#and work on the essays i'm actually supposed to write for school

[just-december-things]

The like, five people who frequent this blog will know that throughout this book series, I have been struggling with this central theme of "Westeen Civilization"

This is because Western Civilization is an ill defined concept, with plenty of debate about who is in it, where it started, when it started, what connects it, and so on. Along with the fact that the book implies that Wedtern Civilization is the countries influenced by Ancient Greece, even though much of Greece's influnce spread eastward.

I think I've figured it out, for this book at least. It's about perception. It's about how Western countries view themselves

The gods survive in countries that consider themselves Western, because those countries view themselves as the heirs to Ancient Greece and Rome.

Take the Renaissance, for example. The entire idea was around a Re-birth of ancient Greek and Roman ideas and art. Yes, the Islamic world was influnced hugely by Greece and Rome as well, but they weren't claiming to be the new ancient Greece. Italy was, though, and Italy became the center of art and trade in Europe. Or, to put it more bluntly, the center of civilization in the West. This is where the idea of "Western Civilization" really emerges, and where it gets tied to the idea of inheriting ancient Greece and Rome.

Then later, we have the Holy Roman Empire, once again claiming to be the "new Rome". And of course Constantinople is claiming the same. But, this is where that earlier tie to the idea of Western Civilization comes in. Constantinople believes itself to be the heir of Rome, of course, but not to be Western. Those two ideas have already been tied.

Jumping forward to the Victorian Era, this repeats. Plenty of countries as drawing cultural inspiration from classical ideas, plenty of countries are naming their rulers some variation of "Ceasar". But it is England that believes itself both to be and heir to Rome, and the center of the West.

What of America, then? While the US doesn't as directly consider itself an heir to Rome or Greece, the idea is still present. The Capitol Building is designed after Greek temples for a reason. And at this point, the ideas of inheriting Rome and Greece, and being the center of the West are thoroughly tied, even if they have no real reason to be, even if neither is clearly defined. They are believed, and the Gods follow belief.

That's my analysis, at least.

[kalashtars]

yall i have a final tomorrow about like 20 historical texts i haven't read....... i'm cooked....

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[oatsmeall]

You and I?

Socially awkward!Jk! X f!reader | college AU

Warnings: Socially awkward jk, very awkward jk, suggestive themes, possible smut.

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)

For as long as you've been coming to this course you've always seen this quiet guy, he always come in 5 minutes exactly before class starts, he brings the same black metal water bottle with one singular sticker, and he's always quiet but always raises his hand to answer questions. You didn't really pay much attention to him untill today specifically though, of course you noticed his usual quirks but today? Man, it's like he became a new man. You never thought the awkward nerdy guy would pull up to class late with new piercings. On his eyebrow and his lip. You were stunned to say the least, he's... Hot? This totally normal thing called being 'tardy' suddenly seamed like a sense of rebellion, especially for this guy, Jeon Jungkook. Wow, such a bad boy.

Throughout the week he'd show up less covered, usually he'd wear sweater vests with a neatly tucked shirt and black or brown slacks or occasionally jeans. Now he's been wearing oversized shirts and baggy sweats and jeans. And not to mention his entirely detailed sleeve on his arm, which has very much been in the works for quite the while you bet. Where was the cute nerdy boy you knew? This was a whole new man. Even the girls that never bat an eye started noticing. You weren't going to lie and say you weren't a little jealous. I mean come on? These girls were ignoring him just 2 weeks ago, now they're fawning over him and his new look.....

"STUDENT SETTLE DOWN PLEASE. today we'll be writing an essay about what we've learned this month. Please be sure to turn the essay in by Friday night." The professor was making y'all write an essay. This is so boring, you were just thinking about that comfortable bed of yours.

While digging in your backpack for your laptop and some paper, you couldn't find any sort of writing utensils. This was so annoying, how is it that Suddenly when you ACTUALLY need a pen or pencil you couldn't find one. Jesus Christ, what a unlucky way to start on homework.

"pssst, hey.. hey, ppsssst" you were trying to whisper call on Jungkook, he was not budging. "Jeon, hey" you were not getting anywhere. Suddenly he side eye looked at you. Okay?...

"what do you want, were supposed to get busy." He said monotoned, he really is still nerdy sounding.

"well I won't get anywhere near busy if you'd just hear me out for a bit. Do you have a pen or pencil I can borrow, please?" You're regretting asking. He's probably gonna decline and say 'you should've brought your own".

"hmm.. I do, but you have to give it back, I always keep 4 pencils exactly." Close to the response you thought.. kinda.

"ugh okay, thanks" ou! Fancy mechanical pencil! And it had a cool retractable eraser!

This essay was gonna kill you. come to think of it what did you even learn this month?....

You and Jungkook had became friends, this past month you slowly would talk to him or try to talk big conversations, you really found him interesting. He was like a new subject you were trying to learn about. You've learned he's quite....odd? He didn't get your jokes sometimes, he was unaware of social cues at times, and he was too straight up. You thought he didn't like you, he was so blunt. on a random day when you guys went to the library he commented on how messy your notes were, how your hair was messy and looked unprofessional for school, and even on how wearing Birkenstocks with socks was strange. He was nitpicking random things, things you wouldn't even pay attention to. This gave you a feeling of self awareness, you felt like he didn't like you, he was making you realize a lot of things you hadn't.

"Jungkook, I really like you but you've got to stop nitpicking things I don't even notice, I'm sure you can keep it to yourself? You don't hear me saying how the way you styled your hair today looks off from yesterday, or how you're wearing two different shades of black and I don't like that."

"why wouldn't you like it? I like it." He said confused and somewhat agitated.

You gave him a knowing look of "do you see now?"

He sat silently before asking

"do you really not like my two different shades of black?" There was a pause before you started giggling. He looked so confused, you couldn't help but giggle.

"alright. Wanna come by my dorm tonight? Study a little and maybe order takeout and watch a movie? Shrek perhaps?" You tried changing the conversation hoping he'd forget the little conflict.

This would be the first time you invite him to your dorm, you were too shy to ask, he was also shy though, more than you probably. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"uhm..sure.. just send me you dorm number." He seemed shy just asking that, you were excited though. He was such a cute and smart guy, he was very helpful when studying. He taught you new things too, the other day he taught you about why pigeons don't know how to build nests.

Around 6:30 he texted you saying he's on his way to your dorm. You were SO nervous for no reason, you tried to tidy up around your room, and by tidy you mean deep cleaned. You've never seen such a clean room, you loved it though.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Comiingggg" you walked to your door and opened it to Jungkook. In a black tee shirt and grey sweat pants.. you felt your hear beat faster. He looked so.. FINE.

"Hello Y/n, I didn't know what kind of drink you liked so I bought Gatorade, orange juice, and water. I hope you like.. these." He looked so genuine, you appreciate him for trying.

"oh wow! I like all. I wouldn't have minded your pick. Thanks though, come in. Make yourself comfortable." He came in and sat himself on your bed, he was looking around curiously. He was looking attentively, like he was gather information.

"sorry if you might not like the scent in my room, Im trying this mango air freshener out-"

"I like it. It's okay. So where are your notes and stuff, we can get started right now if you'd like, that way we can have more time to hangout..if you want."

This genuinely surprised you? He wanted to spend time with you? Your heart had a sudden rush.

"oh? O-okay, yeah. Uhm let me get my laptop." You hurriedly grabbed your bag, you bent down you're oblivious but your ass caught Jungkook's attention by accident. He stared.. he felt his blood rush down his pants.

"okay I've got my laptop!" You walked to your bed and plopped next to him.

His face was red. Visibly red actually.

"you okay?"

"y-yeah.." he looked away from you in embarrassment. Immediately onto his notes.

After a long hour and a half, you guys were done, you decided to order for delivery instead, Jungkook didn't want to go out anymore, you were tidying around your room, who new studying was messy.

"can't wait for that pasta, I'm hungry. Also hot, this hoodie is too warm" Jungkook look slightly, seeing you take your hoodie off made HIM hot.. his body tensed up. Your black halter top made your boobs look so good, he caught a glimpse of them before you turned to him.

"freeeee!" you said in a giggle.

He was respectful, of course.. but he still IS a man.... with male... tendencies.

"can I use your restroom, please? I need to wash my hands"

"why the restroom? I've got a small sink by the dresser." You pointed to the hidden sink.

"I have to use the restroom too." He said straight faced. He was trying to get away from you as fast as possible or else his print would be visible VERY quickly, maybe he shouldn't have worn grey sweats. Maybe two different shades of black wasn't bad after all like you said.

"okay, yea. It's that door right there." You're not sure why but you have a feeling you made Jungkook uncomfortable, what could you have possibly done.

*knock, knock, knock*

"ouuu pasta must be here. JUNGKOOK! PASTAS' HERE!" you got out of your bed and quickly answered the door. You're excited.

