#BUT IT'S ABOUT THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING

[mildlysentientboots]

Idk if I saw this post and forgot but I was thinking about this the other day. A true sign of privilege is us (USAmericans at least) equating one of the hardest to get and most expensive spices in the world with "basic". Ik part of vanilla popularity is because of the non-vanilla based substitutes (beaver ass juices) but it's the principle of the thing

people have the audacity to equate vanilla with “plain”. the fruit of a delicate orchid pollinated by hand. worth its weight in solid gold and beyond. the fussy black-and-cream jewel of the american continent. you sick son of a bitch. imagine a world without vanilla. no blondies. no pound cakes. no crème brûlée, no coke floats. no cream soda. no satiny new york-style cheesecakes. no warm apple pie à la mode. no velvety complexity to bring out complex notes in chocolate desserts. no depth of flavour in your cakes and cookies and milkshakes. all in just a few precious seeds or grams of paste or perfumed teaspoons of liquid black platinum. what you don’t understand could fill the library of alexandria seven times over and then some. you ungrateful bastard i’m going to kill you

[hyukalyptus]

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

cw. chubby!reader, reader is an adult grad student, minimal age gap, clear consent, petnames (babe, baby, honey, darling, good boy), mommy kink, face sitting, unprotected penetration, creampie, cunnilingus, handjobs, ending is cheesy, "epilogue" of sorts involves christmas vibes, kissing, please lmk if i'm missing anything. NSFW/MDNI notes. i would feel irresponsible if i didn't acknowledge this is a romanticized portrayal of a professor-student relationship. while the relationship in this story has clear consent multiple times, irl relationships like this can be inappropriate and exploitative bc of the authority imbalance. you deserve a healthy, consensual relationship. prioritize ur well-being and autonomy. relationships should be built on mutual respect, equality and clear consent. this is a work of fiction and should be read as such. shoutout to @silvergyus for sending the prof!soob pic <3 wc. 11.6k

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.” 

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries. 

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus. 

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow. 

-

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk. 

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures. 

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought. 

-

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do—you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class. 

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind. 

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift. 

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue. 

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

-

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself. 

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi,  Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00.  If not, no worries! 

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home. 

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you. 

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not. 

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.” 

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.” 

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class. 

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing. 

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

-

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any. 

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours. 

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own. 

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else. 

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer. 

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed. 

- 

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here. 

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back. 

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag. 

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt? 

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy. 

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping. 

-

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings. 

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!” 

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. 

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump. 

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him. 

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag. 

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat. 

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you. 

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk. 

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.” 

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles. 

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. 

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back. 

-

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again? 

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea. 

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything. 

-

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class. 

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now? 

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing. 

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream. 

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy? 

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks. 

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!” 

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up. 

-

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss. 

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush. 

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.” 

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two. 

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer. 

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week! 

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore. 

-

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow? 

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back? 

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs. 

be there in 45 :) 

-

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it. 

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you. 

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment. 

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV. 

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice. 

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.” 

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?” 

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?” 

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.  

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully. 

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you. 

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer. 

“Like what?” 

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue. 

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips. 

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.” 

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you. 

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

“And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races. 

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?” 

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak. 

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath. 

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.” 

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.” 

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

-

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?” 

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.” 

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips. 

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?” 

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.” 

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs. 

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh. 

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you. 

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say. 

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp. 

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it. 

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly. 

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck. 

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you. 

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear. 

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube. 

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. 

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes. 

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines. 

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile. 

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch. 

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts. 

“Mommy?” 

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.” 

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.” 

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to. 

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste. 

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much. 

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows. 

And then it happens. 

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you. 

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.” 

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away. 

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you. 

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more. 

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously. 

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere. 

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” 

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now. 

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck. 

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice. 

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf. 

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there. 

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit. 

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy. 

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy. 

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling. 

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips. 

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.” 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” 

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers. 

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient. 

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you. 

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else. 

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you. 

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little. 

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it. 

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?” 

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years. 

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically. 

“Please.” 

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths. 

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass. 

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.” 

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.” 

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait— 

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?” 

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily. 

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do. 

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea. 

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips. 

And everything feels absolutely perfect. You think you may be dreaming, but he feels so very real at this moment. And his voice is clear as day, “Merry Christmas.” 

[astrocafecoffee]

