#forced to use the mind for academic papers

[aureatchi]

in another world, i’m on fyodor’s lap abt finished deciphering his 3pg’d interpretation in russian annotated on his copy of metamorphoses: orpheus & eurydice. in reality, i js finished writing three essays. no fedya btw. 😔

[reiding-writing]

Can i get a workshop session? How about spencer with a reader who's actually smarter than him? Maybe she's younger too, thanksss

GENIUS² — SPENCER REID!

working alongside another genius was a blessing, in more ways than one.

early!seasons!spencer x reader | fluff | 1.3k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— the genius x genius trope is great i love it

Spencer Reid prided himself on being one of the smartest people in the room.

At 24 years old, he was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs under his belt, and an eidetic memory that made him practically a walking encyclopaedia.

His mind moved faster than 99.7% of the world’s population, processing information, analysing patterns, and solving puzzles with ease.

But none of that prepared him for you.

You were younger than him by two years, and while you didn’t have a wall lined with degrees like Spencer, your intelligence was undeniable.

A bachelor’s degree in Theoretical Physics had been enough to earn you a spot in the BAU, something that had surprised even you.

Hotch had seen something in you—your ability to not only understand the unsub’s behavior but to intuitively connect pieces of information in ways most people couldn’t. It was something the team found invaluable.

And it didn’t take long for Spencer to notice.

Where Spencer excelled in academic brilliance, you had a talent for thinking outside the box. You connected dots faster than most people even realized there were dots to connect.

Spencer was used to being the one with all the answers, the one who could solve problems others struggled with, but you? You were different. You weren’t afraid to speak up, even if it meant contradicting his carefully constructed theories. You didn’t care about bruising egos, least of all his, and it fascinated him.

The first time Spencer realised you were special was during a particularly tough case.

The team had been chasing down a serial killer for weeks—a cryptic unsub who left strange, undecipherable messages at each crime scene.

Spencer had spent hours poring over the notes, scrawling down numbers, symbols, and trying to make sense of the pattern, but nothing clicked. His frustration was palpable; his fingers were tapping restlessly on the desk, and his usually sharp mind felt like it was hitting a wall.

An iron wall, covered in spikes and barbed wire.

Then you had walked in. Quietly, unassuming, you hovered over his shoulder for a moment before making a suggestion that cut through his fog of confusion.

“You might be thinking about this too literally,” You said casually, your voice breaking through the silence.

Spencer looked up, frowning slightly, both intrigued and a bit defensive. “What do you mean?”

You slid into the chair next to him, your eyes scanning the pages spread out across his desk. “You’re trying to solve this like a mathematical puzzle, but uh— the letters in the corners of his notes are literally just spelling out ‘library’, so I went to the nearest library and spoke to the librarian on staff, she gave me this,”

You pull out a scrap piece of paper from your pocket and hold it out towards him, a handwritten poem.

Spencer blinked, the pieces clicking together in his mind with almost audible force as he took the poem from you.

You’d identified the connection instantly, something Spencer would have done himself had his mind not been knotted up in frustration. But instead of feeling defeated, he was astonished.

“How did you-?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You shrugged, as if it were obviousLooking at the bigger picture can be really useful sometimes,”

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you calmly began jotting down more notes, your mind racing ahead as if you’d never even paused for breath. He realised, in that moment, that you weren’t just another member of the team. You were his equal—possibly even more than that.

From then on, Spencer found himself constantly intrigued by you. The two of you often ended up working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other in a way that was both exciting and intimidating for Spencer.

You were quick, your mind moving in a different way than his, and he found himself almost eager to keep up with your train of thought. You saw things he didn’t, caught details he might have missed, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. No one had ever made him feel… not inferior, but challenged in such a unique way.

The conversations between you were often odd. Both of you were too intelligent for typical small talk, so you found yourselves discussing obscure facts or debating over scientific theories in the most random of moments.

Spencer would mention something about a 14th-century mathematician, and you would immediately counter with a parallel discovery made in physics centuries later. Neither of you really knew how to navigate personal conversations, so you stuck to what you both understood—facts, theories, and knowledge.

One evening, after a particularly long day spent on another complex case, the bullpen was empty except for the two of you. The team had gone home, but you stayed behind, just like Spencer always did, combing through the evidence again, searching for a missing piece.

You were seated across from him, your brow furrowed in concentration, scribbling notes onto a pad of paper.

Every few minutes, Spencer found himself glancing at you. It wasn’t something he could control—his curiosity about the way your mind worked was something that pulled him in, a constant mystery to unravel.

You were focused, absorbed in your task, and Spencer couldn’t help but admire how quickly you picked up on things. Sometimes, you were faster than him, and that realization both thrilled and unnerved him.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your voice breaking the silence without even looking up.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, and you did it effortlessly. “I—I wasn’t staring. I was just… thinking.”

You finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “What were you thinking about?”

He swallowed, his brain scrambling for an answer that didn’t sound ridiculous. “You’re really good at this,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “You are too.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t his strong suit, and he wasn’t used to receiving them either. “I mean, you’re younger than me, but you’re just as—no, sometimes more—effective than I am. It’s… impressive.”

For the first time since he’d met you, you looked almost shy. “I’ve always looked up to you, you know,” You admitted quietly. “When I first started here, I thought you were kind of untouchable. Like, how could anyone keep up with a guy who knows literally everything?”

Spencer stared at you, speechless. The idea that you—someone he viewed as his intellectual equal, if not superior—had once looked up to him was almost unbelievable. It made him see you in a different light.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “I guess we keep each other on our toes.”

You smiled at that, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. It was a strange dynamic—two people too intelligent for normal conversations, yet too awkward to fully acknowledge the unique bond that had formed between you.

But it worked. You pushed each other, kept each other sharp. Whenever Spencer stumbled over an obscure reference, you were there to catch it. When you went too far into the realm of abstract thinking, Spencer reeled you back in with hard logic.

You were a perfect balance—an unstoppable team, even if neither of you would say it outright. And in a world where people rarely understood either of you, you had found something important in each other, an unlikely equal.

[cottonlemonade]

Alone At The Library

word count: 2342 || avg. reading time: 10 mins.

pairing: rival!Akaashi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, rivals to lovers

warnings: implications of financial struggles

request: small pineapple lemonade with extra ice for Akaashi || fluffy accidental confession with rival Akaashi

In desperate need of escaping the academic and social pressure of a top university, Akaashi convinced his parents that it would not be the end of the world if he went to one a little outside of Tokyo instead. It was far less prestigious, of course, and few people had ever heard of it. But in the end, his air-tight argumentation had won them over and he had moved into his dorm in a neighboring prefecture. The university he chose had a surprisingly good literary program with shockingly bad libraries. For months now the main library on campus was under construction with no indication of anyone ever working on it and so the students were forced to fan out to the smaller libraries in the surrounding neighborhoods to find the volumes necessary for their field.

Akaashi stretched his neck and winced when it popped. He would have loved to take the stack of books next to him to the dorms but the small town library he had chosen was so miserably equipped that they couldn‘t afford to let the few academic publications they carried leave the premises. The essay he was pondering over was a lot trickier than he had anticipated and if he didn‘t hand it in by tomorrow he‘d get a failing grade by default. And so, resigning himself to his fate, he shuffled to the lobby to get a paper cup of watery coffee from the old vending machine, ready to make the most of it until closing time.

When he returned to his spot at the long, somehow always mysteriously sticky table he frowned. He could have sworn there was a book missing. Confused and thinking his exhausted mind must be playing tricks on him he looked around but besides the elderly woman at the reception, deeply engrossed in a well-read paperback with a questionable title, there was no one else around. Akaashi bent down to look through his bag, considering he might have absently put it away, and shot back up a moment later when a pair of chubby legs in very familiar, frayed sneakers walked past on the other side, heading towards the opposite end of the table and he heard the unmistakable sound of books being somewhat carelessly dropped onto the surface.

His mood darkened. Pretending you couldn‘t see him, you placed your backpack on the chair next to you and withdrew a tattered notepad, pencil case, and water bottle, reaching for the first book. Once you opened it, he noticed the cover.

You didn‘t even have the decency to look ashamed when he came over. “What do you think you‘re doing?“, he asked.

“What does it look like?“, you replied, your tone pointedly bored as you flipped through the pages.

“I was working with this book.“

“Really? Looked to me like you were done with it.“

“I only went to get a coffee.“, he pressed out through his teeth, “And it lay open next to my paper. How much more in use could it have been?“

“Listen, you have a whooole stack next to you. Why don‘t you use those until I‘m done, hm?“

You had the audacity to give him a very fake bright smile.

He hated that he didn’t immediately have another comeback. Biting the inside of his cheek he thought but ultimately knew there was no point in arguing with you. Any wall would be more susceptible.

“20 minutes.“, he said coldly, “Then you‘ll give it back.“

“Sure thing, pretty boy.“, you said sarcastically, placed the book demonstratively in front of you, and began taking notes. As he walked away you added lazily, “You misspelled “embarrassing“ in your second paragraph. - Ironically.“

As he sat back down, feeling his blood pressure steadily rising in your presence, he felt a pang of annoyance when he saw you were right.

“Time‘s up.“ Exactly 20 minutes later, Akaashi stepped next to you once again. He reached out for the book but you held it tightly, scribbling away. “Just take a picture and work with that.“, he suggested irritably.

“Battery died.“, you only replied without taking your eyes off the paragraph or stopping to write.

For a couple of moments he just stood next to you, hoping to bring you out of context for one, but also maybe come up with a solution for your problems. There was a lot of cross-referencing involved in his paper. Taking pictures would most likely take longer than just looking it all through in his case.

“Maybe we can share it.“, he said eventually.

You looked up and raised a highly doubtful brow.

“I know,“, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, “but if we both need it right now that feels like the only way.“

After a moment‘s thought you moved your backpack from the chair to make space for him and continued your work.

He scoffed inwardly. Obviously, you expected him to move to you, but not wanting to risk another argument he gave in and went to collect his things.

It was by no means a perfect solution but at least there was minimal fighting. You were even considerate enough to only hold the page open at a 90 degree angle so he could continue reading on the page he was on, which he conceded was rather civil of you.

The late summer sun was ready to turn in and through the windows offered little support with grayish golden light.

“Okay, you two. It‘s time to pack up for today.“, the elderly woman announced. Instinctively, Akaashi checked his phone for the time. It made sense that the small library closed at 6 but he was so used to the convenience of the business hours of Tokyo’s city center that it caught him off guard nonetheless.

“Just another hour?”, you pleaded from the seat next to him, your voice sweet and genuine. He never heard it like that before.

The elderly woman pursed her lips apologetically, “I’m sorry, dearie. But we open tomorrow at 9, you can come straight back then.”

Akaashi looked down at his unfinished paper. 9 a.m. was his deadline. And judging by your barely legible notes, you were also in a hurry to finish up an assignment. You began putting your things away and looked confused when he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Gimme a moment.”, he said and got up.

You watched with rising curiosity how he rounded the corner of the table and began talking with the woman. They were too far away to hear clearly but she laughed and playfully waved him off. He kept on talking for about another thirty seconds before she laughed - no, not laughed. Giggled. Then she rummaged in her purse, produced a set of very jangly keys, and, unclipping one of them, handed it to him. Your jaw dropped when she waved Goodbye to you past his shoulder. With a small satisfied grin, he returned to you and plopped down on the chair, going back to the book as if nothing happened. Evidently, you weren’t gonna let it slide and stared at him until he talked.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just got us VIP access.”, he held up the key, “We can stay as long as we want. Just have to lock up after and leave the key under that clay owl at the entrance.”

“How did you even…?”, you asked, impressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just asked nicely, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“You have your ways,”, he pointed to the book you previously swiped from him, “and I have mine.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

As a child, Akaashi would have done anything to spend a night alone in a manga café. He would have practically glowed at the prospect of squinting for hours at the text bubbles and admiring the details in the panels. Now that he got glasses, the squinting was gone, but his love of reading was still as strong as ever and even though it wasn’t an exciting manga in front of him or a café that kept him fed with ramen and other junk food he still felt a deep sense of joy to spend time alone in a library. Well, almost alone. A loud growling of your tummy ripped him from his nostalgia.

He had completely forgotten about the time. “Maybe we should order some food.”, he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet to check how much cash he had. He doubted the delivery services this far out all came equipped with card readers. Scrolling through the handful of delivery services in the area, he asked, “What are you in the mood for?”

He was about to lay out your options when you shook your head. From somewhere in your backpack you produced a slightly squished onigiri. It was from a convenience store with a bright red sticker announcing that it had been on sale due to the close expiration date. His eyes fell onto your notepad once again, densely covered in scribbles, not wasting a single centimeter of space. The scratches and dents in your metal pencil case suggested that it had been with you for a long time. He tried to remember ever seeing you during the many social events the university offered. But whenever the class suggested going out for dinner you made excuses of studying or having to part-time. He knew you were a scholarship student but he just figured it was because of your excellent grades since you two usually fought for the top score of the year, not for a lack of money.

Akaashi looked down at his wallet again.

“I can just pay for both of us, no problem.”, he offered and was shocked when that earned him a dagger-filled glare.

“No thank you.”, you said sharply and bit into the rice ball.

He shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” After ordering a large pizza for himself, he put his phone away again, going back to working silently by your side. The book that had started the alliance was pushed out of the way at this point and you were each going through separate materials.

About half an hour passed before his phone buzzed, letting him know the pizza was waiting out front and when he returned the tempting smell of cheese and freshly baked bread filled the air. With a slice, heavily laden with different toppings, in one hand, Akaashi went back to checking the notes he had taken since his arrival, sifting out the truly important and highlighting the ones he wanted to add to his paper. Your stomach grumbled again and your hand automatically went to cover it. He pretended not to notice it, but a grin slowly formed on his lips with each new noise coming from you. He heard you swallow quietly and caught you glancing at the pizza every so often. He took his second piece, adding a little hum of culinary delight to the mix.

Once a third of the pizza was gone and you still hadn‘t said anything he was beginning to worry his idea hadn‘t worked, so he swerved to plan B. Leaning back in his chair he patted his stomach, a small bump indicating he was stuffed. “Hey, can you do me a favor?“

“When have I ever been known to do that?“

Akaashi ignored your comment.