After some very awkward moments of eating and small talk you put on Shrek the movie, you guys were on your bed now. But you felt a sudden rush, you've been avoiding thinking about him but he's so fine. He's hot in this little ensemble he put together, the grey sweats made his print noticable. Your mouth felt dry all of the sudden. You felt and decided to lay down and drape your legs on his thighs. You felt his body tense up. This made you feel butterflies. It's almost like you had an ad advantage.

"uhm.. Y/n.. I- " you cut him off and looked up at him directly into his eyes. Oh those siren eyes of yours.. they're killing him. His eyes began to widen when he realized that you're now turned around facing his lap. More so his crotch.

"Kook.." you start innocently. "Have you ever been... Touched?" You said softly and quietly. You scared him. He can't comprehend how you'd gone from fun from "fun and nice, sweet and understandable" to "horny seduction demon" he's also never had physical Intimacy, only cute kisses and hugs. This was odd, he liked how he felt though. You gave him butterflies.

"N-no" you looked at him straight in his eyes again. This time you say up slightly and palmed his dick through his sweats. He let out an lewd quiet moan. Your pussy was pulsating from excitement.

"mm poor boy. Do you like when I touch you like this?" You say quietly. You began stroking the outline of his dick, then you pulled his sweats down following after, his boxers. His hard Dick sprung up. You were in awe at the largeness before your eyes. You didn't know what you expected.. but surely not this monster. The sayings are true. It's always the quiet and shy ones.

"auh.. fuck" he whispered lewdly. What a turn on.

"mhm? You like that kookie?"

Precum began to slowly ooze from out the tip. Red and sore from the friction being created from your hands. You started pacing faster, stokes becoming gradually faster.

"augh, f-fuck. I don't wanna c-"

You sunk you whole mouth on his cock. Filling your mouth with only half of his cock. You started deep thoating, harder and faster, the lewd noises becoming louder and messier. Chocking on his dick you took him like a champ.

"I'm not done with you babe." You say with saliva and cum dripping from your mouth. You're Cock drunk.

"Y-you're not?!" He seemed genuinely shocked.

You got up and sat on his lap, legs sitting on either side of his thighs. Your booty shorts rode more up your thighs.

You began to ride him. Fully clothed, you began riding, Jungkook instinctively grabbed your ass and pressed you down to create harder friction.

"mm- F-fuck. Oh my, Jungkook augh- you moaned loudly, your pussy was so wet and it was throbbing. Suddenly. Jungkook's switched. He became the lewd one. You never expected to hear something like this come out of his mouth..

"Yeah? You like that you fucking slut? You like seducing quite guys?" He said through his teeth in a hiss. Gripping your ass. Your so turned on at his sudden switch.

"mhm baby" you mewed.

"take the shorts off. Now" yes sir. Anything for Me. Jeon.

You got up off him and you did a little strip tease. It was better that what Jungkook visioned.

You slowly hopped back on him and you grabbed his cock and slowly sat on him. Man was he stretching you out. Nice and good.

"augh fuck Kook. You're so big" you said in a gasp. He just looked at you with a smirk. Man you loved every minute of this.

"that's right baby take me like a fucking champ" you sat on him completely but suddenly.. when you began riding, his speed increased, he began slamming into you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, augh babe, you're hitting the spot" your moans were something straight out of a porn video.

"yeah? You like that? Look at me when I fuck you Y/n look at me." He said grabbing your face. Who is this man?! This isn't shy little Jungkook with the cute boba eyes?! This was Jeon Jungkook. The fucking man.

After what felt forever, you and Jungkook did some after care. He went and fetched you an after pill at the nearest pharmacy. Yes at 1 am.

You were beat. Inside and out. Literally. You felt numb, could hardly walk. Your pussy was sore. You can't count how many times he made you cum and squirt but he really overstimulated you. You're so ready for a part 2 of this.

The next day you went to class and sat with Jungkook. Suddenly he became shy again?! Two faced much?

Guys... Let me know if you want a part 2 lol, this is my first time writing a fanfic lol🥹

[celandeline]

Okay this is my first time asking for a one shot so I hope this makes sense. Okay how about Farleigh and reader aren’t close friends but they are close like behind closed door (if you know what I mean) and like reader is sensitive. So one day Farleigh makes a joke about her without noticing she is there and like hurts her feelings. Like does that make sense obviously you can ignore this if you want. But you if you could write about the part where he is apologizing to her (smut will be great honestly), but you do whatever you want.

sorry this took so long - i promise i'm working through all the lovely asks you guys sent me, it's just taking a minute (school and shit, you know)

anyways!

I'm Sorry (In Not So Many Words)

Farleigh Start is a lot of things. At first glance, a stuck up bitch, but that’s only the first of many layers. He’s wicked smart when it comes to literary analysis, can write an argumentative essay like nobody’s business, and breezes through books faster than anybody else you know. He’s funny in a bitchy kind of way that’s distinctly American and not to everyone's taste, but definitely to yours. He’s fashionable to a fault - a bit of a diva, truly - but on more than one occasion has held your hair back so you can vomit vodka into the toilet. He always has enough weed or coke or acid tabs to share and always has extra room in his dorm for you to crash if you’re too high to get home. He’s mean and nice at the same time, and to most people, it’s confusing. But not to you. 

To anyone else, you’re friends. Barely friends, even, connected only by the fact that Felix and Annabel are kind-of-sort-of a thing. You would have never have even met him if Annabel hadn’t dragged you into Felix’s circle, but you’re glad that you did. It’s fun, finding excuses to get each other alone, patting concealer over hickeys you’re not ‘supposed’ to have. And he’s nicer behind closed doors, when he’s not putting on a show for his cousin. You might even go as far as to say that he’s sweet, when it's the two of you alone. Of course, you’d never tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you, either. 

So when you overhear Felix ask Farleigh if he’d ever consider going out with you to double date with him and Annabel and he laughs, an icicle shoots through your heart. It’s condescending, his laugh; it’s you’re kidding and I would never and you can’t be serious all at the same time, and it shoots through you like a bullet. 

You don’t show up to Kings Arms even though Annabel texts you that that’s where everyone is, instead holing up in your room, the sound of Farleigh’s laughter banging around in your head. You don’t know what the truth is. Has he just been leading you on this whole time? Pretending to like you for… what? It can’t be sex, he can get that with other people, it can’t be drugs, he always supplies them, it can’t be money either… but the way he laughed, like it was so ludicrous that he would ever consider going on an actual date - a double date, even, which is really only half a date - with you. And to think that you liked him. Even just as a friend. Maybe you were wrong to think that his bitchiness was a front - maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you were wrong to think that he was anything else. Maybe-

A gentle knock at your dorm door interrupts your spiraling, and you get up from your bed, padding across the room to look out the peephole, and find a familiar puff of curls. You’re opening the door before you can really think about if you want to see him right now, just out of habit. 

Farleigh smiles at you, and breezes into your room like nothing’s wrong. “Did I leave my grinder in here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, closing the door and retreating back to your bed, watching him sort through the things on your desk, looking for the little blue grinder he keeps with the rest of his weed supplies. He sorts through your things like they’re his - and if you’re being honest, some of them are. Over the course of the semester, the line between what’s yours and what’s his has blurred significantly. 

He turns around at the sound of your voice, peering down at you. “What’s wrong with you?” It’s teasing and sympathetic at the same time. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “I’m just not feeling well.”

He squints, moving from the desk to sit down on the bed next to you. “Uh huh.”

You’re really not in the mood for him right now. “Fuck off.” Why should you give him the time of day when he was so rude behind your back? You don’t really want to tell him off to his face - he’s quick as a whip in an argument, you’ve seen it firsthand - but you really, really, don’t want to see him right now. 

He laughs, sharp and surprised. “Wow.” He says. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “What, what?” You mock him. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t really care - it was childish of him to laugh. 

He rolls his eyes back at you. “What’s your problem?” He asks. “You were perfectly fine earlier, did I say something?”

“Obviously.” You say.

He waits for you to keep going, but you don’t. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I heard you and Felix.” You snap. “Is the idea of actually going on a date with me in public, with other people, that fucking funny?”

His face shifts into something you don’t recognize. “I-”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, you should just say so.” You keep going. “I thought that we were actually, I don’t know, friends, at least. Call me crazy but I felt like I actually knew you, and actually liked you.” You laugh. “I just-” You pause. “Nevermind. I guess I was stupid for thinking that it went both ways. I guess I shouldn’t have, I mean, I was watching you do this same shit to other people, I don’t know why I thought I would be different-”

“I wasn’t laughing at the idea of going out with you, I was laughing because there’s no way in hell I would ever go on a double date with Felix and Annabel. They’re fucking insufferable as is.” He interrupts you, placing a hand on your cheek and turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “Did you really think I was laughing at you?”