Mars in Groom persona chart 💍

💎💎 FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY ENJOY 💎💎

~~~~~~~~~~~~~✨✨~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☄️ MASTERLIST

☄️ SUN , MOON , VENUS IN

GROOM PC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~✨✨~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💍 MARS IN 1ST HOUSE :

- your spouse might be naturally assertive, not afraid to take the lead and express their opinions. They may also have competitive edge, excelling in challenges or tasks that require quick action and leadership. Mars also rules physicality, so they may have an athletic or physically appealing body. Their energy might be contagious and they have a habit of taking physical initiative whether through sports, dancing or simply Being highly active. Very passionate spouse. They will not be passive but will have a deep emotional and physical investment in love, which will manifest in their actions and interactions. Although they are passionate, your spouse may also value their personal freedom and autonomy. This can sometimes create a push pull dynamic, but don't you worry they might crave space but are equally committed to the partnership. Any disagreements in the relationship will likely be direct and intense but mars influence suggests that there will be honesty and resolution afterwards. They will not hold any grudges or any negative emotions for long. You might feel a strong physical pull towards them and the attraction will be both physical as well as emotional, that's for sure. They are hard to resist.lol. their confidence will attract you more. They may be highly driven to achieve their goals. Also their protective nature may extend to you as their partner , especially when they feel that something or someone threatens the bond. They may take the role of defender , standing up for you and the relationship when necessary. Mars in 1st house, mars in Aries or in any other fire sign or fire houses could be significant in the natal chart of your spouse. (Not necessarily)

💍 MARS IN 2ND HOUSE:

- your fs are the kind of person who won't hesitate to take big chances when it comes to money or their future. They don't play it safe , they are all about jumping into opportunities with confidence and they often succeed because of their boldness. They'll go to great lengths to ensure their loved ones are taken care of especially when it comes to financial security. They want to make sure their family is safe and comfortable and they’ll put in the work to make that happen, even if it means taking on challenges that others might shy away from. Also one more thing, There’s a real physical energy to them. They could be the type who’s always on the move. It’s like they have an inner drive to keep their body strong and energized.They don’t beat around the bush. When they have something to say, it’s straight to the point, no sugarcoating. They’re not afraid to speak their mind, which can sometimes come off as blunt, but it’s always genuine. They’re not easily swayed by trends or other people’s opinions. They know what’s important to them, whether it’s family, money, or personal principles, and they’ll stick to it—even if it means clashing with others. Mars in 2nd house, mars in Taurus or mars in any earth sign or earth Houses could be significant in the natal chart of your spouse.(Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 3RD HOUSE :

-Your spouse will have tons of energy when it comes to speaking and sharing ideas. They’re quick to jump into conversations, often passionate and enthusiastic about their opinions and They won’t hesitate to speak their mind, and they’re not afraid of a little debate or argument if it means getting their point across.They’ll be someone who’s always busy, haha ,constantly running around, whether it’s working on projects, meeting people, or learning new things. They’re mentally active and love being on the go, so there’s never a dull moment with them around.also, They’re not afraid to explore new ideas or take mental risks. They’ll always be curious, asking questions, and looking for new ways to challenge themselves intellectually. Their mind is sharp, and they’ll push both themselves and you to think outside the box.They enjoy competition, even in small things like games, challenges, or arguments. Their quick thinking and sharp wit make them great at coming up with clever responses, and they’ll love a good mental challenge, whether it’s a debate or a puzzle. Sometimes, they might speak before thinking, coming across as impulsive or overly direct. But this honesty is one of the things that make them stand out.they don’t hide behind pleasantries. You’ll always know where you stand with them. Mars in 3rd house, mars in Gemini or any other Air house or air sign could be significant in the birth chart of your fs but not necessarily.

💍 MARS IN 4TH HOUSE :

- your fs will have a fierce drive to protect their home and loved ones. Family is everything to them, and they’ll go to great lengths to create a safe and secure environment. They may be passionate about home improvement or making sure their living space feels strong and stable.They won’t shy away from their emotions. Mars in the 4th house often brings out a deep emotional intensity. They’ll express their feelings strongly and may be very open about their desires and frustrations. They might get deeply invested in their family’s well-being, sometimes to the point of overprotection.Your spouse may have a deep connection to their roots or family history. They could have a lot of pride in where they come from and a strong sense of duty to their family. There’s a need to feel anchored in their personal life, and they may value traditions or family bonds deeply.They’re likely to be motivated by a desire to build a strong foundation for the future. Whether it’s through owning property, creating a cozy space, or ensuring financial security, they’ll put a lot of energy into making sure their home is a place of stability and comfort. Sometimes, their passion and drive could lead to some tension at home. They might be very particular about how things are done or how the household is run, which can lead to occasional power struggles with family members. But their intense commitment to family makes them always try to fix things and restore peace. Mars in 4th house, mars in cancer or any other water sign or water house could be significant in the birth chart of your spouse. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 5TH HOUSE:

- your fs will bring a lot of energy and intensity to the romance. Mars in the 5th house makes them very passionate, and they’re likely to express their love with excitement and enthusiasm. They won’t just “fall in love”,they’ll go all in and make the relationship feel adventurous and alive.

They have a bold, dynamic approach to creativity. Whether it's through art, hobbies, or their career, they’ll approach creative pursuits with a lot of drive and originality. They won't hesitate to take risks or push boundaries when trying something new.They’ll love to have fun and are always up for a good time. Your future spouse could be the type who enjoys spontaneous adventures, from travel to trying out new experiences. Life with them will never be boring—they’ll keep things exciting and full of surprises.They may have a competitive streak, especially when it comes to activities like sports, games, or even creative challenges. They love to win, but their competitiveness could also inspire you to push your own limits and strive for greatness in fun and enjoyable ways. If you have children together, they’ll likely bring a lot of energy into parenting. They’ll be active and hands-on, always engaging with their kids in fun, dynamic ways. Their enthusiasm and drive will create an energetic home where there’s never a dull moment. Mars in 5th house, mars in leo or any other fire houses or fire sign could be significant in the birth chart of your future spouse. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 6TH HOUSE:

-Your spouse will be extremely hardworking and focused on their daily tasks. Whether it's their job, taking care of the household, or helping others, they’ll put in a lot of effort and energy. They believe in getting things done and will work tirelessly to meet their goals.They’ll have a strong drive when it comes to staying healthy. Mars in the 6th house often brings an interest in fitness, wellness, or taking action to maintain good physical health. They might be very disciplined about exercise or nutrition, encouraging you to lead an active lifestyle too.They’ll be very good at tackling challenges head-on. Whether it's work-related problems or daily issues that come up, they’ll jump in with energy and determination to fix things. They don’t shy away from difficult situations—they prefer to face them and find a solution quickly.While Mars is known for its bold energy, in the 6th house, it often expresses itself through methodical, practical action. Your spouse could be someone who likes to organize their life, create routines, and keep things running smoothly. They’ll feel best when things are under control and well-ordered. Because Mars brings intensity, there might be moments of frustration or tension in daily routines or work life. They might sometimes be quick-tempered when things don’t go as planned or if there’s a lack of productivity. However, they’ll quickly bounce back, always ready to take on the next challenge. Mars in 6th house , mars in Virgo or any other earth sign or earth houses could be significant in the birth chart of your future spouse. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 7TH HOUSE:

-Your spouse will bring a lot of energy and passion into the relationship. Mars in the 7th house makes them someone who wants an active, exciting partnership. They’re not the type to sit back—they’ll be hands-on, always bringing excitement and intensity to your shared life. They won’t hesitate to speak up and express what they want in the relationship. Mars here makes them assertive, sometimes to the point of being a bit forceful. They’ll have no problem being clear about their needs, which can be a positive thing, but it might also mean they can clash if they don’t feel heard.Despite their fiery nature, they’ll want a balanced, fair partnership. Mars in the 7th house drives them to fight for equality in the relationship, which means they’ll value mutual respect and want things to feel even in terms of effort, love, and commitment.They might have a competitive streak when it comes to love or even when interacting with others. Whether it's wanting to "win" your affection or being passionate about maintaining a strong, active relationship, they may thrive on keeping the romance alive with a bit of friendly competition or a challenge.The intensity of Mars can bring conflict, especially if there are differences in how you both approach the relationship. They could be quick to react when things aren't going well or if they feel things are off-balance. However, they’re also quick to resolve issues and move forward, as they won’t let tension simmer for long. Mars in 7th house , mars in Libra , or mars in any other Air sign or air houses could be significant in the birth chart of your fs. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 8TH HOUSE:

