumihiko, is sailing in the same boat as him. But today... Sumihiko surprises him with important news.

Author Note: I originally wrote this story as a Modern Era Sequel of my other fic, "Echoes of Loss," but it can be considered a standalone one-shot too.

Rengoku Tojuro is the reincarnation of Kyojuro and the descendant of Senjuro (with an unknown wife).

Kamado Sumihiko is the reincarnation of Tanjiro and, in canon, the descendant of Kanao and Tanjiro. In the context of the "Echoes of Loss", Sumihiko here is supposed to be the descendant of the former Reader and Tanjiro, but as a separate one-shot you can consider he's still Kanao's descendant, it doesn't really matter.

The Reader is the former "Echoes of Loss" Reader's reincarnation, but again it doesn't really matter here. Their family lineage is not specified, so it's up to you.

(Valentine's day is far gone, but I'm a sucker for japanese Valentine's day fluff, hugh.)

The chapter is primarily from Sumihiko's POV

Two centuries after the Taisho Era, in Tokyo.

As the bell rings to signal the end of the school day at Kimetsu High School, students spill out of the main gate, gradually dispersing into the neighborhood. Among them, sixteen-year-old Yoshiteru Agatsuma once again laments his single status and romantic struggles. It is yet another day dawned on his teenage life without him finding a pretty girl willing to give him a chance. His classmates shoot him exasperated glances, worn out from hearing the same complaints every day on their way back home.

With most his peers ignoring him, Yoshiteru seeks solace aloud.

“At least you get it, Sumihiko. We're in the same boat, you and I."

Kamado Sumihiko, the youngest son of the area's renowned bakers, is known for his pure heart and lack of interest in pursuing romantic relationships. This fact is the primary reason behind his celibacy, since many people are actually interested into him (not that Yoshiteru would ever tell him that). The boy turns his burgundy-haired head toward his desperate friend with a sheepish smile. He rubs the back of his neck, a slightly uncomfortable expression etched on his soft features.

"Oh, no, sorry Yoshiteru. In fact, I've been off the market for a few weeks now."

"Wha-… WHAT?!!! WITH WHOM? HOW DARE YOU BREAK OUR SINGLE MEN PARTNERSHIP?! WE'RE FRIENDS, RIGHT?? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ANYTHING?"

The boy winces at Yoshiteru’s deafening cries. While not wanting to escalate the situation, Sumihiko can't help but direct his wine-colored eyes towards the sky with a slightly exasperated sigh. This dramatic reaction is precisely why hadn't disclosed this information earlier.

"I never signed a single men partnership with you, Yoshiteru…" Sensing a deadly glare from his companion, the young man abandons that approach and chooses to apologize instead. "Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I did want to tell you, but our situation was a bit unusual, so we preferred not to talk about it immediately with others… But see, now that we've decided to make it official, you're the first to know!"

"NAH, I know nothing, man!!! There's missing information!! Who's this desperate chick who fell for you?!"

Not bothered by the rude question, Sumihiko states your name and that of Rengoku Tojuro with a radiant smile.

Yoshiteru momentarily freezes, his overheated brain grinding to a halt as he’s trying to process the news.

"Wait… You just mentioned two names, right? Aren’t they the heads of the archery and kendo club respectively? Which one are you dating?"

"Both!"

…

"BOTH?!!! I know we live in a century of sexual liberation, but don't you think you're pushing the boundaries a bit too far?! Consider those who are still single – what hope do you leave them if you're dating multiple people, , especially popular and unfairly hot onesn huh?! One wasn't enough to satiate your needs, or what?! You- you perverted libertine!"

"W-We haven't done anything like that yet, we're still in high school, Yoshiteru!" Sumihiko corrects on a reproachful tone, his cheeks ablaze.

"Stop playing the prude boy! You've already reached sexual maturity! Our ancestors were already married at that age! Are your hormones not working or what?! More importantly, explain to me how you went from being single to the hero of a harem shonen, huh?!"

With an overwhelmed expression, Sumihiko tries to calm and appease his hysterical friend and plunges back into his memories…

Sumihiko and Tojuro first met when they were toddlers, though they don’t remember much of that time, of course. Their two families are close, both descending from lineages that supposedly fought demons together two hundred years ago. They became friends in elementary school, when the Kamado family opened a bakery in Setagaya, and Sumihiko transferred into Tojuro’s class.

The first days after their initial meeting, Sumihiko found himself dreaming that he was a valiant warrior, battling monstrous foes alongside a Rengoku who bore a striking resemblance to Tojuro. Admittedly, all members of the Rengoku lineage looked like younger or older versions of each other, but the swordman from his dreams and his classmate really gave off the same feeling; their staring habits and constant smiles were identical, and they were both strongwilled and friendly, though maybe a little odd. Immersed in the tales of their families' legendary exploits since his childhood, Sumihiko didn't think much of these dreams, attributing them to his imagination. But they did add to his curiosity and sympathy toward the fiery boy. Their friendship blossomed effortlessly from the moment they engaged in conversation. Despite their contrasting dispositions — Tojuro always overflowed with energy and determination, while the Kamado's youngest leaned towards a more relaxed and laid-back demeanor — they proved early on to be perfectly compatible and complementary, like two sides of the same coin. Their camaraderie only strenghtened over time, and Sumihiko never dreamt of the Taisho era ever again.

In comparison, the young Rengoku and yourself had first crossed paths fairly recently, at Kimetsu’s high school interclub meeting. Despite this, a strong bond quickly formed between you two. Within a few weeks of your initial encounter, Tojuro introduced you to his childhood friend.

Witnessing your first smile directed at him, Sumihiko knew he was a goner. It was love at first sight, he realized instantly.

There was an undeniable familiarity about you, akin to the connection he had experienced when meeting some of his closest friends for the first time, especially Tojuro. It felt as if you had always known each other. Maybe Yoshiteru and his grandmother were onto something, after all; perhaps it meant you had met in a previous life. If that were the case, Sumihiko couldn't help but wonder about the depth of his past self's affection for you and whether he had succeeded in winning your heart.

In a cursed twist of fate, he soon realized he wasn't the only one irresistibly drawn to you. It became evident that his best friend also harbored a crush on you. Tojuro had never looked at another girl the way he looked at you, not to mention how he constantly sought your attention and praise. Gods, Tojuro just loved praise, and and you seemed to have an endless supply of it for him. Granted, you were an amazing person, and anyone would be pleased to earn your admiration. Since Sumihiko didn't want to come between you two, he tried to keep his growing feelings to himself, hoping he could find contentment in your happiness if you ever started dating. But after a year of close-knit friendship between the three of you, he began to feel anxious. Instead of fading over time, his feelings for you only intensified.

As Valentine's Day approached, Sumihiko found himself increasingly restless. He wasn’t certain he could keep it together if he witnessed you giving honmei chocos (conveying romantic feelings) to Tojuro, so he opted to spend minimal time with both of you. Somehow, you managed to corral the two teenagers at the end of class, surprising them with handmade, heart-shaped chocolates.

The boys were flattered, but intrigued by your gesture. These gifts stood out from the typical giri-choco they had seen you give to classmates, and strongly resembled honmei choco. Yet, usually one wouldn't give multiple honmei choco. Perhaps these were fancy giri-choco, because you were close friends? Still, that heart shape was undeniably misleading…

Despite his rattled thoughts, Sumihiko was too shy to voice his questions. On the other hand, Tojuro couldn't contain his curiosity:

"They look delicious, thank you very much!!!" Gosh, he was loud. Not in the same way as Yoshiteru, but still. "But tell us, are these honmei or giri chocos?"

Sumihiko winced at Tojuro's directness, prepared to deflect the question to put you at ease. However, you responded naturally with a charming smile:

"Isn't it obvious? They're honmei."

Even the typically bold and boisterous Tojuro was momentarily at a loss for words, his brain freezing at the significance of such a gesture. However, he quickly recovered, seeking to clarify the situation:

"Should we conclude that you love both of us?"

"Tojuro!" Sumihiko couldn't help but feel a flush of embarrassment as he nudged his friend, reprimanding him for his unrestrained spontaneity.

"Well, yes… Is it bad?" your voice trailed off as you became increasingly uncertain. "I thought long and hard about who I wanted to make honmei chocos for… but since I couldn’t decide, I opted to make some for each of you instead. I'm not expecting anything in return; I simply wanted to express my feelings… But, of course, if it's too awkward, you don't have to accept the chocolates at all… I'm sorry," you said quietly.