“I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if I didn’t think you were.” You say, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. “But-”

“I’ll take you out.” He says it casually, thumbing over your cheekbone. “Just us. We can go get dinner at that new place by the pubs. If you want.”

All of the anger and doubt that had been piling up on your chest is suddenly lifted. “That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He says, grinning, his hand still caressing the side of your face. His fingers trail down the side of your neck and then he’s cradling your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours - softly, gently. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ in fewer words, but you know him well enough to read it as an apology. 

You kiss him back, pouring your sorry back into him. You shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that he was laughing at you, you should have had more faith in the fact that companionship is a two way street - he seeks you out as much as you do him. It’s mutual, and in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that. Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you smile against his lips when he sighs into the kiss. 

He pulls away so that his lips are just brushing yours. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You say, leaning back as he gently pushes you down on the mattress. “It was really my fault, I misunderstood-” 

He noses down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as your back hits the mattress. His curls tickle your skin as he works down your collarbone, rucking up your shirt so that he can kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes as he does. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as he kisses over the skin. “Farleigh-”

“What?” It’s teasing and playful as he sits back on his heels to thumb at the waistband of your pants. He drops his voice slightly. “Can I?”

You nod, and he dips his fingers below your waistband, gently pulling your pants down to your ankles. You kick them off the rest of the way as he leans back down over you, holding your eyes with his as he noses between your thighs. You suck in a breath as his tongue makes contact with your skin, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your tip your head back against the mattress as he starts to work his mouth over you. He knows how to use his tongue - there’s a reason there’s a rumor about him sucking teachers off - and he puts it to work right away, diving in like he’s hungry for it. 

“Oh fuck-” You wind your fingers into his curls, tugging at the root. He moans into your skin, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. It’s good - it’s always good with him. That’s another thing about Farleigh - you can always trust him to actually get you off. Unlike most of the other guys you’ve been with.

But you feel a little guilty that he thinks he has to make it up to you, when you were the one who didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. If anything, you should be sucking him off. Tugging more insistently at his hair, you pull him up to latch your lips together in a kiss, licking yourself off his skin. He pants against your lips. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You say. That way it’s even, that way, you’re both getting to enjoy yourselves. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He shucks his trousers and boxers down in one motion, kicking them down the bed. He’s already hard - but he usually is, after burying his head between your thighs - and you don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke him a few times, watching his face change into that almost pained look he gets when you fuck him.

You line him up, brushing his skin against yours, and watch as his eyelids drop to half mast as he pushes in. The stretch just borders on the edge of too much, but the groan he lets out distracts you from the sting. He always sounds so pretty when you’re like this, tangled up in the sheets of your too-small dorm room bed. You wind a hand into his hair and pull him down into the crook of your neck so that you can nip at his earlobe as he starts that slow, delicious grind you’ve come to associate with him. 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, gently biting over a hickey that he left only a couple days before, refreshing the mark as he muffles a groan. You trail your lips down the shell of his ear until you find his neck again, doing the same. His hips stutter into yours as you suck at the tender skin of his neck, and you smile. Even though he’s on top, he’s still putty in your hands - or mouth, really.

“Farleigh.” You whisper against the mark you just left.

“Mm, what?” He nips at your collarbone.

“Switch with me.” You say. “Let me on top.”

He laughs, a breathy thing that borders on a whine. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you-”

“Which is why you should let me on top.” You say. 

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you-”

“Please?”

His hips stutter against yours again, and that's how you know you’ve got him. He pulls you tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and rolls across the mattress until he’s flat on his back and you’re straddling him without ever pulling out. Sitting up, you take in the sight of him, pupils blown wide, lips still slick with spit, a blooming mark peeking out from behind his ear, and plant your hands on his chest for leverage as you start to bounce. 

He grins, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that forces its way out of his chest as you work yourself up and down his cock, his hands finding their place on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You purposefully scratch your fingernails down his chest to watch him squirm, and he uses his grip on your hips to fuck up into you, to watch you falter. It’s a fun game that you play, who can make the other keen and whine more, made even more fun by the fact that more often than not, you win. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Farleigh rasps, his grip tightening as he takes over your bouncing for you. You let him move you at his own pace, able to tell just by the way he whines that he’s close. He throws his head back and you watch his stomach tighten as he lets out a long groan. His whole body tenses, and then stills. You wait for his eyes to flutter open before you start bouncing again. 

He gasps, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips. “Shit-”

“I’m almost there.” You say, watching his face as the coil tightens in your gut. 

“Take your time.” He says, panting. “I’m good.”

He always says that, but you know it’s only a matter of time before it’s too much and he starts to grit his teeth. You know what it’s like - you’ve been on the other end before, already came but Farleigh’s still fucking, the drag growing more overstimulating the longer it goes on. So you bounce faster, focusing on the way he looks underneath you, debauched and panting, eyes half lidded as he watches you go up and down, sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck. God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Ah-” 

You shake apart on top of him, and he catches you as you slump down onto his chest, arms wrapping around your middle. You nose into the crook of his neck with a sigh, contentment washing over you. “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being stupid. Thinking you were laughing at me. Sulking about it.” You say, pressing a kiss to the warmth of his skin. 

“‘M sorry for making you think I was laughing at you.” He says. 

You sigh. “We’re good?”

“We’re good.” He says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

[redphlox]

Now that the bnha manga is coming to an end, I'm wondering if the story itself will be revealed to be the actual book/comic Spinner mentioned wanting to write in chapter 427. After all, the main narrator of the story is future!Deku, with Spinner specifically narrating the My Villain Academ arc in chapters 220 - 240.

This all leads me to theorize that Spinner and Deku meet up numerous times after the epilogue to work together on this project and talk. Deku's knowledge of events that he wasn't around for or involved in (for example, Shouto vs. Dabi during the last war, Mr. Compress's discussion with Geten in jail, etc), suggests he may have also interviewed other individuals to capture the full picture of all sides and tell the story completely.

So, basically, bnha might be a comic book created by both Deku and Spinner much like The Outsiders novel was revealed in the end to be Ponyboy's school essay processing his grief about what happened with Johnny and Dallas.

Bnha might be a story pieced together by a hero and a villain coming together to humanize the league of villains instead of actually being about societal change. This book/comic is supposed to spark change - or something. I'm not saying this is great writing or fixes any of the issues in the story... it's just a set-up I'm noticing.

[thatfrenchacademic]

OK so about this "34, unmarried and childless" article about Taylor Swift. Let me tell you about Scam Academia.

TL;DR: some mediocre dude had a half baked opinio nabout Taylor Swift that everyone hated, but like Mother Nature I let nothing go to waste.

Here is the take you have not heard yet, about this opinion: this guy is actually a good case study on how to develop your academic literacy, aka how to recognize a true academic from a scammer who presents themselves as an academic, but is just a crook. In a world of pseudoscience and pretend experts that have enough resources to organize their flat earth conference, let me walk you through the world of Scam Academic, where for a few thousand dollars, you too can claim to be a researcher with a doctorate! Follow me down a rabbit hole that I hate with my whole heart!

Preamble: I have zero skin in the TS game. I don't get the hype, the lore, the obsession with those 2000s bracelet or dissecting every single line or every single song.

But then. Some guy had to write an op-ed stating Taylor Swift was not a good role model for girls ("in the US and beyond"), and it is a terrible take on so many level, but here is the thing. Whiny conservative think-pieces about highly successful women who should get back to the kitchen and think of the children are nothing new. But this one is different.

This one is fucking terribly written. It's just an abysmally written blog post. Genuinely one of the worst thing I have ever read, and I read hundreds of undergrad essays every year for a living. It contradicts its own arguments in every paragraph. It over-explains concepts like it's a high school essay and he's trying to meet the word count. It says "this is a valid question worth asking" but does not actually explain why it is worth asking. It is so, so, so bad.

Conservative writers are usually more the "high brow, drowning you in grandstanding" kind of writers. They are, usually, good technical writers - it's the one thing that helps make their talking point sound legit and palatable. So an abysmally bad conservative writer? Ok, I am intrigued.

The author is one John Mac Ghlionn. I look up the guy on Google and...

Oh.

Oh no, John.

Spewing conservative bullshit at women AND a researcher? You're in my turf now, John. You could have continued to cover UFC Pillow Fight Championships, or alien technology and other riveting subjects, but you had try to connect two brain cells to argue a thing, and slap "researcher" on top of it. Now I'm offended, as a researcher.

1. I am sorry, researcher WHERE?

Ok so if one is a "researcher", it means one conduct "research". and contrary to what backyard conspiracy theorists think, "researcher" is an actual job. It is an actual professional occupation. You get an actual contract, and you are paid actual money. By an actual employer: public (University), private (Think tank, private company), or a mix of both (at Unviersity, but on a privately funded project, for example).

So where does our John Mc Ghlionn work?

Well. Nowhere, as far as I can tell.