-Your spouse will have a deep, magnetic energy. Mars in the 8th house brings an intense, almost secretive nature. They’re not one to wear their heart on their sleeve, and you might find yourself drawn to their mystery. There’s an air of fascination about them that keeps you intrigued.They have a natural ability to bring transformation, both to themselves and to those around them. Mars here drives them to face life’s challenges head-on, and they’re not afraid to dive deep into difficult emotions or situations. Their presence in your life could spark significant personal growth, helping you both evolve together.Mars in the 8th house makes them intensely passionate, especially when it comes to intimacy. They’ll approach love with a deep desire for connection and emotional depth, seeking a partner who is willing to go beyond the surface. For them, love isn’t just about fun—it’s about merging on a soul-deep level.When it comes to shared resources, finances, or joint ventures, your spouse will be strategic and resourceful. They’ll have a knack for managing money, investments, or shared assets, using their sharp instincts to make the most of what they have. They’ll be good at navigating financial complexities or handling shared responsibilities. With Mars in the 8th, there could be a certain level of emotional conflict or power struggles at times, especially around deeper issues like trust, vulnerability, or control. They might be quick to act when feeling threatened or when something in the relationship feels off, but their emotional depth and commitment will help them work through conflicts and find resolution. Mars in 8th house ,mars in Scorpio could be significant in the birth chart of your fs. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 9TH HOUSE:

-Your spouse will have a strong desire to explore the world, both physically and intellectually. Mars in the 9th house makes them adventurous, always eager to travel, discover new cultures, or dive deep into new philosophies and ideas. They’ll encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and embrace new experiences together.They’re likely to be intellectually driven, with a thirst for knowledge that never fades. Whether it’s religion, higher education, or big-picture concepts, they’ll have strong opinions and a passionate desire to understand the world. Expect lots of deep conversations and debates, as they won’t shy away from challenging ideas.Mars in the 9th house gives them a strong sense of what they believe in, and they won’t hesitate to stand up for those beliefs. They might be very vocal about their philosophy, religion, or worldview, sometimes even a little forceful in promoting their point of view. They want a partner who can match their passion for exploring life’s bigger questions. Your spouse will have an optimistic outlook on life, often seeing challenges as opportunities for growth. They’ll approach life with high energy and a positive attitude, encouraging you to look at the bigger picture and keep striving for personal growth and adventure.They might have a strong need for independence, especially when it comes to their intellectual pursuits or travel. There could be times when they crave space to explore ideas or go on a solo adventure. However, this independence is part of their charm, as it adds to their sense of excitement and spontaneity in the relationship. Mars in 9th house, mars in Sagittarius,or any other fire houses or fire sign could be significant in the birth chart of your fs.( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 10TH HOUSE :

-Your spouse will have a powerful drive to succeed in their career or public life. Mars in the 10th house makes them highly ambitious, with a strong desire to climb the ladder and make a mark in the world. They’ll work hard to achieve their goals, and they’ll expect the same level of dedication from themselves and others.They won’t be shy about going after what they want in their professional life. Mars here gives them boldness and courage, making them unafraid to take risks or step into leadership roles. Whether it’s starting a business, taking charge in a corporate setting, or pursuing a public-facing career, they’ll bring a lot of energy to their work.They’ll have high standards for themselves, and they might expect a lot from you as well, especially when it comes to ambition and personal growth. There may be times when they push you to reach your potential, not out of pressure, but because they want the best for both of you. Your spouse is likely to be someone who stands out in public or in their community. Mars in the 10th house often gives a person a strong presence, so they might be seen as a leader, authority figure, or someone people look up to. They’ll likely be outgoing and not shy about asserting themselves in the public sphere. Their intense focus on achieving career goals might sometimes lead to a lack of work-life balance. They can become so driven that they might prioritize work over personal life at times. However, their drive for success can also bring prosperity and opportunities, making them a partner who works hard to build a secure future. Mars in 10th house, mars in Capricorn, or any other earth sign or earth houses could be significant in the birth chart of your fs. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 11TH HOUSE:

-Your spouse will be highly energized by their social circles and friendships. Mars in the 11th house makes them dynamic in group settings, whether they’re leading a team, participating in social causes, or enjoying gatherings. They’re likely to have a wide range of friends and love engaging with different communities. They’ll have a deep passion for causes that matter to them. Whether it's activism, social change, or community work, Mars here drives them to take action in pursuit of their ideals. They won’t just talk about making the world a better place—they’ll dive in and do something about it.They’re not the type to form shallow friendships. Mars in the 11th house means they tend to focus on meaningful, goal-driven relationships. Whether it’s networking for professional growth or collaborating on projects, they value friends who inspire and challenge them to be better.Your spouse might have a competitive edge when it comes to group activities, clubs, or team projects. They like to take charge and might want to be the one leading the charge or taking action in group settings. Their energy can push others to step up and achieve their collective goals. While they love being part of a community, they’ll also value their independence. Mars in the 11th house can give them a bit of a rebellious streak, where they want to stand out from the crowd while still being connected to like-minded people. They’ll encourage you to maintain your individuality even as you share experiences with others. Mars in 11th house , mars in Aquarius or in any air sign or air houses could be significant in the birth chart of your fs. ( Not necessarily).

💍 MARS IN 12TH HOUSE:

- Your spouse will have a quiet intensity about them. Mars in the 12th house can make them more reserved or introverted, but their energy is no less powerful. They may not always show their true drive on the surface, but beneath it, they have deep passion and determination that motivates them behind the scenes.They might not always express their goals openly, but Mars in the 12th house indicates they have strong internal motivations. They may work tirelessly on personal growth or pursue goals that are more private, often driven by a desire for self-improvement or to heal past wounds.They may have a strong desire to help others, particularly in behind-the-scenes ways. Whether it’s through charity, healing work, or offering emotional support, they are likely to be protective and deeply caring, though they might not always seek attention for their efforts.They could sometimes struggle to assert themselves or express their anger and frustration openly. Mars here can make them repress their desires or feel uncertain about voicing their needs. There may be moments when they feel misunderstood or have difficulty asserting themselves, but they’re incredibly resilient in overcoming these inner battles.They might be drawn to spiritual or mystical practices, searching for meaning and purpose beyond the material world. Mars in the 12th house can bring a deep connection to the unseen, motivating them to seek peace, healing, or personal transformation on a soul-deep level. Mars in 12th house, mars in Pisces, or any other water houses or water sign could be significant in the birth chart of your fs.( Not necessarily).

Hope you enjoyed ❤️

- PIKO 💖

[hyperions-light]

Here are my personal reasons for being fine that Varric is dead for real:

> Tired of them dragging this old man around everywhere. Let him rest!

> Was always the best in DA2, his natural environment. If I want to hang out with my bestest buddy Varric, I will do it as Hawke in the blood magic ritual hellhole that is Kirkwall

> DAI did not do anything interesting with his character. It looked like from previews that we were supposed to get an arc for him that never materialized. He was just there bc he was a fan fave, not bc it actually served the narrative or his character development. EA/BW execs or whoever were probably going to insist this continue forever bc money.

> I liked his dynamic with Rook in DATV, which was very different from Hawke and Inquisitor

> It was his choice. It was HIS choice! He tells you! He knew what might happen, and he chose to try and talk Solas down anyway. He prioritized someone he cared about over his own safety, which is an extremely Varric thing to do. He died fighting for his personal convictions and principles. That’s a good fucking death!

> He literally haunts the entire narrative and is integral to the story’s discussions of death

> He’s still there, you know? Stories make you immortal. Telling stories, being part of them; and he is everywhere. He is immortal within the diegesis of the narrative and externally, because he is the weaver and the heart of them. As long as there is Dragon Age, there’s Varric.

Thanks, Varric, and thanks Mary Kirby. It was a great ride <3

[lizardywizard]

...honestly I almost want a hemipenes packer now just because people are getting so riled up about it.

[dangermousie]

Random other fun things I noticed on my rewatch of ep 1.

The way the camera keeps focusing on his wedding ring makes me think of FoE. But also, she never wears hers (since she's the secret wife, it makes sense) but it's also pretty symbolic since by end of 2, we can tell he's obsessed with her and she wants out of the marriage even via reckless means.

Two eps (and book spoilers) in, it's clear he's not lying. But it's so interesting that the only times we've seen him show any strong hint of his feelings, it's never to her but to others - the ambassador or even 406 (since he loses his temper to 406 in both eps, and he doesn't know it's her, so he thinks it's a random.) It's like he CANNOT admit it to her because it would make him so very vulnerable and he's a man who is terrified of being so - plus he's clearly operating on a very sane principle of "if I can't open up to her, she can't reject me" - it's like those high school kids who send a friend to feel it out with their crush because they can't confront them directly. The most he can manage is this indirect confession that he can backtrack out of to her if he has to. Between all his issues and personality and the fact that it might be hard to convince him any move she makes to reciprocate is of her own volition, it's hard going for these two even if she wanted to make it work which she doesn't. Ironically, by playing as 406, she might find out just how much gone he is for her (and being able to believe it the way she'd never believe an actual confession to her as her, because she could think that's manipulativeness but why would he manipulate her about his feelings as 406?) And I do think if/when he finds out she's unhinged enough to do the 406 thing, he might put at least one fear to rest - that she's vulnerable/fragile/weak enough to only jump him because Mommy ordered. A woman insane enough to do what she's doing now is no (longer a) pushover, if she's acting like she wants him, it's of her own volition.