Quickly, the two boys reassured you, affirming that your gesture was appreciated, and they graciously accepted your sweets. However, they remained somewhat evasive in response to your confession.

Once you had departed, they found themselves strolling in silence until they reached their customary spot at the nearby park, where they settled onto the swings. This was their ritual whenever they needed to discuss something important, like Sumihiko grandmother's death. There, they broached the topic of the unexpected situation.

"I admit I was surprised, but I'm flattered that she likes us that way!" Tojuro pointed out carelessly, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. "DELICIOUS!"

"Congratulations, Tojuro," Sumihiko forced himself to say with a sad smile. "You can finally date her…"

"Hmm? Me? But don't you also have feelings for her?" His childhood friend's owlish red and gold eyes bore into him, filled with genuine puzzlement.

Sumihiko's face flushed with embarrassment.Even Tojuro, who usually paid little attention to such matters, had noticed his affection for you? Unable to deceive his friend, the redhead shook his head, "I don't want to come between the two of you. Our friendship means more to me than any high school crush." Though it had transcended mere infatuation at this point, he preferred not to dwell on that. "Besides, you've known her longer than I have."

While Tojuro had always admired Sumihiko's selflessness, he couldn't help but feel unsettled knowing that his friend was willing to sacrifice his own feelings for him. Crossing his arms, he pondered for a moment. "Hmm… we're best buddies, she likes both of us, and we feel the same way. What if we went out together? That could solve the issue!"

"Huh? Are you suggesting that we both date her?" the baker boy asked, his confusion evident.

"Why not? The athlete Uzui has multiple girlfriends. But it would be a shame to date her separately, wouldn't it? I was suggesting that we also go out together, you and me!"

Sumihiko's face turned even redder at the proposal. He could swear steam was blowing out of his ears.

"Huh?! You and me, Tojuro? But… we've been friends for such a long time… I never sensed you had feelings for me, so why…?"

"Hm! I don't feel exactly the same way for you as I do for our dear kyudoka, but it's definitely stronger than anything what I've felt for other people, including my other childhood friends. I think it could very well blossom into love if we gave it a shot!"

"B-but being together involves holding hands… kissing… that kind of stuff," stammered the flushed Sumihiko, not eager to continue his list. "C-could you do that with me?"

In response, after swallowing another chocolate, Tojuro stood up from his swing seat and stepped closer, framing Sumihiko's face with his hands. The redhead froze, his heart pounding wildly. Before he could fully grasp the situation, his friend planted a sweet and innocent kiss on his lips. The gesture left the young Kamado's face burning, and the kendoka straightened up triumphantly, locking eyes with his comrade. Sumihiko nervously moistened his lips, brushing them with his fingertips in disbelief. Tojuro had left a taste of chocolate on them. Your chocolate…

"See! It was pretty natural, right?" exclaimed the fiery boy loudly. "Did you enjoy it too?"

And Sumihiko couldn't deny it…

Encountering you again the next day, they broached the idea of embarking on a relationship together as a trio. Tojuro elaborated on how they arrived at this decision, openly sharing the story of his first kiss with Sumihiko, much to his friend's dismay. He dreaded your potential reaction: what if the idea of two boys exploring such a thing disgust you?

You eemed taken aback by this development, but to their relief, you displayed clear enthusiasm afterward, tinged with a hint of envy:

"Of course, I'd love to go out with both of you! I can't believe you took the initiative without me, even though I was the one confessing…"

They promptly rectified this oversight by each giving you a kiss, first Tojuro, followed by Sumihiko. Their inexperienced smooches were slightly awkward and hasty, resulting in a few accidental tooth clicks due to nervousness. The overall clumsiness of the moment and the unusual situation prompted a burst of laughter from the three of you. As the mirth subsided, you exchanged happy smiles and made a commitment to do your best to navigate this new dynamic together.

"Since then, the three of us have been going out on dates. We gave ourselves a few weeks to test the waters of our new relationship before announcing it to anyone, just to avoid putting pressure on ourselves. While I still spend a lot of time with Tojuro, it's not quite the same as before—we've grown closer. And, of course, I also spend quality time alone with our girlfriend."

"Wow," replies Yoshiteru, still somewhat incredulous but calmer than before. "My brain is struggling to imagine what it will look like when you will take things to the next level."

"Hey! Stop talking about that… It's too early, and it's none of your business!" The young Kamado's face is a deep shade of crimson.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NONE OF MY BUSINESS?! I STILL PLAN TO LOSE MY VIRGINITY BEFORE YOU, THAT WOULD BE THE LEAST AFTER WHAT YOU JUST DID TO OUR FRIENDSHIP! Ah… Here come your lovers!" he gasps.

Indeed, you and Tojuro await Sumihiko in front of the local dojo in the street corner, waving cheerfully from a distance as you approach. Sumihiko offers an apology to his classmate and quickly joins your company. Watching the interaction among the three of you, Yoshiteru can't help but reflect on how he overlooked the obvious signs, he who is usually so perceptive about others' relationships.

Indeed, despite your conscious effort to keep public displays of affection understated, the subtle, intimate gestures you share reveal a different story. Unnecessary touches, discreet hand-holding, whispered secrets, and silly giggles paint a picture of closeness and affection. Yoshiteru is disgusted by the blissful cheesiness your trio radiates, even though a tiny part of himself is genuinely happy for his friend.

Nevertheless, he hopes that his time in the spotlight will arrive soon, and that he will manage to score with a lovely young lady before Sumihiko does with any of you (or both). However, considering the intense and heated gazes exchanged between you and Tojuro over your most innocent partner, it appears unlikely that the desperately single Yoshiteru will see his wish fulfilled on time.

Glad I rewrote this one too, lol.

My mind is brimming with scenarios (some rated T, some waaaay spicier, I have to admit XD) that could follow this one-shot, but I don't think there's much of an audience for a modern-era Polyamory GN or F/M/M Tanjiro/Kyojuro/Reader. So, I'll probably just keep those for myself XD

Let me know if I'm wrong!

If you liked this fic, consider liking it, commenting, reblogging it and/or subscribing to my page! It always set the flame in my heart ablaze ❤️‍🔥

Check my masterlist for other works and commissions info.

[nekropsii]

hello! sorry if this is a stupid question, but i recall seeing someone claim that aranea was pedophilic/predatory towards jake— is that true? if not, do you know where that idea may have come from?

Hi, Anon! Considering the question is prompted by the claims of another, and this claim has an extreme amount of gravity attached to it, this is not a stupid question whatsoever. I appreciate that you're trying to fact check this, rather than just spreading that idea with zero regard. A lot of people online tend to get really caught up in the immediate emotional response that an Accusation of Sexual Misconduct gives them, and fail to do their due diligence. I can't fault anyone for feeling distressed upon hearing that anyone is a Pedophile or a Sexual Predator, but it's irresponsible and disrespectful to not... Y'know, check the evidence, if there's even any there.

I'm going to put this all under a cut due to the subject matter. You understand, I hope!

Content Warning: Discussion of Pedophilia, Assault, and Dubious Consent.

Let's get this out of the way right off the bat: No, Aranea is not a Pedophile, and I do not believe she has ever sexually or romantically predated on Jake.

I am not saying this to blame who is being understandably perceived as the victim of the situation. Jake is, by all accounts, the target of a lot of Non-Consenting and Dubiously Consenting advances… So it makes a lot of sense to immediately be on the offensive with regards to anyone's conduct towards Jake. I get it. Jake is living in the tragedy of being seen as an object by his peers- some kind of prize to be won, something that exists only to provide some kind of romantic or sexual catharsis. It's horrible, genuinely, and I totally understand the urge to instantly jump on anything that veers even slightly in that direction and take it to extremes…

…But that just… Did not happen with Aranea. Because Jake was not the target of attraction here. Aranea was. Aranea never pursued Jake, to my knowledge, save for one single scene. Put a pin in that. She was not interested in him, he was interested in her. He labelled Aranea as his Dream Girl very quickly after meeting her, and at no point does she... Reciprocate his feelings.

The immediate counterpoint to that is that Pedophiles do not love their victims. And I would typically completely agree with it!! This is true!! Bringing up anything akin to "True Love" in defense of an act of Child Predation is absolutely disgusting!!