“I think I was being too greedy. There is no way I can finish this thing on my own.“

With a sidelong look at him, you raised a brow. “I‘m not a child. I know what you‘re doing.“

“And what is it that I‘m doing?“, he asked, innocently but with a definite challenge to his voice.

You were about to call out his obvious scheme when you wondered if it wouldn‘t sound too egotistical to say that he wanted to share from the beginning. What if he really only miscalculated his hunger? And letting a fresh (and free) pizza go to waste was basically a crime.

Wordlessly, you reached past him and pulled the box over so it was sitting between you. The first bite was heaven and you chewed carefully to savor the taste. Very satisfied with himself, Akaashi began adding his notes to his paper. Whilst nibbling at the crust you slid a book to him.

You tapped a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Here, this is your topic, right?“

He quickly skimmed it and nodded. The title of the book didn‘t suggest that it had anything to do with his research.

“It seemed promising, maybe it can give your paper that last little bit of extra.”

He wanted to thank you out of reflex but instead said with a teasing tone, "What, you like me now?"

“I tolerate you.“, you said loftily, taking a second slice.

Akaashi mimicked you under his breath, of course still loud enough for you to hear, “I tolerate you.“

You both laughed.

“Can I ask you something?“

You nodded and took another bite.

“Why do you hate me?“

“I don‘t hate you.“, you said without wasting a single breath.

“Huh, you sure about that?“, he chuckled.

“Kinda. Like… 80% sure, I‘d say.“

“And what are the other 20%?“

Choosing to focus on the pizza, you shrugged.

“I‘d dislike anyone who is smart, handsome and kind.“

“You think I‘m handsome?“, he asked immediately, making you clear your throat and look away. He was having a great time.

“Oh, don‘t pretend you don‘t know you‘re dreamy.“, you said with playful annoyance, “Why do you think I call you pretty boy?“

“Is that so?“

With your cheeks turning very red very quickly you took a new book from your stack and opened it to a random page. Picking up your pen, you began taking notes again.

He watched you for a bit, impressed by your dedication, then asked, “Interesting book?“

“Uh huh.“

Akaashi reached for it and turned it around.

“Then I bet it‘s gonna be even better now that it‘s right side up.“

art: @ui536

a/n: thank you so much for your request and I apologize that it's taking me 6-8 business weeks to reply to requests by now. I hope you enjoyed it @toomanygoldfish

And a special thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me rant about this piece for way too long.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[karasuno-planet]

All's fair—Academic Rivals | Tsukishima Kei

Tsukishima x Reader (she/her pronouns used)

wc: 1.1k

genre: kinda angsty but nothing crazy! sfw

warnings: feelings of inferiority, jealousy, slight cursing, calculus 💀

a/n: finally the long awaited academic rivals fic!! sorry I've been MIA for a couple days, I was traveling <3 everyone say thank you to @23starii , @alexaslibrary13 , @nym-blogs , and @h0neymustardwh0re for asking and encouraging me to write this one :)

(gif not mine)

Even after a long losing streak on the boy's volleyball team, Tsukishima always had one thing he believed he could never feel defeated in: his academics. School was just naturally easy to him, but that's not to say he doesn't work hard. It was his innate intelligence coupled with his work ethic that made him an absolute force in the classroom.

So when the calculus tests were being handed back, there wasn't a worry in his mind. The teacher set it on his desk face down.

Tsk, how dramatic, he thought, flipping it over.

In big red pen, he saw 98% written in bold on the top of the paper. Scoring a 98 was certainly above average, but not above Tsukki's average.

Before he could say a word the teacher was projecting at the front of the class, "Sorry, but there's no curve on this one. Somebody managed a perfect score, so it was achievable."

What?

The class murmured, upset with pretty mediocre grades for such a prestigious class. Discontent spouted from all directions. Well, besides directly from Tsukki's left hand side, where you sat. It was silent as a mouse. Awfully suspicious.

He stole a quick side glance at you to see exactly what he feared, a big, bold, 100% at the top of your test.

No matter how hard he tried for the rest of the day, he just couldn't shake that jealousy from his mind— the constant image of your perfect test seemingly ingrained to the back of his eyelids. He was so used to setting the curve in that class, how could he have overlooked competition this whole time?

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Later that day at practice, he tried channeling his emotions into his gameplay, with mild success. He was definitely playing with the kind of ambition he often lacked after long days of school.

When the team stopped for a water break, Nishinoya was quick to chime in, "Hey Tsukki, what's got you so worked up??"

The annoying presence of his pesky teammate irritated Tsukishima, "I doubt you'd even be able to understand it, dumbass."

Noya's face dropped at the outburst, "Sure Tsukki. Just let me know when you've pulled the stick out of your butt!!"

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Days went by, then weeks, and Tsukishima's hunger to match your academic achievement only grew. He became exceedingly obvious about it.

Every time you raised your hand, suddenly he did.

At the end of every test, when you stood up to turn it in, so did he. And his legs were long enough to beat you to handing it in every time.

When the tests were returned, you started to turn and catch his eye as he stared intensely trying to get a peak at your grade. Eventually you just made an effort to show him. After all, you weren't insecure about your grades. They were phenomenal and you both knew it.

The real surprises began when you both started to talk to each other. Suddenly the rivalry was put into words. It started out friendly, asking about when due dates were and simple things like that, but eventually you started to full-on taunt each other. Everything became a competition, and you weren't about to lose.

Even friendship had become a competition, you could feel Tsukishima's glare burning a hole in you when you turned around and asked Yamaguchi for a pencil one time. Not to mention when he had caught you talking to him before class. If only he had known what kind of information Yamaguchi let slip about him.

The final straw was when the teacher called for a group project, and you immediately turned around and looked at Yamaguchi. That was too far. Tsukishima immediately snapped, "Y/n, what do you think you're doing?"

"What's the big deal?"

Tsukki met your resistance with fierce eye contact, "You're working with me."

"huh?"

Yamaguchi's face was just as shocked as yours for a second, but he quickly shook it off and asked a boy who sat near him to work with him.

You pulled up a chair to Tsukki's desk and got to work on the packet of problems you were assigned to complete during the next two classes. You remained mostly in silence, dividing the work equally, but occasionally you shared glances and raised your eyebrows as a way to taunt each other.

As you started to run out of room on your paper and move far to the right side with your writing, your hand bumped Tsukki's. You could feel your heart drop and he quickly recoiled and pulled his hand away.

When you finished your allotment of problems for the day and set your pencil down, Tsukishima quickly grabbed your paper and starting checking over your work as you followed suit, looking over his.

He sighed, setting your paper down, free off mistakes. "Wow, you aren't quite as hopeless as I thought."

"Same to you..." you returned his completed problems, "If only you were as good at volleyball as you are at calculus."

"Like you would know," he returned your banter with a fervor, a quality you caught yourself enjoying a little.

"You'd think with four eyes you'd be a little more observant..."

"What?" He grasped to understand your insinuation.

"Look harder in the student section next time."

He sat in silence, floored, now knowing you had been watching him play. Is this what he had caught you and Yamaguchi discussing before? He felt like a fool, not being able to feel your malicious gaze on the court—not even considering that you might've been there.

Little did he know, it wasn't quite malice in your heart as you watched him play.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

He left without saying a word when the bell rung, and flocked straight to Yamaguchi to walk with him to practice.

They made sure to walk out of the vicinity of the classroom before Yamaguchi broke the silence, "Tsukki?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not upset that you didn't partner with me, but uh... why her? I thought you kinda hated her."

"Oh, uh... I don't know. I didn't want her to work with you."

Yamaguchi looked Tsukki in the eyes, his curiosity peaking, "Do you have a crush on her?"

Tsukishima was completely taken aback, "A crush??" He hesitated, "Yamaguchi, don't say stuff like that."

[masterlist]

[blondwhxrewrites]

I read this somewhere and I can’t get my mind off it, imagine poet!mattheoxreader, I js can’t get it off my mind

Poet!Mattheo is a whole different breed, I fear..

He's a sexy beast whose tongue has the ability to strike down the most stubborn of girls. He can and will recite poetry to you in the library when it's just you n' him with only a candle lighting up the space between you. He keeps journals of poetry he has written throughout the years, and there are always scrunched-up balls of paper spread randomly around his room because he'll rip up anything he doesn't like. 

His poetry can be the most romantic thing you'll ever see or the most dark, traumatic piece of literature you will never forget because it's just that fucked up and there is no in-between. He's written poetry about how your eyes reflect the hope he has of having a normal life, and then the next page is a piece about how he wants to kill someone, and he still manages to make it riveting as if he isn't talking about how he wants to beat up Billy from potions.

No one, including you, can access his journals. He likely uses a spell on them, so he is the only one who can see the contents inside of them. He's extremely private when it comes to all of his writing.

He'd finger you while writing.

He'd fuck you while reading Sylvia Plath.

He'd force you to read out Edgar Allen Poe in the library while he plays with your pussy underneath your skirt.

OOP-

Anyways..

Poet!Mattheo is also a lot less aggressive since he puts all of his aggressiveness into his writing. He's a more stable individual because he has a healthy non-toxic way of dealing with all of his emotions and problems.

He definitely gives off dark academia vibes, and I feel like he would be more like his father in this AU: he's a talented academic, he's extremely popular due to his lack of aggression, he's a silent manipulator, and he's just generally more like his father, and people point that out all the time, and he hates it. 

He's more of a snake than an extremely aggressive dobermann.

[jaikoyaki]

Stop staring, Kang Haerin!

CHAPTER 1:

Love Hate at first sight.

Masterlist - next

SYPNOSIS:Haerin, the vice president of the debate club, always seemed to give you cold, dismissive looks—or at least, that's what you thought. Convinced she couldn’t stand you, you never expected to have anything to do with her. You assumed she just hated you. But when the club loses a key member before an important competition, you—known for your academic excellence—are the obvious choice to step in.

Words: 1.2k

You stood outside the debate clubroom, staring at the door as if it might bite you. You hadn’t expected to be here, let alone as the club’s last-minute solution to their unexpected crisis. It was only a week ago that your best friend practically begged you to join, explaining that one of the club’s key members had transferred schools. She made it sound like the club would collapse if you didn't join, a bit dramatic maybe, but it worked. So, here you were.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

The room fell silent as the members looked up from their seats. It wasn’t a large group, but it was definitely enough to make you feel out of place. You quickly scanned the room and spotted her—the person you had been dreading ever since your best friend mentioned you joining: Kang Haerin. Vice president of the debate club. Everyone knew about her, with her sharp mind and even sharper stare. She sat near the center, her arms resting on the table as she fidgeted with her fingers, her gaze fixed on you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. You had never spoken to her before, but you always seemed to lock eyes with her in the hallways or the cafeteria, only to be met with that piercing stare. Over time, you just assumed she didn’t like you.

Your heart sank a little as you caught her eyes again just like almost everyday. She was staring at you like you were an unwanted intruder, her gaze hardening the longer you stood there. Her expression gave nothing away, but it felt like judgment, and it made you want to turn around and leave.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You’d already committed to this.

"L/N, I'm so glad you could make it!" the club president—Danielle, said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "We’ll start with introductions. Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s joining us to help out with our upcoming competition."

You gave a nervous smile and waved awkwardly, trying not to glance at Haerin again. But it was impossible not to feel her eyes on you.

What the hell did you even do?

You quickly tried to shake the thoughts from your head as Danielle continued to speak, unaware of the growing pit in your stomach.

"Alright, Y/N! Since you’re new here, we’ll just ask a few questions so you can get settled in. Then, we’ll go into some practice."

You nodded, forcing a smile, but your mind was still stuck on the girl. Why did she always look at you like that? Her feline eyes were now focused on something else—thankfully—but it didn’t erase the feeling of being under constant scrutiny.

"How familiar are you with debates?" one of the members asked, pulling your attention back to the group.

"I’ve participated in a few competitions before," you answered, your voice a little shaky but honest. "But not anything on the scale of what you guys are preparing for."

"That’s great! We need all the help we can get right now." Danielle beamed, clearly relieved to have you there.

A few more questions were thrown your way—what topics you preferred, your strengths in public speaking, whether you had experience with research— blah blah blah, and you did your best to answer. Still, every now and then, your gaze would flicker to Haerin, who hadn’t said a word the entire time. She just sat there, fidgeting with her fingers but always watching. Judging. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

Eventually, the questions died down, and the practice session began. Danielle explained the plan for the upcoming competition while passing out some papers. You tried to focus, but your nerves made it hard to absorb much.

As you shuffled through the notes handed to you, a piece of paper slid across the table toward you. Startled, you looked down.

It was from Haerin.

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitantly unfolded it, expecting some kind of passive-aggressive note telling you to do better or not screw up.

But it wasn’t.

It was a neatly written list of points for the debate topic.

Confused, you glanced over at Haerin, but she didn’t meet your gaze. She simply stared straight ahead, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Was she helping you? Or was this just for the club’s benefit? You couldn’t tell.

You went along with it, following the points she’d given you. As the discussion went on, you occasionally heard whispers from Haerin’s direction, something like, “Mention that stat here,” or “Bring up the counter-argument now.” Her tone was low, controlled. Her instructions were precise, helpful, even. But it only deepened the confusion.

Why was someone who supposedly didn’t like you going out of her way to help?

Still, it all felt... impersonal. Like it wasn’t about you at all. Like it was just for the sake of the competition. There was no way this was personal. Not with how she looked at you every time your eyes accidentally met.

By the end of the session, your nerves had settled, though the weight of Haerin’s gaze hadn’t. You collected your things, ready to make a quick exit.

"Good job today," Danielle called out as you waved a polite goodbye to the rest of the group.

As you stepped into the hallway, you couldn’t help but replay everything in your head—Haerin’s silence, the notes, the whispers. Maybe she didn’t hate you after all. Or maybe she was just doing her job as vice president, making sure everything ran smoothly for the sake of the competition. The two voices debated in your head as you absentmindedly walked toward the exit.

It wasn’t the first time you'd felt this way around her. The memory hit you like a wave, taking you back to that moment in math class last semester—the first time you really noticed Kang Haerin.

Back then, you were seated next to her, and you had felt it from the beginning: that stare. You’d glance over, only to find her already looking at you, her cat-like eyes unreadable. It was unnerving, like she was silently criticizing every move you made.