Her rant is glorious but his face is giving me pause because...does he understand what she's saying? Hmmmm. I mean, he holds everything so close that he could very well know sign language and not let on. I genuinely have no idea.

Everyone has already posted about the indirect kiss but all I can think of is how weird lipstick would taste on wine. You poor simp, just beg her to give you a chance and drink wine from a clean glass like a normal person.

Also there are a couple of really fun moments in the convo where she as 406 mirrors what he told her earlier. Wonder if he will notice.

And the amount of money she asks as alternative to divorce is exactly the divorce penalty!

Also, it's so great to see his freak out when HHJ is threatened. FL thinks it's threat to his career but we all know it's her.

I need more eps! I got spoiled with cdramas and eps every day!

[huellitaa]

defining your life (literally) ୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

okay so i know you've heard this a billion times before but you are the creator of ur life. and one of the biggest parts of life is language and communication. the words you use and the phrases you say and the way you speak, to others and to urself, can have such a huge impact.

firstly think ab ur philosophies and guiding principles in your life. what do you live by? what do you believe in? what guides you in your everyday decisions? why do you do these things? what do you hope to achieve? before you can change anything about yourself, you first need to figure out what "yourself" IS. you can't change something if there's nothing to be changed, otherwise ur flogging a dead horse.

linking back to what i said previously, words have power. as i've said many times before, our realities and beliefs are unique to us as individuals, which therefore makes them easily malleable because we as humans are easily malleable. we define our realities, and our words are a very important component in that. like a precious relic or prized treasure, they each hold their own meanings and values to each and every one of us. which is why it's so important yet so overlooked to truly take a moment and just think about what ur saying and what it means to you.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 a few things you need to define before you go seeking:

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ peace

something many people seek, but not many actually find. you cannot search for something if you do not know what it is that you're searching for. what is peace? is it the short lived silence of an empty house, or feeling truly and utterly content with your life? is it fleeting, like any other emotion, or is it a permanent state of which you can maintain over time? what does it mean?

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ friends

who are the people you call your friends? who are the people you'd be proud to call your friends? are you proud of your current friends, if any? if none, what would they add to you? what are friends supposed to be like? are they supposed to embarrass you and put you down, or support you and make you smile and hype you up? is it genuine connection you're looking for and / or have, or is it short-lived attention from people who'll only hurt and leave you in the end?

✨𓂃 ࣪˖ happiness

is happiness the thrilling high of an irrational decision, or the long-term effect of maintaining ur health and becoming the person you always wanted to be? is happiness quick validation and dopamine hits, or is it the long lasting outcome of positive decisions and change in ur life? or is it just a feeling that comes and goes like any other? why is this the case? why do you believe this? how would you define happiness to another person?

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 a few things you need to define before you go giving:

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ love

how do u define love? romantic, platonic, familial, whatever u want. is it just a thrilling cycle of hurt, hurt, and more hurt, because that's all you've ever known, or is it learning to open ur heart no matter how scared you are to another person because despite ur fear, you have sincere and genuine trust in them that they care about you and the feeling is mutual? what would you define as love, truly?

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ energy

is energy the life force that keeps the world going around, or the burst of life you get after a cup of coffee or tea in the morning? does it hold every fibre of your being inside it, a radiance specifically unique to you? does it become drained after hanging out with the wrong people, or is it just a word you've never put much thought into rather than the sugar high after a sweet treat?

⭐𓂃 ࣪˖ kindness

what is kindness? it's such a simple thing, but is it the act of sincere sweetness towards you that you're looking for, or is it short-lived attention from people who aren't gonna be there at your deathbed and only exist to cause obstacles and issues in ur life? is it sacrificing yourself for the world around you, or is it finding a balance between kindness to yourself and kindness to others?

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 a few things you need to define for ur peace of mind:

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ family

do you believe family is solely a case of biological relation, or is it the emotional connection that's thicker than both blood and water? are the people you hang out with every day and love with your whole heart your family, or are the toxic mother and distant father your family? how do you define this?

🐇𓂃 ࣪˖ health

what is "healthy" to you? how would you define good health and bad health to another person, and for yourself, accustomed to your own personal needs and adjustments? do you want to be healthy? how does and/or would your life look if you were to work towards this?

🩷𓂃 ࣪˖ impossibility

what do you believe are the limits of your capabilities? are there any at all? are you happy with the limits you're placing on your life, or are they simply restraints placed on you by another? what do you believe you can do and why?

🫶🏼𓂃 ࣪˖ balance

a simple word, but one that our whole lives revolve around; or at least in my sense of the definition. how would you define balance? is it important? what in your life revolves around it? what does it mean?

all my love... 💬🎀🫶🏻💗

[alexanderwales]

This one has been going around a bit, and there are a few comments to the effect of "timestamps on spells mean you can use infinite spells" or "unique wizard codes to make every spell unique", and ...

I think I understand the instinct to do this, to "solve" the idea. You put yourself in the shoes of a wizard, and you think about how you would go about breaking open the seams of magic so that you can cast the fireball you want rather than the weird, awkward fireball that takes you five attempts to cast.

However, if "append garbage or UID" were a valid solution, then the entire conceit would just evaporate. It's the kind of "solution" that would not be sufficiently interesting to include in a story. If you were writing a novel and had this system set up, and a character came along and gave this as their answer, and they were right then the reader would immediately ask "wait, why has no one thought of this before?" AND you wouldn't get any of the elements of tension.

So if I were actually building a system that needed to work for a story, something that was built out enough that the reader could feel like they understood the language, it would need to be built with some considerations in mind:

It must not be possible to easily replicate a spell.

Every part of the spell specification must "do something", even if what it does is relatively minor.

The language must be complicated enough that new techniques can be discovered over time through great effort.

The earliest people to use the system cannot have simply learned everything about it right away.

I don't consider this to be an easy design problem for a system that's going to live in a story, especially since if you make it completely exposed to the reader, there's a risk that some reader who is more dedicated or clever will come along and "solve" it.

When I was a kid, everyone was worried about "peak oil". There were rapidly depleting reserves! Even if consumption stayed steady, less oil was going to be tapped over time, it was simply a question of resource extraction, and that meant prices were going to soar!

But in fact this was more a tug-of-war between depletion and extraction, one that had been going on for a long time. So what happened to peak oil? Maybe it was shale oil and NGL, maybe it was fracking, maybe it was just that production doesn't actually follow a bell curve. Maybe the science that gave us "peak oil" was just wrong, and while the principle that we would eventually deplete all reserves must be correct, the actual understanding of what the oil reserves are was flawed.

This was the kind of thing I wanted in the system though, a tug-of-war, a tension, wizards spending more and more time trying to figure out new ways to create the same effects, getting more and more esoteric, upping the skill level and knowledge-base necessary to become an effective spellcaster.

And this is very tough to design. If you want a puzzle to solve, it's that one, the design problem of a system of spellcasting that has that feature.

Spells are a non-renewable resource. One a spell has been cast, it can never be cast again.

But thankfully, what counts as a unique spell is permissive, and very early on in the history of wizardry, wizards found many ways to use the arcane language to specify a similar effect even if the wording was different.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

There are only so many ways to call forth a beam of lancing light, only a limited number of methods of purifying food to make it safe to eat. Soon it became necessary for the wizards to start casting spells that weren't quite what they wanted: a beam of light that arced to the left, a purifying spell that added a bitter taste, some changes cosmetic and others very functional.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

Wizardry was divided into ages by the historiographers. The First Age was the age of plenty, when wizards could make minor tweaks to the spells and cast as much as they liked. The Second Age was the age of modification, when wizards were jumping through hoops and using methods with side effects. But the Third Age was the age of decay, when so many spells had been used that only the oddballs were left. It was impossible to cast anything even remotely resembling a fireball, not even one that hooked to the left and exploded with sharp green shards.

It came to be that few wizards could produce a spell on their first attempt. They would try, only to discover that someone else had already taken their idea and the spell does not work. They would try again, only to discover that their second idea had also been taken. Wizard battles, which had once been glorious light shows, were reduced to two wizards standing in a field trying to be the first one to stumble upon a spell that had never been cast before.

