#i'm assuming it will be at least a little

[thepenguinflash]

I can't speak for the USA, but in the UK at least it's not illegal to possess testosterone without a prescription. It's a crime to distribute or sell testosterone. That's why it's hard to source. But you cannot be arrested for buying it. You cannot be arrested for having some on you. If legality is the only thing stopping you, double check the exact laws surrounding testosterone in your country/state/region. You might discover the legal risk is far lower than you initially assumed.

Because distribution of testosterone is illegal, people CANNOT talk openly about sources online using social media. It violates TOS. But yeah, going to a gym-bro and just asking "hey where'd you get your steroids" is fucking AWFUL advice.

I'm not DIYing myself (though I did strongly consider it at one point), so I don't know of any sources. I have seen people offering specific advice on sources in DMs on Reddit when people have asked in various subs like r/transDIY so you may get some mileage there. And that sub generally has TONNES of advice on masculinising hrt in the wiki so if you're considering DIY it's a good place to start. You can also try steroid subs (eg r/steroidsUK for the UK). This is a little closer to just asking a gym bro, but with the internet as a safety net so it's no where near as risky. It's definitely harder to DIY as a transmasc, but it's not impossible.

We're back at this being the entirety of the advice being given for Testosterone DIY HRT in a bunch of current threads about it. Genuinely sick of this.

And it's very dismissive of the legal risk as well, which is significant for many marginalised people in the US, like POC who already get disproportionately targeted by the cops.

[hyukalyptus]

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“What can I do ya for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go if you need some time by—”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

be there in 45 :) 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

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

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

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

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

“A year.” 

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

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

-

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

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

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mommy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it happens. 

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

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

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

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

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

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

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

“You weren’t just saying that?”

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

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

“Was it good for you?”

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

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

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

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

“Why am I not surprised?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fakedoe]

beta titan luz???

I'll explain:

I decided to delve a little deeper into the beta version of Owl House, thinking about how it would have been. I assumed that the titans were killed not by the archivists, but because of the wars for supremacy. In my version, the titans here were not "wise divine beings" as demons and witches imagined them, and King's father, realizing that his relatives are on the verge of exterminating each other in pursuit of power, wants to stop this madness. But for some reason he loses and dies, leaving behind his only surviving child. So when Luz meets him after death, he deeply apologizes for his mistakes and wants to help her free the world from evil, at least in order to protect his son.

I'm well aware that they have the ability to reproduce themselves, but I have not yet come up with anything to connect the extinction of the titans without a trace.

here, luz is already very traumatized and angry, she no longer dreams of magic, doesn't fantasize about witches and any miracles. she's just terribly tired. and she will carry out her judgment on herself and on the one who made her suffer even more.

[yumeka-sxf]

Spy x Family merch updates and manga hiatus

I wanted to post about some recent fandom news, starting with the good news: while I mentioned in my 2-year anniversary post that we've been in a dry spell lately as far as SxF content, we just recently got a bunch of new merch/designs! (mostly from various Jump Festa vendors) I'll start with my favorite of the new designs, from HMV's Jump Festa set - Forgers in winter outfits ❤️

Next is the "French casual" set from Chara-Ani~ Bond's little red beret looks so cute!

Another winter outfit set, from Animate. Gah, this one's so adorable, too 😭

Next is merch from Ichiban Kuji. Not sure if it's for Jump Festa as well, but either way, I want the acrylics and the plate!

And lastly, Ensky's merch for Jump Festa - Forgers baking cakes/cookies!

Again for those who don't know, Jump Festa is a yearly event held in Japan in late December that's dedicated to Shonen Jump IPs. SxF will have its own panel with the four Forger voice actors in attendance. We've always gotten exclusive announcements and content at past Jump Festas, so fingers crossed it will be the same for this year! I'm gonna try my best to get some of this merch when it goes on sale in late December. And of course, if I'm able to make high quality scans of these new designs, I will post those as well!

Now onto the bad news, which most of you probably heard about already: the hiatus for the SxF manga has been extended to December 23rd. I believe this is the longest hiatus the series has had so far, and what makes this one concerning is not only that the date kept changing, but also the noticeable silence from Endo and other official outlets.

In the Japanese version of the manga, the last page of each new chapter typically notes the date the next chapter will come out. In the case of the most recent chapter, 107, it said it would release on November 25th, meaning Endo would be taking a break from the bi-monthly schedule, which isn't uncommon. But then, just a few days before the 25th, official English manga outlets like MangaPlus updated the release date to December 9th. It was disappointing since we had all been waiting longer than usual for the new chapter, but again, a second postponement wasn't too alarming...what was alarming though, was the third one that came just yesterday, only a few days after the last. People started noticing that official manga outlets had, again, changed the date for the next chapter to December 23rd this time.

The fandom got stirred up quite a bit when this happened, mostly out of concern for Endo's well being. What made me particularly worried was the fact that, while these hiatuses had been going on for the past month, Endo hadn't posted anything on his Twitter account, which is very unusual considering every month prior he's posted at least a few unique illustrations. Not only that, but the last thing he posted was this oddly cryptic image on October 19th, with text that says "Don't look for me." And he then deleted it soon after, which makes it even stranger.

