#people just have to make those mistakes themselves

[ashmacg]

I am staunchly against the idea that queerbait even really exists, at least to the extent it sounds like folks believe it does or in the way people seem to be defining it. All that is vague to me, though, so let me explain what I'm getting at: First of all, let's establish that any and all moments anyone experiences queerness—and all humans are capable of experiencing queerness, mind you—are an absolute good. Any and all moments of performative queerness, done for any reason, are in and of themselves queerness. To act queer is to either be or experience or perform queer for the duration of the behavior, which is to engage in queerness. Lifelong or five seconds, it matters not. Queerness is always queerness and always valid. Queerness is an experience and feeling and state of being that can exist in any person, at any time, for any duration, for any reason, and independent of the knowledge of anyone other than said person. In all scenarios in which queerness exists, the queerness is in and of itself absolutely valid, and it is entirely valid to manifest in the way that it does. If queerness is somehow used to harm, the queerness and its provenance are not wrong—the act of harming, specifically, is wrong. If a cishet man does drag badly to insult queer folk, it is not wrong that he is doing drag badly—slay, queen. It is wrong that he is attempting to foment stigma and queerphobia in society. Promoting queerphobia and doing drag badly are two separate actions even if done simultaneously. This is an example of why criminal law (let's use an NTSB case w/ plane crash as rhetorical example) is vastly written to require both an action (say, doing thing[s] that result in death) and an intent (desire to make ppl dead) and this is why an airline pilot who simply makes a mistake under pressure or cannot recover from a bad situation is not charged with murder or even manslaughter. Yes, the pilot did a thing that caused death to happen (mistake) or didn't do a thing that would have made death not happen (attempted to prevent crash but was not capable). We do not blame the pilot unless they consciously wanted death to happen (murder) or failed to attentively want death not to happen (manslaughter). We do the investigation in order to determine whether or not someone did something that is wrong under the Action+Intent definition of the law. Sometimes 150 people die and no one did a damn thing wrong. Cpt Picard would define that as part of life. Those things happen. Sometimes it's weather, sometimes it's because it wasn't possible to know that some component would fail or malfunction because maybe metallurgy hadn't gotten there yet or we didn't have the tech to simulate the range of conditions that caused the particular accident. Those things don't necessarily constitute crime or injustice, because we don't live in a just universe. We may all be char-broiled tomorrow by a Gamma Ray Burst aimed at us purely by astronomical chance and while it would be massively and horrifically tragic, it wouldn't be wrong. There would be no culprit, no being remotely at fault, and it wouldn't be wrong at all. It would just be something that happened.

This is why, like OP, I am not at all convinced that Naruto and its canon are queerbait. We have no evidence that can convince us that Kishi intends to make Naruto and Sasuke's subtextual romance be taken as a reason for gay=bad or w/e or that gay guys should never be open about it. Being closeted happens to people just as Kishi wrote it to happen to Naruto and Sasuke. Indeed, we instead have evidence that vaguely suggests Naruto is meant to be a tragedy about two gay young men learning to love in a world that is so against their love and even love in general: homophobic enough for Sasuke to say nothing and Naruto to internalize homophobia—and also full of killing and oppression and injustice. Full of misogyny, too, and we see it erode the explicitly intellectually-brilliant Sakura like a strong acid. We can even conject, without it being batcrap crazy, that Kishi might be a closeted gay man trying to sneak pro-gay shounen content past the censors at Weekly Shounen Jump and Studio Pierrot, because how else in early 21st-century Japan can one reach the shounen demographic to that extent with a pro-gay message?.

If we were talking about J* R*****g writing as Robert Galbraith and making a subtextually trans character as the bad guy on account of gender identity; then, yes, that would definitely be queerbait, because it baits queer representation and SWITCHES it with queerphobia. Pretty sure that's what ____bait is meant to entail. Bc otherwise, at least in terms of queerbaiting, if we define it as suggesting queerness in a character but never actually confirming it in the narrative, it's no different from writing a character who is closeted without privileging the narrator with that information.

Remember, 3rd person omniscient means universal knowledge, like an actual factual god, and is different from 3rd person surveillance state or 3rd person w/ access to the console log of Deep Thought or 3rd person Minority Reporting absolutely everything within a 12-megaparsec radius, all of which are very different from 3rd person who works in the cubicle nearest the water cooler; additionally, why would we rely on the narrator of any nth-person and class to be absolutely reliable and forthcoming? Deities are allowed to have discretion and it's entirely possible for a universal god to lie and withhold info for any reason, even malicious ones. And it's not like authors are actually explicitly telling us exactly what narrator type they are using at any point in the story, because many types can use the same linguistic patterns and have the same apparent scope of knowledge at various points in the narrative. It's better reading when writers "show it, don't tell it", so we can't hold them accountable for describing in detail every plot element. That would make the average children's storybook balloon to the word count of War & Peace. Do you want Snow White to have the narrative sprawl and density of Tolkien's Legendarium?

To conclude:

As I see it, in order to determine if a work (containing a potentially- but unconfirmed-as-queer character) is queerbait, we must answer the following question:

Can we reasonably assume the queer bait is deliberately being SWITCHED with a queerphobic message or vibe, whether by apparent conscious intent or subconscious motivation?

If yes, queerbait.

If no, not queerbait. Just a character who isn't out in the scope of the narrative. Don't punish queer characters for staying in the closet, that's queerphobic. The characters don't owe you visibility. Don't expect the narrator to be reliable and don't expect them to just tell you what the main idea is or tell you what message to take from the story. The narrator may be an asshole in a story meant to change minds for the better, so don't act like they are required to be an ally or even virtuous—the narrator can be like another character external to the plot itself. Don't punish authors who without malice write implicitly closeted characters by intent or accident, that's queerphobic to the author, from whose experience and imagination came the character in question. The authors don't owe you their own authenticity or their characters'. The author may be so far back in the depths of the closet they can't even tell the closet is present and it would be queerphobic to punish them for accidentally writing their truth that we find lacking in representation. It would also be queerphobic to end up criticizing an author for failing to be out of the closet or write queer visibility into their works when they may be afraid to do so, because for one thing, net worth can't make up for being tarred and feathered by bigoted media or society*. Nor should we expect a closeted queer creator to suffer abuse for any reason.