~~~~

Here are some plot hooks:

Wizards jealously guard their knowledge, fearful that someone will learn of a "seam" of untapped spells, but they also write down every spell they know to have been cast, to reduce their search space. Obviously this trove of knowledge is highly valuable.

The existence of spell "seams", which are really just collections of spells that work off the same cluster of discrete variations, mean that wizards tend to be very specialized. The Sheep Wizard knows eight hundred ways of turning someone into a sheep, because he's studied that area of the arcane language extensively, as well as historical precedents that have been ruled out. The natural enemy of a Sheep Wizard is, of course, another Sheep Wizard.

During the Second Age, a group of wizards get together to deliberately reduce the spell-space, largely in the hopes of reducing the capacity of wizard-kind for making war. Their work largely consists of sitting around casting as many fireballs as they can, depleting all options for everyone else.

During the Third Age, a group of wizards gets together and in the spirit of mutual cooperation begins to define "spell blocks", a collection of spells that a single wizard is entitled to and all other wizards agree not to use. When you become a wizard, you're given a thousand spells which are thought to still be valid, and will lose your license to practice wizardry if you cast any spells that are outside your block. This is difficult to enforce, rife with accusations and suspicion, but is thought to be better than nothing.

During the Fourth Age, a group of "wizards" (none of whom have ever actually cast a spell) are working on the arcane language in the hopes of a revival. As the age of hoarded knowledge has mostly passed, they're able to get their hands on many books that weren't previously available. One day, they invent a new form of specification that allows hundreds of thousands of new spells, re-igniting wizardry.

[parfaitblogs]

please headcanon on breaking up with spencer after jj. reader is cold and dry because he keeps neglecting her over jj. i am also one of the angst lovers! 🙏🏻🙏🏻

one thing about me is i haaate the jeid storyline. more than anything. this was so brave of me… bravest girl in the world award goes to me…

okay so i think his neglectfulness will simply come down to him not being able to focus on two emotionally charged events at once. he’s not even neglecting you to talk to jj more, he’s neglecting you to talk to jj about it. in his mind he’s protecting you from more hurt because if he can just sort this weird confession thing out with her, then it can be put behind everyone and all will be fine. because no, he doesn’t not like jj, and no, he does not feel anything other than frustration at her for confessing like that. in fact, he’s more irritated at the wedge it’s shoved into your relationship than anything.

but you don’t know that obviouslyyyy. spencer reid master communicator he is NOT. so to you all these pull asides with jj to talk to her while he’s barely sparing you a fully strung together sentence is providing no comfort whatsoever.

you’re giving him the cold shoulder, he thinks he’s successful in avoiding you until this is resolved, and things go on plainly like that for awhile.

and then he finally talks to jj. probably does get upset with her, and it’s a lot of words contradicting what your own brain is conjuring up about this situation and you don’t even know. so he’s arguably quite surprised when he finally reaches out to you again, and you don’t talk to him.

i think his good intentions would be overwhelmed by the way you felt the entire time, and the principle of the situation would be qualms for a breakup. in my opinion, at least… but i can’t do unhappy ending (yes i can god im such a freaking liar) so like all my other avoidant reader headcanons you’d probably take a short while apart to work through your emotions individually, and then come back and things would end up okay because all it was, was an outsider getting in between your relationship, and spencer reid sucking at showcasing his love for you.

[banewillow]

Book of Willowbane - Chapter 1

Lord Ambrosius Built a Lovely Treehouse For His Only Child - Part i https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9jSNgFBh6A&ab_channel=ayachaya Ko-Fi

Well, he didn't make it himself. He outsourced much of the structural fantasizing to his gangly, scrambling daughter and the entirety of the handiwork to Mr. Basilberry Glumley, who was only a little miffed about Ambrosius not helping with the construction of his daughter's dream playground. He knew how much his dear friend didn't like to get his hands dirty. At least, not without a sturdy pair of gloves and there were no gloves that fit the Lord's hands at the moment; they were being repaired by Mrs. Meglantine Glumley née Vice who was, as a rule, miffed most of the time by something or other.  They (meaning Basilberry and the household staff, minus Meglantine who refused to lay a finger on the project out of principle for she presciently considered the whole affair just asking for tragedy) built the princeling's haven around the spine of the seeping willowbane, the dismally gorgeous and ominously elegant growth she was named for and which was encircled by the manor, a panopticon so the girl could be kept an eye or four or eight on. She was prone to somnambulistic flights of fancy and the entire house was outfitted with permanently manned mechanical bits and bobs to stop her from throwing herself down flights of stairs in case she decided she could fly that night, or day, occasionally, though previous attempts had not been successful. The sentinel servants operated on a rotating schedule to ensure the Lord and Lady's often-ill offspring didn't offhandedly off herself. She was remarkably persistent, which gave everyone around her severe agita, especially poor Meglantine, for she was indebted to Dr. Spriggon Tallory, but excepting Lady Ava, for she was much more concerned with scheming the next ball they would host. Diligently sewing her multi-stage-transformative showstopper gowns took weeks and nearly all of her attention. She often would not eat during these stages of creation, and so it also fell to Meglantine to coax her out with broth and oats and stewed greens when she could. There were multitudes of household servants but (un)fortunately for Meglantine, she was the only one Ava trusted to not poison her. 

Princeling Willowbane was seven when they finished the treehouse and it had taken a whole year to finally complete, and even then they all knew, wearily, that it would never be complete, only abandoned until Willow had another idea. And oh. There were so many ideas and only so many hours in the day. It seemed to the household that she had many more hours than they did somehow. At heart they all were craftspeople with secret desires of what they would do with their lives if only they had the chance. It seemed only Willow understood that this was the chance and they already had it. But she was seven, so that revelation, even she could articulate it, had a spun-sugar's chance in flame of landing. Much in the same way she would never land on the ground as long as the mechanisms of the manor operated as they intended to, and the Glumleys were excellent makers; clockmakers, toymakers, puppeteers, master and mistress of the house, of the machine built to keep them all safe. From what? Oh, too many things to list for now, but there is indeed a list.

-- banewillow.neocities.org Photo by Tatiana Zakharova

[galpalaven]

Felassan - Inquisition Companion + Romance Option

I blacked out after work and wrote this in a daze. Enjoy?

Felassan presents himself as a Dalish dreamer mage and friend of Solas, joining up with Solas from the very beginning after the Conclave. 

He is romanceable by any gender or race, unlike Solas who is still race-locked (but bisexual — because the main gripe between the two is the topic of modern elves and anyone else being “real”). I think it would be interesting to also have specific dialogue if you try to romance both at once — Felassan would urge Lavellan to be careful with Solas either way, though it turns more clearly yearning and sad if the player has also triggered the beginnings of his romance.

Since Felassan’s addition to the group would be an extra mage, I think to balance all that out Cullen should be able to be taken at least on some outings, and we could have an extra rogue as well (Harding would fit here, I think).

more under the cut

Personality

As a friend of Solas and his direct counter, it’s immediately noticeable that Felassan is much more friendly and playful. Notably, he enjoys chatting up a Dalish inquisitor about being Dalish, and answers questions companions have about the elves with far more enthusiasm than Solas. If the two are in the party together, he will actively tell people not to listen to Solas and poke fun at him for being rude. 

He gets along well with all of the other companions. Some who get along less well with Solas will comment on how they don’t know how he’s still friends with him when they are not in the party together. He gets along especially well with Sera, showing interest in her upbringing without making her feel condescended to the way Solas does. He particularly enjoys hearing about the Red Jennies and her efforts at helping to even the playing field for the underprivileged.

He gets along with Vivienne as well — I think it would be interesting for Vivienne to be vaguely familiar with him after he had been friends with Briala. I think it’s not a terrible idea for him to have still been involved there, too, as it could come in handy during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.

Story Influence

The main differences with Felassan’s presence would likely come into play mostly with things to do with the elves.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Felassan is one of the most useful companions in this quest. Knowing Briala personally makes it easier for the Inquisitor to convince Briala to either:

Get back together with Celene

Become the puppet behind Gaspard

Felassan knows his way partially around the palace and is able to direct the party slightly when looking for things needed to advance the quest. He is also friends with some of the servants, allowing them access to some of the servants’ tunnels in a pinch.

He makes cheeky, sarcastic comments about the nobility when asked. He’s better at not speaking about his past, so he doesn’t get shifty during the quest like Solas does. He’s happy to dance with the Inquisitor, enjoying the scandal it will cause, with maybe a special line with a Dalish Inquisitor. Rather than single them out and make them “special” compared to other Inquisitors, it’s mostly just on principle of relating to them as another elf, similar to dialogue that can be triggered with Bull about being Qunari (or Tal-Vashoth, in that case).

What Pride Had Wrought

Welcome Felassan as the 3rd option for the Well of Sorrows!

This is where he becomes a real player on the table. He will argue with Morrigan about the Dalish, correcting her outright in places. They never gave the Dalish Inquisitor a real chance to argue with her about things, or explain things themselves, so he has snarky commentary either correcting her or being surprised when she gets things somewhat right. There are also scenes where he will take up the explanation entirely.

Felassan being present also will give the player the correct answer to the rituals. He knows them, explains offhandedly that he’s been here before as an excuse, and makes it far easier for the player to ally with the Sentinels rather than fight them.

By the time they reach the Well, things are tense. 