One particular moment stood out to you. You had been working on a problem in your notebook, struggling with a tricky equation. You glanced over, hoping for some clue that maybe she was having just as much trouble, but there she was, solving it effortlessly—her expression calm, focused, and... sharp.

When your eyes met, it felt like time froze. Her gaze was intense, like she could see right through you, picking apart your every flaw. It wasn’t a glare, not exactly, but it felt just as piercing.

The longer she looked, the more your anxiety built up So you broke eye contact, quickly returning to your own notes, feeling your hands clam up. You’d been so rattled by that stare that you ended up switching seats with a classmate the next day, just to get away from her.

Just then, Haerin brushed past you, heading in the opposite direction. You caught a glimpse of her bag and noticed a small frog keychain dangling from the zipper. It was an unexpected contrast to her sharp, no-nonsense demeanor, and for a moment, you found it oddly... cute. You couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself as she disappeared down the hallway.

Who are you Kang Haerin?

Taglist: @saysirhc

[featguler]

a home in your mind ────── academic pressure. you are crying. arda tries calming you down.

♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. reader is a university student stressed out over some assignment!!! hurt-comfort. jude mentioned!!! ♡ ────── wordcount : 812 ♡ ────── notes : struggling doing my thesis proposal... here's some arda lol i so desperately need a study date with him!!!!! title is from on the drive home by niki, but it's not based on the song ♡ masterlist.

“Baby…”

Contrary to popular belief, a lot of footballers are actually not meatheads. Arda knows that it seems easy to equate physical advantage to a generally empty head, but football requires the same amount of mental exertion as it does physical. And, including him, not a small number of his football friends were overachievers when it comes to academic validation.

Arda understands it all too well—the gripping feeling before a test, the anxiety coursing through your veins increasing as the clock ticks by. He understands staying up late before an important presentation, and he understands trying to absorb verses and information into your brain like a sponge, only for it to dry out when left unattended for too long.

“...how can I help?”

He likes to think that his presence will somehow ease your head—that’s what you do to him, anyway. Knowing that you are watching his every move on the field, whether in person or on a screen, eases him. It graces him with confidence, filling him with a sense of force only a romantic would recognise.

But he doesn’t know if you would feel the same thing.

Doing an essay is, after all, different from trying to score a goal.

It’s different from racing past opponent players, it’s different from scanning the entire field for an opening. Football uses your brain more than any other part of your body, yes, but the adrenaline would more often than not make it feel like he is running on autopilot.

He sits next to you, trying not to take in the way your shaky fingers hover above your laptop’s keyboard; trying not to see that even as you are regulating your breath, some quivering sobs would sliver out between your lips.

“I’m fine,” you try brushing his concerns off, and though your eyes are welling up with water, you still insist on reading the same paragraph you’ve been reading for the past ten minutes.

“‘lright,” he mutters, leaning forward to take a look at your face before slipping his hand in one of yours, pulling it to his lips. You don’t resist.

“I just,” you begin after a sigh, “y’know, like none of this is making sense.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek, fully facing you.

“This guy says one thing,” you gesture at the screen of your laptop, “and then says a completely different thing three paragraphs later. I mean” — you cut yourself off with another sigh.

Arda rubs his thumb against your hand.

— “I know he’s probably making sense, this paper’s in the syllabus for a reason, but, shit. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stupid.”

Arda makes a disgruntled noise, frowning as he kisses your knuckle again. “Hey, don’t say that,” he murmurs, using his other hand to trace his fingers on the high of your cheeks, “you’re just frustrated, right? Don’t say cruel things to yourself.”

The moment he makes contact with your skin, the tear that you have been holding back spills over your cheeks.

“God,” you blow a shaky breath, looking away for a moment, embarrassed at your vulnerability. “I don’t know, I’m just stupid.”

“Come on,” he encourages, keeping his knuckles against your face. “You’re just frustrated. We’ve been at this for so long now, I think it’s time for a break.”

The sun has set hours ago, and Arda’s been there in your apartment since it hadn’t even risen yet. His chest is beginning to feel heavy from being cooped up in your room, but also from seeing you so defeated.

He leans in to press a small peck to your cheeks before standing up, gently tugging on your hand, trying to get you to stand too.

“Let’s get something sweet from the coffeeshop down the street.”

“People are gonna see me cry,” you whine, tugging your hand back to yourself. “And people are gonna think we had an argument.”

Arda laughs, letting go of your hand and then cupping your face in both of his, leaning down as he presses his nose against yours. “What? Who’s gonna say that?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle, also giggling with him. “Some gossip accounts on TikTok. Remember what they said about Bellingham?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “No one’s gonna say anything about us. We’re basically perfect.”

“Huh,” you close your eyes. “The perfect couple—a Real Madrid football player and a loser who can’t read.”

“Baby,” it’s his turn to whine. “You’re just tired, I swear. I’ll get you a cake, and you’ll feel better in no time. Come on.”

He stands, tugging you along with him, and you weakly go along. “Fine,” you murmur, “but you’re paying.”

Arda rubs both his thumb under each of your eyes. He leans a kiss on your lips for a moment and let your arms drape over his body.

"Anything for my baby, right?”

[slowd1ving]

ACT II: WITHER ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･ﾟ NEXT PART

Scene I: Rivalry . 　⁺

Vil’s not quite sure when his coldness towards you turns into unadulterated rivalry, but he thinks it started in the middle of the next Advanced Potions class, where Professor Crewel had asked a question and both your hands shot up immediately to answer.

“Shoenheit,” Crewel utters. You put your hand down, shrugging good-naturedly, but Vil can see past that forced body language into the annoyance of that casual gesture.

“The pH in which that particular enzyme denatures should be 2.8. Enzymes after that point should be avoided and Silvertear root is typically added in to continue as the second stage’s catalyst,” Vil’s voice is clear and articulate. Crewel nods in approval and continues the lecture, and he thinks that’s where your feelings of rivalry started blossoming.

He notices the little looks you send his way; the way your eyes are half-lidded in exasperation tell him everything he needs to know. You’ve been goaded into approaching the bait he’s left. No use in crushing you if you aren’t at your full potential, right? That’s the way it should be.

He taunts you with snide comments; you fire back almost immediately. You’re not as bashful as you initially look. This hatred is more cathartic than the deep resentment he has for Neige. It consumes him. It eats at his mind, his heart. When he shoots his movies, you’re always there at the back of his mind, taunting him into becoming impossibly beautiful. Adela’s only got praises for those emerging “fierce eyes” of his.

“What’d you get?” you peer over his papers every time he gets them back. He doesn’t know when sitting next to you becomes a second thought.

“You little fucker,” you always pout in mock-sadness when you see that red circled 100% on his written exams, before showing your 90% on the test that you had to verbally translate for Crewel to be able to mark it.

“You’re always so vulgar,” he scoffs back. He scoffs again when he sees those stupid doodles on the corner of your test paper.

Your remarks only extend to when you sit next to him in the laboratory. Otherwise, you ignore him when walking around the school, always focusing on whoever you’re talking to. It’s always those ruffians of first-years; you’re in the company of that red-haired potato and that dark-haired tuber almost daily. Regularly, you’re seen chatting with Rook. Vil watches from a distance, watching the hunter eagerly discuss the latest scientific theory with you. He watches you accept kisses on the hand from the vice Housewarden with a smile and laugh.

He does not care.

He watches you get along with Leona, of all people. He watches the way the lion actually listens to your suggestions if you have input on Spelldrive practice. Why are you suddenly such a precious commodity? Even the notoriously standoffish Azul makes an effort to at least greet and smile at you if he sees you, even after his Overblot (which you partly caused!). If Vil happens to be walking nearby, you’re always in the company of at least one of your friends, even if it’s only that unsightly cat.

He doesn’t think he cares.

He doesn’t think you care either. If you’re standing next to him in line, or bump into him at the library, you’re always carefully civil. Your eyes slide off him as easily as oil, looking through him. Do you not treat this rivalry seriously? Whatever remark he has always catches in his throat as you act as if he’s nothing more than a goddamn wall. It only fuels his resentment - it has to go somewhere, right?

Adela’s remarked that his eyes, when modelling, have a more wistful quality - nothing like the “fierce” look his fans had come to adore. This new look also garners a lot of popularity, with throngs of fans in his comments expressing their adoration for this newfound look.

Does he not take up your thoughts at all like you take up his?

Scene II: Song . 　⁺

It starts up all over again after the winter break. The sky is grey, peppered with clouds that slowly sprinkle snow all over Night Raven College. Vil’s heard rumours from Rook of you being involved in yet another Overblot; this made four in just as many months. He feels a headache blossoming just thinking about it.

He shivers as he takes his seat in the laboratory. The rankings should be posted within the next three weeks - plenty of time to brush up on his skills for the final assignment. Plenty of time to take back that number one spot. It’s been occupied by you ever since you arrived. Your practical work with potions is always polished to absolute perfection, though your grades with written work rarely ever meet that 100. But when they do, you turn to him with that shit eating grin on your face.

Speak of the devil. The distinct rhythm of your footsteps jars him out of his thoughts. Vil busies himself by looking at himself with his cosmetic mirror. Twice he adjusts his tie, ignoring you all the while. If you want to ignore him, he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. You simply open your notebook while propping your chin up again on your hand, doodling and rewriting your previous notes in your strange Latin alphabet. Vil takes in your tired appearance, how you look more exhausted than usual. A drop of pity splashes into his turbulent mind. Pity. That has no room in his mind, especially with the Song and Dance competition only a few weeks away.

Resentment fuels him to new heights. His dance practice runs flawlessly; spite powers him like an engine. The aches of his muscles leave his mind feeling euphoric as he stretches them out.

It’s only when he spots you and that idiot trio talking to Epel that his good mood shatters instantly. How dare you distract him from singing practice? Vil’s body reacts before he can fully think; he marches himself over to the well with a scowl on his face as he lectures all of you for disrupting such a crucial time. He does not miss the way your eyes smoulder with annoyance - his walk back to Pomefiore is one with a cheerful gait.

To his revulsion, you’re somehow roped into being the manager of the group after the SDC auditions, by Crowley of all people. Even worse, he’s forced to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm with the rest of the team to gain some camaraderie. It’s logical, he can’t help but admit it, but the thought of living in the same space as you makes him shudder. Even worse than that moth-eaten couch he’s currently perching on in the living room after the first day’s gruelling rehearsal. It’s a far cry for Pomefiore, but he’s always been a stickler for routine.

“Hey Rook-” your voice intrudes on his little bubble as you bound into the room, holding what seems to be a microscope and a bundle of mechanical junk, including electrical wiring. Vil swivels his head towards you, but you don’t even deign to look at him. Instead, you approach Kalim who sits criss cross on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

“Have you seen Rook?” you ask Kalim hurriedly. “I need that hunter for an experiment.”

“Nope! He might be in the kitchen though!” Kalim’s enthusiastic voice betrays his excitement. “What kinda experiment are you planning?”

“It’s like you’ve robbed Ignihyde,” Epel comments from behind Vil. “S’full of stuff like that.”

“Just some magic resistivity testing,” you explain, rummaging around in your stash of junk. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance around the room. “Have any of you seen my ammeter?”

As luck would have it, there’s an oddly shaped box lying half-submerged in those ugly rags you’d call cushions on the other end of the couch Vil sits on. A large triangular symbol is painted in black with a circle around it. Vil picks it up wordlessly and clears his throat. Your eyes turn to him finally - finally! - and you snatch the box up eagerly.

“Cool, thanks,” your voice is already slipping away as you turn around, a jive in your step as you seek the hunter.

“Good luck in your experiment,” Kalim calls out after you - with the way you eagerly yell something back indistinctly, Vil is sure you won’t need it.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Between the constant rehearsing and shaping those potatoes into something somewhat presentable, Vil expects the urge to compete with you to subside. It doesn’t. The fire within his blood isn’t beaten out by the long training he makes himself undertake - it doesn’t rest when he shuts his eyes either. That gnawing feeling of proving himself is fighting to be let out.

“Professor,” Vil’s voice is slightly shaky as he approaches Crewel. Normally he would’ve thought everything out before he came here, but his legs moved before his head had a chance to input anything. It’s been happening more and more lately, and he hates the feeling.

“What is this about? Aren’t you rehearsing for the showcase?” Crewel sounds slightly surprised at Vil’s appearance at his office; it’s very rare, after all, to see him when the SDC period begins.

“I want to hold the poison assessment,” Vil doesn’t need to specify to Crewel what this means. Crewel’s eyes soften with worry, but Vil doesn’t need any of that.

“There’s only one person who could have prompted this,” Crewel murmurs his sympathies to the shaking youth. His eyes flick down to his desk, searching through the schedule for the next few weeks. “It’s unorthodox for a non-Pomefiore student to- but.. if that is what you wish, pup.”

Scene IV: Resistivity . 　⁺

The date for the poison assessment is set for the week before the SDC. Vil receives the missive from Crewel; you, no doubt, have received the same one. For an assessment of this magnitude, there’s several days of waiting for the poisons to be tested and assessed by not only Crewel, but a panel of researchers. It’s a big deal.

It’s how Vil became the Housewarden.

Unorthodox. He supposes this whole ordeal is; the challenger is supposed to be the one vying for the seat of Housewarden. Instead, the Pomefiore Housewarden is challenging someone who isn’t even in Pomefiore. And for what?

It’s the ultimate challenge. The laboratory will be his stage for victory.

You shouldn’t even be allowed to undertake the assessment, but then again, you’re always the exception, aren’t you? Vil chokes back a hysterical laugh. He has to prove himself. One way or the other. He has to beat both you and Neige. Being reduced to second place isn’t an option anymore. At all.

A knock resounds on the wood of his room in Ramshackle. It must be Rook. Surely…

“Come in,” Vil feels as if he’s speaking through water. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollow.

The door creaks open. Instead of Rook, there you stand, holding that damned missive. Your brows are furrowed. You look the part of the mad scientists, with your customised lab coat and goggles still propped up on your nose. The smell of matchsmoke emanates off you in light tendrils. Vil just gazes at you. He doesn’t comprehend you.