...But Aranea is not a Pedophile. In no universe would Aranea ever be considered a Pedophile, even if she had feelings for and sexually pursued Jake. She wouldn't be a Pedophile even if she straight up assaulted him on screen. She is 19 years old, and he is 16 years old. That does not even come close to counting as Pedophilia. Their ages are way too close for that. If Jake was 13 years old or younger, and she was attracted to him, then yes, this would be an entirely valid point to make. That practically wouldn't even be an accusation, that would be an observation. It would be extremely fucked up if that was the case, as it is with Cronus and Meenah, but that's just... Not true here.

But then there's the claim of Predation left, which is an entirely ageless concept. There's no implication of an immoral age discrepancy in the label of "Predator".

...But Aranea never sexually predated on Jake. She just plain was not interested in him, not even as a friend. Jake was more or less just a tool to her, a mere cog in the machine of her plan to Fuck Shit Up. Is that fucked up? Sure!! But that's average Villain Behavior, and it's not inherently Predatory. Especially not in the way that's implied when paired with a Pedophilia Accusation.

Remember that scene I said to put a pin in, though? The one where she actually does make an unwanted advance on Jake? We're bringing it up again now. That, conceptually, sounds like a counterpoint to what I'm saying here at first, but just bear with me. There's a scene in which, just prior to her making Jake Hope-splode, Aranea tries to kiss him. This was actually how she was initially going to "heal" him. The advance was made, and right before she actually did kiss him, he started flailing and wildly professing how much he does not consent to the situation.

[Homestuck, page 6582.]

It's clear from what he's saying and how he's behaving that the severity of this reaction has been building up over the course of his story. Even if that wasn't the case, his lack of consent is fair...

...And goes completely uncontested.

[Homestuck, page 6582.]

This is the problem. This is the biggest issue I have with the claim that she was predating upon Jake. Not as a child, but as a person. I have to assume that it was about this scene- there's no other place in the story in which you could make that claim and have it be any level of grounded. But taking a moment to read the text makes the entire argument that this was an act of Sexual Predation completely fall apart, because his lack of consent to being kissed goes instantly respected and totally unchallenged.

She drops him... And says this.

[Homestuck, page 6583.]

This... Is not Pedophilia. This is not Sexual Predation. This is two teenagers experiencing a messy situation.

Aranea knew Jake was into her, and assumed that that meant he would've enjoyed her making a move on him. It is, by all means, a valid assumption to make- it's understandable. It's a completely average train of thought. Jake, however, is tired of people making moves on him, and despite being attracted to her, did not accept this advance.

...To which she immediately accepts "No" as an answer, ceases physical contact, apologizes, explains herself, and then says that her advances were inappropriate, and that she will try to be better in the future.

This is... A fantastic response to someone expressing a lack of consent. Especially considering she's Beforan! By all accounts, she's the most normal person out of that whole group because of this!!

The only thing that puts a damper on this is that she immediately turns around and heals him. But... That's not an inherently sexual act. Yes, he did not give express verbal consent to being healed, but it's also just straight up not something you can quantify as Sexual Predation. It's not even a metaphor for it!

I don't know. Calling her a Pedophile is abhorrent. It is way too far and entirely inaccurate. Calling her a Sexual Predator is less egregious, but the bar for what's okay is being used in a limbo competition in Hell.

To me, this is just an instance of messy teenage sexuality. It's just... A misunderstanding that was immediately resolved, and then followed up by some Video Game Villain behavior. If their age gap in the context of any romantic advances makes you uncomfortable, that's completely and utterly fine. More than okay. It's a perfectly respectable boundary to have. But that boundary doesn't mean that it's fine to randomly stick a label as loaded and utterly despicable as "Pedophile" onto anything. A misunderstanding left unescalated isn't a crime, and Video Game Villain Behavior isn't sexually predatory.

I hope this response finds you well. Have a lovely day.

[witchykale]

uh oh im talking about daemos ava again!!

i think besides the biological basis for ava not being human, there are a lot of social aspects of ava’s character that could be explained by her being a daemos

ava’s biggest and most inhibiting character trait is her antisocial personality. she wants to stay in her apartment all day, watch tv and avoid her friends’ calls. and you could just say “lmao that bitch is depressed” but CONSIDER. what if that disconnect with her peers isn’t just because of her depression, but something greater?

ava doesn’t feel like she fits in with other people. she’s insecure, she thinks everyone’s eventually going to leave her. finding out that lorelai’s friends didn’t like her was just a confirmation of her fears. so why does she have such an aversion to people?

i think ava knows she’s different. not that she knows she’s a daemos, or even that she’s not a human, but she somehow has this feeling that she’s fundamentally different from other humans.

does that REMIND you of anything??

it is SHOWN that daemos have a 6th sense for telling the difference between daemos and humans. in the finale, the main five individually sense that zex is a daemos before he even walks in the room. ava’s detachment from humans is her 6th sense!

in addition, i think this adds another layer to the way ava reacted to bullying in high school. in the flashback, a couple kids talk about how “weird” ava is and mention her parents. ava immediately reacts, shouting at them to “talk bad about [her], not [her] parents”

i think the surface-level implication here is that ava has likely dealt with a lot of homophobia directed toward her parents, which made her pretty sensitive to other kids talking about them.

BUT what if it was more than that??

what if the real reason ava is so defensive of her parents… is because she knows she’s not like them?

i’m not just talking biologically — i don’t think she’s insecure about her relation to her parents because she was adopted, but because they’re human and she’s not. this ties back into ava’s daemos sense: whether she likes it or not, she knows she’s not like other humans. this feeling, combined with her love and adoration for her dads, makes things very complicated for her.

ava has two truths that she can’t seem to reconcile: she’s not human, but her dads are. she was raised to view them as her parents, she has a parental relationship with them, she loves them, but deep down, she has this sort of insecurity that what she has with her parents is not what other people have. so, she cares about them, but she still sees them the way she sees every other human: not like her.

this takes me to my biggest point, which is the actual plot of MID — ava’s biggest character arc is caused by her friendship with the daemos. the boys are the first people that she really starts to feel comfortable with, as she slowly lets her guard down and comes out of her shell throughout the season

i think that, while the character arc definitely stands on its own as ava growing and changing for the better as a person, i also think that her actually being a daemos adds a very interesting layer to what would otherwise be a very run-of-the-mill arc that most introvert characters go through. this would mean the biggest reason ava could come out of her shell around the daemos was the fact that she was finally with her own kind

unlike the aphmau werewolf reveal (werewolf aphmau my #1 opp) i actually think ava’s character was set up very nicely for a daemos reveal! but those are just my thoughts on it, and i also don’t think that any of the obvious/canon stuff (like ava’s depression or experience with homophobia) can’t stand on its own without some big fantasy reveal, ava is first and foremost a regular person with real-world issues and i think those things can be just as valid to the story as the more fictional elements :)

[rabbitenn]

Hello! GakuXReader where reader is his friend who is sooooo tired of people assuming that they're in a relationship with Gaku and it's preventing them from actually getting into a relationship and think Gaku is just as bothered but Gaku actually likes them?

Your blog is so much fun!

MY PRECIOUS WORLD.

Maybe everyone’s rumors were just a prediction for the future.

ft. Yaotome Gaku x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, friends to lovers.

hello, nonnie ! thank you for your request <3 I’m glad you think my blog is fun :) I apologize for the long wait in completing this, I hope you still like it, dear. 🤍

— It started as something that happened occasionally, at cafes or restaurants; it didn’t surprise you anymore hearing “and what will the lovely couple order?”

— At first, you stumbled over your words to deny such statements, cheeks burning at the implications, especially worried they would bring baseless drama into your good friend’s life.

— Yaotome Gaku. The man you know like the back of your hand, on and off stage. How long ago did you two meet again? You think you were probably toddlers, bruises on your knees and chocolate stains on your shirts.

— Yes, he was kind of… your best friend, you suppose.

— Except whatever it is you feel for him is more than friendship at this point, thus, meaning the rumors are indeed not entirely a hoax the media made up.

— The problem is you can never, never, make these feelings known to him or to anyone else.

— Especially not right now of all times, with the media’s eye set on you two

— Because you know how annoying it must be for him to be mistaken as your boyfriend so often.

— At first, he politely denied it with a soft voice, so unlike his deep tone… Surely he’s so bothered about people making these kinds of remarks, seeing how he’s stopped deflecting the speculations anymore, instead just offering a cordial smile.

— But why do his steel hued eyes shine when the word ‘couple’ is used to refer to you and him?