*Look at what happened to Ryuchell. Fame and wealth did *exactly* nothing to save them from queerphobia. You don't know what Kishi's expenses are like for his work; and if he is never published again bc of homophobia, he has to make it last the rest of the duration of life he hopes to live—and that's assuming his $20-30mil net worth is in liquid assets and not largely made up of the Naruto IP, which SJ and/or SP could use a corrupt legal system and public homophobic ire to strip from him. You don't know what his family would do nor how that would affect him emotionally or psychologically. POTENTIALLY QUEER CHARACTERS & AUTHORS & CREATORS DON'T HAVE TO TAKE ON SOCIETY'S ABUSE JUST SO YOU CAN FEEL SEEN. That's not how queer liberation works....

Someone in that poll said not to watch naruto bc it's queerbait and I hate to tell you this but naruto wasn't trying to queerbait you it's actually the number 1 example of "text is so misogynistic it becomes gay"

[asthecrowtries]

Because I've seen a lot of negativity about the Malevolent patron blocking drama and not enough support for Harlan or clear explanation of what happened:

A patron named Riot shared exclusive patreon content in a private server to multiple non patrons. Someone in that server notified Harlan with proof so riot was banned and blocked on patreon and the invictus server and named directly in a post explaining the situation with their ban.

Malevolent is offered entirely free with the patreon bonus content not needed at all to enjoy the show. Patreon and those exclusive rewards are the main way Harlan makes money off his show so he was entirely in his right to ban riot to stop the stealing of his content.

Riot also gifted many other people patreon subscriptions which was very generous but does not entitle them to then give away exclusive content to even more people.   I'm only bringing up this part because I saw a comment on another post that Harlan should have addressed it with riot and just emphasized boundaries of patron vs nonpatron content - riot had been causing issues in the main server for months, they pushed back against mods or even Harlan and Jo themselves every time they were asked to correct their language if it turned too political or NSFW or to tone down on the spam when they got their 'riotspawn' in a frenzy by gifting more subs. And those were just examples I saw personally. I doubt just talking to them about the issue would have gotten anything resolved. They had gotten plenty of warnings about their behavior on the main server and had been a patron long enough to understand patreon sharing etiquette. This wasn't a simple mistake by a brand new patron but by someone that thought because they threw enough money around the rules didn't apply to them. Unfortunately when riot was blocked on patreon, many who were gift recipients were blocked as well. This is entirely not Harlan's fault but a dumb issue of Patreon, he is working to get it resolved and has made an announcement that this was not intended - he holds no ill will to those that were just gifted subs by riot. Those blocked should submit a ticket on the invictus server or email him directly at theinvictusstream@gmail.com For those blocked that Harlan is aware of, he's made sure they still have access to the invictus server patron channels and has sent them the latest chapter release directly via google drive so they are not missing patreon content while this mess is being settled. Patreon won't even let him see all those who are blocked so he can't unblock them or issue refunds directly. He has to work through Patreon support. Harlan is not trying to steal off of riot and others for their patreon subscriptions.  Another user was also named and blocked, with Harlan saying they were involved with the content sharing while they say they weren't. I only have the two's words against each other and don't know the user myself to comment on that part of the drama. I don't agree with their name being called out or the banning if they were just a member of the server and not one of the content thieves as they say but I also don't know the full story and what all they may have said or done. I'm not sharing their name in this post at least.  Harlan is not calling for a witch hunt. Naming the two let others know in that private server, or similar ones sharing patron exclusives, that content stealing like that isn't cool and has consequences of being banned and blocked. And with riot their name would have to be called out directly with the whole gift sub issue. Harlan is entirely justified in asking his paywalled material, which is how he makes his living and supports his family, to not be given out for free and if anyone sees this happening to let him know.

[winged-thinged]

I've seen a lot of talk in the vein of, even if you're not a Christian, you have to admit that Jesus was a wise teacher/a brown hippy socialist/a cool guy, your problem with God only applies to the God of the old testament, but Jesus gave us a new covenant which is better, “Jesus is my homeboy, but God has a lot to answer for” and I just really disagree with that take. Yes, I think that telling people to be kind to their neighbors is a good thing, but…

Incomplete list of things I think Jesus* was wrong about:

That you should always walk the extra mile, turn the other cheek, and be passive and obedient in the face of mistreatment and abuse

That the world was going to end before the year 100 A.D. 

That there is only one god, one true religion, and that venerating other gods is wrong

That those who don't follow God deserve fire and death

That Christians should spread their gospel and try to convert everybody in the whole world to Christianity 

That you should place God as your highest priority, even over love for your own family and neighbors and your own well-being 

That the best way to deal with injustice is to wait for God to end the world and let Him sort out the chaff from the wheat 

That Jesus had any special power to perform miracles or heal the sick or raise people from the dead 

That Jesus had any unique insight into God or the nature of reality and the world

That people who believe in God will be saved from death

That it is just for a supremely-powerful God to save all those who follow Jesus's teachings and believe in him, and only those people

That you should forsake your life and livelihood and material possessions and family and all sources of happiness, apart from God

That prayer will supernaturally grant you favors from God or grant you insight into truths about the world that you could not have discovered by yourself or through other means

That mental illness, suffering, and misfortune are caused by demonic forces 

That everybody should aim to be meek, be like a little child, be poor and powerless and helpless and at the mercy of those greater than themselves, to erase themselves, and to die, and that this is the path to a good and meaningful life

*Allegedly Jesus taught these things. We cannot be 100% sure what the historical Jesus actually said during his lifetime, but these are all at least things attributed to him in the Bible (which is not a historical document but which nonetheless is the best source we have to use to try to guess what the historical Jesus might have actually believed and preached).