But thankfully, Shonen Jump must have noticed the pandemonium happening in the fandom, because just a couple hours later, they made this statement on the official Jump+ Twitter, apologizing for the delay and confirming that chapter 108 will indeed come out on December 23rd.

This to me was good news, since their official statement about it makes it unlikely they'll change the date yet again. But some sort of explanation would have been nice, even a vague one. I'm not someone to spread rumors, but my own personal speculation (which could be totally wrong) is that there was some dispute between Endo and Jump. This is the only explanation I can think of as to why his Twitter would suddenly be barren for a month after he posted consistently for so long - my guess is that he has to get approval from Jump for all the illustrations he posts there. I don't know much about the inner workings of the manga industry, but I would assume he has some contractual obligations where he can't freely post stuff on social media without some sort of publisher's approval. It is possible he's just been too busy with Jump Festa and other things, but he's still posted at least a couple times a month even when he's sick or busy, so I don't think that's the main reason. Again, this is just my speculation that could be completely wrong. There's also the fact that they so quickly changed the release date to the 23rd, the day right after Jump Festa ends, which could indicate that Endo's been busy cooking something big to be announced there. Regardless, I'm happy we finally have a new chapter release date that's pretty set in stone now, though I won't feel totally better until we get clear acknowledgment that Endo is okay, either from himself on his own Twitter or somewhere else official.

Anyway, despite this setback, I'm relieved that SxF is still going strong with all the hype for Jump Festa and season 3. Between that and the new chapter right after, we'll be eating good this Christmas!

[geofffromaccounting]

I'm going to throw in Starfinder as a potential suggestion. Potentially incorrect, but a potential none the less!

It's more a sci-fi/fantasy thing, however (with some elbow grease) I don't immediately see why you couldn't flavour a lot of the stuff into a more modern/fantasy thing in the vein of Tactical Breach Wizards.

Starfinder 2e (albeit still in playtest) in particular incentivises tactical play and working with your team, as it's built off the same chassis as Pathfinder 2e which is also very teamwork oriented, and both (being heavily fantasy systems) have a pretty hard magic system, assuming I'm interpreting the phrase correctly. You even have a system of putting runes and such onto armour for protection or onto weapons for more potency (though that's specifically Pathfinder 2e, I think Starfinder 2e may use a different system, it's been a hot second since I read the playtest).

Potentially could work with just straight up Pathfinder 2e, as the staves and wands in that system could easily just be flavoured into gun shape, however I fear you'd struggle against the game's internal math a little bit, as it does expect a more or less balanced party. Of which, a party entirely of spellcasters (even of different flavours) is not that, especially as the game is a lot more focused on primarily melee combat as opposed to Starfinder.

Shadowrun is just a terrible idea in general. I want to love it, but fuck it's terrible.

I did see someone suggest FIST, and while it could absolutely have the right flavour, mechanically I feel as if it's lacking in the actual tactical play department.

I don't think any of these are perfect solutions, the perfect one would be "a system specifically tailor made for this vibe and premise." But in the absence of that (that I'm aware of at least) we always have fucking with what exists to a reasonable extent.

I've found myself quite drawn to the aesthetic of modern military urban fantasy shenanigans like you see in Tactical Breach Wizards, where plate carriers have runic protections and wizard staves are built into rifle frames, and I'm looking for an RPG that lends itself well to tactical military gameplay with a hard-flavored magic system.

At the moment I'm looking at cooking something up with Savage Worlds, but do you have a better idea?

I'm not sure if it's a better idea, but if you're feeling particularly old school, the exact intersection of sword-and-sorcery fantasy and military science fiction is squarely the comfort zone of GURPS.

(Indeed, much of GURPS' putative universality stems from the fact that a great many things people want to do with tabletop RPGs can be approximated as a reskin of sword-and-sorcery fantasy meets military science fiction. Not nearly all, but enough!)

[n3felibata]

This is gonna be a hot take, but it bothers me when people say that Phoenix became an attorney JUST for Edgeworth.

Yes, Edgeworth is a big part of the reason he became a lawyer. Yes, Phoenix went to law school after finding out he's the "demon prosecutor" now. Hell, I'll even outright admit that Phoenix would not be an attorney if it weren't for Edgeworth.

But that's the only reason he stands in court. Goodness, no. It goes deeper than that, and it has a lot to do with Phoenix's depth and the overall message of Ace Attorney.

First of all, in the first few minutes of the very first game, Phoenix outright says that Larry is part of the reason he became a lawyer, too.

(Really, I feel like some of you are forgetting that Larry defended him that day as well...)

And second of all, there's the fact that he continues to be a lawyer in Justice for All despite thinking Edgeworth was dead for most of that game. And I have to admit it's been a while since I've played Justice For All, but I remember him defending his clients just as passionately as he does in any other game.

Edgeworth directly asks Phoenix in this same game why he stands in court, and Phoenix responds by saying this:

At least him saying in PWAA that he stood up for Maya because he "can't just abandon her" and "someone has to look out for people with no one on their side" is only one dialogue option out of three.

