A Brief Author's Note:

This story is not "interactive." I will not be taking suggestions as for what a reader believes should happen. I didn't even know that was a thing, to be honest, but apparently it's somewhat common in second person stories...? Neither will there be explicit content of sexual nature; I'm inept at writing such things and I find it to be a bit counterproductive to the theme that I'm trying to convey.

The goal of this story is to accurately display various types of intelligence, and their effects upon a persona - as well as vice versa.

In order to do this, intellectual characters have been pulled from several fandoms. Some have a large fan base, and others have close to nothing. My apologies if one character you feel should have been included isn't in this - I feel that I've selected the correct characters to portray the various types of intellect of which I can discern. With that said, I will include a list of the shows (yes, shows; no literature, unfortunately) that characters have been pulled from.

Fandoms (in order of appearance) ::
Gravity Falls
Ed, Edd, n' Eddy
Dexter's Laboratory
We Bare Bears
Over the Garden Wall
Rick and Morty

Romance isn't as big of a plot device in this story as you might expect from an x reader story. Emphasis will be put on various other forms of relationships, though in most of the alternate endings, it will be included, save for a few in which it could be implied at most.

Should you proceed, I hope that you enjoy.

The heart of the town was amiable, even on the days in which likewise disposition had forsaken the townsfolk. The time in question had a bias for falling upon Monday. Nary a soul in the sleepy township cherished the inception of the day. In fact, here seemed to revolve in a circle of trepidation, with Monday residing as the ever-dreaded outset point. No person was eager to be inaugurated under the work week. Yet it was understood that work had to begin at some point, and it was best to opt to do it now, so that the eventual retirement would be met with a sense of satisfaction of another week gone. The town itself, however, seemed unaltered by the sour behavior of its people. The sun rose over the treetops as always, spreading its golden beams through the gilded, needle-laden branches of the pine trees. The light trickled down like water, causing unsystematic patches of luminescence to drip towards the ground. Dew formed on each blade of grass, acting as a magnifying glass and mirror for the world around it. The droplets seemed unaware that they had formerly existed as, and now co-resided with their cousin, frost.
The more condensed substance weighed down the plants and objects they clung to so desperately, turning their victims brittle and cold. They served as a sort of mnemonic to call upon the already fading memories of a winter now resonating upon its last note. The season had passed, but the trails it left had lingered longer than expected. Nature now laid in a state of anticipation, avidly awaiting the arrival of a tenderer season whilst enduring the legacy of that which had no desire to depart.
In this season especially, it was no easy feat to remove oneself from their bed. Yet you, spurred on by the encouraging words of your mother, had only just managed to do so. The morning routine progressed in its usual blur, leaving a rather unremarkable set of memories in its wake. You were wrapped in a thick jacket and ushered out the door, your backpack slung over one shoulder and wonder bread lunch box in hand.
The giant yellow bus was almost mystical. It resembled a golden chariot of a monster coming to whisk you away. The stairs leading into it were of such height that you had to lift your knees nearly to your chest in order to ascend them. It was a bit warmer inside, but hardly so. The metal walls of the vehicle weren't the most pleasant thing to come in contact with, but you were forced to abide by the unwritten laws of the bus. You were the first to claim a new seat, and the other chairs were all occupied. Thus you earned a companion.
There was no conversing between the two of you. The kid was alienated to you, just as the other passengers were. It never occurred to you that perhaps you were the one estranged from them. But that was of no matter. Your participation in their ritualistic morning socialization was never something to be counted upon. Although there wasn't much of it to begin with - the noise on the bus during the morn was nothing compared to the rowdiness it possessed throughout the afternoon; children simply had more energy during the later portion of the day - it was still relatively simple for a stranger to look upon the students within the bus and single you out. There was always the usual saying to use as a scapegoat, which stated that you 'weren't a morning person,' but coming from a child, it was difficult to accept at face value.