Additional things the historical Jesus almost certainly never said, but which Christians teach, that I think are harmful and wrong:

That humanity is/was doomed and/or damned and that Jesus died to save us/forgive us/erase a debt

That Jesus rose again from the dead

That everything in the Universe was created by and is maintained by a supernatural force

That that force became human around about the year 0 to recapitulate our broken human nature

That humans can't make our own decisions about how to live our lives and need a supernatural force to tell us what is right and what is wrong

That eternal conscious suffering torment exists after death

(Catholic-only edition) That Mary the mother of Jesus lived a life free of any kind of mistake, and that she lived and and died a virgin

[thestargayzingetherian]

Five Years Since Catradora Kissed.

Five years ago on this day, a certain ship from kids cartoon that I love named Catradora became canon and kissed and saved their whole goddamn universe. And I don't think anything in any peice of queer media has hit me the same way since then. It still fills me with warmth and happiness just as it did all those years ago.

Catradora isn't just two girls from this really well written show that got together at the end. It's a testament to what stories in our modern age can be capable of doing, the stories they are capable of telling.

Yes, that has come with some caveats, how the creators of these stories are treated like dogshit by the powers that be, as well as 'certain' parts of their audience, not to mention the corporations owning these stories force their queerness into their rainbow capitalisc assimilationist horsecrap. But even still... just seeing how Catradora makes other people feel, how other people have been able to discover themselves because of them tells me that they have a power that no corporate suit will ever understand.

Catra is literally my transition goals for instance and I see so many people identify themselves as an "Adora" or a "Catra" kinnie. Their stories have helped people feel seen and be okay with themselves in a way I haven't seen so openly possible for a long time.

As for myself... Catradora has been there for me for every rough spot I've had the last few years. That no matter what, they give me some comfort. I've seen a lot of drama and bs in the She-Ra fandom, the likes of which I know drove some people away... but I am still here, because my love for these two dorks will always be there. If everyone in the Catradora fandom was to just give up and go to another fandom somewhere else, I would still be here. I would literally be the only Catradora girl alive if that were possible.

I know that in my personal expereince that I've made a lot of mistakes in my time in the fandom. Since I've been off my main social media places a lot the last few months, it's given me a time to think on how toxic and cynical I could be at times, how sometimes I'd make terrible mistakes that would make some people uncomfortable or how toxic some She-Ra fandom spaces were. This is not a callout post by the way, I don't do that kind of thing.

I don't expect everyone to forgive me for some of the things I've done in the past or things I've said. As much as I would want nothing more than to make ammends for anything I've said or done that's warranted any reputation I might have, I realise I can't force people to change. Adora didn't force Catra to change after all, she did it of her own volition and Adora's freinds likewise accepted Catra because they wanted to, not because Catra forced them to.

But I will say this... I am genuinely sorry for everything. For any conversations or ideas I might have worded badly that made people uncomfortable, for going on giant long cynical rants and vents because I was in a bad place, for all of that. I am truly sorry and I hope that I can at least be friends with some of you again.

And while I was only an observer for a lot of the other She-Ra fandom drama, I am sorry to everyone who left the fandom because of that too. I am so goddamn sorry that a bunch of sometimes justified internet drama and arguements caused you to no longer enjoy a beautiful series like She-Ra. I am sorry people did racist shit to Catra that made POC in the fandom deeply uncomfortable, I am sorry that so many people rallied behind good ships like Glimmadora and Entrapdak to harass Catradora stans because of the internet media ilteracy that trained them to hate Catra. I am sorry that these last five years haven't exactly been the best for a lot of you and I know that I alone can't exactly do much to fix that.

But what am I going to do? I'm going to try and keep being postive and making things that I at least hope make someone happy, that put a smile on someone's face. I have over 200 fics about Catradora alone posted on AO3 and probably much, much more planned in the future. Heck, the day this goes up, I'll be FINALLY properly making a start on the big post-canon She-Ra series I've always wanted to write.

I want to try and be a beacon of hope and positivty for anyone who visits my pages. I was told by I think @catras-breakup-song and @witch-apologist that I have somewhat of a repuation for being a nice blog that shows up in people's feeds on here and I hope I can still be that for another five years.

Catradora are in a way... an inspiration to me. Creatively, by writing tons of stories about them. And for their happiness giving me such hope on the days I feel so dark.

So here's to the next five, hell, next TEN years, because hey, if Korrasami can keep people going for ten years, Catradora most certainly can!

May Catradora and everything about She-Ra keep you happy for a good long time, my friends. I hope to see some of you again soon.

[verdancy-hime]

Yeah they all disappeared on purpose for three days and then kept baiting me with incel questions

Again

Men really would torture a kid to punish a woman and justify it with biology.

Having one biological father per child was a mistake it causes misogyny we should have as many males as fuck the female be the biological father so that our species doesn't torture women.

Like literally that one change to our species would fix patriarchy and toxic masculinity and monogamy which is actually a bug when it takes human babies so much effort to raise and isn't natural for our species- until men discovered the concept of biological fatherhood and invented rules about it, kids having multiple parents was normal. Kids being raised in groups of people all raising kids together is normal.

Not to be all brave new world but literally most problems with dating are caused by the urge to do monogamy and if you can force yourself not to be monogamous you aren't in pain. Pain is caused by having to fight the person you're with for the right to be allowed to get the things you need from other people romantically and give what you are able to give and not more and if you don't do monogamy you don't have that problem.

And all that got started because people wanted to abandon children that they weren't sure were biologically "theirs."

And i don't blame people for that because everyone must want to abandon their babies! They're cute but they're an incredible amount of work and really easy to accidentally kill!

Like the ability to have a kid and never raise it is not just a male privilege rich people also very much do that all the time because having children is miserable and sucks.

But if a kid had like 6 parents that wouldn't happen there would be more people to take care of the kid and more time for those people to take care of themselves

But men hate single moms and polygamy tends to attract people who want to do child marriage and stuff.