But telling Edgeworth he wants to save lives is the only answer the player can give to that question. Because it's the correct one. Phoenix Wright has a huge sense of justice, and it's a big part of his character.

This is why Phoenix hates prosecutors so much, or more specifically the ones that only stand in court to "win" rather than to actually seek the truth. And that's probably also why the writers continously make the antagonists of these games people who fit that exact description.

And yes, his backstory (or at least this specific part of it) may not be as traumatic as the other characters', but it doesn't need to be. This kind of stuff can seriously impact a child, especially when the teacher themselves in joining in on the bullying. His clients are going through worse, yes, but regardless, this experience taught him that people will assume the worst in you with little to no evidence and what it means to have someone believe in you when no one else will. He wants to be there for people going through worse than him, and that's valid. Not every character needs to be an orphan or rape victim or something to be an intriguing character with reasonable motivations and experiences that are meaningful to them.

Again, I'm not denying that Edgeworth is a huge part of why he went to law school (and thank goodness he did because I can't imagine what would've happened to Edgeworth if he never became an attorney...), but saying that Edgeworth is the ONLY factor feels like it's not only disacknowledging Phoenix's depth and reducing his character to just his relationship with Edgeworth, but also feels like it's disacknowledging the themes of justice in the writing of the game itself. Like no offense, but how did y'all manage to take what's clearly meant to be a satirical call out to Japan's flawed justice system and reduce it to just "yaoi"?

I LOVE wrightworth, but sometimes it feels like some people are so fixated on it that they forget that both Wright and Edgeworth are still their own complex individuals with depth outside of their relationship with each other.

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[entry-85]

Tangy Delectibility | Vampire!Alex Kralie x Jay Merrick

jaylex | vampire au | 2k words | 16+

this isn't a masterpiece, I literally wrote this in probably an hour but I'm on a jaylex and a writing kick.

vaguely based off of @creative-clawmarks's liveleak au (au on the brain chat)

not really canon correlated.

The apartment was dim, the only light leaking through being the kitchen light some feet away from where they sat, providing just little enough light for Alex’s eyes not to feel like they were burning out of his sockets and just enough for Jay to see him. They sat in mostly silence, so much so you could hear a pin drop into the carpet— Or, at least, Alex could.

His arms were wrapped around Jay’s waist, head tilted slightly up to stare blankly at the barren ceiling of his apartment, trying to ignore how the other male was trying to weasel his way into getting bitten onto. This was just how their relationship was; When exactly it had started he couldn't fully pinpoint, but ever since that first bite, both of them were thoroughly hooked— though Alex refused to admit he was, he didn't rely on Jay’s blood to get by, it was just a treat— It was just something he could look forward to weekly in his boring and frankly irritating life. Jay however, he was completely reliant on the toxin that would seep from Alex’s fangs, psychologically dependent on the effects of it that would render him damn near paralyzed. It wasn't even addictive, yet anyone who saw Jay coming after it every week would probably assume it was. Hell, maybe Jay was just that pathetic.

Alex could feel the boy pushing his head into the crook of his neck, and he couldn't help but let out a low sigh as their skin brushed together. He had been ignoring the others desperate attempts to get his fix, opting to act like nothing was happening courtesy of the pounding headache pressurizing the inside of his skull right now. He could only take so much bright fluorescent lighting, loud garbles of everyone’s overlapping voices, and 3 hours of getting his head slammed with knowledge and things to remember before he had enough, and he had nearly forgotten that Jay was even coming over until he heard the knock at his door because of it. He knew it would be best to just stop stalling, alleviate his pain with his favourite nutrient source and give Jay exactly what he wanted in turn— But God, he was procrastinating. Hard.

“Alex..”

His thoughts were broken apart before he could continue his ridiculous conundrum of being too damn lazy to get what he needed when it was right in front of him by the sound of what he needed right in front of him, eyes finally tearing away from burning holes into the ceiling to glance down at the heap of brown hair at the bottom his vision. Jay’s voice was slightly muffled, shivers being sent down Alex’s spine as his lips brushed against the skin of his neck. Damn tease.

“You okay?” He continued, his voice gradually drawing off into a whine before he pressed a kiss into Alex’s neck. He swore, Jay got on his damn nerves sometimes, but God, everyone did. He didn't think a person walked on this planet that couldn't piss him off at this point.