“What’s this supposed to be? A duel? Rook just told me to go find you,” you unfurl the scroll again, squinting at the runes before you. With a start, Vil realises that one, he’s not even told you about the assessment, and two, you can’t even read the information anyway. What a fool he’s made of himself.

“Allow-” Vil clears his throat as his voice gives out. “-allow me to explain.”

“Go ahead,” you stride over to him, placing the missive in his outstretched hand. Up close, the coppery tang of wires adds itself to the kaleidoscope of scents he can feel. Underneath all the various chemical traces, clings a pure, unadulterated scent of.. the Dream Flower? Faintly, he remembers eavesdropping on your conversation - les fleurs des rêves. Somniablossoms. That’s what he smells on you, beneath all the conflicting scents.

“Right, the missive,” Vil scans over the parchment; it’s essentially the same letter he’s received, with a few inconsistencies. “It appears you have been selected as the student challenged for the poison assessment. Though you are not a Pomefiore student, your application has been approved by a figure of authority. Your assessment is to brew your most potent poison within a three-hour time limit, supervised by Professor Divus Crewel, alongside your opponent. The poisons are then sent to be assessed across a seven point criteria. May the legacy of the Fairest Queen guide you.”

There’s a long pause. Some rustling. Vil looks up from the letter to see you wiping away smudges on your goggles with the hem of your lab coat.

“Well,” you finally speak. Vil waits. “I’m assuming you’re my opponent?”

You’re taking this differently than he had expected. He thought you’d sneer down on him for this desperate challenge; that’s what he would’ve done had someone challenged him. Deep down, he isn’t surprised by your nonchalance - it’s something that’s intrinsically rooted in your being.

“Yes,” Vil begins to explain himself, but you hold up a hand to silence him. He shuts his mouth.

“Spare me the details,” you shrug it off. Like always. Vil feels a bitter laugh surge within him; it takes everything he’s got to suppress it. “I’ve got interesting news from my findings with Rook.”

The suspense builds. You take your time before your next words, folding your goggles and tucking them into your lab coat pocket.

“Come to my lab.”

Vil blinks, then follows you out the door. It’s a relief. You haven’t yelled at him, cursed him out, or anything someone else in this position would’ve done-

“Look, I really don’t like you,” you mutter, as if you’re deliberating whether you want Vil to hear you or not. “You’re an arrogant prick who picks fights for reasons that are beyond me. But I want to make something extremely clear before we start the assessment.”

You shove open a door before Vil has time to register what you’ve just said. It’s strangely gratifying to be the villain in someone else’s story for a reason other than his beauty.

A gust of warm air barrels past him as you barge into what appears to be your lab. An array of tabletops are arranged in the room, and shoved on top are all sorts of appliances he doesn’t even have names for. He can vaguely make out a fractional distiller perched precariously on the edge of a table, but the clanking and whirring machinery elsewhere throw him for a loop.

Rook stands in the corner of the lab, peering through what appears to be a microscope. He’s also decked out in what appears to be spares of your lab gear, judging by the ugly little doodles embroidered on the fabric. Not drawn on - embroidered. It’s such a waste of thread he almost laughs out loud.

“Welcome to my lab,” your greeting is completely monotone. “Where the equipment here is every scientist’s wet dream.”

Vil ignores this.

“I would know,” Rook chimes in, beckoning you over. Vil also ignores this. You make your way around a table to look at whatever’s on the slide, grabbing your class notepad and scribbling something down.

“The structure’s slightly different,” you murmur, twisting the fine adjustment knob. Vil wants to scream. You’ve invited him here and already you’re sidetracked.

“What’s going on?” Vil crosses his arms over his chest. He feels out of his league here, and as he spots you and Rook sharing a glance that feeling only seems to worsen.

“Magical resistivity,” your pencils scritches the side of your neck as you pull out a stool and sit on it. “It’s the reason why none of your potions or whatever you call it ever achieves that 100.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Vil scoffs as he stares you down. You meet his gaze.

“Yeah, because I’ve just found it,” you slide your notepad towards Vil across the table. He picks it up, noticing the two diagrams of what appear to be cells drawn on the page. One side is a typical animal cell here, whereas the other… the other appears to be missing a few organelles.

“It’s a side by side comparison of one of my skin cells and Rook’s,” your voice contains an element of barely restrained excitement. “Notice those structures in his? Those magic generator thingies?”

“Yes,” Vil’s heart is slowly starting to race.

“From examining the flora cells here, they’ve got a key difference against the ones in my world. That extra structure is what generates magic power in people here, and it extends to plants here as well,” your eyes begin to light up. “Then, I began questioning why my yield in Potions is so much better than everyone else’s. Rook’s kindly told me that 100 point potions are practically unheard of here, and it occurred more than once so it’s clearly not a coincidence right?”

“Right,” Vil’s mouth is dry.

“So, I ran some magic circuits using some equipment I borrowed, and some stuff I tinkered with, and I used both my hair and Rook’s to test for conductivity of magic. By hooking Rook’s magic pen up to the circuit, he could feed magic directly into the circuit.”

You motion for him to turn the page, where a page of incoherent scribbles meets his eyes. Vil’s eyes almost roll back into his head with exasperation.

“When my hair was hooked up, there was no magic lost - the initial magic was identical to the place where my hair was. But when Rook’s hair was hooked up… the magic output was only around 96%. And when we tested skin cells, his fell to around 94%, whereas mine remained constant.”

A pause.

“So when potions here are made, there’s always a margin of error in the precision, because of the magical resistance in your very being suppressing the natural magic yield of ingredients. Of course, this means I’m more susceptible to the spells here… so it’s not a complete win,” your ramble slowly dwindles out. Vil feels his eyes about to burst from their sockets. Of course. That consistent 100 in your potion work.

“Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy,” you puff out your chest proudly. “It’s like those triple threats in theatres.”

So what’s the third skill? Vil almost allows the biting remark to leave his lips before he restrains himself.

“Anyways, I’m going to wear some lab-issued rubber gloves for the actual poison assessment, so that should bring that magic resistivity up, since the gloves are made here,” you stand up from your stool, walking over to Vil. Your eyes are half-lidded with a deep annoyance.

“I’m going to beat you from square one,” you promise. Vil wouldn’t want any less effort from you.

“I adore the tension here; what a truly stunning display of beauty,” Rook chimes in, and Vil can practically hear the stars in his eyes.

“How did you get Crowley to fund all this?” Vil suddenly asks, as if noticing your lab for the first time. The equipment here almost gleams with technological prowess, and he’s genuinely curious.

“He didn’t,” you shrug. “I’ve made a side hustle selling potions, and I buy old equipment from both Crewel and Ignihyde and convert them into models I’ve seen in my world.”

“Don’t you need a licence for potion selling?” Vil frowns.

“I can’t read,” you shrug again. “That law’s irrelevant.”

Before Vil can respond to whatever the hell that response was, you shoo him away.

“C’mon Rook, I’ve gotta show Crewel these findings,” Vil can faintly hear your voice as the door firmly closes in his face.

[pedriscroquettes]

awww poor gavi being so stressed i was wondering is the only reason he pushes himself so hard for studying too bc he wants to compete with reader or are there other deeper reasons? you dont have to answer if its spoilery im just curious !

another academic rival!gavi blurb for y’all 🫶🏽

warnings. injury trauma & lowkey suggestive content.

a/n. guys i’ve gotten attached to them i’m afraid…

the bond that had formed between the two of you had caused the two of you to begin studying together. your dad has once walked in on the two of you staring intently at your professor’s old lectures trying to figure out what part of the solution method you had missed. he was so confused but you simply glared at him and he never brought up the topic again. to be honest even if he has asked anyways you wouldn’t have known what to tell him. you couldn’t just tell your father that you were hooking up with the boy next door because it was the only thing helping you from losing your sanity.

currently gavi was trying to finish his research paper for his sports medicine class. he was quite frustrated that his professor had also asked his class to not only write about the physical effects of an acl tear but the psychological effects as well. you were too engrossed in your own work that you didn’t notice how intensely he was looking at images he was using for reference. the picture of the player in pain brought back memories he had hoped to have forgotten about.

for his fifteenth birthday his father had gifted him lower section tickets to a real betis match. he remembered how excited he was to see his hometown team play, to see them on the pitch. he also was looking forward to entering the stadium and getting that fuzzy feeling in his stomach as he analyzed every inch of the stadium hoping to play a match in there in the future.

the game had started off slow with both of the teams not allowing each other to score. that is until things heated up between both teams. one moment the ball would be in real betis’s box and the next in the opposing team. gavi was excited that the game was building up, he just wanted to see someone score a goal already. then it happened a player from the opposing team had finally gotten fed up with the defense and how they couldn’t keep the ball away from their goalpost. so he did the job himself tackling the real betis forward.

the crowd immediately burst out into chants yelling at the referee to give him a red card, which he did. but gavi could only stare as the player lay on the ground screaming in pain. his screams replayed in his mind from time to time. he had never been able to shake off the image of the player being taken away in a stretcher. he thought that had been the worse thing to happen that night but then the next day he saw on the news how it was confirmed the player would never play again. the injury forcing him into early retirement.

that day he realized that if he did achieve his dreams they could always be stripped away from him. so he spent hours studying. he didn’t miss a single class from then on out. fearing that if one day his career was taken from him he wouldn’t have nothing to do. he’d just be gavi the failed football star with nothing to his name except a bunch of “what if’s?”

“pablo?” you called his name for the fifth time.

“huh? oh hmm?” he perked his head up noticing your concerned glare.

“what happened?” you sat up on his bed.

“nothing just daydreaming.” he was lying and you could tell.

you stood up and walked towards his desk. the cold floor making you tingle as you made your way towards him. careful to not cause a mess on his desk you slip into his lap. he welcomes you as he scoots you closer to his body. he doesn’t realize he’s grinning like a little kid until you tease him about it. his cheeks going pink at your teasing.

“nothing? pablo you’ve been staring at your laptop for like ten minutes without writing anything and you’re going to lie to me? yeah okay.” you playfully confront him about his lying.

“really it’s nothing! can’t a boy live?” he smiles up at you.

“okay fine don’t tell me.” his hand begins roaming your back trying to discreetly make its way to your ass. which you simply shove away. “no. if you can’t be honest with me you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“oh so it’s like that now?” he laughs but quickly stops once he realizes you’re being for real. “oh come on!”

“you can do whatever you want as long as you tell me what’s wrong.” you reply.

so he does. he tells you about his fears and you tell him about yours. you assure him that he’ll be fine and he assures you that you’ll eventually figure out what you want to do after school. his kisses change that night, they have feelings to them now. you even stay for dinner, the paéz family happily welcoming you. aurora teases his brother that night but she also notices the way her brother looks at you. with the same look she looks at her boyfriend.

[dresshistorynerd]

Palestinian History Between Great Powers - Part 1

From Bronze Age to Ottoman Palestine

I started writing this article months ago but as it deserves proper research, it took me a long while, and at one point I started questioning is this helpful anymore. I thought it's obvious at this point to anyone not willfully ignorant that what we are seeing in real time is a genocide, and I'm not going to convince those who are willfully ignorant. I decided to finish it anyway since I do feel obligation to do something and maybe providing some accessible historical context is what I'm capable of doing. Even if I probably won't change any hearts and minds, I think the least we can do is not forget Palestinians and fall into apathy. And at the very least more understanding of the situation is always better even when we already oppose this genocide.

This is quite out of my area of focus, so I will be doing more of a general overview of the history and link in depth sources by more knowledgeable people than try to become an expert on this. My purpose is to offer an accessible starting point for the history of Palestine to help people put historical and current events into their proper context. I don't think the occupation and genocide in Palestine pose complex moral questions - it's pretty simple in my opinion that genocide, apartheid and colonialism are wrong and need to stop for peace to be possible - but the history is complex and it's understanding needs quite a lot of background. I will do my best to represent the complexity accurately and fairly while keeping this concise. Since there is a lot of history, even if this is very general overview, it's still very long, so I did need to cut this in two parts. First part will be covering everything to the beginning of WW1, second part the British Mandate period and Israel period.

Bibliography

I'm linking my sources and further reading here so it's easy to check some specific resources even if you don't want to/have time to read 5 000 years of history right now. Because there's so much misinformation and propaganda, I read as much as I could from academic sources, linked at the top here. They are really interesting and delve deeply into specific subjects so I do recommend checking out anything that peaks your interest (Sci-Hub is your friend against paywalled papers and in JSTOR you can make a free account to access most papers). Some of them I didn't really end up using, but I still linked them here since they provide some additional context that wouldn't fit in this overview. At the end there's some accessible resources (youtube videos, podcasts etc.) which are relevant and I think good.

Pre-Ottoman Era

On The Problem of Reconstructing Pre-Hellenistic Israelite (Palestinian) History - Critique of Biblical historical narratives

Canaanites and Philistines

Archaeological Sources for the History of Palestine: Between Large Forces: Palestine in the Hellenistic Period - Everyday life in Hellenistic Palestine

Ottoman Era

Rediscovering Ottoman Palestine: Writing Palestinians into History - Critique of politics of Ottoman Palestine historiography

The Peasantry of Late Ottoman Palestine

Consequences of the Ottoman Land Law: Agrarian and Privatization Processes in Palestine, 1858–1918

The route from informal peasant landownership to formal tenancy and eviction in Palestine, 1800s–1947

The Ottoman Empire, Zionism, and the Question of Palestine (1880–1908)

Origins of Zionism

Christian Zionism and Victorian Culture

Zionism and Imperialism: The Historical Origins

The Non-Jewish Origin of Zionism

Zionism and Its Jewish "Assimilationist" Critics (1897-1948)

The Jewish-Ottoman Land Company: Herzl's Blueprint for the Colonization of Palestine

Books

Boundaries and Baraka - Chapter II of Muslims and Others in Sacred Space - Local syncretic religious beliefs of Muslim and Christian Arabs in Palestine

Further "reading"

Israelis Are Not 'Indigenous' (and other ridiculous pro-Israel arguments) - Properly cited youtube video on settler colonialism of Zionism (Indigenous is defined here in postcolonialist way, in contrast with the colonialist, the video doesn't argue that diaspora Jews didn't originate from the Palestine area)

Gaza: A Clear Case of Genocide - Detailed Legal Analysis - Youtube video detailing current evidence on the ongoing genocide and assessing them through international law

What the Netanyahu Family Did To Palestine: Part 1 , Part 2 - Two part podcast episode of Behind the Bastards about Israel's history and Netanyahu Family's involvement in it with an expert quest

History of Israeli/Palestinian conflict since 1799 - Timeline of Palestinian history by Al Jazeera with documentaries produced by Al Jazeera for most of the entries in the timeline

Ancient Era (33th-4th century BCE)

Palestine's location in the fertile crescent, the connecting land between Africa and Asia and the strip of land between Mediterranean and Red Sea means since the earliest emergence of civilizations it has been in the middle of great powers. Thorough it's history it has been conquered many, many times for it's strategic value. Despite the changing rulers and migrating groups there has been a continuous history history of a people, which has changed, split and evolved, but not fully disappeared or replaced at any point, which is quite rare of a history spanning thousands of years.