John does not list any affiliation. Usually, when they write, academics will state their exact position (Researcher, Doctoral Researcher, Associate Professor, Chief Engineer, Head of Department, Research Director...) and where they work. For example:

That's what it is supposed to look like.

But John? Nope, no affiliation anywhere, on anything he ever published. That's a pretty massive read flag. Research takes ressources: at the very least, time and access to database and documentation, even in social sciences in humanities. You may not need a lab, but you sure as hell need money and full access to JStore at least.

So I thought he was just one of these "I google therefore I research" kind of dude. But then, out of nowhere:

I am sorry. He has a WHAT.

2. I am sorry, a Doctorate from WHERE?

So. One thing to claim to be a researcher when you are just a professional yapper. Another to claim a DIPLOMA.

And not any diploma. A doctorate.

Let's pause. "Doctorate" is actually a really broad umbrella term of all doctoral-level degrees. The most famous (and most prestigious, for better and worse) is the PhD, but a PhD is technically just one of many Research Doctorate of, theoretically, the same level (cue this helpful reddit post). A second category of doctorates are the Applied Doctorates, and while there is Discourse on where they sit vis-a-vis PhD, the easiest is to consider that they are not research-oriented. They are hands-on, practice-oriented degrees. For example: you can practice medicine with an MD. You don't need a PhD. You can still call yourself a doctor, though.

Alright, so which of these does our friend Johnnie has? Or is currently enrolled in? And in which University?

You will notice that John does not go by "John Mac Ghlionn PhD" or even "Dr John Mac Ghlionn", when you just KNOW he is the sort of person that would but that shit everywhere. And no shade here, because I, for one, do put that shit everywhere. Maybe he is just currently enrolled in a program and has not graduated. Fair.

Since John does not list affiliation, I had to switch from academic to internet sleuth, and dig out this article:

But we learn that in 2021, John was a "PhD Scholar" in "Parkmore Institute". "PhD Scholar" is not a title I am sued to, but it's also not raising any red flag: ongoing PhD researchers can be "PhD students", "PhD fellows", "PhD researchers"... It varies from country to country and from institution to institution, so why not "PhD Scholar".

Let's check out the Parkmore Institute.

Ok, they are not a traditional university, but they appear to be more of a postgraduate institution: offering only higher level degrees, not undergrad courses. Once again, not necessarily a red flag. They are usually very heavily research focused, and embrace the "research" side of academia more than the "teaching" side. In Germany, the Max Planck Institutes are research-only institutions who deliver PhDs. They conduct cutting edge research, in part because their researchers rarely have to spend time teaching.

But that is NOT the Parkmore Institute. First of all, let's see what programs they offer:

None of them are legit.

And I mean, none of them are recognize as even Applied/Professional Doctorate by the National Science Foundation (US based). And while a PhD in Human sexuality would be perfectly valid, but I'm going to on a limb and say I have some serious doubts about "Bodymind Healing" as an academic field.

These are not legit academic degrees.

What they are, is an excellent money-making opportunity for anyone working at the Parkmore institute. Students will pay, at the very least:

And 60% of this goes to their " faculty mentor". The Parkmore institute provides no research fund, no desk or office space (they are entirely digital), no access to any resources or library, not even a Zoom account. There is also no mention of any timeline: how long a PhD take to complete? Who knows. 6 months ? A year ? 5 years? What are the requirements to graduate ? Who knows ! And I would need to pay $200 to get in touch with them, so I sure as fuck won't know any time soon!

But let's get back to our friend John. Remember that he stated, in that 2021 publication, he was a "PhD Scholar" at Parkmore ? Well that's a shame because Parkmore does not deliver PhDs. Ain't that a bitch.

ALSO. Parkmore helpfully has page with all their Doctoral Recipients! And guess who is NOT HERE ! That's right, our Johnnie !

How can this be ? Well, three possibilities:

John is still not done with a PhD. After 4 years ? In a crank university where I am pretty sure I can submit the first draft of a litt review and graduate ? Nah

John never completed the thing. Boo, that would mean that John is lying, when he says he has a doctorate. Bad, bad.

John did graduate, and obtained his doctorate in [scrolls back to check] psychosocial studies, and then was not put on the website or was withdrawn some time before today, as Parkmore institute ended their affiliation with him, as per this bit in their application form

A shame, really. If John had been affiliated with the Parkmore Institute, it would give a shred of legitimacy to anything he writes to anyone just skimming.

Now, I would love to get in touch with the Parkmore Institute and ask to see John's doctoral work, which they DO have, since the application for also has this very interesting section:

(definitely very legit, very normal).

But I am not sure how I would even phrase that request without transparently going

"hey, would love to see what bullshit research is being done over there, since one of your graduate decided to go all Handmaid's tale for the last 2 years".

If anyone feels like sending that email, I am begging you to keep me in the loop.

3. Back up, back up, what's up with that article?

Remember the article where he was listed as a "PhD Fellow"?

Well, about that... No. Welcome to the world of predatory publishing, one more cog in the Bullshit Academic ecosystem.

First: not at article. It's a "commentary". Could be worth something ia good journal, but still would not be a piece of research. But that is the least of its sins.

Its sins are being published in a journal called "Sociology and Criminology-Open Access", by a publisher called "Longdom". Longdom publishing has a bunch of journals on a lot o different fields, with the particularly of being predatory; they will publish absolutely anything you send them, as long as you pay their Article Processing Charges:

There are entire lists of Predatory journals on the web, you can find on here and another here , Longdom Publishing is in both.

This is how John can publish this last minute, Redbull-and-weed-induced essay in an actual journal, with an abstract that, I kid you not, finishes with "Please find the paper attached." He slapped together a shitty essay about people in India are poorer and therefore more likely to exhibit psychopathic traits and therefore engage in corruption, purely base on vibes. It does not even deserve be given any consideration, not even to be debunked. There is nothing to be debunked. This would be a failing grade for a 1st year intro class.

CONCLUSION

On the surface, John Mac Ghlionn is the poster boy of failed edgelords who really wish they were Jordan Peterson, but unfortunately are just Doug, the guy for 10th grade who failed the Literature class and decided it was because litterature was too woke today anyway.

Beneath the surface, John is a case study in Scam Academia, and the proof that no matter how bad actual academia is, Scam Academia can always get worse.

A quick checklist to go through whenever someone claims be a researcher, an academic, a fellow, a doctor, a PhD or anything of the sort:

What is their affiliation? Is this a legitimate organization?

Do they have a PhD? Another doctorate degree? From where?

Have they published ? Where is it published?

[leikeliscomet]

Heartstopper's Aspec Representation Isn't For Me - And That's Okay (Mini Essay)

Spoilers for Series 3!

So I just finished series 3 and I feel conflicted. I don't hate Heartstopper at all. I think it's a very cute show. I'm happy queer baby gen z and gen alpha have something to see themselves in, I love how Tara, a darkskin Black lesbian girl is happy in her relationship. I'm happy Isaac makes my fellow aspecs happy. I'm happy Charlie tore Ben's singlet in series 2 and for once the victim/survivor is allowed to not forgive their assaulter. I like Heartstopper's little moments but I've felt like something was missing overall and now we're on the third season, I think I know what it is now. There's comments on BL and yaoi by Alice Oseman I don't fully agree with, some of the acting in the show could be a bit better I guess, most of the characters are comfortably in the British middle class and I am a grown adult now so my interest in school/teen dramas has dipped a little bit (but not you Waterloo Road ily <3). So to an extent, there were always gonna be limits on how much I enjoy this show, but nevertheless, I still think they're worth pointing out, especially if we're claiming Heartstopper for the next gen of queer rep. Because honestly having watched shows like Heartbreak High and Koisenu Futari plus being a massive Selah and the Spades fan, I feel a bit robbed in terms of quality.

Isaac still feels underdeveloped and for a show that's been going on for 3 series now this feels disappointing. Like obviously Nick and Charlie get all the screentime as they're the main characters. Tao and Elle got a lot more juicer storylines from s2, Tara and Darcy got more to work with this series even if it was rushed (oh I miss you long series 2010s shows), but Isaac still feels leaps behind everyone else. He didn't really get anything in series 1. In series 2 we saw him coming to terms with his identity which felt like a good starting point but I was still waiting for the 'big asexual plans' Alice Oseman promised and... nothing. I liked his comment about googling aromanticism to Charlie because the representation by PowerPoint style of aspec writing can get tired. I also liked his moment of feeling left out by his friends plus still wanting to know Nick and Charlie's tea, giving him sexual agency whilst aroace instead of feeding into infantilisation. But apart from that... nothing. I wanted to feel more moved by the aquarium scene, but it felt tacked on because whilst Isaac's upset was justified, Imogen just wanted to chat about gay fish, so Isaac came across as a little passive-aggressive instead of what was supposed to be his moment. Plus it feels a little backhanded how much effort series 1 went to in how big coming to terms with your identity is, plus the gorgeous way Isaac's aroace revelation was filmed in series 2 was filmed just to have him blurt it out in an aquarium and have barely any of his friends actually support him like he supported them. But life imitates art I guess. This whole season we've seen characters talking about university plans, gap years and going through the post-16 struggle. But what about Isaac? We never find out what uni he wants to go to or even if he wants to go. What subjects does he like? What job does he want post-school? What's his relationship like with his family? The people need to know! I always found it weird how Isaac was left out to the point where straight characters, whilst still bearing in mind that Tao x Elle is an interracial pairing between two POC and one of which is a trans girl and this is very rare and deserved representation too, had gotten more screentime than him. Imogen, Sahar, Mr Ajayi and Mr Farouk had all been introduced for bigger storylines but Isaac, despite being in the main group, still had to wait for his share. This series was such a huge moment for everyone but Isaac... again. And whilst I'm happy if everyone else is, I genuinely feel like we all deserve better.