He let out a sigh he didn't know he had been holding, combing his fingers through the others hair after shifting his eyes away from him. Jay hadn't done anything particularly wrong besides be worried, and needy, he really didn't have any reason to be getting upset at him. God, maybe he did just need to eat— Or, well, drink.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He breathed out in yet another sigh, like the first one hadn’t fully made its escape yet. “Just.. tired.” He excused, his shoulders sagging a little. He wondered if Jay could see right through him, right though his ‘just tired’ umbrella excuse he used to brush off everything. Was he tired? Probably, but he was damn irritated and his head was killing him and he was probably starving by now. He probably could— They’ve known each other for, what, 5 some years now?-

Yet again, his thought train derailed suddenly as he felt a hand press against him right at the bottom of his ribcage. He felt himself jolt, a heat coming to his face that he would rather die than keep feeling— “I know what could make you feel better..”— Filled his ears, the most allusive words said in the meekest of voices. He hated when Jay did that, he knew the other knew what he was doing, saying things like that acting all innocent. He was a hell of a lot more of a string-puller than people gave him credit for, that was for sure. He just couldn’t be patient, could he?-

The slightly shorter male lifted himself from where he was tucked in Alex’s neck, tilting his head in such a way to reveal more skin, skin that was adorned with the light scarring of every other time Alex sunk his teeth in. God, he really needed to be more careful about that, he couldn't just let Jay walk around looking like he got attacked or something—

A hand slid up on his shoulder, fingertips subtly brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Jay’s eyes said it all— He knew what he wanted, he knew what Alex needed, and he knew that they both knew. It made the blond question if he should just give in, if he should have given in hours ago– If he should just stop being stubborn and give his body what it needed, especially since Jay was offering himself so willingly.

“Hungry?” Jay broke their silence, pulling at the collar of his own shirt to show more of his skin, the tendons moving visibly under his flesh and making him all the more appealing. Alex felt his eyes narrow right on the spot he knew gave him the best results, his hunger awakening like a beast stirring from a long sleep. He suddenly wanted nothing more but to lunge at the other, taste the tang of his flavour and—

No, no, he needed to stop himself there. Jay didn't control him and he certainly didn't need his offers. Besides, he should probably just wean off of this whole thing now, before he seriously couldn't control himself anymore. Surely, if he just learned to live without the taste of blood in his mouth, he’d stop having such urges, right? If he caught it early?

“No, I’m fine.” His voice rang out, sterner than he probably intended. He casted his gaze off again, not wanting to feel his own resolve crumble the moment he looked into Jay’s heavy lidded eyes. But even as he avoided eye contact, he could feel the others' stare bore into him. He didn't buy it, but hell, did Alex even believe himself?

“You're always hungry.” He filled the silence, the words making Alex’s lips purse. Yeah, he probably was. There was probably never a moment where he wasn't smelling blood, hearing everyone’s heartbeat over his own that had faded out by now, never a moment where the urge ebbed at the back of his mind— But he’d probably tuned it out. Years of doing that with humanly food had prepared him well for becoming an eldritch monster, who would have thought?

He let out a sigh through his nose, weighing his options. Would it make much of a difference if he gave in one last time, as long as he kept himself in check later? Jay was offering, he wanted it just as much as Alex did. What would the harm be? He just wouldn't take as much blood this time..

He casted his gaze over, narrowed eyes staring deep into Jay’s green ones, fighting to not fall over the skin of his neck that his peripheral was honed in on. It would get rid of his headache, that was a benefit, right? It was the only thing that would help, he knew that.. What choice did he have?

“Fine. Just a little.” He grumbled, shifting in his spot on the couch under the bleek weight of Jay. He could have sworn he saw his eyes light up from the corner of his eye, but he casted that thought aside in favour of moving his hands to press flush against Jay’s lower back, pressing him a little closer. Jay moved without a fight, draping his head over Alex’s shoulder to angle the skin of his neck parallel with his teeth. Alex’s eyes bore into exactly where he wanted to bite— The fleshy part right in front of the largest tendon. That part always gave him the best results.

They sat in unmoving silence for a moment, Jay’s breath quietly sounding out as it fanned across Alex’s own neck. He let his hunger build, the pressure soon filling out his gums as his fangs protracted in, pupils dilating while the clawing ache of fervour dug into his being. This is what Jay asked for, and he would give him what he wanted.

After what could only have felt like ages, he leaned forward, wetting the skin with his tongue just to give the briefest of warning before sinking his teeth in, moving with Jay as he tensed. This was a delicate procedure— He wasn't looking to rip his throat out with his teeth, afterall. They just had to keep still for a little longer..

Once he tasted the tangy, copper flavour of liquid seeping past his teeth, he knew he hit the right spot. He retracted them, only to latch right back onto his skin, licking at the blood beading out. He could hear Jay’s hitched breath, feeling the way his throat and chest stuttered each time, but he ignored it to focus instead on the eye-rolling delectability of the others blood, his hands moving to grip his hips to keep him in place.

He could feel Jay’s growing limpness as the toxin worked its magic to fill his mind with haziness, his head dropping down fully onto his shoulder as Alex sucked down the blood until he was sure it would stop pouring. He could feel the pressure in his head ease up, his irritation being smoothed over by the calming balm he was drinking down. When he was satisfied, he moved back, soothing the bite wound with his tongue to numb the pain soon and, hopefully, not leave too big of a scar. Who knew you’d get a free neomycin built into your saliva when you're turned into a beast? Definitely not Alex.

He moved away, his back resting against the couch yet again as he casted his gaze over at the male in his lap, watching as he swayed before falling limp against his chest. He moved a hand up, combing through the back of his hair. “Happy now?” He questioned, his voice now smooth without the migraine and irritation ebbing behind every word. Jay didn't reply anything besides a grunt, but that was all he needed to do. Alex knew the answer, he knew it was a yes, because it was always a yes.