So the solution is someone needs to make a virus that alters the human genome so that what incels say is unironically true and every male who has sex with a female is the biological father together.

I'm not smart.

I wish I was smart I could hook that up.

vibes are off again. guess i'll go hang myself in the garage since you hate me and want me dead

[alongtidesoflight]

i swear my stepdad is so illogical AND stubborn it hurts

[weaselishmcdiesel]

.

[jellyfishvibes]

Update, I've fallen far enough into insanity that i've begun watching kh cutscene movies while doing this, my brain is boiling down into a concentrated kh sludge

Bad news i found while procrastinating taking a break, i don't think there is a full collection of ripped pieces of the spirit pets from the pet customizer, the most i have found is the ye olde update posts from @luxenvulpies that have high res promo/banner art of the new pet part reward pulls as they came out, i don't know exactly how much of the total pet part pieces art there but ill jerry rig what i can

The most annoying part is using roboloids site has spoiled me by giving me each part isolated and in order, these are flattened images of a pet wearing the full outfit so ill have to manually edit them to separate out all the pieces again

Grumble grumble grumble

If anyone knows someone who has the isolated pet part assets please send me their way

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[soulstagger]

Again that name, but for now Flavia could breath slightly easier. She was somewhere she knew, without any eyes that would be poking their heads in anytime soon. It might be a little tough to sneak Yuuna out later, but with her one trick she had out of the bag.

They could figure something out to get Yuuna home, or at least somewhere she knew so she could make her own way home. At least later, right now Flavia knew she had quite the night before her.

Her apartment was at the end of the hall, the storage beside it, and a nosy but not yet home neighbor. They could be loud, anything Yuuna might want, though Flavia knew she'd have to steel herself.

At this point, even she couldn't stop. Those desires no longer allowed to bottle themselves down, less punishment follow her from somewhere else after. Flavia even started to undo her blouse, opening it, slowly unclasping her skirt and gently pulling those pointless panties down.

They were soaked already, they'd only get in the way.

Was she always like this? Red cheeks, so lewd and even wondering what could follow now that she'd been dragged through such an experience. Her body already felt a dull ache, if she continued, Yuuna would milk her till nothing shot out. How would she handle that?

This would also be the first time anyone else joined her in her own bed, by Flavia's own choice.

"T-then...I... I don't do this all the time.. You know? Everything that's happened, It's not..." She has a demeanor similiar to that very Belle-sama Yuuna whispers.

Not to the real witch, but the fake image before. Nervous, shy, aroused and ready for more. But in the moment now, without needing to act decisively. She reaches out, pulling Yuuna towards her, her mind wandering as other desires start to release themselves.

Bending Yuuna forward to push her into those soft sheets, that cozy bed of Flavia's. The same feeling that bubbled when she forcefully handled Yuuna, it's growing again. That need to hold some control, the same that forced her to pin Miku.

A hand against Yuuna's back, the other gently touching that tail as slowly Flavia pushes herself back inside them. "You're my bunny tonight.."

"My Bunny...." Her mind's running wild with thoughts, with names she wants to whisper out. People who never escaped her mind after getting so close. And the way Yuuna seems, Flavia can't help it. Just as they all say someone else's name, the name of the last girl she had an inch of control over in a heated moment. Someone else's name that isn't Ame, anyone else's name.

She makes the same mistake. "Miku...." Whispered so meekly before rolling her hips forward, picking up the pace that surely Yuuna doesn't mind.

As desperate as she was, Yuuna couldn't focus on reaching a single orgasm while pleasing herself with her fingers. It almost felt like her body was edging instead, only fueling her frustration with herself even if she introduced up to four fingers inside.

The other hand? At all times over her mouth, at least until she was picked up again to be carried; fingers outside her pussy and both hands quick to rest on Flavia's shoulders when that happened.

Internally, she was kinda sorry for putting her soaked fingers on Flavia's clothes, but on the other, her body was pressing against the girl's.

Jesus fuck, it's been quite a while since she got THIS desperate to find continued release…could she blame Jeanne for it? Somewhat of a withdrawal after that session? The day she very much gifted her soul and not because she wanted to…

"B-Belle-sama-…" That name again, while her face buried against the other's neck and she closed her eyes tight, not even questioning whatever Flavia wanted to do, and clinging tighter so she wouldn't fall despite noticing the other's legs wanting to give up.

All in all…with Yuuna herself having that encounter with Jeanne, she probably wouldn't have questioned these magic cards. To her, Flavia was proving to be a box full of surprises in a positive way, so the moment the bunny girl noticed that their location changed, she couldn't help but open her eyes out of curiosity- these only going wide open at the initial surprise.

But seeing a room, a private one, with a bed, had the singer letting out a deep and heated sigh of relief.

They could do whatever here until they both were satisfied, right?…with no interruptions, risks of being caught or getting in trouble with the authorities.

In fact, as soon as Yuuna made sure they were inside, the bunny girl leaned back slightly and let Flavia's shoulders go, hesitating not to pick her hoodie and remove it by her head so she could toss it aside.

With the air finally reaching her heated skin, she would groan softly and let her rabbit ears perk up, feeling as her tail also vibrated slightly now that it was freed.

"P-Please…help me, F-Flavia-san-…" Her voice, seductive but also an almost desperate plea to find a kind of release that, deep inside, she knew wouldn't be able to reach tonight. Yet, attending that need was way better and less torturous than trying to ignore or hold it back.

Would keep going until her body was so sore that she couldn't move.

"L-Let me be your little bunny tonight…p-please…"

[orcelito]

Don't know whether it's a product of my upbringing or just part of who I am, but I really do tend to shrug off things that seem to send others into massive guilt spirals. Like, what's the point? Either you meant to do it or you didn't. If you meant to do it but regret it now, make what amends you can & resolve to do better, then move on. If you didn't mean to, be honest about it, apologize if need be, & try to do better. Then move on.