You shifted awkwardly as the person next to you continued to talk with someone in the chair behind you. The air was gelid, and the sun was doing little to heat things. You bundled up in your jacket, seeking warmth to protect you. A thought graced your mind, making you realize that it was complete nonsense for it to be so sunny and cold simultaneously. Luckily, you were spared from going insane by the reactions of the other children. They too were cold, all pale-faced with red noses. Knowing that the effect had carried through to others was reassuring. It wasn't just you; madness hadn't taken a hold of you yet.
But sometimes it seemed as if that's exactly what it'd done. You were constantly drowsy, deprived of the sleep that you were entitled to since birth. The lack of rest had led to rather disturbing happenings. You began to see things that weren't there, and depressing thoughts had managed to work their way into your mind. Yet it was the reason for your poverty of sleep that was just as, if not more, disturbing than the inherent lack of it to begin with.
Your nightly pilgrimage to peace had recently become syncopated and riddled with holes. The familiar serenity of nothing had diminished as it became filled with something. It was something horrible – something abhorrent and loathsome – yet this something had managed to elude the grasp of your conscious mind. Each night you awoke in a cold sweat and practically writhing in displeasure, yet the content of your sweven faded so rapidly that you were unable to grasp it only minutes after coming to.
Yet there was something different today. It was early this morning when you awoke, perhaps around 4 am. The fear and adrenaline you'd woken to were just as prevalent as usual. You'd shot up in bed, staring at the wall adjacent you. The linens were a tangled mess around your form, only becoming more so as you pulled your legs closer in a more compact position. The small, hardy organ within your chest was beating at a remarkable pace, and with each centimeter the liquid shifted in your veins the more recollections of what your nightmare entailed vanished.
Your mind was left reeling, and it desperately clung to the faint traces of what had happened. Every attempt before this had turned up for naught, but this time a singular element endured.
Inertia shifted your weight forwards as the bus came to halt in front of another house. You watched as more children boarded the bus – three of them. One dark-haired and shock-headed, the other two fair. The figures were enough to attain your attention for a few moments, but you soon became lost in thought once more as the bus began to move again. The kid sitting aside you shifted as the newcomers moved past. You opted to look the other direction.
"What's that?"
"Hm?"
"On your hand."
You looked down at the dark shape you'd drawn on the back of your right hand. The triangle was vertically off-center and hurriedly constructed, with thick borders that were only just even. The apex touched the first knuckle of the middle finger, and the bottom line laid no more than an inch below it.
"Nothing. I just got bored."
"Oh."
That was a lie. You didn't draw it from boredom. The shape was the only thing that remained of your nightmare, and you thought quickly upon catching it. Knowing good and well that the thought would be forgotten by sunrise, you'd shakily drawn it on your hand for reassurance. Of course you'd earned a gentle chastisement from your mother, but you were let off with a simple don't do it again.
Neither was it nothing, yet you weren't sure if it was something. There wasn't much clarity upon the image's conception, and the lack of it proved true even through the rest of the morning. The fear had long retreated with the knowledge that it – whatever it was – was merely a dream, and could not harm you. Of course, it could affect you by mercilessly waking you at ungodly hours, but you still retained hope that you'd soon earn a good night's sleep.
The bus soon rolled to a stop at your elementary school. The usual crowd arose from their seats – including the child next to you and yourself. You shuffled into the small line, taking small, hesitant steps through the aisle. Although the bus was crowded with estranged youth, it was preferable to the chilled air of the outside.
You unceremoniously jumped down the large steps with an almost groggy demeanor. The frigid atmosphere hit you with a sudden might that stole the air from your lungs and turned it into visible wisps before your eyes. Quickly breathing in, the cold flooded your lungs and stung your throat.
The other children, with noses of carmine that turned into a flushed pink gradient over their cheeks, moved quickly as they entered the side entrance of the school. A teacher stood there – a tall adult that radiated a calm authority. She held the door open for the line of students that were eager to dispose themselves of the harsh yet oddly sunny conditions of the outdoors.
A long exhale, and your breath billowed out – upwards.
You hid the triangle by burying your hands in your pockets.
If only you could hide the nightmares that easily.