He let his head lean back against the couch as he basked in the newfound relief flooding through his head, the metallic taste still coating the roof of his mouth. He should have just done this hours ago— Maybe he wouldn't have been so pissy the whole time. He continued going through the motions of his “I can't believe I was so stupid” self lecture, unbeknownst to the fact that his talking blood supply was sliding off of his lap until he heard the sound of his knees hitting against the carpeted-over concrete floor. The sound made Alex cringe slightly— He may have built up a higher tolerance now, but he knew good and well what that felt like.

His eyes traced back over to where Jay now sat between his legs on the floor, observing him to see if this was a complete accident or his own doing. It was a valid response, Jay had learned how to navigate the heavy stupor of the toxin by now, and he had interesting desires and even more interesting ways of going about getting them. Alex learned over the years not to question it, and he especially didn't now when he felt the pressure of Jay’s head resting against his stomach, eyes closed and body heavy. He stayed still for just another beat of silence, before lacing his fingers back through the others hair, letting him stay there for the time being. Both of them were satisfied, and he was sure both of them were content with being sat in comfortable silence instead of the usual tension.

He just had to hold back from doing this next time. Or, maybe the time after that instead..

[peppermintquartz]

By the end of the hour, Rocker has come to three conclusions:

1) His twin is an idiot.

2) Evan Buckley is an idiot.

3) They deserve each other.

"There's this thing," he says, completely deadpan, "called Talking To Each Other, and you both suck at it."

"Hey!" "That's not fair-"

Rocker ignores their protests. Idiotic protests shouldn't be acknowledged. "You," he started, pointing at Buckley, "told my brother you admire him, started talking about queer people being brave and all that, and marriage... Before you even said I love you?"

Buckley gapes, giving a wonderful interpretation of a fish

He turns to Tommy, whose thick arms are crossed over his chest. "And you, baby bro-"

"-don't call me that-"

"-is so spooked by that that instead of saying stuff like ah we need to slow down you fucking break up? And you felt so bad you called me at four in the morning sobbing and drunk? Luca wants to hear from you later, by the way. You scared him too."

"You can tell him I'm okay."

"Are you really?" Rocker is unimpressed with Tommy's glare. "Again, S.W.A.T. I've been eyeballed by scarier than you, sweet cheeks."

"Screw you."

"Luca's got that covered."

Buckley is watching the twins banter, his big blue eyes bouncing between them. Tommy is assiduously avoiding Buckley, which is stupid, because Rocker can tell that Buck wants to take Tommy back.

Well, if his twin can't get out of his own way, Rocker will have to help.

"Buckley," Rocker says.

Buckley jolts to alertness. "What?"

"My baby bro. You still like him?"

Buckley flushes, but stares at Tommy. "Yeah. Never stopped."

Rocker nods. "Alright. At least that's cleared up." He stands and Tommy does too, as if assuming they're about to go, when Rocker grabs and hoists Tommy over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, before he heads up the loft.

"Buckley, come on!" he shouts.

"The fuck, Donny?" Tommy yells, trying to kick free. Rocker deposits Tommy on the bed and straddles him, pinning his twin to the mattress.

Buckley is gawping from the stairs. "I've had fantasies like that," he says dazedly. "Have you ever-"

"Hell no," Tommy and Rocker both exclaim at the same time.

"Buckley, you have handcuffs? A belt will do in a pinch." Rocker grins when Buckley hands him handcuffs from a box in the closet. "Knew you'd be a little kinky. Tommy always ends up with the naughty ones."

"Donny, don't you dare," Tommy warns. He struggles against Rocker's hold, but it's useless.

Slipping one of the cuffs onto his twin, Rocker glares down at Tommy but speaks to Buckley. "Get in here, kid."

Bemused, Buckley comes to the bed, and is promptly cuffed to Tommy. Rocker gets off Tommy and the bed.

"You two. Cuddle, fuck, whatever. Then talk it out." Still holding down his brother, Rocker rolls his eyes and mutter, "Simplest solution in the world but you gotta be up your own ass about it. I'm gonna put the key downstairs. Tommy, let me know if you're coming home."

Whistling to himself, he jogs down the steps and puts the key on the kitchen island. It's silent up in the loft, but Rocker knows it's because he's still around.

"Have fun, you crazy kids!" he calls out just before he leaves the loft.

Idiots, he thinks. Then he makes plans for dinner with Luca; he doubts Tommy will come home tonight.

"Donny, not today."

"Hell you mean not today," Donovan Rocker pushes his way into his twin brother's house. "You drunk called me, crying about your boyfriend whom you were supposed to introduce to me next week, saying that you broke up 'for his own good', and you think I won't take a couple days off to check on you? Fat chance, fathead."

Tommy groans and drops onto his sofa. "Whatever, man."

"What happened?"

"He asked me to move in with him."

"Tommy that's awesome! You love the guy!"

Tommy cracks open an eye. "Donny, he didn't even tell me he loves me. And I have a fucking house, okay? I have a whole damned house which you are sitting in."