— It must be your foolish heart and treacherous feelings playing tricks on you, yes.

— And yet, considering how close you two were, you certainly hadn’t payed much attention to his facial expressions in moments when it was just you and him.

— Whether working on your respective tasks or existing peacefully together, enjoying tranquil hobbies, it was not uncommon for the leader of TRIGGER to steal the occasional (every time more frequent) glance in your direction, constellations of you and him shining in his gaze every time he beheld you.

— But can he tell you? The way he feels… What if you think he’s playing with you, given all the rumors circulating already?

Perhaps jumping head first was the answer…

♡

The mid-autumn chill kisses your skin, faded street lights allowing for some of the stars to peer into the tranquil night below.

The sign perched over the entrance of the soba shop is illuminated in cold light, its glow akin to a trail of moonstone pebbles leading you to the place where your heart felt warmest.

Your lips curl into a smile, as you see the one you came looking for just parking the store’s motorcycle by the door, his uniform still on.

You knew how he sometimes pretended to be just a regular guy, shipping soba orders here and there, claiming “I’m not that handsome” when inquiries regarding his stage persona were inevitably uttered.

“Hey there, delivery boy.” You greet him, arms crossed, pulling your jacket closer to your form.

The ‘delivery boy’ in question turns around, sharp moonlight eyes crinkling up in a mirror image to the crescent rising over a backdrop of deep indigo.

And you could never deny that the smile he gifts you causes for heat to rise up your neck.

A feverish dream, lasting only for a few instants, scattered like rose petals, when you realize the magnitude of the earthquake you two being in a relationship could ensue.

Besides, you’re sure it’s one sided.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Hey, [Y/n]…” Gaku calls you. He’s grateful for the poor illumination partially concealing the blush already forming across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

You tilt your head to the side, looking up at him.

“What is it, Gaku?”

He clears his throat, brows a little furrowed as he looks to the side.

“I… Uh… Ehem… Can I ask you to… wait for me for a bit? While I get changed. There’s something I’d like to… discuss with you.”

You stare at him, a little baffled. Gaku could be a tad awkward at times, but it was unusual for him to stumble over his words this much. And what’s this he has to discuss with you? Has he finally snapped because of all the people mistaking you two for a couple?

“Okay.” You nod, meekly.

And, are you seeing things, or did his smile just widen at your agreement?

“Come inside, we can’t have you catching a cold now.” The idol suggests, a hand on the small of your back. “I mean, in the lobby. Not like, inside the changing room.” Your friend lets out, his reddened cheeks now on full display thanks to the shop’s lighting.

You chuckle, the sound alone enough for Gaku to pause for an instant, admiring the way your eyes close and your lips tilt upwards.

Oh, how he’s dreamt of taking those lips in his.

And perhaps he planned for this to go differently, with him wearing his best clothes, the poetry of ‘may I have the honor to love you?’ adrift beneath a starry sky.

But, right now, Yaotome Gaku is afraid he might lose heart.

So he halts his steps, turning around, his solemn gaze of argent stardust fixated on you.

“Or you know what… Let me tell you now.”

“Is there anything wrong, Gaku? Did something happen?” Your brows knit together in concern, as you unconsciously reach forward and take one of his hands in both of yours.

“You’re so warm… are you feeling alright?” You ask.

Your cluelessness was truly endearing sometimes, he thinks.

“I’m okay.” The idol smiles, his hand leaning against the touch of yours. “Just… I want to ask you something.”

Your stare fixates on his, the almost midnight sky at a standstill outside the old establishment’s windows.

“What would you say if I asked you… What if… No.” He brings his free hand to his forehead. “Okay, don’t hate me for this, please.” Are the last words you hear before he tugs on your entwined hands and his lips crash against yours. His other hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, until the constellation of your longing fuses into a supernova of eternal waiting that finally paid off.

Your eyes go wide at first, air stolen from your very lungs.

You don’t need it now, though. Not as long as Yaotome Gaku’s lips are breathing life into your own with his searing kiss.

Your lids flutter closed, a balmy daze clinging to you as your hands grab the front of his shirt for support.

Well, his message definitely came across.

And by the way you react, it seems like your answer is a rotund affirmation.

Gaku’s grandparents agree, as they silently peek through the ajar kitchen door, the dancing embers of young love, so heartwarmingly sweet.

[albertonykus]

You Wouldn’t Really Know Shizuka from the Doraemon Movies

If you’ve experienced enough Doraemon media, you’ve probably noticed that the movies tend to emphasize the main characters’ positive qualities, which often paints a very different picture of them from the regular manga and episodes. The contrast is especially noticeable with Nobita, Gian, and Suneo, who in the mainline series are frequently cast as anti-role models to show children how not to behave.

Shizuka, on the other hand, is already kind and morally upstanding by default, so it’s only natural for the movies to continue portraying her that way. That makes Shizuka pretty much the same between the regular series and the movies, right? I would argue not exactly, and unfortunately her character in the movies suffers for it.

It’s not that the movies never characterize Shizuka well. She’s had very important roles in some of them: in my reviews, I counted at least eight films in which her actions are critical to resolving the plot. Certainly one can gather from the movies that she’s compassionate, quick-witted, brave, and adventurous, and all of these things are true about Shizuka in the mainline series.

However... if you only watched the movies, you might not realize that Shizuka also enjoys messing with other people for fun...

... or can be very blunt towards her friends...

... or participates in schemes to get even with people who have wronged her...

[A short time later...]

... or becomes disproportionately violent when she’s upset (“Janie” being one of her dolls)...

... or lies to get out of things she doesn’t want to do.

(If any of this seems like it conflicts with Shizuka’s usual characterization, I don’t think it does. When I was Shizuka’s age, I was also a “good kid” who stayed out of trouble and got along with most of my peers, and I still did every one of these things.)

From the movies alone, you might even miss that Shizuka is supposed to be bad at playing the violin, which is her one “flaw” that the franchise likes to highlight with any regularity. Her violin playing has shown up in two movies so far (Nobita and the Knights on Dinosaurs and Nobita and the Kingdom of Clouds), but only in very brief scenes where we don’t see anyone else reacting to it. (Edit: I’d forgotten that she also plays the violin in The New Record of Nobita’s Spaceblazer. There, it is a similar situation in which she is only seen practicing alone. She is finally shown playing in front of an audience during the end credits of Nobita’s Sky Utopia, which I hadn’t had a chance to see when I first wrote this post.)

Of course, there are other ways to add dimensionality to a character besides giving them flaws. However, Shizuka in the movies almost never exhibits quirks of any kind, except maybe for being just a bit too obsessed with bathing. (Now that they rarely neglect to include in the movies, for some reason...)

In the main series, Shizuka is often the voice of reason who is strung along by the foolishness and craziness of the others around her, but she still gets her kicks. When the kids test out Doraemon’s Mysterious Trash Chute, there’s the implication that she goes the extra mile to throw in a concrete beam. (As far as I know, none of the animated adaptations of this story have included this particular detail, which is disappointing.)

There’s also the time she hesitates to partake in karaoke, only to have trouble putting down the mic once her turn comes around.

Even the manga counterparts to the movies sometimes contain facets of Shizuka’s character that weren’t adapted into the films themselves. (Perhaps that’s not a surprise considering that the original author had a more direct hand in the manga.) Nobita’s Three Visionary Swordsmen is already one of the best movies when it comes to Shizuka’s portrayal, but if you’ve never read the manga version, you probably wouldn’t have known that she aspires to be a diplomat working for world peace.

Then there’s this moment in Nobita and the Tin Labyrinth, where she makes a bet with Suneo over whether Nobita is lying to them. This conversation does happen in the movie, but the film version doesn’t quite get across just how smug Shizuka looks when she takes that bet.

And check out how pleased she is to be eventually proven right! (This expression didn’t make it into the movie either.)

Nobita in the Robot Kingdom was not written by the original manga author, but I’ve discussed before how the manga version of that story gave Shizuka an important part that was unfortunately cut out of the film.

Is this really a problem? After all, it’s well established that the other main characters in the movies don’t act exactly like they normally do in the manga either. With the others, however, subverting their usual roles is precisely what gives them character depth. Relegating Shizuka solely to being “the nice one”, which she already comes across as most of the time, makes her feel much more static by comparison.