Solas still fights with Morrigan and the Inquisitor both. If the Inquisitor brought him and Felassan both, he will immediately reject the idea when Felassan offers himself as an option. 

Romanced!Felassan wants to do this for you — he knows what will happen, he knows the weight of this decision, and he doesn’t want this for you. He will elaborate if asked that drinking from this well will bind you, not only to the memories within, but the will of Mythal. The Inquisitor can, at this point, shrug this off if they don’t believe in Mythal or that she is still alive to control them. If the Inquisitor still chooses to drink themself, he accepts this, but tells them that he will help them with any… side effects, should they arise.

Unromanced + High Approval!Felassan will say something similar — you are his friend and he wishes to keep you safe. He will elaborate similarly if asked with high approval.

Low Approval!Felassan offers himself as a Dalish authority, perhaps derisively suggesting that he is older and wiser than a Dalish inquisitor, and that this is his responsibility, not theirs.

Either way, Solas is NOT happy, but will ultimately accept the final decision.

Trespasser

We come upon the eve of the Betrayal of Felassan.

At low approval, Felassan will have left some time in between the end of the main story and Trespasser, seeking to follow in Solas’s footsteps and find him. Despite not having high approval, Felassan is still fundamentally opposed to Solas’s decision, and will be trying to track him down alone to stop him — something Solas has been running to avoid at every turn. He does not want to see Felassan — he does not want to kill his best friend.

High approval and/or romanced Felassan is present and there to help the whole way through. 

Romanced Felassan particularly will have a scene where he will quietly pull his love aside and ask if they trust him. If they say yes (or “You’re scaring me.”), he will tell them that this will sound crazy, but ask them to listen until the end before saying anything else. He will explain the story of the Dread Wolf as he knows it — the rebellion, the Evanuris, the vallaslin, all of it — and then, at the end, explain that he knows this because he lived it. He tells the story of the slow arrow and the Dread Wolf (a Dalish inquisitor can recognize it midway and will interrupt with surprise) and explains that he was there. That he has known Solas for thousands of years, that he has walked this land for thousands of years.

He will also explain that he knows what Solas wants and that he must stop him — that they must stop him. Solas wants to fix what he thinks he broke, but the people alive today do not deserve the fate he would have of them.

And Felassan is willing to do whatever it takes to stop him.

High approval Felassan will explain in much less detail via commentary while discovering the murals in the Crossroads, leading up to eventually finding Solas.

Once Solas has been found, Felassan runs ahead of the group, disregarding calls for him to stop. The Inquisitor is left one man down as they chase after him until, finally, they reach the place where Solas waits — and they find Felassan in Solas’s arms, a knife through his ribs.

Felassan will be stabbed by Solas regardless of Felassan’s approval with the Inquisitor. However, depending on choices made during either Solas or Felassans personal quests, and maybe Solas’s level of approval with the Inquisitor, Felassan can die.

The Inquisitor who loves him or is his friend will rush forward as Solas stumbles back, catching Felassan and holding their hand over the wound, careful not to move the dagger. Between the blood and the Inquisitor’s mark consuming their other arm, they are a sad sight.

Solas apologizes, but states that it was necessary. He would only get in the way. The questioning continues as normal here, up to Solas taking the Anchor.

Romance

I’m not entirely sure how this would go yet. I think he’s playful and flirtatious if the Inquisitor starts it. He will throw out Dalish phrases sometimes “for privacy,” with a Dalish inquisitor, which comes with a very obvious, if not always visible, wink. 

His quests do focus around his identity as an elf, and around preserving elven history, whether the Inquisitor is Dalish or not. While this kind of happens with Solas, a lot of his dialogue is about how wrong the Dalish are — Felassan provides a different, more loving perspective on the modern elves compared to the ancients.

I think a love triangle route between him and Solas would be SO juicy. He wants his friend to be happy, but he knows that Solas does not believe that the elves are full people, and is concerned for the Inquisitor because of this. I think even if the Inquisitor locks in Solas, if the flirts were triggered with Felassan, you CAN actually come back to his romance after Solas dumps you (which, especially if they let him remove the tattoos, can hurt both you and him). I think it unlocking a special scene where he says that yes, he knew what they were and yes, he chose to keep his because he wanted them, would be sweet (and relatable if you chose to kEEP the vallaslin).

Overall, I think his romance would be sweet and fun. A direct counter to Solas and Sera, two elves who hate other elves. Felassan is proud of being an elf, he is proud of the resiliency of both the Dalish and city elves. He’s interested in every part of the world, including the dwarves, Qunari, and humans.

It's been a very long time since I played DAI so please forgive any inconsistencies. I just needed to write something down after work lol. tagging people who showed interest earlier! @lammstrellicon @swoleas @isayashai @witchofthewakingsea @ash-soka

[rametarin]

The secret sauce is, "they weren't capitalist, they were feudal theocrats." And they're more willing to forgive theocratic fascist states and feudal lords and fiefdoms than capitalism.

That, and they see Western European culture as the worst, by virtue of it being Western European culture. In trying to weave this narrative of all the oppressed groups of people on earth coming together against "oppression, inequality, crushing poverty," they hold that whites are synonymous and indistinct from capitalism. That capitalism is a club, and white people are the wielders.

So they'll take every social ill they claim to find unforgivable and a crime against nature and humanity, that damns and demerits all societies and rends them illegitimate if they use it, and then indicate that only white societies that use it are wrong, and it's only wrong, because it was a white society that did it. This circular logic is discrimination against white people and attributes criminality to it on the basis of race, and then uses the association of that race to make a certain behavior unforgivable... but only if the criminals perpetuating it, are white.

Because surely, an Arab slave trade isn't the barbarity of the white slave trade, right? It's different. You see. Because the Arab slave trade isn't the white slave trade, and the white slave trade was somehow unforgivably worse.

But you see, even this breaks down. You aren't ALLOWED at this point in the discussion to use the same rhetoric that says those guilty of these crimes are unforgivable, so their legitimacy as a bonafide and distinct people need to be dissolved and treated as foul and immaterial. That in a society based around representative cultures and groups, whites do not get representation or group status, only meaningless atomized individuals with no representative council or speakers or authority, because, "that'd be inherently white supremacist."

And when these people barking that these principles must be the fundamental way we operate as a society and philosophies we must adhere to get their way, and white voices are neutralized and identity criminalized as inherently violent and harmful, only then after they've put it into stone these things whites did were wrong, will they go after the next biggest cultures and groups that were guilty throughout history of these crimes. And revoke their representation, on grounds that their culture and society are illegitimate, making them blank slates and without representative as a culture or community, demoted to "hate group." And so on, until there are no cultures remaining, just The people.

Black Lives Matter was never about black people. It was about a parasitic Marxist movement wearing black skin to use the legitimacy of black culture for the purposes of attacking western society and capitalism by declaring it to be the source of white oppression, and anti-capitalism the panacea for it. Black Lives Matter was only allegedly about helping black people, by means of anticapitalism, anti-natalism, anti-cisheternormativity. By way of socialism, transhumanism and anti-nationalism. Proponents of black people and civil rights struggle was the sales pitch and the excuse, as they concatenated the conversation of getting their way being what's best for black people, to appeal to black afrocentrists and co-opting their movement.

Also from "Me too" to "Rape of jewish women can be excused as an act of palestinian resistance".

[scotianostra]

On November 25th 1835 Andrew Carnegie, was born in Dunfermline.

“To try to make the world in some way better than you found it is to have a noble motive in life.” - Andrew Carnegie

Today I thought we’d look into things we might not know about Andrew Carnegie

So how rich was he really? Well in 2015, the Carnegie Corporation estimated that at his peak wealth, Carnegie was worth $309 billion (accounting for inflation). For comparison, in 2022, Elon Musk is worth about $219 billion, Jeff Bezos is worth roughly $171 billion and Bill Gates comes in at $129 billion.