Rocker makes a face. "Did you say that to him?"

"Like that's gonna make a difference." Tommy shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "Fuck. Fuck all this. At least now he doesn't have to know how shitty I am."

Humming in sympathy, Rocker sits next to Tommy and carefully gathers his twin into a hug. Tommy resists a little at first, but then gives in to lie on Rocker's shoulder, curling his socked feet onto the cushions.

"Sometimes I think Mom should've fought harder to have custody of us both," Rocker says quietly, after a while. "She'd have got that low self-esteem out of you somehow."

"Yeah, well. Wishes and horses."

Rocker kisses the top of his twin's head. "I'll stay here tonight, baby bro. Seems like you need someone in your corner."

"I'm only eight minutes younger," Tommy grumbles, but he doesn't chase Rocker away; his arms wrap more tightly around his twin, pretending it's not a different body he wants in his embrace.

[homestead-akatsuka]

"Good day, grasshopper!"

for the first time ever, i - nephilapothecary 'trout' homestead-akatsuka - have finished a ref, and i want to crumble into dust

would you believe this is a 'cover page' ref? as in the actual ref i posted as a wip isn't even done? and neither are joro's expression sheets nor design notes done? sigh... long long way to go!

more info of joro and other credits under the cut because i'm scared of long posts. by long, i MEAN long i am very sorry in advance.

'name' ✧ Mai/Mugi Jorō (麦 ジョロ—) age ✧ late 20s to 30s (generally a good two years older than the sextuplets for reference) height ✧ 4'11 / 151cm birthday ✧ March 14 nationality ✧ Singaporean, Chinese (Cantonese/Hokkien) gender ✧ Non-binary pronouns ✧ They/He/She – doesn't mind any pronouns, but generally prefers them in the order shown. orientation ✧ Sapphic/Lesbian, Polyamorous, Demisexual voice-claims ✧ Saiga Mitsuki (JPN), Stephanie Beatriz (ENG)

playlist ✧ "And the sunshine greets you again, my scarab!" (to specify, the voice-claims for both JPN and ENG are Rika from Pokemon Horizons and Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn 99 respectively!)

Jorō is the current and only farmer that owns the now-revitalised land on the outskirts of Akatsuka Ward, the quaint Furusato Homestead (故郷農場). Without so much as a tie to the country, it seems as if they've appeared out of nowhere.

They are known by quite a few of the seniors in Akatsuka Ward, though mostly by the stay-at-home parents and local cooks. They make a decent living off of their crops and own a reliable little flock of hens and wild geese, with barn cats that seemed to settle in of their own accord.

One of the few friendlier citizens quickly become a familiar face to them; Jorō becomes fast friends with Matsuyo, someone who frequents their produce at the farmers' market - the fact that Jorō never charges all that much and looks way too young to be a farmer must have drawn Matsuyo in out of curiosity. They see her almost like a second mother, with her kind words and reassuring smile, whose meetings at the markets sometimes come with little gifts of food. Their meetings with Matsuyo soon extend beyond exchanging produce and small talk, and Jorō's presence in the Matsuno household become known to the sextuplets living there. Well, the few instances of their name are accompanied only with a healthy dose of motherly nagging.

A collective decision to put a stop to this endless harassment from their mother, the sextuplets attempt to confront them - and hopefully, scare them off so they wouldn't have to hear about getting jobs again.

An... unfortunate incident leads to a very rocky first impression of Jorō, but the lot of them sort it out in due time.

In the present, the idiosyncratic farmer finds themselves to be good friends with all six of the Matsuno brothers, each with their own little oddities. They are especially fond of the second, fourth, and fifth brothers: Karamatsu, their go-to buddy for so-bad-its-good western movies and playful, sometimes heartfelt talks. Ichimatsu, their quiet companion whose candid - and also morbid - conversations make for great company. And Jyushimatsu, an almost-rabid ball of energy who never gives them a day of mundanity.

𓆣

Jorō's personality and looks are a strange mismatch. Covered neck-down in intricate tattoos of insects and botanical illustrations, one would assume them to assert themselves like a delinquent would, or at least assertively enough to give off a threatening aura, even at a glance. This could not be further from the truth.

They carry themselves with an air of whimsy and have a level-headed mindset. Jorō's language, though warm and homely, can sometimes seem eccentric - choosing to refer to their friends with insect-related terms of endearment and speaking almost in roundabout manners. They rarely hold grudges, but have learnt to be quite wary of people who they find to be shady or untrustworthy. Despite the mellow persona they hold, if they ever aren't being taken seriously, they can and will make their stance clear as day, through words or force. A very 'do no harm, take no shit' attitude. Don't worry though, they're very placid most times.

Jorō comes off as polite and charming to acquaintances, but by god, do they have a potently concentrated ball of anxiety hidden in deep layers within their heart. They easily tire when they're around unfamiliar people, having to keep up the cool, composed act and having to figure out what to say to certain people so they don't come off as impolite or strange. Around friends, they loosen up quite easily and can get a little vulgar. They mean well, it's just natural habit to swear.