Speakers of Semitic languages are the first recorded inhabitants of Palestine. At least from Bronze Age (c. 3300-1200 BCE) onward they inhabited Levant, Arabian peninsula and Ethiopian highlands. Semitic languages belong in the Afroasiatic language group, which includes three other branches; ancient Egypt, Amazigh languages and Cushitic languages of African Horn. Most prominent theories of the origins of proto-Afroasiatic is in Levant, African side of Red Sea or Ethiopia. In the Bronze Age the Levant's Semitic speakers were called Canaanites and there was already urban settlements in Early Bronze Age. Egypt had been extending it's control over Canaan for a while and in Late Bronze Age, 1457 BCE, it took over Canaan. Gaza, which had had habitation for thousand years already, became the Egypt's administrative capital in Canaan. Canaan stayed as Egypt's province until the Late Bronze Age collapse c. 1200-1150 BCE, when Egypt started losing it's hold on Levant. Egypt eventually retreated from Canaan around 1100 BCE. The causes of Late Bronze Age collapse are unknown, but theories suggest some kind of environmental changes that caused destruction of cities and wide-spread mass migration all around the East Mediterranean Bronze Age civilizations.

Canaanites was not what most of the people called themselves, but rather what the surrounding empires, especially Egypt and Hittites in the north, called them. Philistines appear in Egyptian sources around the Late Bronze Age collapse as raiders against Egypt, who were likely populating southern parts of Canaan, the Palestine area. Several groups with mutually intelligble languages emerged after Egypt left the area: in Palestine area Philistines, Israelites, in Jordan are Ammonites, Moabites and Edomites, and in Lebanon area Canaanites, who were called by Phoenicians by Greeks. Israelites have been theorized to split from Philistines, possibly after Aegonean migrants during the Late Bronze Age collapse influenced the culture of the costal Philistine city states, and/or through Israelites development of monotheistic faith. During Iron Age these different groups descendant from Caananites had their own kingdoms. In the area of Palestine there was two Israelite kindgoms, Kingdom of Judah is the highlands of Judah, were Israelites likely originated, and Kindom of Israel or Samaria north to it, as well as Philistine city states in the coast around the area of current Gaza strip.

Earliest historical evidence of Israel is from mid 9th century BCE and of Judah from 7th century BCE, though Israelites as a group were mentioned earlier. It's entirely possible the kingdoms predate these mentions, but the archaeological evidence suggests likely not by much. Israel was conquered by the Neo-Assyrian empire in 722 BC, so it's entirely possible kingdom of Judah was created by retreating Israelites of the earlier kingdom. The remaining Israelites under Assyrian rule came to be known as Samaritans, marking also the split of Jewish faith into Judaism and Samaritanism. Neo-Assyrian lingua franca was Aramaic, a Semitic language from southwest Syria, which became the major spoken language in Samaria. Judah became a vassal state of Assyrians and later Babylonians. After a rebellion Babylonians fully conquered Judah in 586-587 BCE and exiled the rebels, though more recent historical study suggests it targeted the rebelling population and was not a mass exile. In 539 BCE Babylon and by extension Judah was conquered by Persian Achaemenid empire, which allowed the exiles to return and rule Judah as their vassals. Persia also conquered Samaria and Philistines. Aramaic was also the official language of the both Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid empires and replaces Old Hebrew as spoken language in Judah too, though Old Hebrew continued to be written language of religious scripture and is known today as Biblical Hebrew. Otherwise in the Palestine area there were Edomites, who migrated to the southern parts of former Judah kingdom, and Qedarites, a nomadic Arabic tribal federation, in southern desert parts.

Biblical narratives tell this early history very differently, and for a long while, those were used as historical texts, but more recent historical study has cast a doubt on their usefulness in historical inquiry. Even more recent archaeological DNA studies (like this and this) have supported the historical narratives constructed from primary historical texts.

Antique Era (4th century BCE - 7th century CE)

Under Persian rule the people in the Palestine area had a relative amount of autonomy, which lasted about 200 years. In the 330s BCE Macedonians conquered Levant along with a lot of other places. The Macedonian empire broke down quickly after the death of Alexander the Great, and Levant was left under the control of the Seleucid empire, which included most of the Asian parts of the Macedonian empire. During this time the whole Palestine area was heavily Hellenized. In the 170s BCE the Seleucian emperor started a repression campaign against the Jewish religion, which led to a Maccabean Revolt in Judea, lasting from 167-160 BCE until the Seleucids were able to defeat the rebels. It started with guerilla violence in the countryside but evolved into a small civil war. Defeat of the rebelling Maccabees didn't curb the discontent and by 134 BCE Maccabees managed to take Judea and establish the Hasmonean dynasty. The dynasty ruled semi-autonomously under the Seleucian empire until it started disintegrating around 110 BCE, and Judea gained more independence and began to conquer the neighbouring areas. At most they controlled Samaria, Galilee, areas around Galilean Sea, Dead Sea and Jordan River between them, Idumea (formerly Kingdom of Edom) and Philistine city states. During the Hasmonean dynasty Judaism spread to some of the other Semitic peoples under their rule. It didn’t take long for the rising power of the Roman Republic to make Judea into their client state in 63 BCE. Next three decades the Roman Republic and Parthian Empire would fight over control of Judea, which ended by Rome gaining control and disposing of the Hasmonean dynasty from power. It was a client state until  6 CE Rome incorporated Judea proper, Samaria, Idumea and Philistine city states into the province of Judea.

The Jewish population was very much discontent under Roman rule and revolted frequently through the first century or so. It led to waves of Jewish migration around the Mediterranean area, which would eventually lead to the formation of European and North-African Jewish groups. The Roman emperor’s decision to build a Roman colony into Jerusalem, which they destroyed along with Second Temple while squashing the previous revolt, provoked a large-scale armed uprising from 132-136 among Judean Jews, which Rome suppressed brutally. Jerusalem was destroyed again, Jews and Christians were banned from there, and a lot of Judean Jews were killed, displaced and enslaved. Rome also suffered high losses. Jews and Christians hadn’t yet fully separated into different faiths yet, but this strained their relations as Christians hadn’t supported the uprising. Galilee and Judea was joined into one province, Syria Palaestina. Galilean Jews hadn’t participated in the revolt and had therefore survived it unscathed, so Galilee became the Jewish heartland. During the Constantine dynasty, in the first half of the 4th century, when Christianity was the Roman state religion, Jerusalem was rebuilt as very Christianized. After the Constantine dynasty the Jewish relations with Rome were briefly improved by a sympathetic emperor, until Justinian came into power in 527 and began authoritarian religious oppression of all non-Christians, casting the whole area into chaos. Samaritans rebelled repeatedly and were almost fully wiped out, while Jews joined forces with several foreign powers in an attempt to destabilize Byzantium rule. By 636 the first Muslim Caliphate emerged as victors over the control of Palestine.

Muslim Period and Crusades (636-1516)

For more than 300 years under the rule of Muslim Caliphate, Palestine saw a much more peaceful period, with relative freedom and economic prosperity. Christianity continued to be the majority religion and Christians, Jews and usually Samaritans were considered People of the Book, who were guaranteed religious freedom. Non-muslims though had to pay taxes and depending on the caliph had more or less restrictions posed upon them. The position of Samaritans as People of the Book was unstable and at points they were persecuted. For the position of Jews it was a marked improvement, and after the expulsion of Jews from Jerusalem by Rome in the 2nd century, they were finally allowed to return. Jerusalem became a religious center for the Muslims too, as it was considered the third most holy place of Islam. Cities, especially Jerusalem, saw Arab immigration. The rural agricultural population was mostly Aramaic speaking, though even while Palestinian Arabs had mostly been bedouins in the southern deserts, there were few Arabic villages from the Roman era. People of the Book were protected from forced conversions, but over time conversions among the Christian population slowly increased, until Islam became the majority religion. Cities became Arabicized and slowly Arabic (also Semitic language) replaced Aramaic as the majority language. Towards the end of the first millennium persecution of Christianity increased with the threat of Byzantium.

In 970 a competing dynasty, Fatimids, conquered Palestine beginning a new era of continuous warfare and conquest by foreign powers. In the beginning of the new millennium Palestine was conquered by the Turco-Persian Seljuk empire for a couple of decades, recaptured by Fatimids for only a year, until the Crusaders took Palestine in 1099. During the next two centuries Palestine exchanged hands several times between the Crusaders and the Egyptian Ayyubid Sultanate. After internal struggle the Ayyubid dynasty was overthrown by the mamluk military caste and them in lead, the Sultanate secured Palestine. First they repelled the invading Mongol empire in 1260 and by 1291 they had defeated the remnants of the Cusaders and their Kingdom of Jerusalem. The period was devastating to the Palestinian populations, cities and economic life. The Crusaders especially committed numerous massacres against non-Christians and under Muslim rule Christians were persecuted and forcibly converted. The next two centuries under the Mamluk Sultanate were peaceful and Christian and Jewish communities were afforded some self-governance and relatively high religious freedom for being recognised as People of the Book again. The state had a more contentious relationship with Christians as the wars with the Crusaders were still looming between Christians and Muslims, and at some points Christians faced persecution and forced conversions.

Ottoman Period (1516-1917)

The Ottoman Empire gained dominance in western Asia over the Mamluk Sultanate during the late 15th century and conquered Palestine in 1516. It became a great imperial power in Asia and Europe for two centuries and in the 18th century started a slow decline, eventually becoming the "Sick man of Europe". The Ottoman Empire was very decentralized and under it Palestine was at first ruled by three Palestinian families semi-autonomously. The Ottoman state didn’t pay much attention to economic development, as they considered it contrary to their chivalric culture, so they instead attracted foreign businesses with the capitulation system. Capitulations were treaties between Ottomans and a foreign power by which the citizens of that foreign power were under their jurisdiction inside Ottoman borders. This guaranteed safety and religious freedom for non-Muslim merchants and exempted them from any additional taxes applying to foreigners and non-Muslims, which encouraged them to build businesses in the Ottoman Empire. Ottomans also intentionally attracted European Jews, who faced persecution and pogroms, and had built effective international trade networks through the tight knit diaspora communities. Jews and Christians had quite well secured position in the empire as People of the Book, but Samaritans were persecuted after they had sided with the Mamluk Sultanate against Ottomans and later for being considered "pagans". City elites adopted Turkish culture, while in rural areas peasant villages and Bedouin clans remained Arabic. The rural areas were very much self-governing as both villages and Bedouin clans were fairly self-reliant with their own political structures. Villages consisted of clan-like family groups, hamulas, and the village lands were distributed between their collective ownership.

In the 19th century the Ottoman Empire was leaving behind European imperial powers in economic and military development. With the rise of the international capitalist markets, capitulation approach, which had worked well for the empire in previous centuries, was extended to markets as a very laissez faire economic policy. This did not lead to hoped economic growth however, but rather deindustrialization. The Ottoman Empire opened itself to markets it couldn’t compete in and its resources were then easy to exploit by stronger economies. The other powers, such as the European powers, avoided this by first cultivating strong national industries with protectionist policies, and then opened to international markets. The capitulation system also became a political liability the way it interacted with the protégé system. The Ottoman Empire had agreed to allow some European powers to give their protection over certain minority religious groups (mostly Christian groups) in the Empire, allowing members of those groups to claim citizenship of their protectorate nation. This had allowed those Ottoman citizens to claim the benefits of the capitulation system and cultivated trade and business for the Empire. In the 19th century the European powers, notably France, British Empire, Germany and Russia, turned their interests towards Levant which was important for their access to their colonial interests in Asia and Africa. They had a vested interest in the continuing power of the weakening Ottoman Empire, which they believed they could control through economic dominance and the protégé system. It became a competition on who could gain the most influence in the Ottoman Empire. In Palestine this led to a change in class dynamics. Christian protégés of European imperial powers were given tax exemptions from the increasing taxes, which were implemented to balance the national deposit, and better opportunities to gain wealth from international trade, turning the urban Christian Arabs into elite.

In 1832 Egypt invaded Palestine, marking a point of more rapid decline of Ottoman rule. Egypt attempted to “modernize” Palestine, which was considered backward, but Egypt's policies, especially conscription, were considered intrusive. The local self-ruling clans and families were resistant to outside powers and with their sway over the population, they rose to a popular uprising after two years of Egyptian rule. The suppression of the uprising devastated many villages and Egypt still failed to enforce order and halt violence. In 1840 Britain intervened, returning its control back to the Ottomans. They didn’t yet have capitulations with the Ottomans and were concerned over the other European powers gaining influence over the aging empire, so in return for their military assistance, they gained capitulations and named Jews and Protestants as their protégés in Levant. Palestine rapidly opened to the international markets with the increase in capitulations combined with the laissez faire fiscal policies of the empire, allowing European powers to turn Palestinian cities, especially in the coast, to centers of trade. In 1858 the Ottoman Empire also attempted to privatize land ownership to increase agricultural production and profitability in order to help with their financial troubles. Most Palestinian land was public land, but in practice owned informally by the villagers cultivating it. As long as they paid taxes, they couldn’t be evicted, which rarely happened in those cases either, and their rights to the land were hereditary. The land reform codified and formalized land ownership and removed barriers to non-villagers gaining ownership of peasant land, laying groundwork for commodifying land. The Ottoman Empire also allowed foreigners to purchase private land. This didn’t immediately lead to large-scale transfer of land ownership, but increasing taxes impoverishing the peasantry and indebting them transferred land from its cultivators to urban absentee landlords. Peasants started to turn into landless tenants and a new type of large estates were established.