“To try to make the world in some way better than you found it is to have a noble motive in life.” - Andrew Carnegie

Andrew Carnegie's philanthropic career began around 1870 in his native Dunfermline and ultimately extending throughout the English-speaking world, including the United States, Australia, and New Zealand.

In 1887, Carnegie married Louise Whitfield of New York City. She supported his philanthropy, and signed a prenuptial marriage agreement stating Carnegie’s intention of giving away virtually his entire fortune during his lifetime. Two years later he wrote The Gospel of Wealth, which boldly articulated his view of the rich as trustees of their wealth who should live without extravagance, provide moderately for their families, and use their riches to promote the welfare and happiness of others. This statement of his philosophy was read all over the world, and Carnegie's intentions were widely praised.

“The man who dies thus rich dies disgraced.” - Andrew Carnegie

In 1889, Carnegie published The Gospel of Wealth, publicly extolling his beliefs that personal wealth should be distributed for community benefit once your family’s needs were taken care of.

“The problem of our age is the proper administration of wealth, so that the ties of brotherhood may still bind together the rich and poor in harmonious relationship,” - Andrew Carnegie

Want to hear the man himself reading from his Gospel of Wealth check the link below

In 1911 Andrew Carnegie established Carnegie Corporation of New York, which he dedicated to the “advancement and diffusion of knowledge and understanding.” It was the last philanthropic institution founded by Carnegie and was dedicated to the principles of “scientific philanthropy,” investing in the long-term progress of our society. Carnegie himself was the first president of the Corporation, which he endowed in perpetuity with his remaining fortune — $135 million — to be used principally to promote education and international peace. While his primary aim was to benefit the people of the United States, Carnegie later determined to use a portion of the funds for members of the British Overseas Commonwealth. For the Trustees of the Corporation, he chose his longtime friends and associates, giving them permission to adapt its programs to the times. “Conditions upon the earth inevitably change,” he wrote in the Deed of Gift, “hence no wise man will bind Trustees forever to certain paths, causes or institutions…. They shall best conform to my wishes by using their own judgment.”

By the time of his death, Andrew Carnegie, despite his best efforts, had not been able to give away his entire fortune. He had distributed $350 million, but had $30 million left, which went into the Corporation’s endowment. Toward the end of his life, Carnegie, a pacifist, had a single goal: achieving world peace. He believed in the power of international laws and trusted that future conflicts could be averted through mediation. He supported the founding of the Peace Palace in The Hague in 1903, gave $10 million to found the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace in 1910 to “hasten the abolition of international war,” and worked ceaselessly for the cause until the outbreak of World War I. He died, still brokenhearted about the failure of his efforts, in August 1919, two months after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.

Andrew Carnegie helped give the world Sesame Street -Yes really!

The Carnegie Corporation provided the American television writer and producer Joan Ganz Cooney with the funds to develop Sesame Street and the Children’s Television Workshop. According to Sherrie Westin, executive vice president of global impact and philanthropy at the Sesame Workshop, “Sesame Street literally would not be here were it not for the bold vision and audacious philanthropy of the Carnegie Corporation.”

The iconic saguaro cactus is named after him, the plant, which is found only in the Sonoran Desert in Arizona and Mexico, can live as long as 200 years and grow to be 45 feet tall. Its scientific name, Carnegiea gigantea, is a nod to Carnegie’s philanthropic contribution to botany: The Carnegie Institution, founded in 1902, helped establish the Desert Botanical Laboratory in Tucson in 1903.

One of Carnegie's major philanthropic efforts included donating 7600 of the instruments to churches across the United States. He also oversaw the installation of the 8600-pipe organ at Carnegie Music Hall in Pittsburgh in 1895 and had pipe organs in his homes in New York and Scotland.

In keeping with his wealth philosophy, Carnegie left his wife Louise a small amount of money, as well as their properties in Manhattan and Scotland, when he died. His only child, a daughter named Margaret, received nothing but a small trust. She eventually had to sell the family townhome because it was too expensive to maintain. But that was it—the rest of his immense wealth went to his charitable causes and endowments.

You might think that that would cause some resentment on the part of his heirs, but they apparently all agreed to the arrangement well before Carnegie passed away.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Not to keep Dooming but... I think this current political era does prove to an extent that democracy is nation-building on Very Hard mode, because after a certain period of prosperity your population will develop a number of people willing to burn it all down out of boredom and spite. You can't just execute or jail or disenfranchise these people on principle, because then you're no better than Russia or China. But what are you going to do if every 4-8 years they decide to hurl the entire country toward the closest cliff for fun?

Yeah man. Democracy is a system where you have to convince the stupidest people alive to let you do things for the common good. But you know:

This gets quoted as a snarky quip sometimes but it’s true! Democracy is hard. I believe it’s worth it. I had a campaigns and elections class the day after the 2016 election and my professor told us liberal democracy was in more danger than at any point since WWII. I’ve often wondered what he said about this year.

Democracy is nation-building on very hard mode! But it’s not hopeless!

[tenaciousdragonmoon]

Kaz makes the world safer....by forcing the girl he owns to kill both good and bad men even when she doesn't want to - even when it's against her core values and religion. "he never hinted it was less a command to be obeyed"

Ahem, where to even start.

Oh I know, but let's adress it part by part shall we:

“girl he owns”

1. Six of Crows : chapter 3 :

“It had been a gut decision to pay off her indenture with the Menagerie, and it had cost the Dregs sorely.”

2. Six of Crows : Chapter 25 :

“Slavery is illegal in Kerch. Indentures are not. I know this contract is a sham and any thinking judge would, too. Unfortunately, Heleen has many thinking judges in her pocket. Per Haskell is offering you a loan – no more, no less. Your contract will be in Ravkan. You’ll pay interest, but it won’t break you. And as long as you pay him a certain percentage every month, you’ll be free to come and go as you please.”

So to clarify : Inej was forced into prostitution (simply put : underage rape) by Tante Heleen's Menagerie working as an indentured labour.

It was Kaz Brekker who recognized her talents, convinced Per Haskell to pay off her costly contract.

He then hires her, to work as a spy for the dregs. HIRES , I repeat. Which isn't completely freedom ofc but far beteer than the menagerie.

As as far as loans go, you'd know they have to be paid back with interest.

3. “He’d liquidated every asset he had, used the last of the savings he’d accrued, every ill-gotten cent.” : there you go the final bomb, crooked kingdom chapter 25

.............................................................

“forced the girl to kill both good and bad men, even when it goes against her core religion and principles ”

1. Yes, Inej did kill Van Daal in 2nd Chapter of Six of Crows: was she forced? Kaz wasn't putting a gun against her head, forcing her to kill the guard. In fact Kaz was in the shooting range. Inej killed the guard to avoid compromising their mission.

2. Other times she killed was to protect her crew (Kaz, Nina, Matthias, Jesper, Wylan) , to complete their heist and to protect herself.

..................................................................

Okay, hear me out. I’ve got a few more questions regarding this—I'm assuming from the same user? They mentioned that the power imbalance between Inej and Kaz is toxic and claimed that Kaz forced Inej to kill people (using the term “innocent men”). Here’s what I have to say:

1. It seems like you didn’t enjoy the book, and that’s okay. The morally grey themes it explores can be uncomfortable for many readers. I have nothing against anyone who doesn’t like this book; we’re all entitled to our opinions. That said, no one should force their perspective onto others.

2. Nobody is obligated to agree with the majority. Heck, even I don’t like certain things that are widely loved.

3. Personal preferences aside, I actually appreciate when people question the norm—it shows critical thinking. And that, my friends, is how we move forward as a society.

4. That said, if you’re going to make claims about a book, it’s important to back them up with specific citations. This ensures the discussion is grounded in the text and not just opinion.

5. Facts can be debated, but arguing about opinions is like going in circles. It’s pointless and exhausting.

6. I enjoy questions (I’ve always loved a good challenge), but what I don’t enjoy is when those questions turn into passive-aggressive jabs. Let’s keep things civil—it’s much more productive and enjoyable that way.