An understandable concern is that swinging the pendulum too far in another direction might erode Shizuka’s kind image, but this need not be the case. Like anyone else, nice people can say and do some very un-nice things, and the trick for a storyteller is to interrogate what might lead them to act in such a way. I think the Nobita in the Robot Kingdom manga does this very well, but an example found in the films themselves can be seen in Nobita and the Steel Troops.

In this movie, (SPOILERS) Shizuka rescues a severely damaged robot spy, Riruru, and works on nursing her back to health. After Riruru explains the history of the robot society that she belongs to, Shizuka observes its parallels to human history. However, Riruru, who is still operating under a belief in robot supremacy, takes offense to this comparison and tries to shoot Shizuka, which results in Shizuka expressing regret and bitterness over having saved her in the first place. Shizuka gets over this very quickly and it’s not explored much further, but this still a rare deconstruction of her role as “the nice one”. Sometimes, being kind is hard.

Overly-long story short, it would be nice if the Doraemon movies let Shizuka do more “bad” (or mischievous, or just plain weird) things, especially for the sake of good.

[castlebyersafterdark]

hahahah what i love about that finn behaviour is that it could suggest he is truly more at ease around male energy, and does that mean he is more attracted to women (awkward around them as he likes them) or does it mean he is comfortable in male presence and would prefer to be in a male presence and be tended to and touched and held by men??

we can never know as will and mike themselves are such great examples of opposites ways of dealing with same sex attraction! we have steady quiet will, never blustering and flustered, who avoids men irl. and we have mike who is an absolute mess and leans into eddie's every touch! fascinating!

Combining these since they have similar energy!

Definitely validity here re: the energy in situations we are observing with these older men. It's not purely "oh not this man is hot" even though, if he truly is queer, there's a level there. It's a pretty universal experience for a younger person to want the validation and attention and approval of someone older, no matter gender or sexuality. But, the specific ways that I personally witnessed in these interviews in particular? It has a very underlying subtext that reads beyond just wanting approval from an older peer. The specific way that Finn laughs is just... so familiar. "Is that just his personality" some will argue and well, if that's just a part of his personality, well then his personality has the vibes we're discussing, right? It's entwined. The way he laughs a little too hard at times, the way he touches these guys, the looking immediately to them when he makes a comment. It is kind of safe, because you really can play it off as admiration and trying to be on the same level with these older men. A straight eye probably won't clock it as flirting, that's just an eager kid vying for approval. But the approval is intrinsically needed because it's caught up in wanting them to respect you and consider you an equal and you also feel that attraction, your mind wants to entertain the thought. The brain is firing off in many directions. Been there, babe. The way he carries himself in these interviews just... doesn't feel very straight. "Can't a man be secure in himself and be comfortable expressing..." - sure! But we're calling what we see. I see flirtation underneath several other layers of veneer.

Maybe he doesn't even realize he's doing it. I doubt his anxious ass is re-watching his interviews, but I wonder what he'd think of himself if he watched it back. Cannot even imagine. It's not like he's doing anything embarrassing, but the energy there. Oh, Finn. It's a valid read, for sure. There's got to be a reason so many of us in certain parts of the fandom get a queer read on him, and it cannot be from clothing or physical appearance because I'm gonna be honest - those aren't the biggest tells in his case. That isn't enough for me. Behavior and actions and spoken words are more indicative of this sort of thing.

And the first point - it's another interesting idea. I'll admit I don't know Finn's personal life toooo deeply. I like Finn as a person and I like following his career - I've never been one who really paid attention to his relationships with people outside of the ST cast other than random little things I learned from scrolling tumblr. I'm slightly familiar with his IT days, but that was little boyhood and I'm not interesting in analyzing that too deeply. So is he in a circle of mostly male friendships as the implication? No idea, so I don't know if my insight is useful for him in particular.

There's definitely truths to sexuality and who you surround yourself with and there's also those who desire to fight against stereotype and gender roles, even unconsciously. Some straight men absolutely cannot be friends with women, a societal failing of them. Others have zero problem. I love the women in my life, and I know there's a stereotype that gay men get along better and surround themselves with women and I get that, but I also don't? My circle is pretty diverse. Some of my closest friends are straight guys and it's totally not any different than any other person's friendship. Not sure how great I am at analyzing this topic just because sometimes I get nervous making these grand generalizations!

I think for Mike and Will in the show however, since this is a show and easier to analyze than real life people - there is a pretty pointed connotation made when it comes to their friendships. There have been so many good analyses of Mike and his "boys only" moments. His uncomfortableness with women. He really seems to fall into a comfort level with the guys in his life. Which could simply be a story-telling hint on sexuality stuff rather than a commentary of friendships, but it can be twofold. Will certainly showcases a lack of female friendships and some criticize him for it, but he's also just a young boy when he says these things? "Girls play video games?" Etc. But that's also the classic 80s trope of boys vs. girls, nerds vs. heteronormative society, and then toss two gay kids into the mix. There's so many layers to consider. It's complicated. I'm going in circles here but both of these questions were really interesting to ponder. Will continue to do so but I'm gonna stop typing at this point haha.

[dirtanddistance]

Squamish50 Race Recap: Fool Me Twice, Shame on Me

"Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene // she sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream // GOOOOOOOODDDDD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! You're a Coast Mountain girl, and you run in the woods // oh mama, IIIIIIIIII'M JUST HAVIN' FUN, on the trail in my vest, it's where I belong, down on these // COAST MOUNTAIN TRAILS, I'm gonna keep on running on these COAST MOUNTAIN TRAILS, I'm gonna keep on running out in WEST CANADA, I'm gonna keep on running on these coast mountain trails, coast mountain trails"

Phew. Now that that's out of my system...

When I was growing up, the concept of 'peer pressure' never made much sense to me. I was not intrinsically tempted by drugs, or alcohol, or skipping class, or the social points that might have been gained by participating in such shenanigans. Outside of what that might say about me as a person, it led to an interesting revelation as I got older: my so-called peers back then just weren't doing anything interesting enough to make me feel compelled to join. All of this changed the moment I encountered my first overnight relay race in college. I was sold. Things would only escalate from there. My mama was not proud. There were actual fights over these endeavours. It culminated in me running my first ultra before I even had a bachelor's degree, setting my life in a direction no one predicts for their child.

It would come as no surprise to find me signed up for a 50 mile race eight years later in an entirely different country, if you had much of a background on ultrarunning. And after watching the 'vlog clip' my husband so charitably took of me at the finish line vowing that I would never do such a thing again, a seasoned member of the ultra community would have laughed and said 'see you next year'. Which is where our story begins, one year after the infamous 'never again' caught on film.

I did not feel an aching desire to run farther than 50 miles again, or even to do that particular event again. I had achieved my Gary Robbins hug and shiny medal, I had proven whatever it was that I needed to prove (see, dad? Not all ultras are just 'a few more miles than a marathon' AND I'm alive to prove it!). Cue, peer pressure. I wrote a silly little race report talking about how much I cried and a few of my friends read it and talked about it and were like 'that sounds great I'm in'. And if there's one thing I can't abide, it's my friends and peers going on an endurance adventure without me. A whopping three or four months had passed by the time it was sign-up day so there I was at 7am on a Friday before work on Run SignUp and the group WhatsApp open as we all digitally shared the high of registration day and collectively ignored the implications of signing up for a 50 mile race.

Fast forward to last weekend and we're all at the starting line hemming and hawing about how we didn't sleep so well last night, and we're scared, and 'just gonna go out there and have a good time'. My little brother was texting me, because unlike here in BC it was a godly hour of the day in Florida and he was at the ready to remind me that he had gone to a T-Pain concert the night before, and that T-Pain is a resource in times of need (?). This is salient because one time in high school, my cross country coach told us to do a particular warm of exercise with the kind of energy and enthusiasm we would have if we were rushing the stage at a T-Pain concert, so referring to Tallahassee Pain when I am going for a run will always resonate. Yes. The T stands for Tallahassee. Not Tylenol extra strength, which may also resonate during long runs. Anyway, I put all my worries away in a mansion somewhere in Wiscansin, we snapped a start line selfie, and off we went into the brief dark.