Birth of Zionism

The British pushed for more control over Levant, since they wanted to secure their access to India and their colonial ventures in Africa. They didn’t have much interest in colonizing Levant themselves, which is why they were interested in backing the Ottoman Empire and gaining stronger control over it via European Jewish immigrants. European Jews had been immigrating to Palestine in small numbers for a while for religious reasons, to escape persecution and to take advantage of the economic opportunities offered by the Ottoman Empire. The British though also had religious interests in supporting Jewish migration to Palestine. Since the early 19th century, there had been a growing religious movement of Christian Zionism, who sought to restore Jews into Palestine and then convert them to Christianity to cause the second coming of Jesus and the end times. As you do. They were considered fanatics, even lunatics, for their literal interpretations of prophecy, but they were enthusiastic imperialists and when they expressed the idea of restoration of Jewish Palestine in imperial terms, it gained popular acceptance in Britain. Some of the common talking points originating from Christian Zionism were Jews had the right to Palestinian land for Biblical reasons, the only way to not let the “underdeveloped” agrarian land go to waste was colonialism, and Jews would be a civilizing force in Palestine. While the end goal of Christian Zionists was conversion of Jews, they had Orientalist reverence for Jews, but among the wider imperialist support for these ideas there was in addition an explicitly antisemitic aspect. The imperialists' idea was that Britain, and Europe more broadly, could this way also get rid of the Jews.

The trouble was that at the time there was no wide interest at all among Jews to colonize Palestine. The Jews who were migrating there during the first half of the 19th century did so with all intentions of integrating to the Palestinian society. European Jews had since Enlightenment and the French Revolution gained unprecedented levels of social acceptance and equality (which still wasn’t very much), and liberal assimilationism had become the dominant ideology especially among Jewish elites. Assimilationist Jews considered Judaism a religious identity, not an ethnic one, and they rather identified with their nationality. In the latter half of 19th century Jewish socialism was contesting the liberal Jewish idea that antisemitism could be overcome with individualist approach and instead demanded structural change. During the century it became increasingly clear that the assimilationist approach couldn’t fix antisemitism as racial ideology and exclusionist ethnonationalism were gaining traction and fueling antisemitism, which culminated in the 1880s pogroms in Russia and 1894 Dreyfus Affair in France. These events certainly promoted socialist approach among many Jews, but the Jewish elite were certainly not interested in socialist solutions, where they would lose their elite status, even if for white Christians they were all second class citizens. So instead, like many elites facing the threat of socialism, they turned to nationalism. To the question of how to build a nation from a diverse diaspora, they found the answer from Christian Zionism. Jewish Zionism was distinctly secular, so while they did adopt many religious and biblical narratives and goals of Christian Zionism, they put them in nationalist terms. Their end goal was of course different from that of the millennialist Christians so Jewish Zionism was presented as a practical and rational alternative to utopian fanaticism, but they were still natural allies. Zionism was opposed in the European Jewish communities by both assimilationists and socialists, who both viewed it as countering the efforts of opposing antisemitism, which Zionists saw as an inherently impossible endeavor, and also by Orthodox Jews from a religious standpoint. Orthodox Jews denounced the secularization of the Promised Land, which according to them could only be bestowed by God and couldn’t be a state with secular power.

Before Zionism was fully formalized as a movement, there were proto-Zionist movements in Eastern-Europe as a direct response to the pogroms, with the goal of settling Eastern Jewish refugees to Palestine from 1881 forward. This is considered to be the start of the First Aliyah, the explicitly Zionist mass migrations to Palestine. The funding was secured from the European Jews, and with it the Zionists bought land from the absentee urban landlords with large estates and evicted the tenants in order to form Zionist colonies. This raised concern among Ottoman officials, who had become vary of the European exploitation of their capitulation system, which increased European influence with the immigration of European Jews. They were also concerned about the rising Arab nationalism in Palestine provoked by the European economic exploitation and even more pressingly the peasant displacement. The Ottoman Empire was already facing massive difficulties with nationalist movements in different parts of the empire, like in Armenia. They attempted to restrict Zionist land purchases with legal restrictions and failed.

The 1880s settling to Palestine was still unorganized and leaderless until Theodor Herzl, who is considered to be the founder of Zionism, joined Zionist ranks in mid-1890s and began formulating a colonialist venture in earnest. The British were supportive of the Zionist project, but as long as the Ottoman Empire was in charge of Palestine and the British could extend control over it, they weren’t interested in establishing such a state themselves. So the Zionist movement with Herzl in the lead turned to the Ottoman Empire in 1901. He envisioned the Zionist colonial project as a land company, modeled after the British and Dutch East Indian Companies, which would under imperial blessing operate fairly independently and govern over colonized land. The end goal was to build an ethnonationalist Jewish state and expel the native population. There were even dreams of Jewish empire that would colonize neighbouring countries, “civilize” them and bring them “prosperity”. To persuade the Sultan, Herz proposed to pay for the Ottoman Empire’s depts with European Jewish investments in exchange for allowing the Zionists to settle and govern Palestine. The Ottoman government was well aware of Zionist movement’s end goals and their alliances with European Imperialism, rejecting their proposals.

The Zionists evaded Ottoman restrictions anyway and continued to settle Palestine with British backing. European powers then pressured Ottomans to abolish those restrictions allowing a new wave of Zionist colonialism. The violence and pogroms in Russia had convinced some of the Eastern European Jewish socialists that fighting antisemitism was impossible, so they created Labor Zionism and used the “untouched land” to experiment with utopian socialist communes. In the process they displaced indigenous peasant hamulas, which had often for centuries farmed the land in communal ownership. Mass migration and eviction quickly provoked a predictable opposition in the Palestinian population and spread of Arab nationalist thought. This second wave of Aliyah ended at the First World War, which was also the end of the Ottoman Empire.

[jishyucks]

Happy Holidays! The Universe Hates Me. — hrj

‣ pairing: huang renjun x reader

‣ genre: fluff, academic-rivals-to-(implied)lovers, forced proximity, kinda slice-of-life

‣ wc: 3.7k

‣ summary: You don’t hate many things, but you could proudly say that you hate snow and Huang Renjun. And now that the universe has decided that it was a great idea to have you snowed in with the smartass himself, you’ll gladly add the universe to that list.

‣ warnings: slightly one-sided rivalry (more so Renjun’s developed feelings before reader so he’s acting on it before reader even gets what they’re feeling), the pair eat some cup ramen, set in that weird period where they dk how they feel

‣ an: I rly thought this was going to be easy to write but sike (⊙_⊙) ig its bc its basically e2l and these r difficult to write,, I was excited to write Renjun's but idk if I did my own idea justice,, anyways I hope it's still a fun read!

Series Masterlist

You’ve never been so nervous for a final in your life.

Sure, you didn’t find the content difficult, nor did you feel lost. Hell, if you were asked to explain the content with no aids, you can confidently do it. 

The only reason why you were so nervous for a damn final was because you knew that Huang Renjun was going to do better than you. Why? You’re not sure. But you had this gut feeling that his name was going to be listed right above yours on that stupid list and you were not going to let that happen. 

“You need to go home soon, okay?” Karina frowns. She’s all bundled up, a scarf tightly wrapped over her face to shield her from Jack Frost. She knows how much of a workaholic you were, especially when it came to Renjun, “It’s getting late. It’s already dark out and there’s no one else here. Text me when you get home.”

You nod, “I will, I promise. I’ll just finish this last lesson and then I’ll leave. I’m hungry, anyway.” 

Her stern expression softens underneath her scarf and she teasingly ruffles your hair, “Talk to you later, honeybun.” 

You wave and watch her leave before turning back to the scattered papers in front of you, your laptop burning holes in your eyes because you’ve been staring at it for way longer than a physician’s recommendation. The final was on physics, something that wasn’t your strongest suit. It was probably because the way your teachers decided to word the questions on exams screwed you over—but then again, you couldn’t blame your struggles on that. 

Maybe you did just suck at physics. 

Your eyes scanned the lesson you were currently studying, quietly reading it under your breath so that you could process the information—critical threshold… velocity… laminar to turbulent… fluid and momentum… the dissipation of energy…

“Ughhhh!” 

Your heart drops to your stomach, eyes almost slipping out of their sockets at the sound of another person groaning. You clearly remember Karina just saying that there wasn’t anyone else here. 

Then who in the actual fuck…

Your mind jumps to conclusions and thinks up the worst-case scenario. It could be a ghost… were you Scrooge and the ghosts here to visit you? No fucking way… you loved Christmas… Or it could be a murderer. But what kind of murderer groans before he reaches his target?

Using this as an excuse to procrastinate, you quietly push your chair away from the table and stand up. You can recall that the groaning echoed from the back of the library, so you begin making your way down to the back of the room. Your attempt to keep your footsteps quiet, barely lifting them off from the ground.

You guess you were making your way in the correct direction because now you can hear the sound of muffled music. You suppose it was coming out of the other person’s headphones. 

As you approach the end of one of the aisles of books, you bend over and peek through the cracks between the books. Your eyes betray you, not focusing on the figure sitting at one of the tables because the books are in the way. Leaning closer, you squint to get a better look at the figure studying, head bopping to the music blaring through their headphones. 

Who is that?

When your eyes finally adjust, you curse under your breath.

Personally, you would rather it be a murderer on the other side of the shelf. 

Because Huang Renjun of all people? Here? With you? Did the universe hate you or something?

You let out a faint groan, squeezing your eyes before you go to turn back to your table. 

Of course, Huang Renjun would be here and studying late. There’s a small tiny part of you that wasn’t even surprised that Renjun was the only other person at school at this hour. There was a reason why you felt like he was seriously going to do better than you on this physics final. He worked for it despite being naturally intelligent. 

“Fucking Huang Renjun,” you gently let your forehead fall forward, making a gentle thud against the table. Fucking Huang Renjun because, suddenly, you no longer feel hungry and you now desperately wanted to finish a week’s worth of content before leaving. Sure the idea was immature—doing all this for some guy who thought he was smarter than everyone else—but you couldn’t help it. This was how it’s been since junior high. 

And old habits die hard, right?

For the next 2 hours, you push yourself to study for the stupid final, eyes straining as you continuously shift them between your laptop screen and your papers. And you say push yourself because now that you had the knowledge that Renjun was sitting metres away from you, you somehow could not focus for the life of you. It was like he had cast some spell on you to do anything but focus on physics. 

You groan. You have been reading the same paragraph on boundary layers for the past ten minutes, hyper-aware of Renjun. The words blur together, and you become hyper-aware of Renjun's presence nearby. Despite your efforts, your mind wanders, and occasional stolen glances in his direction betray your attempts at concentration.

With an irritated sigh, you shake your head, attempting to bring yourself back to the task at hand. Why the fuck is Renjun occupying so much of your headspace?

Feeling defeated, you reach forward, roughly shutting your laptop closed before you begin bunching your papers up together. Not a single fibre in your body even cared if it was organized or not—that was for you to worry about later—because you just wanted out of here and away from Renjun before he completely plagues your mind. 

Finally, you throw your bag over your shoulder and begin making your way out of the library. 

Meanwhile, Renjun, who was managing well with his work catches sight of your figure leaving, winter coat zipped up to your nose. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You turn back to find Renjun pushing his seat back, getting up to make his way towards you. 

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. You continue making your way out of the room, ignoring Renjun’s calls for you to stop. 

The mature response would be to, well, stop and listen, but after Renjun just indirectly wasted 2 hours of your life trying to absorb some information on physics, you didn’t want anything to do with him. You just wanted to go home and eat, before you pull another all-nighter to make up for the lost time. 

“Y/N!” 

You were jogging now, treating the situation like Renjun was some kind of monster coming after you. It was odd that Renjun was keeping up with you, tailing you like he was one of those salesmen trying to get you to try a sample of their product. 

You’re relieved when you see the front doors of the school ahead of you, streetlights illuminating through the small half-windows. You feel your feet pick up its pace, eager to finally get out of the building and get fresh air. 

“Y/N!” Renjun’s out of breath, “You can’t leave!” He reaches out and quickly grabs your wrist. The contact causes shivers to run up your arm and you’re quick to pull your limb back. 

Brows furrowed, you sent him daggers through your glare, “And why not?” 

Renjun fishes his phone out from his hoodie pocket and he holds it up despite you not being close enough to see anything on it, “The news. All the roads are closed. No cars on the roads. We’re stuck in here until they say everything’s clear.” 

“You’re lying.” Your stubborn ass refuses to believe Renjun. 

Renjun huffs, “Just check it for your fucking self if you don’t want to believe me.” His arms crossed and he pushes all his weight onto one leg. 

Reluctant to look stupid, you slowly pull your own phone out. You realize that you actually haven’t looked at any notifications lately, all your focus directed toward studying. When you finally look at your phone, you’re met with tens of notifications, both from the news app and a handful from your family members and friends, mainly Karina, who are asking if you’re going home soon or if you’ve gone home because of the news the city sent out about the roads. 

“And why didn’t you leave?” you say awkwardly, “When they sent the warnings out?” 

Renjun swallows his spit, “I didn’t see any of them either. I was too caught up with studying.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you mutter. The realization of the situation starts to sink in—you're trapped at school, possibly overnight, and your only company is Huang Renjun, the boy who’s decided to make himself the bane of your existence. Then, you find yourself teetering between relief that you're not alone and frustration that you're stuck with Huang Renjun of all people.

Your eyes flicker at Renjun, who’s waiting for you to say something to him. And you do, “This is all your fault!”

Renjun’s mouth falls open slightly, the space in between his eyebrows wrinkling at your accusation, “How the hell is this my fault? I didn’t tell the damn city to close the roads!” Renjun holds himself back from raising his voice, but the emptiness of the halls causes it to bounce off the walls. 

“If I hadn’t seen you studying and being the overachiever you are, I would have gone home earlier,” you argue back. The second it slips from your lips, you realize how stupid you actually sound—but you don’t say anything. Without saying another word, you push past Renjun intending to return your spot in the library. 

Renjun, however, isn't one to let things slide. He follows you back into the library, his frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. "So, it's my fault you chose to stay? That you didn’t see the notifications?” 