Tori was given bigger moments this series and that was great because I was waiting for my introverted slurping sister to come through. Her concern and care for Charlie and jealousy of Nick were great plus with the introduction of Michael, it was all leading to the big reveal of Tori being ace, right? Right? Wrong, because this scene was cut from the ferris wheel moment and I have no idea why. Oseman confirmed it was because Tori's storyline will continue in s4 and she didn't want to rush it but like, what? Series 3, at least in my eyes, did an alright job at building up her coming out. And again, if Nick could get his bi awakening in a one series arc, why can't this asexual character then too? They also covered Darcy's non-binary transition and coming out in this series too so I don't know why there wasn't room for Tori apparently. There was plenty of room for an 'I'm asexual' within those 5 minutes. Waiting to develop her in series 4, which is yet to be confirmed and likely to be the show's last series so it will already have a lot to do with wrapping up the Nick x Charlie saga seems like a poor decision. This is the second time we've had to wait till next season for the aspec character's arc by the way.

I'd like to see some aroallo POVs on this but this season put a lot of emphasis on linking love and sex together and it felt a bit strange icl. Yes, they're linked socially/societally and it's great to have sex with someone you love and love someone you have sex with etc etc etc but the first 2 series made a point of separating the two by showing love without sex and how it was just as meaningful. Almost every time a character was sexually attracted to another e.g. calling them hot or started making out because they wanted to have sex in that given moment there would be a dialogue from one of them going 'it's okay we're in love 'it's normal you're in love' 'well that's what people in love do!' and these are all correct statements but like... we get it! You don't have to be head over heels in love to find someone sexually attractive or just want to have sex with them. It's okay if you're not in love too y'know? I'm not sure what that constant reassurance was for because depicting sex without love isn't as pearl clutchy as it seems when all parties are safe, consenting and comfortable, or, if you've ever had any knowledge about aro(allo) spaces tbf. Nick and Charlie are not aspec and are very much sexually attracted to each other so the conclusion of them having sex isn't surprising at all, especially when I already knew from tweets back in series 1 that Heartstopper the comic already had a storyline later on of the two having sex for the first time. Plus the other characters aren't aspec either so their sexual debuts are also unsurprising and deserved. Plus, I'm actually glad they included Tara and Darcy having sex because many 'sex positive' shows seem to leave out the lesbians. But for a show with an aroace creator and aspec characters, the depictions of romance and sex don't feel like they were written from an aspec lense or for an aspec audience. It's normal for people to be romantically and sexually attracted to each other and then date and have sex. But if you're aspec, you know this. We all know this. This is the mainstream and default depiction of human (hetero)sexuality. We're watching the queer shows to see something different from that. When romance without sex can only hinge on the characters being below the age of consent plus a supposed 'innocence' due to their young age and sex without love is non existent, plus when you factor in how there are no aroallo or alloace characters in the show with 'groundbreaking' aspec representation, it makes for a bit of a headscratcher. Heartstopper may be made by an aspec, has aspec characters and aspec fans, I don't consider it an aspec show. Bit sad, but it is what it is.

It's honestly strange how despite this fact, asexuality and aromanticism is barely mentioned in the main discourse about this show. Antis claim Oseman is a cishet woman despite being non-binary and aroace. They blame the sexlessness of the show on puritanism despite Oseman being aroace. There's constant arguments about how 'unrealistic' it is for teenagers to not have sex despite Isaac being a whole teenage aroace and how some people just didn't have sex in their teens... like aspecs. People are annoyed the show keeps giving Isaac aromantic and asexual storylines because it's 'not as important' and they 'don't care' as if he's not a main cast member and again, the creator is aroace! If you look at the promo pictures of the show, it has the main three pairings, Nick and Charlie, Tao and Elle and Tara and Darcy and no Isaac. Despite the fact it's supposed to be 'for' us and made by one of us, it's not. And a lot of non aspec queer fans watching the show don't see it for us despite being made by one of us either. And that's a real shame.

I'm fully aware Oseman knows about writing aroace characters from the book Loveless, which has an aroace MC. But I think Netflix choosing to adapt Heartstopper over Loveless was intentional. I think Netflix creating Isaac instead of Aled, a demi gay non-binary character from the og comic, was intentional. I think all the decisions Netlix made with Isaac and Tori are intentional, the same way bringing Yasmin Benoit to the Sex Education writers room to cut half of O's storylines was intentional. Netflix has fumbled the bag with asexual and aromantic representation several times now (Cash Piggot and Todd notwithstanding) so at this point, I'm not surprised anymore. Again, I'm happy for anyone who really likes Heartstopper, but I've finally accepted that it's not for me. And that's okay. When someone makes the predominantly aspec, slightly more grown, queer show with fully fleshed out arcs for its's asexual and/or aromantic characters or hits up Lovie Simone for the scrapped Selah and the Spades TV show, I know where I'll be.

We deserved our moments too. We deserve our Heartstopper.

[hymnserendipity]

Osamu miya's big hands

College, timeskip. Tw: spanking. Dirty talk i guess. Fem reader.

Osamu Miya is not only an excellent volleyball player, he is also the head of the student committee. You're the only person he actually has problems with. You are uncontrollable, always arguing, sleeping in class, making graffiti in the bathrooms and always...always looking at him with a mischievous smile even though he scolds you and puts you in detention every week, whether by making you wear the old and hideous uniform or by writing essays upon essay about your behaviors. During lunch he noticed how you were starting an argument that would soon turn into a fight in the cafeteria and by tugging you he dragged you into the school counselors' office, empty at that hour. You start to scratch the door frame with a pen, drawing a little heart.

Osamu's gaze darkened as he observed you scratching the door. His irritation was growing.

"Stop that. You're damaging school property." He took a step closer, his voice stern.

"So what? It's just an heart, don't you like it?" You reply, looking at him with a smirk.

Osamu's glare intensified as he looked at the carving you made.

"A heart? Really? Vandalism is a serious offense. Do you want to get expelled?"

Osamu's tone was firm and stern, making it clear that he was not amused by your actions.

"Ur so boring." You said as you stop. Osamu couldn't help but roll his eyes at your remark.

"Boring, huh? I prioritize maintaining order and discipline in this school." He leaned against a wall, looking at you with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. "Why can't you just follow the rules like everyone else?"

"'Cause it's boring."

Osamu's expression darkened even more at you words. He didn't appreciate your dismissive attitude towards his responsibilities and the work he put into maintaining order.

"It's about respecting the rules and creating a disciplined environment for all students Being carefree and...he said with a hint of irritation. "You've been causing way to many troubles."

"So?" You reply, approaching him.

"So?" Osamu repeated, his irritation growing further. "Do you realize how serious this is? Not only do you constantly break rules, you're also resorting to violence."

He stood straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fighting is strictly prohibited in this school. You could get expelled for that." "What are you going to do, make me write another essay? We both know its usefull. Try a different punishment, maybe it will work."

Osamu's eyes widened slightly, surprised by her forwardness. It took all his self-control to maintair his serious expression."Punish you, huh?" he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You think you're being clever, dont you?"

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. His gaze was intense as he looked down at you. "And what kind of punishment do you suppose I should give you, hm?"

You can't hold your amusement, you tried to tease him for so long.

"What about...spanking?" You smirk, gladly feeling the tension between you two.

Osamu's eyes widened even further at you suggestion, caught off guard by your boldness. He tried to suppress a smirk but failed.

"Spanking?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of amusement and surprise. "You think a simple spanking is enough to correct your attitude?"

"Well, at least it amuse me."

Osamu's breath hitched slightly at your words and the proximity between them. He tried to keep his composure, but the smirk on his face widened.

"You're quite bold, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice a low growl. "But I'm not one to be taken lightly."

He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, lifting your face up to meet his gaze. "You think a spanking will be sufficient punishment? You underestimate me, baby."