7. At the end of the day, we’re discussing a book. A fictional book. No book is perfect; all stories have flaws and plotholes. And we’re all allowed our own interpretations of the content.

8. As an asexual person, the dynamic between Kaz and Inej resonated deeply with me. It reflected a relationship where physical affection wasn’t the core foundation, and I saw myself in that. When I say this book is dear to my heart, I mean it wholeheartedly.

9. That said, I understand this duology isn’t for everyone. Believe me, I’ve often found myself on the other side of these kinds of debates.

Bottom line: Let’s be rational, respectful, and kind to each other. Disagreeing doesn’t mean we have to be unkind.

[jadagul]

So a thing I said for a long time is that GPT-produced text often doesn't have intention behind it, in a very noticeable way; up through GPT3 or so, GPT text was immediately, painfully obvious to me because it was a lot of words but it wasn't communicating anything specific.

(I think the more recent ones are much better about this, but it might just be that they've all been trained into stilted corporate-speak that isn't supposed to say anything when humans write it either.)

I think some of the same thing is going on here. Modern AI systems can make pictures, and they have a high degree of technical skill, but they're not trying to convey anything, there's no message there. And I don't mean that in a "you don't have an ineffable soul", but in a sense that there's no organizing principle of what you're supposed to take away. They don't look like they have intent.

Now, I mostly don't notice this, because I'm bad at visual art and don't look attentively. But just like I noticed that really obviously with written prose, trained artists notice that in the visual art. (And for that matter, when Scott posted the side-by-side of the two impressionist pieces, my immediate reaction was the one on the right was darker, more complex, and less pretty, and thus probably the human.)

And then I notice it again with the poetry. The poetry it writes, as the paper-writers pointed out, is doggerel. (I read a good substack post about this a few days ago that I can't find, I think by Max somebody.) It's pleasant, it all sounds fine, but there's no message there, there's no thematic throughline, there's nothing to chew on and sit with you.

And the point this substack post made is—people mostly like easy stuff! When you go to a dentist office lobby, or a nice hotel room, they'll hang art. And it will be technically quite competent, and nice to look at, and have nothing interesting or complex going on, because that's what people enjoy and find soothing. And at least for now, that's what AI produces.

There are two big "AI Art Discourse" events of note recently, which I thought were interesting: ACX's "AI Art Turing Test" and the new paper on "AI Poetry Beating Human Poetry". Both of these I think reveal the shape of "what is AI art for", and also say a lot about how these results were utilized in discourse.

To take the latter first, some academics quizzed people on some poetry and had these results:

We found that AI-generated poems were rated more favorably in qualities such as rhythm and beauty, and that this contributed to their mistaken identification as human-authored. Our findings suggest that participants employed shared yet flawed heuristics to differentiate AI from human poetry: the simplicity of AI-generated poems may be easier for non-experts to understand, leading them to prefer AI-generated poetry and misinterpret the complexity of human poems as incoherence generated by AI.

More human than human poems! This certainly seems impressive - and it is. You couldn't have gotten these results ~5 years ago. But that maybe doesn't mean as much as you might think? Because here is the opening half of the winning "Walt Whitman AI" Poem:

I hear the call of nature, the rustling of the trees, The whisper of the river, the buzzing of the bees, The chirping of the songbirds, and the howling of the wind, All woven into a symphony, that never seems to end. I feel the pulse of life, the beating of my heart, The rhythm of my breathing, the soul's eternal art, The passion of my being, that burns with fervent fire, The urge to live, to love, to strive, to reach up higher. I see the beauty all around, the glory of the earth, The majesty of mountains, the miracles of birth, The wonder of the cosmos, the mysteries of the stars, The poetry of existence, that echoes near and far

This fucking sucks. Straight up 2/10 poem. Did this bitch seriously establish the world's most predictable rhyme scheme only to try to rhyme wind with end? You had one job that you chose for yourself, and you screwed it up! This poem has been written a million times before, and says nothing - the Miley Cyrus lyrics of verse.

The reason this won is, yes, because AI tools have advanced heavily in the past few years. But it is also because it is being tested on a dead art. No one cares about poetry - certainly not the survey respondents:

We asked participants several questions to gauge their experience with poetry, including how much they like poetry, how frequently they read poetry, and their level of familiarity with their assigned poet. Overall, our participants reported a low level of experience with poetry: 90.4% of participants reported that they read poetry a few times per year or less, 55.8% described themselves as “not very familiar with poetry”, and 66.8% describe themselves as “not familiar at all” with their assigned poet. 

"Or less" is doing a LOT of work there; "yeah I read a few nonfiction books a year" oh sure, totally. 90% of these respondents haven't read a poem that wasn't displayed in the end credits of Minecraft since high school. No one does, poetry as a medium is essentially a relic. That isn't an insult to poets, by the way! There is no shame in being a niche. Not everyone can have the reach of hentai doujin artists; the community is small but they get a ton out of it. But you can't take the art of the community and expect that art to hit outside of it.

This survey didn't ask people to evaluate art; it asked people to evaluate their stereotypical impression of an art they don't care about. It was ~600 people hired off a website, they banged it out ASAP and moved on. This is not to invalidate the results; I am not actually claiming that "real" poets would have scored much better? Maybe, I don't know - that just isn't very relevant.

Let's swing to the AI Art Turing Test results to get more into why. Again, AI art is absolutely "art" in the sense that it is able to pass the test handily. You have to be head-in-the-sand at this point to think that AI can't make an impressionist painting a la the "most liked" art in this contest:

I have seen the "well real paintings have physicality this is a jpeg" discourse points and the cope couldn't be more real - 99% of art consumption in the modern world is digital or at least prints, let's get you back to bed grandma. But I did find it pretty funny that Scott noted this AI piece as one he particularly liked:

Because it is nonsensical, right? All that "faded paint", how was it originally painted - just bucket splashes of red and blue? What are those random doors, the random stairs going nowhere on the sides, the vague-nothings engravings? Scott just didn't care about that - he liked the vibe, right? Ancient ruins, epic scale. It isn't a coincidence that the Impressionist art did the best - current AI tools are always impressionist, they have an idea of the vibe and invent the details in between. In Impressionism that is the whole point.

Now the trap is to go "REAL artists can tell because of this or that" because idk, the tools might get better, they might fill in more and more details. The real revelation here is that you don't need the tools to get better - visual art isn't so different from poetry. Most people don't pay attention to it all that much. You see thousands, thousands of pieces of art a week; you probably don't even realize how many. Do you really care if the fading paint makes coherent sense on a billboard ad or a doctor's office wall painting? So much art that is made is "industrial" in this sense - it has no need to be good. Only good enough to fulfill its utilitarian role. In these fields AI absolutely is going to Take Your Jobs in some form, and already is (though imo not a ton of them). And it won't really bother most people. This can go pretty deep - I promise you people are "utilizing" AI porn right now. They are ~appreciating the details~ way more than is typical, the product is working.

All this works until it doesn't, though. When it is an art book by a favourite artist whose vision you want to pour over, learning that all the individual details were just made by AI completely defeats the purpose, right? Imagine reading a book of these poems. Outside of the novelty, "AI is the point" factor you would rather watch infomercials on repeat, I can't imagine a more pointless use of my time. "Reading arbitrary poems" is never fun, regardless of the quality of the poems. Most people don't care about poetry! The reason you care is that you care about the poet, and what they want to say. You read poetry with context, it being inserted with intent into the pages of a manga, at the end of a video game, because you like the artist and follow them on twitter. The quality of the prose isn't more important than that.

Which is a harsh limit for all of these kinds of tests. They essentially aren't testing art, right? You do not ever get paid twenty bucks to sit down and read a dozen poems and score them. That has no bearing on how you would actually ever learn to care about a poem. Which doesn't make AI art useless or anything, more that these tests will very quickly run into their limits of what they can meaningfully tell you. The actual bar is "creating something someone cares about". From that lens, I fully believe hybrid methods that privilege artistic intent are currently working and will improve. But I think for "solo" AI art getting that to work is going to be complicated.