Beating yourself up truly serves no purpose. What are we, catholic? If there is a god, I truly don't think they'd care, anyways

[sapsolais]

.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

the urge after a rough shift to find and report that one person who joined a wildlife rehab ‘to relieve their instinct to nurture and cuddle animals’ or some shit and posts photos and videos of them irresponsibly home-rehabbing possums

[tgirlwithreverb]

I kind of hate this kind of thing, like, yeah it's possible to get yourself pretty sick on spoiled meat, but also almost everyone has the capacity to make this determination for themselves, it's like the whole point of your nose, if it smells sketchy to you, don't eat it, if it tastes sketchy to you spit it out and dont eat any more. If you do this you'll be safe from the worst of food poisoning stuff, you'll probably get diarrhea every once in a while, but it's not going to actually hurt you, and also as you said, assessing food is a skill and you will get better at it over time.

Yeah truck stop showers aren't free for us, but truckers get a free one for every 50+gal fillup at loves and pilot/flyingj and usually have an excess, all you have to do is ask them

I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

7) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

8) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20�� rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

[tojicide]

chapter one ── pest control. the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

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

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

chapter summary. ┆ caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.

series masterlist. ┆ next: too easy, this game.

Most days in Linkon City begin with sirens.

Loud, blaring, unmistakable screeches that cut through the early morning quiet like a blade, carving their way through alleyways and avenues alike. They seep into walls, curl beneath locked doors, and coil around the restless minds of those who have long since stopped flinching at their call.

To them, the inhabitants of this city, it is nothing more than background noise—a city’s heartbeat, rhythmic and ceaseless. But to you, it is a warning. A sign that the world beyond the window of your dorm room is a battlefield, and you, a stranger in its midst, are only beginning to understand the rules of this strange place.

Perhaps, in time, you will grow desensitized as they have. Learn to sleep through the wailing cries, to walk these streets without the ever-present weight of caution pressing against your ribs. In a way, they forbade you from venturing out, instilling a fear within you that if you did, you would be the individual these melodies chased—or worse, the victim they had been called for in the first place. 

The entirety of the first semester has passed, and you haven’t even finished unpacking. Your suitcase remains half-full, a tangible reminder that you do not yet belong here. That you still have a choice—to do something before this place sinks its teeth into you, before you become just another soul who mistakes chaos for comfort.

But that choice is an illusion.

Here, people like you make no difference. You are not a hero, nor anything close to it. You are just a student who knows better, one who recognizes that the sirens will always be there, a requiem for the city’s unrest. And the crime will persist, as will the men in uniform who fail to stop it.

Somewhere beyond the blaring wails, beyond the tangled skyline and shadowed alleys, someone is fighting a battle you will never quite understand.

And for now, all you can do is listen.

Yet, in a way, you know that this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Despite its rapidly deteriorating surroundings, Linkon University remained a place of prestige. Young children dreamed of acceptance into its ranks, babbling to their parents about how they, too, would one day make these halls their stomping grounds. Maybe it was naivety that brought you here. Or maybe it was the last remnants of a dream that hadn’t yet died on your tongue.

Or perhaps, it was the medical journalism program—a rare gem, dwindling into obscurity at every other university.

You were lucky to be accepted. But humbly speaking, luck had very little to do with it. Your stats spoke for themselves: a 1540 SAT, a 4.98 weighted GPA, more extracurriculars than you could count on both hands. A smart cookie, as written in the shining letters of recommendation that paved your way here.

And yet, imposter syndrome festered like a quiet disease, creeping into the spaces between your confidence. You have spent your entire life at the top. Always number one.

Here? You were number two.

Number two to whom? You did not know. Not yet, anyway.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb’s perfect life has unraveled in the span of a week and a half, but he positively swears it’s not his fault.

It’s yours.

Ten days ago, at precisely 12:57 PM, he endured the worst torment known to man: his seat in the lecture hall was stolen. A cruel move, truly. Class had been in session for four days, he’d claimed that seat twice—twice—and by the unspoken law of university students everywhere, that granted him full ownership. So why, then, were you sitting in his allotted property?

Looking back, Caleb sees only two possible explanations. The first: you had unknowingly taken the seat after enrolling just before the census date. The second: you were out to get him from the very start.

And personally? He’s convinced it’s the latter.

But alas, he hadn’t made a fuss about it then. It wasn’t like he’d just lost the single best seat in the entire hall—the one with perfect access to the exit, the projector, and the professor’s desk. But hey, he could be cool about this, right? Yeah… totally cool. So cool. The coolest.

Days passed, and everyone seemed to be settling into the spring semester just fine. The weather was getting warmer, flowers on the great lawn were blooming, and Caleb was thriving.

That was, until the unthinkable happened.

Time? 2:19 PM. Class? CHEM 001 AH. Location? The Grand Hall.

Caleb sat directly behind you, having resigned himself to the second best seat in the room, as the sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the otherwise quiet space.

Taking practice exams felt pointless. A waste of time, really. His efforts could be better spent elsewhere—like taking the real exam or absolutely demolishing his roommate Zayne in Apex Legends yet again. But instead, here he was, surrounded by classmates diligently scribbling away as the session inched closer to its eventual end.

And when it did, Caleb would have simply packed up and gone on his merry way—if not for the single most bone-chilling sentence he had ever heard in his entire academic career.

You were chatting with the girl beside you, talking about things he had zero interest in. Your shared biology class at 3 PM, your dorm building, plans to meet up at the dining hall later… blah blah blah. But then—an acronym. A single, horrific acronym triggered him like a sleeper agent.

“My GPA? Oh, it’s… 4.30. I think. To be honest, it’s been a while since I checked.”

His jaw went slack. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.

A 4.30 GPA? No. No. That couldn’t be real. That could not be real.

But as his gaze flickered between the back of your head and your friend’s, he came to the most horrifying conclusion of all.

You weren’t lying. And if that were true… then that meant you had the same GPA he did.

Which meant that, depending on your course load and how well you performed, you could take his spot as number one in the class rank.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb burst into his dorm room, slinging his backpack onto his mattress before face-planting into it with a sound somewhere between a groan and a hmph.