"Maybe."

Osamu's smirk grew wider at your response, his grip on your chin tightening a bit. "Challenge accepted." he whispered back. You didn't realize yet.

He stepped closer, pressing your against a wall, pinning your wrists above your head. His body was mere inches from yours, and the smirk on his face grew even wider.

"You're playing with fire, baby" he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

Then the final tease, you look at him and whisper: "Please... Sir"

Osamu chuckled softly at your submission. He loved the way you addressed him as "sir".

"Please what, baby?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "What do you want from me?"

"You could spank me." You laugh, didn't expect him to take you seriously.

He leaned forward, his lips hovering just above your ear. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you? You want me to spank you, don't you? You want me to take control, don't you?"

"Yes please... I Will beheave"

Osamu smirked, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. He leaned in even closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning against the wall.

"That's what I want to hear, princess," he murmured. "You'll behave and let me take control, won't you?"

He ran his free hand slowly up your side, stopping just below the chest. His lips moved to nibble on your earlobe.

"Good girl..." Osamu couldn't help but revel in his power over you. He loved how easily you submitted to him, responding to his touch just like a puppet on a string.

He released you wrists, letting his arms fall to your sides, but kept his body pressed, trapping you against the wall. His hand continued its exploration, moving up to lift you chin, forcing to meet his gaze.

"You're so eager for discipline, aren't you, princess?" he smirked, his voice low and seductive. "You want me to put you in your place, don't you?"

"Yes... sir" you smirked, you dreamed for that moment for so long. Osamu's smirk widened into a cocky grin as he heard your complete submission. He loved how easily you gave yourself over to his will.

"That's right," he murmured, his hand moving to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You want me to be in control, princess. You want me to be the one to make the decisions for you."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above your neck. "And I'm more than happy to oblige," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. "Oh, princess, I'm going to make you count every single one of them."

He took a step back, giving himself enough space to move, grabbed your waist and spun you around, pressing your body front against the wall. His hand trailed down to your thighs, gently caressing the skin.

"Are you ready, princess?" he murmured in your ear.

"Hmmm" you mumbled back, already wet. Osamu's hand lingered on your skin for a moment before it moved, delivering a firm smack to your backside.

"Ah~" you chuckle. That was quite painful, more than you expected.

"Count." he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.

"One."

Osamu smirked at your obedience. "Good girl. Keep counting."

He brought his hand down again, delivering another smack, a bit harder this time. "C'mon, princess. Count." "T-two" you were already struggling, could feel your ass gettin red. Osamu chuckled softly at your response, his hand moving to rub soothing circles on your backside where he had spanked. "That's two. You're doing well, princess. Keep counting."

He raised his hand again, delivering another firm smack, this time a tad harder than the previous ones. You gasp. "Go on. Count for me."

"Three" Osamu's smirk grew wider at your obedience. His fingers gently traced over the area he had spanked, admiring the rosy tinge your skin had taken. "Very good, princess. You're listening so well. Now, let's keep counting."

You're loosing it, your teasing were too much maybe... But even if it was painfull, you liked it.

Another firm smack landed on your backside, harder than the previous ones. "Come on. Counting, princess." "F-four" Osamu chuckled softly as he heard you struggling count between moans. "Almost there, princess. You're doing very well."

He delivered another strong smack to your backside, his hand rubbing the area gently afterward. You almost screamed.

"Six! Ah~"

"Just a few more. You can do it, princess. Keep counting for me." Osamu's smirk turned into a proud smile. "That's right, princess. You're taking it so well. You're doing amazing."

He gave your backside a gentle but firm smack, harder than the previous. "Keep counting, princess. Only a few more to go." Osamu's hand lingered on your skin for a moment. "Se-ven"

"Good girl. You're almost there," he murmured, his voice lower and more seductive. "You're doing so well, princess. Just a few more."

He pulled back his hand again, delivering another smack that echoed through the room. "Count, princess. Only one more to go." Osamu's expression softened a bit as he saw the tears running down your face. "Eight" He gently touched your chin, and tilting your face up to look at him. "You're doing so well, princess. Just one more and we're done."

He rubbed your backside gently, soothing the area where he had spanked you. "You can do it, princess. Just one more. Count it out, like a good girl." "I...i... can't."

Osamu's smirk widened again as he heard you. He was impressed by how well you were taking your punishment. "That's enough then. You did an excellent job, princess. You've been very obedient."

He brushed his fingers gently your her spanked backside, admiring the redness that had formed. He was extremely pleased by her obedience and submission.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You'll be a good girl for me, won't you princess? You'll obey my every command and behave yourself from now on."

"Yes..." Osamu's smirk turned into a satisfied smile. Your submissive response pleased him greatly...

"That's what I like to hear," he murmured in your ear, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "You'll be a good girl for me, and keep your bratty attitude in check, won't you princess?"

"Yes." Osamu gently wiped away your tears, his touch surprisingly gentle. He looked into your eyes with a mix of dominant authority and a hint of tenderness.

"No more tears, princess," he whispered, his voice lower now. "You took your punishment well. You're a good girl. And good girls don't cry, do they?"

[motohagios]

i need to reread kazeki so take this analysis frm memory with a grain of salt

BUT from what i remember, keiko aims for a critique against religion as an oppressive institution (which makes more sense when you look into what a lot of her inspirations for kazeki were, which were a lot of "resist oppressive institutions" just like "if...". or works about self-discovery/liberty like "Demian") and carl, as a character, is sort of meant to expand on that... hence all his self-flagellation and refusing to let himself "ascend" or be true to himself the way serge does. major part of serge's character arc, him accepting that he loves gilbert and choosing that love every time even while various antagonists (society 🤡) try to tear them apart. also worth noting that keiko writes abuse as working as a structure/institution itself too but that's a different essay

hence why a lot of the characters in serge's friend group tend to love or long for either gilbert or serge. a lot of them are given the same opportunity: to embrace that love/attraction in the face of 𝔰𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔱𝔶.

carl loves both serge AND gilbert but doesn't fully devote himself to that, and goes to a seminary in the end. him helping them escape is a last act of love but it's also the only full act of love he ever does before choosing religion in the end.

anyway. just tried to think about carl since i'm always angsting over him and trying to understand why keiko did him so dirty... which led me to pascal's whole character as like this solitary science-obsessed atheist and how the narrative poses him. he's such a useless ass in the paris arc but i think his character is actually meant to be directly opposed to carl which is why keiko focuses on the two of them instead of kurt and nekka who are likely meant to just play the role of "normal friends at school" with kurt being transformed by gilserge's decision to be true to themselves and then nekka becomes the "carl" during the paris escape in that he chooses to stay with the status quo. btw i hate the paris arc ending i've tried to understand it but i think keeping the story confined to the school was a better idea.

i get paris was supposed to be a whole See 𝔰𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔱𝔶 is Still the Same But Now You Have to Pay Bills but the lacombrade cast was too crucial and paris gave them no good replacements

[theladyofshalott1989]

Writer Interview Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @infernalrusalka! This was a lot of fun to reflect upon and type out. :)

No pressure tagging: @morelikeravenbore @ravenwind-75 @myokk @moongurl95 and honestly anyone else who wants to join in. I love reading about other writers' processes <3

When did you start writing?

Fanfic? When I was a young teen (roughly age 13/14). I wrote Star Wars (Anakin/Padme) fanfics on FanFiction.net.

Writing in general? When I was around 5. I used to "write books" (that is: take construction paper, bind it, and create little stories with pictures when I was bored at home, alone). Only child syndrome; am I right, or am I right? Haha.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I enjoy reading angst, but I don't (typically) write it. I also read a lot of published nonfiction for fun, but I hated writing essays in school. I was more of a creative writing gal.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

You know, I've never actually thought about this, probably because I like to write for myself. I think it would be odd to be compared to another writer, even a famous one. I also read oodles, so it's difficult for me to choose an author I'd want to emulate. I suppose if I were forced at gunpoint to choose, I'd say John Steinbeck. He had a way with words; he turned phrases beautifully and his books have really stuck with me over the years, especially East of Eden.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My office, which my husband recently renovated for me. It's Hogwarts: Legacy themed, naturally. My husband is the best; he loves to encourage my "Sebastian and Damien delulu," my words, but he would definitely agree and approve. XD

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Hmm, good question. I don't know if I have one actually, unless setting a writing schedule counts? I write every morning, rain or shine, for one hour before work. If I'm in the middle of writing a long-fic, I also write during my lunch break. I don't typically take days off either. So...I dunno? I do like to write while drinking coffee. Maybe that helps. Yes, let's say that.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I tend to prefer writing morally gray characters that eventually have a redemption arc. Not sure what that says about me, but I don't mind it. Haha.

What is your reason for writing?