The first couple of miles slipped away as I kept up with a few much faster compatriots. I got Travis talking about his upcoming trip to Japan, which is a subject I can listen to/speak about endlessly. Alas, being the personality hire of the run group meant that I would fade to the back fairly early, and eventually we reached the first climb of the day, DeBeck's hill. This was where I broke last time. I was crying. This isn't even to the second aid station. Full blown tears, panic attack. I was determined not to break this year. I made everyone I knew very aware of my goal for this year: do not cry before aid station two. I'm very happy to announce I did achieve this goal, but was almost brought to ruin on the Midlife Crisis trail as I discovered TRAIL LORE. Trail lore is in fact the best part of not being a complete hermit during your race, which was my other, unspoken goal of the race - interact with fellow runners enough to become emotionally invested in the outcome of at least two other participants beyond just 'wow I hope everyone has a nice day'. The fellow behind me as I was hot stepping from rock to rock about to throw up and/or throw myself down the hill goes 'don't rush! I'm not trying to pressure you! Don't fall, my friend built this trail and he wouldn't want you to fall!' Right there we almost got the first cry of the day. Not because I was panicking or sad but because THAT WAS SUCH A NICE THING TO TELL ME! PEOPLE ARE LOVELY! I was then provided the added details that this friend designed that particular singletrack run when he turned 50 to prove he could still do hard things. Which, if true, is way more wholesome than my interpretation of the name Midlife Crisis, which was that the trail is so stressful that 31 is going to be my midlife with the years this trail is taking off my life span.

I rolled into aid station 2 at Alice Lake without a tear having been shed, and ready to hit the bathroom. I ran into a fellow trail homie from the run club at the bathroom line (so, like a regular club? Very brat.) and rolled on. I thought briefly 'wow, I wish my husband hadn't had a combination migraine-food-poisoning-slash-general-itis and thrown up last night making it very unlikely that he'd make it to the first crew aid station in time' but mostly I was proud of myself for not crying and it was time to carry on to my previously favorite section of the race.

Corners is the best trail ever because it's pretty and flowy and there are wildflowers everywhere and fun signs that say that you might get zapped by the powerlines overhead. It's also where the professional race photographer hides out and catches you when you're running at a decent clip with a pretty background. I was so confident going into these parts. Then I watched the gal ahead of me almost eat some dirt. Not too bad, she recovered quick. Couldn't be me. Except a few minutes later it was me, fully supermanned out on the ground, covered in the gritty sandy stuff and bleeding. I hopped back up and kept moving, knowing that sitting around evaluating myself would probably just make it all hurt more. Blood streamed down my leg, but it seemed nothing particularly important was hurting as I resumed my journey. Ah well, I thought, maybe this will just make my race pictures look more badass. Another familiar face caught up to me, which was quite a surprise because I do not have any idea how anyone I knew could possibly be behind me at this point in the race. It was nice to have someone to whine about my fall to, and who also admitted to having taken a little tumble himself. We rolled into Aid Station 3, and I declined having anything done about my bloody leg because, well, what was there to do? Fall on the ground or not, everyone is coated in layer upon layer of dust and sweat out here anyway. We trekked on to the little loop that would eventually lead back to AS 3 and slowly parted ways as I kept a conservative pace. Then it hit me - the ground again. This time, not only was the knee bleeding again but I got my left hand pretty good, with blood streaming across it from a few difficult to evaluate spots. At this point I was big sad. I let myself cry a little. My finger HURT where it was cut. I gimped along feeling sorry for myself until my brain generated the thought 'you're having an Eren Jaeger moment' while looking at the blood streak across my palm. I had the power of God AND anime on my side now. I dragged my sad little self back to the aid station when miracle of all miracles occurred. There was a familiar face with a volunteer vest on on. I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see someone in my life. Before I could say anything, I was pushed into a camping chair and another volunteer was swiping away at the blood and dirt with a paper towel and some saline spray. Not exactly how I would do it, but hey. It became obvious that while gnarly, these injuries were probably not life threatening and I was probably gonna make it. After a little bit of whinging and snacking and the affirmation of 'see you at the finish line' (this will come in handy later), I wandered back into the woods for the trek up Galactic.

Galactic is, like, the most fabled section of this race. If you look at any race report, or even the race description itself, this is described as kind of a piece de resistance. It's a hella long incline is all it is. You're in the woods, walking upwards, for longer than you would like to be. It's just inclined enough that an amateur like myself does absolutely zero running for like, half an hour straight. It's a drag. It's also not particularly 'hard' in the sense of being technical, or super steep. Last year, this was an unremarkable section of trail for me. I was feeling pretty okay having conquered last year's Most Wanted incline on DeBeck's and thought nothing of the trudge up the hill. And then my subconscious came out to play. Covered in blood and dirt and with like, half the race or more to go, the 'why are you doing this' crept in. Now, I also faced down this question last year, starting like 15k into the race, so not having to wrestle with it until several aid stations in is actually a good thing. However, I was out there with my little vest and my little philosophy minor degree ready to Conquer The Question of Purpose in Ultramarathoning, and the answers were not looking good for me. I was deconstructing with every footstep forward. Is there intrinsic value in pain? And if there is, what is it? Why am I out here alone? Time doesn't exist and I have no concept that it has probably been less than an hour since I spoke to a friend and would probably either find more friends or make more friends as the day wears on. I am alone in this forest, and I am going to cry about it. Like, ugly cry. Sobbing, gasping, this-character-is-being-hella-overacted crying. I want to quit RIGHT NOW. But I told Tam I'd see her at the finish line. And like, it'd look kinda lame if I DNF this for no good reason besides getting too sad. At this point, I determine that it's probably time to Eat Something, so I pull out the super dense gel sugary thing I picked up at the aid station to avoid eating my own carefully curated snacks. And what would you know, approximately 5 minutes after consuming 200 calories of pure maple syrup with added salt, the world suddenly seemed less bleak and finishing this race seemed like a less awful proposition. My new attitude and I finally rocked up to aid station 4.

Aid station 4 was uneventful until we heard over the radio 'first female has cleared Smoke Bluffs'. Oof. The aid station volunteers graciously reminded those of us who had just been confronted with our weak paces that those who are finishing now did not get to spend time having snacks at the aid station. I took off, and found myself chatting with a fellow from Squamish. It was his first ultra, with an eerily similar story to my decision to run this race the year before - the 50k sold out too fast and thought, 'eh, how bad could 50 miles be?'. Officially invested in my unknown friend's fate now, we eventually rolled up to Aid Station 5, which I refer to as the family tailgate aid station. At first, I looked about helplessly for my husband without the faintest clue whether or not he'd even gotten out of the house. I wandered over to the medical tent where the nice medic scraped the hell out of my knee using alcohol swabs. Honestly, this might have been the worst part of the whole day if not for what was in store between aid stations 5 and 6. Finally I caught site of my spouse and parked myself in the grass to eat a sandwich and whine some more while he recorded it as a 'vlog' to share with everyone else I know. He had in fact remembered to bring the Scandinavian Swimmers I had emphatically requested the day before, but I ended up forgetting about them moments after he told me he had them. I considered letting them squeeze the cold water sponges on me before I headed out, but thought better of it when I contemplated the water cleanliness and the oozing scrape that we decided against bandaging for the sole reason that no bandage was going to adhere to me at this point in the day.

I rolled out of the aid station around the same time as my new friend, and we continued on our little trek. At this point, my right knee was starting to do The Thing. Previously, only my left knee had been known to do The Thing. It's a sharp sharp pain on the outside, near the knee cap when I land on that side. Sharp enough to make you not want to land too hard because that leg might buckle from the pain. It wasn't so bad, and only every few steps, so I got by just fine walking more than I wanted. Until I didn't, and it hurt with every downhill step I was taking and I started crying again because THIS TRULY SUCKS. I didn't even do anything to that leg! I did not bring this upon myself except by maybe having been born with kinda messed up legs that turn inward instead of straight ahead but I DID NOTHING WRONG! I will add at this point, this section of the run (despite being reassured that all distances are as marked and completely correct) at least FEELS exceptionally long compared to how it's advertised. You think you're almost to AS 6 for a VERY long time. As I cried about the unfairness of life, I remembered I had put every kind of OTC medication one might even think about needing in my vest, so I popped a couple of ibuprofen and grumpily walked on. For some reason, despite being an entire doctor, I never believe that ibuprofen could fix MY problem. It is a solution for someone else. Fortunately for me, ibuprofen doesn't care about my skepticism and went to work, rendering my knee functional and capable of being run upon and allowing it to carry me to Aid Station 6.

