Summary: Unstoppable force meets unmovable object. Since you've started college, you've always been nose deep in a book. Obsessed with earning the top grades. But your life starts to take a turn when your rival Mikasa starts beating you more times than you'd like. Driven by stubbornness and curiosity, you make a promise to yourself to figure out what makes Mikasa so special.
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ー A short prologue
Cw: Gay people, the reader is gay but doesn't know it, the Reader is friends with Armin, but that is not shown until later chapters, the reader thinks she hates Mikasa, but is in fact gay.
Stubborn.
If there were a word to describe you, it would be stubborn, from when you were a kid negotiating with your mom about your bedtime to even now, when it comes to school. There's just one obstacle to that. Mikasa Ackerman.
Ever since you started college, you've had your head in the books just to see that first place right next to your name when test scores were released. Your brain releases a surge of dopamine so potent that you might as well call it your own drug.
But now, ever since she's rolled around, you've had to see your name next to second place more times than you'd like. If you're even one point off, she'll be there with a higher score by one point. It drives you crazy! So crazy, you've started to observe her without even noticing it. You were going to get to the bottom of how she does it, even if it makes you look like a creep.
The thing is, you've never actually spoken with her. You've been too shy to say anything to her; sure, you've made eye contact with her, but that barely counts as a conversation. Plus, what would you even say? Hey, can you stop being so smart so I can feel better about myself? That just sounds like a fight waiting to happen.
You can even hate her, at least not entirely. She's beautiful; there's something that draws you in. Like a siren luring a sailor in. From her hair and face down to her style and body. Her hands are always manicured with red nails and accessorized with rings. Her dark grey blue eyes seem to suck you in. It's downright weird how many times you've stared at her, admiring her silently. You may call it figuring her out, but a small voice in the back of your head knows why. Yet you can't seem to stop.
Even know when you're studying two tables away from her in the library. You should be focusing on the book in front of you, but your eyes can't help but drift to Mikasa's voice. She's studying with another guy, Eren, you think his name is. You know a bit about him. He's not someone you know a whole lot about other than a few greetings and small conversations. You huff as you try to divert your attention back to your notes.
Mikasa is something you don't want to get sucked into; she's already beaten you plenty of times. You won't let her win when it comes to
But you find yourself distracted again as you feel a hand on your shoulder.
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I was younger. I was in primary, younger years, probably yr 2… or 3
I was always a gifted kid. I was going to a club of other gifted kids in my school. Fun. We walked up the stairs and then somehow ended up in a scary rickety staircase. Apparently the club was at the top. The only other girl from my class was a girl, also very gifted who we are going to call S.
We walked up the staircase to the cool gifted kids club. It seemed to be all years.
then one.
by one.
kids started dropping off.
we were all walking in a straight line, and the staircase would rot under their feet and they would fall. Or they would fall backwards. I can remember kids falling through the stairs very vividly. And oh my gosh, I didn’t care. I walked up the scary stairs and didn’t seem to mind kids were dropping off. Me and S were the only ones left. Nearing the top.
Nearly there. I was behind her. I think I knew.
I fell down. I can remember S hopping up the broken stairs to the top, the only kid left for the gifted kid club.
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The love I have for the abandoned, the love I have for the betrayed, the love I have for the wronged, the bad, the ugly, and love for everyone who deserves it, perhaps, even for those who don't.
But why isn't this love enough to love myself?
Why do I look in the mirror and find a stranger in it with hate filled eyes darted towards me and every gaze feels like a threat to my happiness? Is my love only to make other feel the warmth of a mother's embrace while I'm left behind with cold hands?
Even the love in me gets heavy to carry sometimes.
I don't want to empathize with the person who didn't once think about my feelings, but would I ever be able to hate anyone? is a question arised. My heart gets heavy hiding peoples mistakes, betrayals, sharp-edged words; hiding it from the mind, I fear might end up with hate against everyone, everyone who deserves it, perhaps, even for those who don't deserve it.
One thing I find so interesting about there being a book version of Dead Poets Society is how its existence implies that film isn’t scholarly. Interestingly, it does so in a similar fashion to how people say animation is second to live action.
There are certain things film can do that books cannot (such as certain kinds of visual or audio motifs and cues) much in the same way that animation can do things live action can’t (like having full control over the appearance of the characters).
The story of Dead Poets Society won’t come off the same way if it is turned into a book.
The whole story is about these young boys at this private school, and has many themes of academia, so of course the film wants to play into those themes. Thus, a book is released.
However, its release implies that to truly give the story a scholarly air, there needs to be a book attached to it, not just film.
Just a thought I had, because I was surprised that it was a film first when I found out, and after taking a couple of film classes I thought that the implications of its publication were interesting.
when i say “i can’t talk right now, i’m doing hot girl shit.” what i really mean is “i can’t talk right now, i’m doing my bio hw while listening to classical music and pretending i’m a female scientist in the 1700s learning in secret using books i stole from the academy when they refused to let me in, i’m hiding away in the attic of the opera house (where i work) while the orchestra rehearses beneath me. they’ll never accept me in the world of academia, but i know i’m destined for greatness.”