It's a type of therapy for me. It's the only time of the day that I get to myself. I work full-time and I'm a mom, and as thankful as I am for that, I have my own desires and passions outside of those two things that I don't want to lose. Writing is my way of keeping that part of myself alive.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love all types of comments, but I will worship the ground you walk upon if you're the kind of person who does reaction comments with quotes included. I try to comment this way too on other writers' fics to encourage more of this style of commenting because it's the best!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

If someone reads anything I've written and comes away with the sense of joy that I felt while writing it, I'd be absolutely thrilled.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I have a few that I'm proud of. Dialogue, particularly banter. Push-pull dynamics in relationships, especially in established ones. Morally gray characters. Foreshadowing and twists. I'll even it out by saying I'm not as confident in my description-writing abilities, which is partially my fault. I tend to skim descriptions in published books because they more often than not bore the hell out of me. LMAO. So...that's my bad. Interestingly, I really enjoy reading descriptions in fanfics, possibly because they tend to be more unique. Descriptions in published books are often very cookie-cutter and I feel like I've read them a million times before. Oh well.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Some days I love it, other days I think my writing is the worst, but I'm finding that's pretty normal when it comes to creators. We are very critical of our own work. I try to be kind to myself on days when I'm in a negative headspace because I know the feeling will pass. <3

[sl-vega]

✧y/n and company✧

✧(y/n)✧-drama major. your mom signed you up for acting lessons when you were a kid, and it turned out you were really good at it. you've consistently landed leading roles throughout middle school and high school. quotes broadway a lot

✧fischl✧-english major, drama enthusiast and one of your roommates. the two of you met during orientation, and you really hit it off. she has a pet raven named oz, who she includes in many of her works. she's also a cosplayer and makes those super intricate and robust outfits. you've been forced to be her personal photographer for her mini photo-shoots

"just a few more takes-oh and make sure to get one with me and oz"

"fischl, you said "a few more takes" 2 hours ago"

✧nilou✧-dancing major and your other roommate. you met her when your mother brought you to a ballet recital when you were younger. since then you've been super close. when the two of you were in middle school, you made her teach you broadway choreography.

"y/n i really need to go home-"

"you aren't taking a step out of this house until you teach me candy store's choreo"

✧venti✧-music composition major, performs gigs at bars in exchange for free wine. he's the type of student who can write really good essays when he's completely blacked out. he can (allegedly) name any wine just by tasting it

"dandelion wine, 1968"

"it's actully osmathus-"

"that was my second guess"

✧lyney✧-drama major with a minor in psychology. does magician gigs every now and then uses his psychology skills to gaslight his audience. he and his sister lynette formed a magic duo when they were younger, and they've won loads of talent shows throughout elementary school and high school.

"y/n, are you 100% sure that this isn't your card?"

"oh my archons-yes lyney i'm sure-"

✧lynette✧-chemistry major and lyney's twin sister. she helps out with behind-the-scenes work for your university's productions. she's lyney's magic assistant and joins him on his magician gigs. she doesn't talk much but she's a great listener.

"nice weather we're having"

"...i suppose"

additional notes:

-teyvat university (ik so creative)

-everyone is in their sophmore (second) year (19-20 years old)

-venti lives in an apartment off campus alone

-lyney and lynette live in the dorms together, and they have a cat named rosseland

✧Going off Script✧

Synopsis:

Xingqiu's next major project requires him to write a romantic short story, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. all you need to do is stick to the script

spoiler alert: you go off script and end up falling for him

masterlist

(OPEN) taglist: @freyao7

[sibillascribbles08]

Okay ramble that will probably not get anywhere but I will put it here anyway because I saw yet another post about people struggling to get any writing done. And someone in the comments made a good point. You write/draw so much more as a kid because you're less practiced and ergo less worried about the imperfections that may arise from just gunning it.

And this is true! And this is why I want to tell you if you are struggling to write much, learn to write like a kid again.

You know how with a lot of art you see processes and it always starts with really shitty thumbnails that have silly faces or just blobs of color? Then you have an actual sketch (during which the artist likely moves a lot of shit around on a digital canvas) and then possibly the inking phase or just painting which is more blobs that slowly get sharper and sharper the more the images is rendered.

Yeah uh, do that with writing. Going under the cut because long

Writing as a process is something that is unique to an individual, just like there's 800 ways to slap paint on a canvas. If you look at guide books for writing and none of it is sticking it's not cause you're a failure that technique is just not gelling for you.

And as such I can only speak from MY experience with it but like, here's how I generally stay on top of projects

A) Sketch phase! It's outline time baby! "Ughh but outlines suck" listen I know school made the outline phase of an essay the worst fucking thing ever but hear me out on this. Sure some people CAN write by the seat of their pants but in terms of long projects this does not work out for me. I'm inevitably gonna hit a point where idk where to go from there and it's so hard to map all that out in long form

Listen, outlines are not there to be formal. They're not even there to be fancy. This is time to get down the bare bones and if you have to make it only a paragraph long and then extend that paragraph into multiple then DO it.

Like hell, NONE of my outlines are formatted the same! Some are a paragraph per chapter. Others are just endless bullet points that I split up later. I'm sure in one book due to all the plotlines I'm just going to have a storyline for each character laid out in columns so I can draw lines between them. Whatever works.

And again, do not have to be formal, like here is a legit line in one of my outlines

As for the ruined building… Hypno will cover the damages……….. Right? : )

Go crazy.

B) Now that you have your baselines start working on the actual story. Do you like writing shit out of order? Do it, because with an outline you still have your baselines to reference for any important details you don't wanna forget "Remember [character] is supposed to get a scar in chapter five!" Or write shit in order, and every time you hit a lull consult those baselines to say "oh yeah that's where this chapter was going"

And hey, keep writing it like a kid if that's what it takes to get this crap down. Hit a fight scene you don't wanna write? Slap down some brackets. [Insert a fight scene here where [character] gets his head smashed in so he ends up with this concussion later like a dumbass]. Boom, done, worry about it later.

Worried the dialogue isn't flowing well? Slap open another document or grab some paper and write it out in a play format to keep it moving. Add in all the beats, expressions, and details after.

Not sure if this detail you're putting in is historically accurate? Leave an easy to search symbol in the doc so you can go back to it to research later.

Write the sappy shit. Write with poor grammar (but still like, comprehensible you know what I mean). Slip in adverbs to swap out with strong verbs later. Use a run on sentence.

"But it's gonna sound bad" Who cares who tf cares that's what editing is for ! You go back and refine that shit and clean up sentences and add in all the extra research and pull out the repetitive words.

You gotta quit treating writing like you're supposed to just swing your brush on the canvas and suddenly you have some beautiful scenery. There's layers. There's blobs that turn into refined shapes. There's blending and shading. There's fine lines and thick lines. And sometimes there's mistakes that you have to wait until it dries to go back over it again.

It is a process! Let yourself have FUN with the process.

Okay rant over.

[albywritesfiction]

I just wanted to say, because of the latests asks about the pining of the ROs for MC, that I'm very grateful for your decision to make both Ædric and Cyfrin have pre-existing feelings for the MC.

It may seem like such a dumb thing to thank someone for, but so many IF authors seem to have that mindset that they must make everything so that the story doesn't seem to "revolve around the MC" in-universe, meaning few characters will be interested in the MC in any way from start, and more often than not they will have romances with each other / random people if the player doesn't romance them (something I always hate! - I mean, that last part). It's obviously very valid and makes sense and it's a matter of each author's preferences, but as a player it's dishearthening to see very few games cater to MY preferences in that aspect. The fact yours does is a breath of fresh air to me! So yeah, thank you for that!

Also, I'm re-asking something I had asked before because maybe the ask was eaten or you answered on a day I was very busy and I somehow missed it and couldn't find it afterward - if it's as such, could you redirect me to the other ask? I would love to know if - especially on the capital route - we can decide our MC is still in-love with Ædan despite everything? Like, I know he's not a RO since it's not reciprocal anymore! My angle is basically a MC who wouldn't be able to let go desptie the hurt, or something like that. Would be very tragic of course. I'm not planning on going that way anyway, it's mere curiosity. Oh and if you saw the ask but decided not to answer for spoiler reasons or something else, then sorry for resending! I know tumblr eats asks sometimes and that the search function, if needed to be used, is more often than not pretty evil, so I prefer to veer on the side of caution and distrust towards tumblr, and just ask again!

Hi again Konoï and Noir!

Sorry again about how long it took me to answer your last ask 😭 When I got this one I was like, 😨 I'm sorryyyyy it's queued up for tomorrow though you'll see it soon I really need to write and come up with words faster 😭

I'm also really sorry to everyone else who has sent in asks that I haven't answered yet 😭 I'm not used to having to answer more than like 3 essay question exams that are like, "How does osmosis work? Explain in 3 - 5 sentences" and this was way back in high school 😅 Now the only papers I write are research papers and laboratory reports about centrifugation, adsorption, and other similar topics 😭

So yeah, I'm really sorry again for taking such a long time to answer, but I am doing my best to answer all the great asks I've received!