Aid Station 6 is kind of a letdown. Not because it's not fully stocked and staffed by fantastic volunteers - it absolutely is. Every aid station is a 10/10. It's just wedged between two very exciting aid stations where you get your crew and there is generally a lot of activity and cheering. However, a familiar face again saved the day when I realized the ice water bucket manager was in fact another run club friend. This friend in particular I had pressured into running the Valley Vertikiller as a fairly new trail runner. I was not, in my current state, doing a great job of selling the idea that trail running is a fun and safe activity, but his enthusiasm and selfie taking renewed my spirits and made me believe that I could make it to the next aid station, which would in turn mean that I could make it to the finish line.

It was at this aid station that I started to chat with a couple of ladies; the conversation with an aid station attendant about the insanity of doing this race multiple times had come up, so naturally I was prepared to contribute to this conversation and inform them that I was, in fact, completely unhinged. As we rolled back into the woods, these ladies were talking in miles which was my second cue to start talking, because where there are miles there are, typically, fellow Americans. These lasses were from Colorado; when I mentioned I was originally from Florida but had moved out to BC, they, without skipping a beat, went, 'wow so a total upgrade'. Ahhhh, to be amongst my kind of people. This was not their first 50 miler, and had come all the way out here to run it. I passed my original compatriot somewhere during this phase, which flew by in good company as I pulled ahead and in to aid station 7. Aid station 7 has you run across a bridge and going downhill for a bit. I saw a few folks standing before the aid station on the sideline; I assumed it was just course marshals or someone taking down bib numbers for checkin. I spotted my husband with his Real Camera, and as my brain slowly processed the blonde girl cheering for me by name (as an Experienced Runner, I am now conscious of when I have my name printed on my race tag and no longer become completely frozen in horror when I hear my name called by enthusiastic strangers) as not just a random volunteer with a lot of energy, but my BC Bestie Elise! And then as I got to the aid station proper, I realized that I was in the presence of my husband, BC Bestie, AND my Aid Station 3 trail angel friend! As disoriented and overstimulated as I was by this, it was honestly magical, I almost cried, and I reluctantly accepted/delivered the most disgusting hugs I've ever been a part of. I was truly ready to tackle the final 8 miles now.

The last section of the race includes an additional unpleasant climb that kinda never ends, but did include an exceptional sunset. As much as it meant knowing I'd be rocking up to the finish line in the dark, the striking purple and orange on the horizon as I crested the false peak on my way up Mountain of Phlegm was first class. As we finally neared the stairs, I chatted with a woman who was here from Alberta to do the 50/50 (for those of you fortunate enough to not know what that is, it means running the 50 mile race on Saturday followed by the 50k race on Sunday). It rained just a little bit, and I wished her good traction and tacky surfaces for Sunday (and warned that if it rained too much that slippery might be a concern to monitor). When we reached the stairs, the course marshal eagerly assured us that we were done with the stairs! Which was quickly disproven upon reaching several smaller flights of stairs... sigh. After this betrayal, we eventually made our way out of Smoke Bluffs to the sight of a disco ball and Von Dutch blasting on a bluetooth speaker in the parking lot. Fortified by the power of brat summer imbued in that melody I took off onto the pavement princess section of the race. Several very, very enthusiastic high-five soliciting children ambushed me with their excitement and encouragement as I ran past the hostel I was staying at, onto the final stretch of road.

You might be thinking to yourself at this point, wow, she's run 50+ miles in the woods without encountering a single bear! What luck! And you'd be right, except then I encountered a bear. On the street. Walking down the opposite side of the road. This is an inconvenience, and I suppose I should have exercised better bear manners. I gave it the little bit of 'hey bear!' I could summon and basically hoped it would continue on its way down the street because nothing was going to delay me from reaching this finish line right now, not even this unbothered black bear. Fortunately, he or she seemed utterly unmoved by my antics and continued on down the street as though they were also a taxpaying member of the community and I barreled down the street and into the finish chute where I was immediately granted my second Squamish50 Gary Robbins hug and the attention of many friends who had to witness my (again) overstimulated and disoriented presence. After a finish line group photo, it was time to start recombobulating, relaying stories to Toby and Elise, and drinking an orange juice juice box like any good Floridian would.

While I haven't quite sorted out my running purpose deconstruction, being reminded that I was the reason someone else signed up for something challenging or ridiculous seems like a good enough proxy for now. I hopped on the results page as soon as it was up to ensure my Squamish and Colorado friends also made it across the finish line (yes, they did!). I only made it four days before I was talking about signing up for my next ultra (not alone... not ready to do that again), which may be a new record turnaround time.

I cannot sign off without reiterating how absolutely blessed and lucky and fortunate I felt to have so many familiar, happy faces out there on the course last Saturday. From my other pals running the race that I felt I couldn't be the only DNF of the crew, to the volunteers and friends that came out to cheer me on and my ever-attentive forever race crew member Toby, this race reminded me that no matter if you're racing or just out for a run, going fast or taking it easy, the real magic of running is the folks you meet along the way. Without this sport, I honestly don't think I would have had some of the most important relationships and experiences I've had in my life.

Tune in next time for my musings about my mid-race existential crisis and the ever elusive 'why do I run?'!

[patb-goose]

A03

Brain had called Pinky over to him. It had taken a few tries, but he finally got the mouse’s attention and he came into view. Satisfied, he turned his back to him. Thinking for a moment before he stepped forward, he stopped. Then he awkwardly reached out his hand. He could feel Pinky blinking at him in confusion, even though he couldn’t see him. It was in the pause. Then, he felt a warm paw in his and The Brain felt at ease. 

This was still relatively new to him; affection. He found he liked it, though. At least when it wasn’t terribly overbearing, like the many times Pinky squeezed the life out of him. He knew his friend meant well.. Brain grinned. No. Not his friend…well, to be more accurate, not ‘just’ his friend anymore. Pinky was his….well, his Pinky. A label had yet to come to him , but he did enjoy calling him ‘his’ Pinky. It had him feeling giddy. Yes, that was the word.

Pinky was giggling beside him now. His happiness was never so easily contained, “Your hand and my hand are hugging.” He kicked either foot up in excitement, having another laugh. “Where’re we going, Brain? Is it plan time already…? Ooh, you do work fast, don’t you?”

“No, Pinky. I am taking you outside.”

“But I just went…” Pinky replied with implication, causing Brain to roll his eyes at his misunderstanding. 

“Not–Will you just follow me in agreeable silence?” He tugged on his hand and Pinky gave him an “mmkay!” which he was thankful for. He led him from the workbench, over to the windowsill. 

He released his grip so that he may budge open the window, then he ushered Pinky outside. Pinky still looked confused, as he often was, but he did follow Brain’s direction. He stopped in the middle of the platform, tapping his chin and then he was scratching his head. Brain grinned again. Instructively, he sat down on the edge by Pinky’s feet. When Pinky felt his presence, he spun around to look at him for a moment or two. There were questions in those blue eyes. Brain would answer them. 

“I believe you said something about stargazing…” Brain reminded him somewhat shyly.

The realization seemed to startle Pinky and he jumped in surprise. Brain really wished he would not do that when they were so high up. Then, Pinky was jumping on him and the panic wasn’t so easy to conceal. He made a sound as Pinky landed in his arms and they nearly fell. He held onto him tightly just in case. Brain wanted to scold him, but Pinky spoke before him.

“Oh, Egad, Brain! You remembered.”

“It’s been a single day” Brain interrupted but Pinky kept his excitement flowing before he could go on.

 “I knew you would. You romantic, love-love- lovey, squishy marshmallow mouse, you! Troz!” Pinky exclaimed with glee, nuzzling his cheeks.

Brain’s eyes widened and his face turned red from all of the overstimulating affection. He was suddenly reminded of why he usually kept it to himself. “Pinky! Tone it down, or I will never do anything nice for you again.” He peered over the edge cautiously, “I’d rather not plummet to our deaths on our first date..”

“This. is. A. D-D-DATE?!” Pinky asked, literally vibrating with enlarged pupils. He seemed like he was going to have another outburst, so Brain immediately clamped his mouth shut with a hand.

“Yeees. Pinky” Brain told him in a soft, yet sarcastic voice, using words that he would comprehend. ”Date; good. Death; bad. Un-der-stand…?” Despite his head being held in place by Brain’s hand, Pinky gave several quick nods and a muffled response. Then Brain released him. 

He was still smiling as he took the spot beside Brain to sit instead. “M’sorry, Brain! I just got so excited!” He squeezed on his fur and flesh, “My insides felt all smooshy and my heart was trying to escape all the way back to France.”

“France?”