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, not slowing your pace. "I chose to stay because of you! Trying too hard being a model student." 

Despite it being pretty clear that the argument was childish and that it was going nowhere, you and Renjun were far too stubborn to back down. 

Renjun scoffs, catching up to you. "Trying too hard!? I study because I take my education seriously. Maybe if you put in half the effort I do, you wouldn't be lagging behind."

"Oh, spare me, Renjun.” Your blood boils at his condescending tone, whirling around to face him and eyes ablaze with frustration. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

This is where you can see Renjun physically falter. The stress in his brows goes slack and there’s a shift in his expression, “Insufferable? Y/N I—”

"Whatever, Renjun. I really don’t want to speak to you right now.” You roll your eyes and turn your back on him, “Now, If you’ll excuse me, I have a fucking final to study for.”

Ignoring his attempts to keep the conversation alive, you make your way back to your table, your anger simmering in your chest. Renjun watches you go, a mixture of annoyance and something else in his eyes.

The library becomes a battleground of silent tension, each of you (mostly you) seething in your own space.

You set your table back up the way it previously was. Then, you quickly send your friends and family texts explaining what had happened and why you weren’t home by now. 

You attempt to start where you left off, the words Boundary Layers practically taunting you at this point. The phrase is pissing you off and you’ve read it enough times for you to be able to recite the sentence from the textbook perfectly. 

Wave interference, you read, eyes blinking at the screen—something about paths intersecting and creating new patterns of unity… discord… 

You let your eyes do the rest of the scanning, not exactly absorbing any of the material before you move on. At this point, you feel like not studying entirely. Besides, you weren’t exactly in the right state of mind to be absorbing material. 

The clock at the front of the library reads 8:28 and you feel like taking a nap is the best idea right now. It’ll help you cool off, pull you back in the right headspace and perhaps help you with the all-nighter you’ll probably pull tonight. 

Twisting your body, you pull your jacket off of your chair, folding it to create a makeshift pillow. Sliding your things aside, you place the pillow in front of you and shimmy your butt back against the chair before leaning forward to rest your head against it. In all honesty, it wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest your head, but it will have to do for now. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The shuffling of feet and the clattering of objects woke you from your nap.

You don’t move, nor do you open your eyes, all you do is listen to try and figure out what the hell is going on. Through the fabric of your jacket, you can hear that Renjun is moving things around on your table and you can’t help but feel your anger shoot up. 

You keep your cool on the outside, pretending to stir in your sleep before you peek through half-opened eyelids. 

You’d honestly find this part funny if you were watching a drama. But the thing was, you weren’t watching a drama. And it was anything but funny. 

Slowly, you raise your head to get a better look at what Renjun was up to, fully expecting him to be messing with your belongings. You guess you were doing your job correctly because Renjun seems to not have noticed you looking at him. 

The scene (you embarrassingly admit) warms a piece of your heart just by a little bit—and you hate that it does.

Renjun’s trying to keep your papers organized, stacking them horizontally and then vertically to keep them grouped in the stacks you already had them in. He had even moved your laptop to a safer spot, off to the side. 

The reason why he was doing all this was sitting just across the table from you and to Renjun’s left. 

Two cups of instant ramen.

“What are you doing?'' Your voice comes out more hoarse than you’d like, but it was probably because you’ve been napping for what felt like an hour or two. 

Renjun freezes, lips parting slightly and eyes growing two times its size when he realizes that you’re awake. Sure, he would have had to wake you up sooner or later, but you waking up on your own wasn’t part of his plan. He should’ve done all this a bit quieter. 

“I…” He starts. Renjun gulps and pulls back, wringing his hands through sweater paws. 

You wait for him to give you a coherent reply, looking at him in hopes of forcing one out of him. 

Renjun’s at a loss for words, afraid that you wouldn’t quite get him if he explained his reasoning. He leans over and wraps his hand around one of the noodle cups, gently sliding it toward you. 

You blink at the steaming cup in front of you, caught between annoyance and a peculiar sense of gratitude. "Are you trying to make this situation bearable or something?" 

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if only I was able to eat, would it?” Renjun shrugs. From his hoodie pocket, Renjun pulls out a plastic fork wrapped in tissue, one he had probably taken from the cafeteria, and places it next to your cup of noodles, “Eat.” 

You blink at the noodles and eye the boy suspiciously, “You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” You mistrustfully pull the fork toward you, unwrapping it before you dip it into the soup. 

“Of course not… I’m not evil.” A scoff shoots out through Renjun’s nose. 

Renjun pulls out a chair from your table, taking a seat before pulling his own cup of noodles toward him. 

Your eyes linger on Renjun for a moment longer, contemplating whether or not you should believe him. Eventually, hunger wins over skepticism, and you take a cautious bite of the noodles. They taste surprisingly good, given the circumstances. 

For a while, there's a strange quiet as both of you focus on your meal. The only sounds are the occasional slurps and the storm outside rattling the windows. It's a bizarre scene, you and Renjun sharing instant ramen in the middle of the night, trapped at school. Who would have thought? 

As you dig into your food, you start feeling a shift in your mood. The annoyance from being woken up slowly turns into a grudging acknowledgement that Renjun tried to make things a bit less crappy. It's kind of funny when you think about it. You two had a small argument earlier, and now here you are, quietly sharing a meal. It's like an unspoken agreement, maybe a truce, even if neither of you is ready to admit it out loud.

Meanwhile, Renjun seems engrossed in his noodles, occasionally glancing in your direction as if gauging your reaction to the impromptu meal. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s not choosing to do so despite the tension that is usually present in your interactions being strangely minimal. 

Finally, you break the silence. "Where did you get the noodles?"

He looks at you, brows raising at your willingness to start a conversation. "It’s not my first time staying past dinner. I have a stash in my locker."

“Not surprised,” you mumble. You pick the cup up and bring the rim up to your lips. Tipping your head back, you take sips of the soup, feeling the warmth of the fluids fall into your stomach like a hug. 

“Oh, shut up,” Renjun groans, “Or else I’ll take the noodles back.”

“Lucky for me,” you look at him and laugh, “I’m finished.” When you plop the fork back into the cup, it makes that noise you hear when you scratch the cardboard. 

Renjun hums. "Well then, I guess you owe me one. After all, you're enjoying the hospitality of my secret noodle stash." 

You roll your eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance, but there's a glint of amusement in your eyes. Of course, Renjun would take this opportunity to gain something for himself. It was such a Renjun move. It’s always been like this. "I could've survived just fine without your instant noodles."

He chuckles, taking the last slurp of his own noodles before he deems himself finished, too. "And yet, you still ate it all up like a starved puppy.” 

There’s a beat of silence before you lean forward, resting your head on your propped arm, “I guess I should say thank you, huh?” 

Renjun grins and you only notice it because it’s more evident in his eyes than it was on his lips. He was seemingly pleased with your acknowledgment, but he quickly covered it up with a nonchalant shrug, "Don't mention it.” His voice comes out soft, mirroring the setting, “If you passed out from hunger under my watch, wouldn’t want that tainting my ‘model student’ image.”

You give him a side-eye, feeling the sudden need to tease him, “Don’t lie, Huang Renjun, you secretly care about me.” The statement was mostly a joke, so you think nothing of it. You stack your empty cup onto Renjun’s and stand up to throw it out. You don’t notice the way Renjun freezes in his seat for half a second.

“And what if I did?” Renjun shrugs. He gulps and feels the sudden need to flee the situation—Why did he say that? 

You turn to face him, surprised by his response. Renjun's casual demeanour, though slightly defensive, holds a hint of genuineness. It's a side of him you're not used to seeing, and it catches you off guard. 

"What if you did what?" you ask, feigning ignorance to see if Renjun would elaborate. A part of you is afraid of what he’s going to say. 

“What if I did care about you?” Renjun’s playing with the corner of one of your papers, creating a sound that fills the silence between the two of you, “I don’t hate you as a person, you know… I get that we always compete in grades and extracurriculars but… I don’t hate you as a person.” 

The confession makes your heart skip a beat and you catch yourself beginning to chew on your bottom lip, something you do when you’re nervous. The unexpected sincerity in his words causes you to halt your own, a momentary pause in your banter. You've grown used to the constant back-and-forth, the verbal sparring that characterizes your interactions with Renjun. This, however, feels different. 

"You're messing with me, right?" you reply, half expecting him to smirk and dismiss the entire conversation as a joke.

“What do you think?” Renjun retorts. 

You take a moment to think everything through. You have a good feeling Renjun’s not joking, that he really doesn’t hate you as a person, and you can’t help but think about the other possibilities of what this meant. Then you think about how you feel towards Renjun because you guess you at least owed him that. 

“You don’t need to say anything now,” Renjun assures, “It’s… confusing. Even I'm still figuring things out… I just know that I don’t hate you.” 

"You're not as insufferable as I claim you are,” you begin cautiously, “But it pisses me off that you both distract and motivate me when it comes to school.” And this was true. Today was a good example of that, though you weren’t entirely sure where these stem from. 

Renjun raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "I'll take that as a compliment.” 

You roll your eyes. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Renjun. I’m just saying—” “—Saying that you like me more than you think you do?” Renjun interrupts, “I know, I know.”

Your eyes narrow at Renjun, “You wish.” 

A moment of understanding passes between you, and for the first time, the competitiveness in your dynamic softens. It's not yet a friendship, but it's a recognition that there's more to each other than the constant rivalry. 

Renjun laughs, which transitions into a yawn. He acknowledges your comment with a hum, “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in a bit so I can study?”

You playfully roll your eyes, a small smile lingering on your lips. 

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if I didn’t, would it?”

tags: @tytrackfebreze @lovesuhng @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi

an: the next few parts of the series might be posted a day late (until Felix,, but we'll see!). Next up is Jisung which I feel like will be ADORABLE. ty for taking the time to read! I would love to hear your thoughts even if its something short! hope you enjoyed it!

[opashoo]

staring so kindly at your sluglang post,, as someone working on a language as well this looks fantastic (and is also. super organized compared to mine BHAHAH) Any tips for putting together a language? Like resources on how to go about it, or notes? /genq

You are staring kindly... (thank you)

As for tips... Wikipedia is actually one of my biggest, most useful tools, because I love to read articles about grammatical concepts, and they will usually have a varaiety of examples of use if you can figure out how to parse the academic language. There are some core ideas that pop up all over the place crosslinguistically, like case marking or converbs, and you can get a lot from learning how other languages might parse the same idea, both how they handle the idea grammatically and what kind of metaphorical language might be involved; like how in Scottish Gaelic, to say you have something, you say it's 'at' you, or how it doesn't have an exact equivalent of English's infinitive, or how Mongolian has so many word endings that convey meaning, and a bunch of them are literally endings stacked on top of other endings.

There's also really good conlang youtubers, like David Peterson, the one who made Dothraki and other pop media conlangs, Artifexian, Biblaridion. They have videos on both interesting grammatical concepts that don't exist in english AND how to integrate them into conlangs. Davide Peterson especially has interesting videos on things like sound changes, vowel harmony, phonological concepts that can really help shape your language and bring a degree of naturalism if that's what you're looking for.

Etymology can be extremely informative though, and really help you to understand exactly how creative people have gotten with language over the past thousands of years. Etymonline is a great website for that. Did you know that the word "next" was originally literally "nearest"? Or that that the suffix "be-" was originally "by", so words like "before" actually meant "by the fore", and very often these meanings are metaphorically extended to the way we use them today. It's great for helping to develop very important words that can be structural to your language, so that you're not just trying to raw make up a new word with no basis every time.

Aside from that, there's no single source I go to for making conlangs. Everything is on a case by case basis. Something that has been really helpful for me is constantly writing example sentences and finding things to write about, because similar to translating existing texts, it forces me to reckon with the way my conlang works, figure out how to convey certain ideas (or whether or not the language can convey the idea at all).

Usually I'll have a few languages that I keep in mind for inspiration for any given project and if I'm stumped or need an idea, I'll actually look up learning resources for those languages. My slugcat language has had me looking up a lot of "How to say..." in Korean, Arabic, Japanese Filipino, a little bit of Indonesian? Some Russian for verb stuff. Once I find resources, I spend a bit of time dissecting how it works in those languages and figure out how that can fit in the existing framework of my own project, or if it's something I'd even want in the project at all.

Once I have an idea, I'll just start iterating on it, usually on paper, basically brainstorming how the sentence structure and sounds might work until I find something that is both sonically satisfying and logically sound within the existing framework. If I'm feeling extra spicy, I might try to consider how the culture and priorities of the speakers might shape the development of the language. The important thing while doing this is, just like brainstorming, to be unafraid to keep throwing ideas onto the page no matter how unviable or nonsensical it may seem in your head. You NEED to experiment and find what doesn't work or else your brain will be too clogged to find out what does. Exercising your pen will help you get into the mindset of someone using the language (because you are), it'll help you form connections to other parts of the language you've already developed, and once you've developed enough, the language will almost start writing itself.

I've actually had some really interesting interactions happen my scuglang between the archaic system of suffixes, the position word system, and the triconsonantal root system, which actually gave rise to an entire system of metaphorical extension, letting speakers use phrases like "at a crossing of" or "at a leaving of" to mean across or away and also talk about concurrent events like "He talked while eating noodles" (He, at an eating of noodles, talked).

Anyway, I know I got kind of scattered but these are some of the big parts of how I approach conlanging! If I have questions or needs, I look to other languages, find learning resources, apply it, and then ask more questions. Spend time with your language and get familiar with it. There's the time I read "Ergativity" by Robert Dixon, but reading literal textbooks is not a requirement for conlanging. You just need to chip away at it and keep asking question.

Here's some photos of my own conlanging notes so you can see how serious I am when I say iterating and brainstorming are extremely helpful. You need to be throwing shit on the paper. I will handwrite three pages just to contradict myself on the next because those three pages were important for forming the final idea.

[esmedelacroix]

Coffee Shop Love Pt.4

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffmania, implied age gap, suggestive, forced proximity

author's note: Hi lovies, :( this part is coming to you very late >.< ! The semester is ending soon and I'm an academic weapon so I've been writing papers and studying, here's the fourth chapter for y'all :) ! I suggest you read this chapter while listening to "Strangers In The Night" by Frank Sinatra on repeat it sets the perfect tone for this chapter, enjoy...

word count: 1.6k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

You both looked down at your phones in disbelief. Your thoughts raced like a thousand wild stallions, galloping through your mind at breakneck speed What do we do? Will he have to stay over? How will he react when I tell him I have one bed? He couldn't fit on the couch to save his life. You thought to yourself trying to figure out what could be done.