A hoarder of hobbies, the king of trinkets. They have a dedicated room for their old, current, and transient hobbies, as well as display shelves for all the little items they collect. You can find quite a lot of stuff in there; guzhengs, violins, embroidery, pottery wheels and more. Their current interests lie heavily in the arts and sciences, mostly illustrations, insect identification, and insect pinning. They love beetle fighting but only ever conduct it under very strict, specific circumstances – they despise hurting beetles for entertainment, and would rather have them fight naturally than force it.

An individual with a vested interest in entomology, environmental sciences, native biodiversity, and ecology. They've earned a Bachelor's Degree in Science and minored in entomology in Australia, they WILL talk your ear off about insects do NOT mention insects around them you will REGRET IT.

Jorō Trivia 𓆣

✧ They speak English, Japanese, German, Mandarin, and some Cantonese! It's mostly swears for Cantonese but they can also converse in it too.

✧ Aside from the Matsuno family, they're cloae buddies with Chibita! They sell daikon and fresh eggs to them and accepts coupons for free oden sometimes.

✧ They hand-embroider a lot of their shoes and pants! A habit they developed from their university days, in which they'd cover all the accidental acid spills and bleach stains with floral and insect motifs.

✧ Their parents enrolled them into a lot of extracurriculars as a kid, so they end up being decent at a lot of things; first aid, singing, violin, guzheng, etc. They're no master though.

✧ A lot of animals seem docile around them. They've managed to befriend a family of geese on their property, formed an alliance with the feral barn cats that take residence in their shed, and somehow managed to figure out a compromise between the crows that always want a bite of their crops. How they do it, nobody knows.

𓆣

god okay I took a LOT of inspiration from @/puffpawstries and @/flowerakatsuka's refs for honno and kuroba respectively, my apologies if i might have mirrored a few things too much GWAHAH

my style's usually quite clashing with the ososan style but i think i managed to balance it! here's the blue linework version even though it's. ngl it's a lil ugly HAHAGSJ

falls over and turns to dust

[extremely-judgemental]

This is the last time I talk about Elain (hopefully!). I honestly don’t understand where you’re getting the idea that she is sweet. Elain is polite, like ‘my neighbour is nice to me’ sort of way. That doesn’t warrant how everyone puts her on a pedestal.

Her actions are mostly glossed over as self-preservation, but that doesn’t seem right to describe her behaviour either. At least, not in a sympathetic way. I'm sure there’s going to be an overload of trauma to justify this, because how can SJM’s heroines have mere mediocre problems when they can be abused or have lost a loved one?

I digress. Ever since Nesta’s grooming came to light, the same is assumed about Elain—that she’s groomed to be ‘nice’. That’s not entirely true. Their mother and grandmother focus on Nesta because getting the eldest married well will bring more prospects for the other two. In their mother’s words, Elain needn’t worry because she is a born beauty, and so she is not trained in courtliness or politics. And, Feyre has enough liberty to lock herself in their father’s office. As a middle child, Elain chooses the ‘nice’ mask because it’s what gets her attention in a family full of stubborn heads—her mother, her grandmother, her sisters.

During their poverty years, even if she could do chores, it’s hard to believe Nesta let her given how much she coddles Elain. And, Feyre treats her like a fragile doll. Elain essentially enjoys the best of both worlds like her father without contributing much to the family. She benefits heavily from her sisters’ animosity against each other—she’s the kind one while the other is the bitch. She’s also quick to secure a marriage alliance right after they regain their wealth. This isn’t to say it wasn’t out of love, but the plot is set in somewhat medieval times, where the order in which the sisters marry is crucial—Elain already wed before the eldest leaves a mark on Nesta’s reputation, making it difficult for her to find suitors.

Elain goes her entire life without being blamed or hated by her family, or even the IC. To have gone through all those struggles, having done literally nothing, and still cherished by everyone? Kindness doesn’t buy you that kind of a pass. It’s not her fault that everyone puts her first, but it’s the result of the image she actively cultivates to achieve her means.

This is why the paintbrushes don’t hold much value either. She doesn’t make Feyre’s life easier or take away some of the burdens, but gives her presents and everything is okay between them? This comes off like love-bombing to me—making Feyre feel special so that Elain isn’t the villain. Which worked, as Nesta is the one called ungrateful. When you’re struggling and someone offers you a bit of joy and relief, it is impactful, and Elain’s gesture could have been that if she had contributed to the family. But now, it comes off as manipulation.

And here’s my issue with her betrayal in Silver Flames. No one gives two fucks about what she thinks is best for Nesta. The IC won’t sit around and wait till she’s convinced. If she decides to lock herself in her room and cry again, only Feyre might care a little. Until then, she’s never included in any major decisions and she’s too perceptive to not notice this. She doesn’t even have to side with Nesta, but to pack her things to send her away?

She even goes on to throw in a ‘you don’t have to be miserable’ when Nesta is being imprisoned with a man. Imagine Elain trapped with Lucien to get her out of her funk. Feyre violated Lucien’s mind when he asked for a few minutes alone with her. They were chaperoned by the entire family for one simple tea. Clearly, Elain is not so stupid as to not know what she’s implying. She lets Nesta suffer not out of self-preservation but because she, like Feyre, believes Nesta is hopeless.