Now, onto your actual ask!

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to be thanked for the decision I made about Ædric and Cyfrin having pre-existing feelings for MC, but I'm really glad that you like it 😄 Honestly, I just went with what I thought would make sense for our two sweethearts, and it wasn't always planned that both of them would have feelings for MC 😅

Cyfrin was always meant to have been in love with MC since they were kids, but Ædric and MC's relationship was supposed to be that of friendly acquaintances (with Ædric simply admiring MC and nothing more), then he was going to fall for them throughout the first part of the story and then eventually realize his feelings somewhere in the middle. But then I eventually realized that, because I had already previously decided that he and MC had been taking almost all their lessons together, his feelings of admiration would have grown much earlier after spending so much time with MC 😅

So yeah, I'm glad that you liked what I've decided for Ædric and Cyfrin and I hope you enjoy ATE when I release Chapter 1!

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Get to know me game!

I was tagged by @tododeku-or-bust! Thank you 💖. I will no obligation tag @omgkalyppso @cheshirepirouette @ahasiw-okitowin @razrogue & anyone who would like to join!

1. Are you named after anyone?

I have a couple names. My birthname I believe I was named after someone on my mother's side of the family, but I'm not certain. As for my actual names, if it counts, Salamatullah is a theophoric name, so it bears the name of God (Allah) :)

2. When was the last time you cried?

The other day, I was certain everyone I loved was dead and that I was about to die (I was not, no one had died. give it up for psychosis)

3. Do you have kids?

No, but I've been mistaken for being a parent since I was like 16 lmao

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Before my health was Bad(tm), I played a lot of sports in my youth. My favorite was figure skating, though I also played hockey, basketball, volleyball, baseball, archery, etc. through various community programs. I also was a founding member of my high schools cheerleading team, before the transphobia caused me to leave it. And I did horseback riding through a special olympics kinda program.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sometimes. Not as often as people I know.

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Very little. Genuinely can't think of a specific, I'm very bad with faces and people in general 😂. I think I usually notice piercings or tattoos, maybe just because I have piercings and tattoos so I like seeing other people with em.

7. What's your eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Man... I love both.

9. Any talents?

Talent always feels like a strong word. I suppose art is something I'm talented at. And since I've started beading people have said I'm talented with that. I'd like to think I retain some programming talent and technical writing talent from university.

10. Where were you born?

United States, in Minnesota specifically

11. What are your hobbies?

I do a lot of crafts: knitting, embroidery, sewing, beading. Like mentioned I draw, I also write. I like to read. I play video games. I like writing analysis essays about media.

12. Do you have any pets?

Yes! My old man. He's a little guy and gonna be 14. He's my beloved elderly puppy.

13. How tall are you?

5'9.5 I believe. I get measured pretty regularly since I'm always at the doctor.

14. Favorite subject in school?

In high school, math was my favorite because it was the only one I was good at. In university, linguistics was my favorite but that was quite soured by the fact that academia and linguists in general tend to be horrifically racist and classist and colonialist and I experienced countless of microaggressions every day. (be wary of any yt linguist, self-identified or otherwise)

15. Dream job?

Might seem weird but I would like to be a custodian, but only if we're talking dream where I can also dream up a custodial job that accommodates my disabilities, doesn't treat me as subhuman, and pays enough to life comfortably. I like cleaning, I like doing repetitive tasks, I like that its work that doesn't require me to talk with many people, I can just put on music and chill. It's a perfect autism job. But I don't think I could take the way (white) people treated me when I was cleaning for them.

[hopefull-mindset]

Hi I'm the anon who sent the "rambling" ask about Nagito from like 2 weeks ago. I forgot to check for a response lol.

I wanted to elaborate on what I said about Nagito's backstory bc it was vague and I have Thoughts.

I actually don't think his casual attitude towards his past makes it harder to take seriously (if anything I think that adds to the tragedy of it). I was mostly just referring to the specific things that happen. One of my gripes about DR is that I feel like some characters have unnecessarily dark/tragic backstorys. Either bc I feel like they don't really need a dark past at all (eg Akane), or it's excessive to the point of being ridiculous.

I know Nagito's backstory is supposed to unbelievable to show how extreme his luck is, and that DR as a whole isn't exactly grounded in reality, but I feel like it would hit harder if it was just a little more believable.

Like, maybe his parents die in a car crash instead of a plane crash (or just make it a normal plane crash without the convoluted "the plane gets hijacked but then the hijackers get hit by a meteor but that also kills his parents"). The cancer is fine, but the dementia is overkill. Then there's the kidnapping thing which like. I find it hard to believe that the killer would just let him go after not getting what they wanted. It'd make more sense for him to have escaped on his own. Or we could just get rid of that entirely. If you want to drive home the fact that he has no family, just have him end up in some shitty orphanage or something.

Which brings me to my next point. It's implied that Nagito just lived alone after his parents died. But I find it hard to believe that an elementary school-aged kid could live by himself and have full control over his own finances. It'd make more sense if he ended up in some kind of foster care (or maybe just on the streets). I also think him being an orphan who doesn't get adopted/gets bounced around between foster homes would be fitting with his perceived worthlessness and desire to be loved, perhaps even more so than him being totally isolated.

Ok I think I covered everything (as far as canon events go at least). Sorry this turned into an essay lol.

Oh hello anon! Thank you for clarifying, I was a little perplexed as to how I should’ve responded to your ask. I don’t have much to really say about the events themselves, but I’ll try to add my two cents.

I do agree that it makes it sadder how casual he talks about it, I think I was more talking in behalf of the people that didn’t rethink his words when he claimed he was lying because of how unserious it felt with the music playing behind it. It’s so normal for him to experience these things that his layer back attitude is very unnerving for the normal person, which is utterly tragic.

I do see what you mean about not need every character to have some tragic messed up backstory, especially when it has no actual impact in the story itself. It’s good to expand a character through side content, but it gets too much. I think it works in favor for the sdr2 cast considering it shows that all of them have the potential to turn to despair due to their past experiences, and how Hope’s Peak doesn’t actually care for the students themselves and their own feelings towards their talents, but canon kicks itself in the crotch by never expanding more with these backstories in the actual storyline and how dr3 was handled ughh.

When it come to Komaeda’s backstory however, I do think it works for him when it comes to the absurdist writing because his entire existence is drenched in the absurdism danganronpa is known for. It would probably hit harder if Komaeda was more realistic and I understand that, but ultimately that’s not what Komaeda is. He is purposefully hard to relate to and hard to believe, only with real effort you can find yourself in him, and he even rejects that effort itself. Komaeda cannot survive in a series that isn’t Danganronpa because he is Danganronpa, a clunky mess that somehow works in its accidental genius.

I sound absurd myself, but when it comes to Komaeda you can only rely on your own suspense of disbelief to sympathize with him. Sorry for being a bummer to your roll because your criticisms are not at all wrong, I just personally don’t find it to be a problem myself.

About the killer and orphan thing, I think I could try to give some insight on them? Here’s one thing you forgot: he’s canonically implied to be a rich kid. Even if he isn’t thrown into situations like being on the streets or the foster care system, he still had other family members to be dropped onto, his status would still give him privileges like a nanny to watch over him, etc.

The killer, while I did find strange that he decided not to kill the rich kid after all, he definitely did target him because he was from a wealthy family. So what could that mean? Well obviously we could go for the heartbreaking answer of nobody in the extended family wanted to help him because of his problematic luck or annoyance of his existence, we could go for another that none of them were alive to actually get anything out of him since it took place in middle school, and he did say that his luck took direct action against him right before he was eventually taken into Hope’s Peak academy because of his lack of family left. It depends on when during middle school this happened.

So I guess there wasn’t any real consequence to leaving this lonely wealthy child on his own since there’s nothing nobody could actually do to lead back to them or would care enough to do anything. Upsetting I know, the unfortunate irony of being thrown away like trash for Komaeda is… well anyway I think the point of this event was to drive in Komaeda’s feeling of being unwanted, even by the worst of the worst of society, at least that’s what I think of it.

The only thing I question is how Komaeda himself personally describes his good fortune after what happened to his parents. What would a kid in elementary really need immense wealth and freedom for??? I find myself perplexed by his choice of words because it implies a lot. I know we could go the route of “his parents were terrible” when it comes to the freedom part, but I think there’s a better answer to this.

This is an example of Komaeda justifying what happened to fit a narrative he’s formed because of, most likely, what society/the people around him has fed him and what he’s chosen to believe. I’ve already mentioned this before, but his mentality reflects specific societal beliefs to an exaggerated point because his life is exaggerated. Where any of these came from to make Komaeda think this: who freaking knows.

Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you were expecting, and I wish I could add more. I hope this was satisfying enough.