"So a whole day here?" Miguel asked as the shock slowly dissipated from his face.

"Yeah, well I better lock up and turn the heaters on," you said as you got up the locked the doors.

"So uh, I live upstairs," you said awkwardly.

"Okay, I live several blocks down," He joked eliciting a chuckle from you as laughter danced lightly upon Miguel's chest.

"You know what I mean, I'm inviting you into my apartment," you said pointing at the stairs as a flush crept onto your cheeks.

"I'm just pulling your leg chula," he chuckled. You both walked up the stairs to your apartment. A melange of peppermint, gingerbread, and vanilla, like Santa's North Pole workshop in an aromatic form.

The fireplace crackled merrily, festive blankets were strewn across the couch, and a tray of gingerbread cookies patiently awaited their turn in the oven. Your apartment was the epitome of Holiday cheer and warmth. The exact opposite of Miguel's place. Which was currently dark cold and empty. Not a trace of color other than the black and dark blue that his interior designer had insisted on. But was the point of a home that didn't feel like anyone was living in it? Your house was all color. Your house had memories scattered over the wall just like in the shop. Your house had lights all around, messy blankets and pillows, dishes in the sink, and baked goods sprinkled all over the dining table.

"So sorry it's a little messy," you murmured timidly.

"That's fine, it's nice," he mumbled.

You both looked at each other awkwardly before turning away. "So, I only have one bed, and there's no way you're fitting on the couch so, I could take the couch," you thought aloud.

"Well I'm not going to make you sleep on your couch," he said.

"I'm fine with sharing the bed, as long as you don't make it weird," you said.

"Well you just made it weird by thinking that I was gonna make it weird," he quipped.

"Well, well, ditto," you rebutted.

"Ditto? Double ditto," he chuckled.

"Double double ditto times a million trillion gazillion," you giggled.

You both burst into a fit of laughter. You both agreed to take turns in the shower. You lent him your brother's old clothes that he had left the last time he visited. That was how Miguel ended up sitting on your couch with a generic pair of black and red plaid pj pants. With the ugliest ugly sweater on. You plopped down next to him, straight out of the shower.

Your hair smelled like fresh candy canes. He could smell it every time it would whip around when you cracked your neck. Your skin smelled faintly like sweet gingerbread and vallina. You had an interesting selection of Christmas-themed self-care. What's the use of 'sugar cookie' lip balm? I kind of want to taste it..., ew Miguel, he thought to himself.

"So since you have to spend all night and a whole day with me, you have to understand why I love Christmas so much. We're going to watch only the best holiday movie series ever, 'A Christmas Prince,'" you said excitedly as you got up and got some holiday treats and put them on the coffee table.

"This better not be some sappy romance," he groaned.

"Oh hunny, it's all the sap, all drama, and all stupidity and miscommunication. But that's what makes them so good," you explained.

Although Miguel was sure he would hate the movie, he was more invested in it than you were. Every time you would try to talk he would shush you, "I need to see what happens next," he would whisper as he strangled you squish mellow from anticipation.

You started messing with him by talking during the movie which got him so frustrated he threw a pillow at your face playfully. But you had taken this as a declaration of battle and started a pillow fight. It was full-on warfare and giggles all around. You could tell Miguel was holding back all of his strength because he could probably actually hurt you.

You pounced on Miguel, knocking him backward onto the couch. Pillows flew in the air around you as you both tumbled, your laughter turning into shared, breathless excitement.

You found yourself on top of him, faces inches apart, heartbeats racing. Your warm breaths hit each other's face, and you both lay there, staring into each other's eyes.

Miguel's playful smile slowly softened into something deeper, something more intimate. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in that brief moment of connection.

Your breath caught as the intensity of the moment enveloped you. You felt a magnetic pull towards Miguel, an unspoken attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, and as your eyes locked, they shared a moment of understanding, a silent promise of what could be.

But just as quickly as it had come, the moment was broken by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, signifying to the two of you that the gingerbread was ready. The laughter returned, but now it held an extra layer of tension, a newfound awareness of the connection you had just shared.

You both get up, brush yourselves off, and head to the kitchen to take the baked goods out. "Why bake more when you have a million variants of baked goods everywhere?" Miguel inquired as he helped you put the slabs of gingerbread into your fridge to cool.

"I have to test and create the entire seasonal menu before I serve it," you explain.

"That sounds tiring..." he starts.

"No! It's actually really fun! Here try this red velvet cake," she said excitedly. Miguel was waiting for another opportunity to have your baking without having to outright ask you for some, and you knew that.

He took a bite and to no one's surprise, he loved it. But he wouldn't tell you that and tried not to let it show either. The rest of the night went on without a hitch until you were both exhausted. You took a look at the clock, [2:23 am]. Your eyelids felt heavier, and you could see Miguel start to blink for a little too long while trying to watch the third Christmas Prince movie. You used all the energy left in your body to get up. "C'mon big guy, we should get to bed," you said tapping his shoulder. All you got from him was a small smirk and picked up a pillow and whipped it at his face.

"You nasty!" you started before stopping and stomping into your room. Miguel followed you into your room chuckling lowly.

The moon cast a soft glow through the bedroom window, painting the room in muted silver hues as you and Miguel settled into bed. There was an unspoken tension between you two, a tangible distance that lingered in the cool air. The bed, once a refuge for dreams, now seemed an expanse to navigate cautiously. As the night unfolded, lost in the realm of dreams, you began to shiver subtly. Miguel noticed your discomfort, remembering you telling him that you were always cold.

With hesitancy, he inched closer, the space between you shrinking with each careful movement. The distance that had felt overwhelming moments ago now seemed trivial, as if the gravitational pull of shared warmth was irresistible. Miguel's arms encircled your body, a gentle cradle against the night's chill. His body heat became a lifeline, a silent promise to ward off the cold. Nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, he couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability of sleep and the unspoken connection that drew them closer.

You, amid a dream, sighed with the blissful surrender of someone finding solace. As Miguel held you close, your shivers ceased, replaced by a quiet tranquility. The once-distinct boundary between them dissolved into the shared warmth of the moment. In the hushed stillness, you emitted a soft, contented snore, a sound that resonated with an endearing charm. Miguel couldn't help but smile, finding the delicate symphony of her sleep both heartwarming and irresistibly cute.

Cuddling in bed wasn’t a part of the plan but you weren’t complaining. Your sweet scent invaded Miguel's senses. You smelled just as good as the cookies you had baked. Your skin was as soft as the velvety stockings you had hanging over your fireplace. He could stay like this forever. He never made wishes but he hoped and prayed that Medusa would come to him and turn him to stone so that he would never be able to let you go. He let fatigue carry him to dreamland, your snores acting as a fleeting melody in the silent serenade of the night.

Next... Pt.5

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@amber-content@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent

[yelenasbraid]

𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐭 — 𝒋𝒐𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘

summary — it’s the final month of university and you’re starting to feel it

warnings — fem!reader, burnout, fluff, self-deprecating talk

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 in your academics. you were always on time to class, was there for every exam, and only missed class when necessary. the only time you missed class just because was the end of the semester when you had all of those unexcused absences to use. so, when you woke up wednesday thinking it was thursday, missing your seminar class and missed an exam, you thought you were going to have a breakdown.

in a way, you did. to your mom.

you weren’t exactly discrete about your frustrations and how you felt. you shut the door to you and your boyfriend’s shared bedroom, but that didn’t mean that joe burrow didn’t hear almost every word.

“i never miss an exam mom! also how stupid am i to think wednesday was thursday? do i like, not want to graduate?” you were furious with yourself, but joe could hear how close you were to full on sobbing. his heart broke listening to you, and he wanted to do something. he just didn’t know what; he couldn’t exactly take your senior seminar for you. he hated to leave you, but he needed to meet the newest additions to the bengals for the ‘23-24 season. so, he left you a note on the kitchen counter.

i’ll be back soon, if you need me please don’t hesitate to call me! - joey

something short and sweet. part of him hoped you’d call him. he just wanted to be there for you.

—

it’d been a few days since your phone call with your mom, and joe’s barely seen you. when he has, you’ve been on your laptop, editing papers and starting a new one, or looking through your planner to make sure you didn’t miss anything. he’d sit with you while you worked, and you appreciated it. even though you barely said anything when you got in the zone, you longed for his presence. you didn’t know what you were going to do with yourself when he goes back to practice.

you were sat on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and your laptop in your lap. you’d been looking at the same paper for 30 minutes, going over the suggested edits your professor laid out for you. prior to this paper, you’d had to complete several other assignments that were due that evening.

your eyes burned, your head ached, and you felt your chest start to tighten again. your brain was overworked and felt like jelly. you rubbed your eyes, but didn’t remove your hands from them. you felt the tears build up, but you kept them at bay; you would not cry. you blinked the tears away, but unfortunately for you, one escaped down your already raw cheeks. of course, joe saw.

“y/n?” concern grew as he observed you, watching as your mind demanded a break, one you felt you didn’t have time for. the moment he said your name, you felt more tears sting your eyes and fall down your cheeks. your hands were brought up to your eyes again, so the only way you knew joe had sat next to you was the dip in the couch.

“y/n,” his voice was softer, his eyes softening at you. it wasn’t pity; he knew you needed a break. he was proud of all the hard work you’d been doing. he was proud of your perseverance, no matter how bad the burnout was. he just hated seeing your body have to force you to stop.

he gently closed your laptop, setting it aside. he didn’t have to do much then, you fell into him, removing your hands from your eyes. your lip quivered, a sob just about to break the surface. when it finally broke, joe pulled you in closer, softly shushing you. his hand ran up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you. his heart shattered and he wished more than anything he could take away the source of your stress, but he couldn’t.

you melted into joe, taking in his scent, his touch, and his voice. he was constant. he was your rock. he meant safety for you, even from schoolwork. you kept your face buried in his chest despite the retreat of your sobs.

“i’m proud of you, you know that?” he whispered into your hair, which made you want to cry even harder.

“you’re gonna make me cry even harder,” you sniffled. you pulled away from him, and wiped the tears from your eyes. he raised his hand and brushed your hair away from your face. your eyes were bloodshot and on the way to being puffy, but joe still found you to be beautiful.

“you’re not a bad student for being burnt out. it happens to everyone,” he hummed, offering a close-lipped smile. you nodded your head, looking down at your hands. he held your hands in his, running his thumbs over the backs of your hands.

“it’s never happened to me this badly,” you argued.

“maybe it’s your body telling you to slow down,”

“but i can’t,”

“you finished your assignments for the day, right?” he asked you, and you nodded, “then take a break. you’ve written the paper already, and you’ve made so many edits. take a break,” he was pleading with you at this point. he’d missed hanging out with you. guess that was what you felt whenever he was always at practice or traveling.

“fine,” you agreed, not being able to ignore the pout your boyfriend was giving you.

“great, we can start,” he stood up and grabbed his car keys, “by getting you out of the house,” he gave you that award winning smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back. there was his beautiful girl.

“starbucks?”

“of course,” he chuckled. you stood up, and even though you were in leggings and an old t-shirt, you didn’t care. you slipped on some tennis shoes and joined your boyfriend for a break.

this was so self indulgent because i am so burnt out y’all. it’s not even funny. anyways, enjoy this piece i whipped up for you lovelies real quick!

tags: @sargenthunterswife

[jeannereames]

It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Peter Green, giant in Classics. He died this last Monday morning (9/16/24) at the ripe old age of 99. He was born the same year as both my parents.

Peter was not only a very fine scholar, but also a damn good writer--which isn't always true of historians. He wrote historical fiction (no, really, he did: The Laughter of Aphrodite, about Sappho, and Achilles, His Armor, about Alkibiades). And he wrote some quite excellent collections of essays: In the Shadow of the Parthenon and Classical Bearings. His Alexander to Actium--a monster book about the Hellenistic Age big enough to choke a mule--actually made money for U-Cal Press. Not common for academic books, especially of that size!

I have issues with Peter's take on Alexander, I'll be honest. In fact, it was his cheeky summary of Hephaistion as "Tall, handsome, spoilt, spiteful, overbearing and fundamentally stupid" that made the little Hephaistion sit up in my head and object: "I wasn't like that!"

And that launched a dissertation. So in a backhanded way, you can thank Peter for my work on Hephaistion.

But I want to tell you about the other Peter I knew, a genuinely helpful, friendly, and likable guy. He and his wife (Classicist) Carin Green were long-time friends of Gene Borza (my academic father) and Kathleen Pavelko (Gene's now-widow). Born in the UK, he had mid-century British Classicist training mixed with some very progressive politics that might surprise.

He also gave me the best (academic) edit job I've ever received, in now 25 years of publishing. Together with Gene, I gave a paper at the then-APA (now-SCS), which ended up becoming my first (co-authored) publication, "Some New Thoughts on the Death of Alexander the Great." Peter was there to hear, and came up after to congratulate us then quiz me about my psych background and the info I'd brought on grieving. Gene told him about the chapter in my dissertation on Alexander's mourning, and Peter said, "Send me that chapter" for Selecta Classica, of which he was editor. I warned it was long. (To the tune of 60 pages in manuscript!)

But I sent it. And he took it. Then did the edits (both academic and literary) himself. It was fantastic. I quibbled on two things. First, commas. Ha. But second, he insisted everything go back into Greek without some translations, contending anybody reading it would know the Greek. I objected. I lost. I still think that was a mistake, but it was also evidence of that mid-century Brit Classicist that assumed the only people reading it would be other Classicists.

But folks, he made that first (solo) article of mine so much better, forcing me to clarify problematic phrasing, elaborate where I'd been too brief, etc. And he did it with a light hand that allowed my own voice to come through. He became my model of How to Be A Good Academic Editor. When I edit today, I have him in mind.

Peter, thank you for all you've done, not just in print, but as a human being and mentor to young scholars, like me. I'll pour a little libation of good red wine in your memory.

With his passing goes the last of that generation of Macedoniasts.