“The city of looooove, Brain…” Pinky clasped his hands together and gave him an adoring stare. He sighed and leaned against him. It wasn’t terribly jostling, so Brain allowed it, silently forgiving his prior behavior. Pinky was just as unused to this new dynamic as he was, he merely expressed it differently. Speaking of expressing… Brain subtly wrapped his arm around him. Pinky didn’t miss it, because not even a moment later, he placed his hand over his…It had him feeling sentimental.

 “Tell me about the stars…” Pinky asked dreamily, looking to the sky. 

Brain did. Pinky likely wouldn’t understand a word, but he would tell him anyway.

[fiercestpurpose]

I’ve been thinking about “Where is the line for ethical engagement with this material?” a lot in terms of HP and HP fandom/community. To me, it makes the most sense to separate engagement with a work into three categories based on the effects of the engagement:

Thinking about the work. This has zero moral consequence. As far as I’m concerned, there is no moral imperative for you not to think about HP as much as you want. You can draw HP fanart or write fanfic, and there’s no material negative effect here. The only danger with this it that it might slip into the second category, but as long as you’re strictly in the first category, there is no effect.

Participating in community about the work. This would include posting the fanart or fanfic, liking tweets, commenting on other people’s fanfics, etc. The danger here is that participating in a community helps create a dedicated community, and that leads to material consequences, like a streaming service saying “Wow, there’s a fanbase for this, let’s make a show,” or encouraging other people to get into the work. (Also, JKR in particular likes to say that people who like her work agree with her political views.) This is the zone that is most frequently subject to moral contestation, and that’s largely because different people have different ideas about how much this matters. What are the actual consequences of this? How much does this translate to a material effect? How much does the fandom as a whole have power and, moreover, how much does it matter in the scheme of things if I specifically choose to participate or not participate? (I personally believe that any single person in a fandom has a lot more power to shape the fandom than they realize.)

Spending money on the work. This includes buying books or movies or video games or merch or whatever. HP in particular has consistently good merch, because they know there’s a market for it. This is the giving-money-directly-to-JKR category. And there are some things in here that are less direct — buying a Universal Orlando ticket, or watching an HP movie on a streaming service that you pay a subscription for. However, this does have a more direct effect than fandom engagement.

For me, the question of “Where is the ethical engagement with this material?” is about effect, and the effect is largely in terms of money.

That means that the question contains the other questions:

Does my participation or lack thereof matter in the scale of the fanbase?

How much is each action I take contributing to profit for someone who will use that profit to make other people’s lives worse?

(But on the “profit” question, remember that it’s not simply direct profit but also indirect profit through encouraging continued interest in the work.)

There are other ways to approach the question of “Where is ethical engagement with the material?” that frame it differently.

For example, you could think about it in terms of “Do I feel morally okay in continuing to engage with a work whose author holds these beliefs and is doing these things?” This is going to yield a different answer to where you draw the line because it’s a different framing. Personally, I don’t use this framing because it doesn’t make sense to me.

Another framing could be in terms of the consequences for your friends and peers in fandom spaces. Other people might have feelings about the work that are out of proportion to the actual effect in terms of profit, and you might want to take that into account. (e.g. Your trans friends might not want to see you blogging about Harry Potter, and showing them a flow chart that illustrates that you are only adding 1 cent to JKR’s bank every year might not be the most sensitive way of handling it.)

There are many, many ways of thinking about how the ethical implications of engaging with a work; hopefully this post has illustrated one way of understanding various forms of engagement. This way of understanding does not take into account everything (see previous paragraph) and it might not be the way that matters most or makes the most sense to you, but it is a way that makes a lot of sense to me.

I’ve used HP as an example but there are lots of works where the author is both morally suspect and still alive to profit from their works. (I’ve been rereading Ender’s Game, so that also prompted this.) Anyway, have a schema.

[distortedclouds]

Hi! I'm here for Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut game! SO, well, there's a lot, to be honest, to ask, bet let's say: - the role of Bernadette - the whole smut scene in chapter 8 - the ending scene of chapter 12 - this damn (amazing) scene from chapter 15, that always just ripped my heart so much, and I began to tear up (yeah, now too): "Armin looks at the shirt in his hands until his vision grows blurry and he can no longer see a single line through the tears flooding his eyes. It’s not fair what he’s done to her. What he continues to do. Maybe she right to leave that morning, to not trust him.

Annie has always been good at prioritizing her own survival, and Armin believes she’s made the right decision to not include him."

*cracks fingers* let's do this!

The role of Bernadette

Being the same age as Annie "appears" to be was meant to highlight how Annie might be perceived by people outside of her immediate circle, but also a potential of how a girl that should be in the same demographic as her might be living. It's an unlikely friendship, but at the same time, people who go through an abusive childhood/adolescence always feel left behind compared to their peers. Annie's 104th friends and warriors have all grown in, in looks and in experiences; they've matured. sitting next to them, Annie finds herself a bit behind on social and emotional skills but also general life experiences, this is further emphasized by her youthful appearance.

I needed a character to be somewhat neutral to Annie's situation, unlike Armin, Hitch and Mikasa, she doesn't stand on the direct opposite side of her father. She's not a normal girl, who had a normal childhood, and managed to give Annie "wisdom" that she wasn't able to gain on her own

The smut in chapter 8

In my notes and outlines I always referred to that smut scene as their "second first time" and that's the main idea I kept in mind while writing it. Maintaining the awkwardness and inexperience and novelty and anticipation of a first time, but combine it with the familiarity they've acquired, of the intimacy they've experienced over the past few months.

It made sense that Annie would be the one to initiate, since Armin has the patience of a saint and would've budge unless he 100% believes Annie, too wants it. He's wary of pushing things too far because physical touch was/is the way Annie best experiences and express affection and intimacy, and he wanted them to do it because they both want to take that step, not because Annie has ran out of the few words she has. However, if that's the language they're going to speak, then Armin's going to try his best to translate his love for Annie by worshiping her

Now... I can't address "the whole smut scene in chapter 8" without getting into Annie's praise kink. it's "weird" because it's all words. dumb stupid words that anyone can say, but because it's Armin that they make her feel this way. That she can believe and take to heart the praise and cute pet names he gives her. (seriously, tho. I could talk about the implications and character study aspect of Annie's praise kink all day if prompted lol)

At the very end of the scene there' this line: "Ignoring the first half a dozen thoughts of ‘this is humiliating’ and ‘he’s being a smug asshole,’ Annie finds that she actually likes the sound of that."

Despite being a physical act, the smut in chapter 8 was a huge step for Annie to start accepting love in the form of words and take to heart the affection she received from it.

Another thing is Annie wanting him to be close. As much as she enjoys the physical sensations of having sex, the end goal is him. it's to have Armin with her.

The ending of chapter 12

I've already answered a director's cut of chapter 11 (Armin's PoV)

While the chapters are meant to be exact parallels, they end up highlighting different things. for Annie, this is her lowest point, this is what she knew she was headed towards with her father but still denied with all her might. In a way, it was the beginning of the end of her relationship with her father, but it's also meant to show the power and leverage he still has over her.

I don't think is usually capable of raising a hand or talking back against her father, regardless of whether she's capable of it or not. A part of her takes her father's words to heart, that all this happened and continues to happen to her because she's fucked up; the problem is her. (This comes back to haunt her in chapters 19+20)

Armin crying from chapter 15

I'm pretty sure it was you, Anna, who once pointed out the significance of clothes in BW, and how they have their own miniature arc. Well, this scene is a part of it!

Annie leaving her clothes at his place and often wearing his was always meant to symbolize domesticity. How it'll all about the little things between them and Armin remembering each and every time to changes into some of his clothes and left hers in his clothes; each time she left a small piece of herself in his home, and bit by bit, one item of clothing, closed window, and dirty mug in the sink, she'd made her mark on all of his house.

This links to two previous lines, the first from chapter 1, where Armin notices how Annie moves comfortably around her father's house, but it takes her a while before she starts acting the same way in his. Also, while she's gone, Armin laments over how his house seems to have accepted Annie as a part of itself more than it ever accepted him. This bit speaks to how Annie herself is becoming his home, but also touches on Armin's own self-worth issues

Looking at her clothes left cold and unworn in his closet, Armin is forced to reckon with the fact that he'd had Annie as his home. that she was actually here, but she no longer is. It's the loss of something he'd long wished and pined for because he'd failed to see he'd already had it, just not in the picture-perfect image he thought it was going to go.