Across the room, Zayne didn’t even glance up from his desk, fingers tapping away at his mounted laptop. Click, clack. Click, clack. For a stretch of time, that was the only sound in the room—until he finally exhaled, the kind of quiet sigh that could only mean here we go again.

“Rough day?”

Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “The worst day.”

Zayne closed his eyes for a moment, like he was mentally preparing himself, before pushing away from his desk and turning his chair just enough to look at his roommate. “What happened?”

Still face-down on the bed, Caleb let out a long, exaggerated sigh—nowhere near as silent as Zayne’s. “I think I have to take trig next semester. Honors.”

That made Zayne pause. Brow quirked, he leaned back. “Why? Your counselor quite literally said you’re already on track to graduate with honors and as one of the top-ranked students in our year.”

That was the problem, though. Caleb wasn’t satisfied with being one of the best. He wanted to be the best—and now, that source of pride was under attack.

“Well, that was before I found out I’m sharing a GPA with some girl in my chem lecture,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Which means if I don’t get my shit together and pack on a few more honors courses, I’m cooked.”

Zayne laughed. Actually laughed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, plucked his glasses off the mousepad, and slid them on. “You should hear yourself right now.”

Caleb’s head snapped to the side, eyebrows pinching together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just amusing, is all.” Zayne smirked. “I find it endearing that you, Mr. ‘I can skip the final and still pass with a 94%,’ Mr. ‘I think I might take astronomy honors for fun this semester,’—”

“All riiight, I get it,” Caleb cut in. “What’s your point?”

Zayne snickered, amused. “My point is that if you of all people feel threatened by a classmate you hardly know, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Caleb hated that there was probably some truth to that. Not that he’d ever admit it. Being threatened by a classmate he barely knew? Please. He knew enough. (And yes, he had meticulously sifted through the entire roster of his chemistry class to stalk your Canvas profile. What? It’s… field research.)

“Y’know, you’re terrible at pep talks,” he muttered, folding his hands behind his head.

“I’m not trying to be,” Zayne replied easily. “But if you want my input—take the trig course next semester. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Caleb rolled onto his side, fishing his laptop from his backpack as the weight of his evening workload settled in.

And maybe Zayne was right.

Maybe he would need all the help he could get.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until six days later—today—that Caleb knew for certain fate was no longer on his side.

The professor’s voice cut through the shuffle of students packing up their belongings, all of which were currently praying that their first lab of the semester wouldn’t be a complete and utter disaster. It was a well known fact that Dr. Rappaccini was quite the harsh critic, and an even harsher grader. Her score on Rate My Professors was a whopping 2.8/5 for crying out loud.

“Alright, it’s time for you all to receive your lab partners for the semester. Before heading to the lab next door, please check the list of pairings at the front.”

Luckily, Caleb had committed the syllabus to memory and knew that each person was scored individually no matter how their partner performed, but it was recommended that the pair conduct their experiments together to save time and... okay, maybe he hadn’t memorized it as well as he thought, but at least he knew the core details, right?

Scanning the list, his blood ran cold. He squinted, hoping that the prescription of his glasses had failed him, but of course, it was unmistakable. Your name was printed next to his. Emboldened, unignorable, in a perfectly neutral 12 pt Times New Roman font.

The walk to the laboratory was a quiet one, and you were walking a few feet ahead of him without a care in the world. Reaching for the door handle, he twisted the metallic lever and gestured for you to enter ahead of him with a single nod of his head. It was a force of habit. He may not care for you as an academic peer, but you didn't directly wrong him in any way. Not knowingly, that is.

With a curt nod of your own and a sliver of a smile, you entered the class with a quiet “thank you.”

And before he could follow in step behind you, the neverending line of your fellow classmates began to flood into the room, leaving him to stand idle while offering each of them a thin-lipped smile. It felt like an eternity before he was able to step inside of the laboratory too, and his first instinct was to map out the classroom to find the best possible seating arrangement. 

To his surprise… you’d already claimed the most optimal lab station, and as he approached, you made the first move to speak. 

“I hope you’re okay with sitting here,” you say, fishing out your sleek notebook and a bright blue pencil. “It’s the only lab station with equal access to the exit, the supplies cabinet, and the professor’s desk.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as bewilderment etches into his features. Were you inside of his brain? He clears his throat, shaking away his confusion as he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright with this spot. Good choice.” 

Smiling, you nod too. “Cool.” 

A beat of silence passes, and you smooth your hands over the black resin material of the table, a movement that his eyes instinctively follow. Then, your hand raises and extends out to him, forcing him to blink himself out of his state of daydreaming. 

You say your name while tilting your head with a smile—this time, a smile with teeth—as you wait for his hand to take yours. “And you’re… Xia?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head while a chuckle slips through his carefully crafted exterior. “Caleb,” he corrects, his firm grasp enveloping your hand as he gives it a shake. “Caleb Xia.”

“Ah, got it,” you remark, an epiphany dawning on you as you slip your hand from his hold. “Well, I’m going to go get our safety goggles.” 

But before leaving, you straightened, eyes glued to him—or rather, his head.

Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Caleb’s lip tugs up in the corner. “What are you doing?”

Tapping your chin, you sigh. “I’m trying to see if you have a big head. If you do, I’ll have to go fight tooth and nail for one of the ones with adjustable straps.” 

Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he rests his elbow on the edge of the table before leaning his cheek into his hand. “Well, lay it on me. What’s your diagnosis?”

Humming, you tilt your head back and forth before nodding your head a single time. “Big-head syndrome. I’m positive.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I should take that as a compliment. Big head means big brain, you know.”

“Or a big ego,” you retort with a shrug, giving him a once-over with raised brows before whisking away towards the horde of students currently going to war over the remaining pick of the litter. 

Yeah, that too, he thinks. 

In your absence, he takes the liberty of prepping the lab for the both of you. Beakers? Check. Random substance that the two of you were going to be experimenting on? Check. Hydrochloric acid? Check. Sodium bicarbonate? Check—

“Safety goggles,” you state, plopping down on your stool and handing his pair to him.

Without missing a beat, he speaks. “Check.”

Drawing back slightly, you turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uh… yeah. Check.”

Faltering, Caleb slides the item onto his face as he stammers through his words. “I was just… never mind, let’s start.”

The class had settled into a low hum—the murmur of newly paired partners, the scribbling of notes, the soft hiss of chemicals reacting. 

As the two of you began the experiment, an incredibly prominent conclusion dawned on him: Disliking you as a person wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. As a competitor? You were treacherous. As a lab partner? You were… tolerable. Efficient. Annoyingly easy to work with. 

It wasn’t the end result that he was hoping for, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. He wanted you to be difficult to be around, he wanted you to be stuck up, he wanted you to give him a genuine reason to dislike you apart from being the root of his newfound insecurity. But you weren’t, and that was a problem. 

“Pass me the baking soda?” you ask.

“The sodium bicarbonate?”

“Yeah. The baking soda.”

Caleb tilts his head with a smile. “Also known as sodium bicarbonate.”

You glance his way, and your eyes met. “Congrats, big guy. You know big words. Now pass it.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Biting back a smile, he hands it over, only to retract it at the last second. “Wait. What’s it called again?”

Your force smile was all teeth. “Sodium bicarbonate.”

Finally relenting, Caleb places the bowl in your orbit with a triumphant grin. 

He was smart enough to know that this was a bad idea. Despite how easily the two of you worked together, he knew that he couldn’t entertain this any further. You weren’t just his classmate, his peer—you were his competition. And while he’s heard the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer just as many times as the next person, he knows that mixing any ounce of developing friendship with his pursuit for greatness would be wrong.

It would work best that way. You can’t be friends, and that’s okay.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, fate seemed to agree with him.

“Hmm,” Caleb soon rumbles, squinting at the beaker. “This isn’t lookin’ too good. You said you added the sodium bicarbonate, yeah?”

You frown, glancing up from your notes. Your stomach twists at the sight of the clock—barely any time left before the lab ends. The professor would be making her rounds any second now.

“What? I didn’t add it. You said you added it.”

Caleb flits his gaze to the side of your face. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap right off. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You exhale sharply, frustration creeping up your neck. “How are you gonna tell me what I did or didn’t do?”

Your pulse ticks up a bit faster than it naturally should, and your eyes rose up from the glass cylinder. Around the room, students were already wrapping up their conclusions while the two of you hadn’t even finished the experiment. You suck in a breath and push up from your stool.

“Fine. Fine. Can you just pass me the baking soda?”

Caleb nods, handing over the pre-measured bowl of sodium bicarbonate. While you worked to fix the mess, he jotted down a few quick notes. You added just enough of the powder to neutralize the acid—but not smother it completely.

And then? Silence. The two of you sat. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

Then, miraculously, the beaker decided to behave and the fizzing subsided.

Like clockwork, you both exhaled, shoulders slumping as small, victorious smiles tugged at your mouths—

Until yours vanished entirely. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Caleb falters, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well, you should have.”

“Why? If I hadn’t pointed out the weird reaction, we’d have been screwed.”

“Oh? If I hadn’t realized neither of us added the sodium bicarbonate—which was your responsibility, by the way—we would’ve actually been screwed.”

Tension thickened between you like a drawn bowstring. You clench your jaw and look away, scribbling down your final observations. Stupid man, you thought to yourself. And here you were, actually believing that this semester wouldn’t be a total shitshow, that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten lucky.

Unfortunately not.

Then, your attention was caught by something out of the ordinary. Your gaze lands on his neck, and your breath hitched. Staring back at you was a small, multi-legged beady eyed monster. Sticking out your pointer finger, you still find yourself instinctively drawing back, as if it were out to get you next. “There’s a spider on—”

But before you could finish your sentence, Caleb winced, his veins tightening as he instinctively flicked the eight-legged menace off. You sucked your teeth, drumming your fingers on the table. So much for your timely warning.

Glancing his way, your brows elevate as you see the already forming bite mark on his neck. “Yikes. It got you good.”

“Did it?” he asks, raising a hand to rub over the mark with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Guess so, yeah.”

Reluctantly, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

With a nod, he picks up his pencil once more and works on finishing the last of his lab report. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sighing airily, you can’t help the smile that tugs on your mouth. “Poor spider, being flicked through the air like that.”

Like routine, Caleb shot a glare your way. “Funny.”

“Thanks.”

With that, you left for the washing station. Meanwhile, Dr. Rappaccini stood from her desk, making her rounds. It was in that moment that a shrill of panic shot up his spine—the stimulation foreign, unfamiliar, and… terrifying. 

He could feel his heart rate shooting through the roof, a sweat break on his forehead, and his fingertips flex at his sides—all things that he wasn’t even conscious of. And before he knew it, he was glancing in your direction, noting that you were distracted. Good.

With a quick ease, he snatched up your notepad and erased a few numbers, replacing them with subtle, logicless mistakes. 34? Now a 26. 32 to the power of 5? Not anymore.

It wasn’t his proudest moment. Sabotaging his own lab partner’s work? Definitely not.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took to ruin you just enough. He slid the notepad back into place, brushing away the eraser shavings. Like clockwork, you returned, none the wiser.

Exhaling softly, you turned to him. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”

“Now, you two,” Dr. Rappaccini’s voice cut you off.

You both turned as she scanned and picked up Caleb’s report, making a few marks with her fine-pointed marker before sliding it back into place. You glanced over, making note of his grade. 94.

Then, she picked up yours. A moment later, she handed it back. Your professor held up a roll of stickers, tearing two off before setting them down on the table.

Despite the vibrant designs on the stickers, your stomach dropped. Your grade was big, bold, and unmistakable. 82.

“Wait—Dr. Rappaccini,” you call after her, staring at the page with widened eyes of shock. “I… I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“Well, your experiment was solid—your observations were well-written, and your documentation was precise. But your math?” She sighs. “Completely off.” A beat of silence. Then, a smile. “Don’t feel discouraged. You’re a good student as you are—no need to compare your scores to others.”

The implication was clear. She thought you were smart—just not as smart as Caleb.

Huffing, you toss your notebook onto the table, fingers curling against the edge of it.

“You got cut off earlier,” he says casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What were you sayin’?”

Blinking, you tried to retrace your thoughts. “Oh, yeah… I was just saying that…”

Your voice trails, eyes drifting to your lab report. Caleb caught the flicker of realization dawning on you—and when you turned to him, his not-so-hidden grin said it all.

“I was just saying,” you snap, “that you’re an asshole whose handwriting looks like a drunk chicken clawed at my report.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says with a shrug, peeling off his sticker to plaster it onto your shoulder. “Good luck on the exam tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he walks out of the lab.

“Yeah, you too,” you murmur, though he was already gone before he could hear the hissed “bitch” that followed.

Irritation pricks at your skin as you stuff—more like shove—your belongings into your backpack. Prick. So much for not knowing the single person you were beneath in the class ranks.

Guilt stirred in his chest as he walked towards his dorm building… but only a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

By the time Caleb stumbled back to his dorm, he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train.

He barely managed to push the door open before kicking off his shoes, letting his backpack slump to the floor with a heavy thud. His head swam, his breath uneven as he widened his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Slapping himself on the cheek, he quickly realized it was no use. His neck stung worse than it had when the spider first bit him, the dull throb pulsing beneath his fingertips as he rubbed over the puncture point.

"Are you drunk?" Zayne’s voice drifts from across the room.

"No," Caleb mutters, face buried in his pillow. "Just… tired. Really tired."

He sank into the thin mattress like dead weight, the springs groaning beneath him. With sluggish hands, he pulled his glasses from his face and tossed them onto the bedside table, missing by an inch. His breathing grew heavier, his skin slick with cold sweat. His pupils—blown wide as saucers—fluttered shut as he barely mustered the strength to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

And within seconds, he was out like a light.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting golden stripes across Caleb’s bare back as he jolted awake.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, erratic breaths, but despite the abruptness of it all, he felt… alert. Fully awake in a way that didn’t exactly make sense.

Blinking rapidly, he reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face with a groggy groan. And then—he froze.

His vision was still blurry.

Frowning, he pulled his glasses off, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them against his bedsheet. When he slid them back on—blurry again. He pulled them down. Clear. Glasses up. Blurry. Glasses down. Clear.

He stares at them in his hands. “...Weird.”

Setting the frames down, he threw his legs over the bed and staggered toward his closet—only to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Since when the hell did he have abs?

He flexed instinctively, stomach tensing under his own scrutiny. Then his gaze trailed up—to his arms. His biceps. His shoulders.

Turning, twisting, he inspected every angle of himself like a stranger in his own skin. He’d been in shape before, sure, but this? This was different. He would’ve noticed this.

Knuckles rapped against the door, making him flinch.

“Caleb? Are you awake? I forgot my key.” A pause. Then, “Are you feeling any better? You slept like a log last night—perhaps you’re catching a bug.”

"A bug?" Caleb echoes under his breath, flexing again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit… Uh, yeah, man, I’m good. Just—gimme a sec.”

Turning back toward his desk, he reached for his chair, only meaning to push it aside—but the moment his palm touched the wood, it stuck.

His brows furrow.

He yanks once. Then again.

Nothing.

His heartbeat quickens as he curls his fingers, attempting to lift his hand—and instead, he lifts the entire chair clean off the ground.

“What the—” His stomach drops. He waved his hand. The chair waved with it. Up. Down. Side to side. Still stuck.

“Caleb?” Zayne calls from the other side of the door.

Caleb whips his head toward the sound, panic tightening in his throat. Shit. He bolted across the room—chair still attached to his palm—and somehow managed to unlock the door just as Zayne strode in.

Zayne, clearly in a rush, barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, clipped them together, and breezed back out with a nod.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Caleb exhaled sharply—only to realize his hand was still stuck… to the doorknob.

Huffing, he gave it a firm tug, expecting it to pop free. Instead, the entire knob wrenched out of the door, hinges snapping with a loud crack.

"Shit."

He barely had time to process before his body betrayed him once again—this time, with a sharp thwip.

A thick strand of silk shot from his wrist, attaching him to his bedpost.

His pulse stuttered. 

"What. The. Fuck."

Another sharp tug. Another web. More panic. Before he knew it, his dorm room looked like a crime scene from some horror movie—threads of silk stretching from walls to furniture to the ceiling.

His gaze snapped to the clock on his desk. 12:56 PM.

"Alright," he mutters, inhaling deeply. "Exam starts in four minutes. I’m sticking to everything I touch. I’m half-naked. Cool, cool, cool."

But nothing about this was cool.

If anyone in the history of Linkon University could take an exam like this, it was going to be him.

series masterlist. ┆ next: too easy, this game.

a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :) also i should’ve mentioned it rly isnt specified how old reader is, just that she’s in college and just starting her second semester at linkon university :) she can be a transfer student (which is kinda what i had in mind), a first year, etc lol it doesn’t really matter bc i’m fine with that being a “plot hole”

i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like

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something funny i noticed about them

(ramble below)

its fun how they're both so different yet so similar, their personalities are nothing alike but the way they process things, their decisions and reactions are nearly identical, both went through a "roleplaying" phase in their youth, adopting the roles those around them wanted them to play

miku has never been mean or evil, but people, the circumstances, forced him to adopt a role he was never made for playing, same case with rin, she was forced to turn into this flawless being who makes no mistakes and is always kind to everyone

in the end, both took the decision to play along to protect themselves, to fit in just like anybody else, to have a role, a set position, something stable to hold onto, but it wounded them deeply, and it takes them a long time to heal and learn to be themselves again