Later, she manipulates Nesta into scrying and insults her in front of everyone who hates her. She blames her ‘invisibility’—she crafted for herself—on others. It isn’t about her owning her life, because she could have done the scrying right away without that conversation with Nesta. And it’s not about protecting herself from the IC. Her outburst felt more like her resentment, that she couldn’t handle losing her shield.

There are many who want Elain to stand up to the IC, but the thing is, she has no reason to. When none of her actions are held against her, what would she fight for? The IC’s behaviour is borderline psychotic with Nesta to prove she wouldn’t be welcomed into the family unless she becomes reputable enough to be Feyre’s sister and Cassian’s mate. In Elain’s case, she is already forgiven and accepted.

Though it still falls under the broad term, her self-preservation carries heavy undertones of selfishness and manipulation. It is not even a survival response triggered under pressure. Most of her life, Elain never has to make big choices. She always gets what she wants without lifting a finger. No responsibility at home, more attention from family, the only one to receive her father’s love, her engagement to Graysen, going to Graysen for help, being left alone during the battles, having her own gardens in Velaris, learning to cook, leading a simple life, to be away from Lucien, pursuing Azriel. When exactly is she ever denied in the first place to preserve her happiness?

Also, Elain is definitely not a helpless doe. She is an opportunist. Her ‘kindness’ is a mask to escape scrutiny from others when she neglects her responsibilities. It serves her too since ‘Elain is Elain’.

And that’s fine because these flaws add layers to her character and there’s room for growth. But when the narrative ignores them and paints her as an angel because it supports the glorified hero, that is wrong. We see it happen with Feyre, Rhysand, and the Inner Circle. Elain is underdeveloped, yet she shows prominent traits at major plot points and still is considered ‘sweet’. At this rate, she’s just going to be another bland cutout who can never do anything wrong and is universally loved (like Feyre).

On the other hand, all this masking, the cunning, and the pettiness are great agents for her obvious future bonding with Rhysand who is quite similar. But her true nature has to be acknowledged first, which is clearly not happening in the narrative or the fandom.

There are obvious issues to be resolved in Elain’s character—shedding these traits and loving others without exploitation—but the focus will be on what SJM deems worthy for her plot. Elain went from being content to staying in the background, tending to her gardens, and creating beauty to wanting to step out of her sisters’ shadows. Though she never gave that vibe, it will be shoved down our throats because these leads need to be badasses. At this point, she has more chances of turning into another Feyre with her ‘coming out of the shell’ journey because that’s the only way women can grow in this series. I don’t like Elain the way I don’t like Feyre, Rhysand, or Cassian. She is, and will likely never be, held accountable for anything she does. Nesta has self-awareness, her flaws are portrayed as such, and she makes amends for her mistakes because that allows Feyre to be right again. But what reason does Elain have to be better when she hasn’t done anything wrong until now?

[anomalymon]

I did do a bit of research into subpersonalities and I'll admit I'm not an expert, but what's described here seems different to me. What I saw about subpersonalities they don't seem to have that level of identity to actually be different species or fictional characters like I saw. When I looked into genders I couldn't find anything about them being able to be different genders either besides in a sort of metaphorical way.

This seems a lot closer to median systems (other source with some better clarification) from how I've seen it described in polymind resources vs. how I've seen it described in subpersonalities, actually to the point polymind seems to unintentionally have borrowed a term structure from it with -ling. While it might not be, I think that's where I and most other systems see the similarities.

I think active as a parallel to fronting, at least for me, is because of how there's terms in the carrd for active, co-active, and activestuck, which seem like they're meant to parallel front. The same goes for swap and swappy being just switch and switchy.

Also for me at least I was getting my information from the wiki that I saw linked and I assumed the Carrds that kept being cited were either created by the coiner or created with the coiner's feedback. The Carrds aren't reliable, I know this one has straight up misinformation, but I was taking them as something reflective of the community and community terminology since it was cited on the wiki. I understand if that's not the case but that's why I referenced it.

Either way if it's genuinely not plurality, I'd say a good way to beat those allegations would be to write about your experiences. Especially with posts in the tag furthering that misinformation, like calling it a "less harmful alternative to endos" (it's not an alternative if that's not what it is in the first place, since endogenic systems are separate individuals, not personalities and not really anything close to subpersonalities).

I think a lot of people would be interested in reading any essays you'd write on your experiences too. The alterhuman community especially is big into that, and I'd love to read it myself too. A lot of communities got their start with people just writing and sharing their experiences. If you try to make the whole term structure before others know your experiences and vice versa, that's how misunderstandings can happen.

It's worth mentioning too that there are system and plural community resources that might still be applicable to you, and there's nothing wrong with using or reading these if you aren't of these experiences or don't identify as such. I'd highly recommend Healthy Multiplicity as a starting point since it's a long time link collection and has a lot of relevant articles. I'd also recommend learning what plurality and systems actually are, since that might give you more insight into how your experience compares and differs.

(Also re: little, I know it's an age regression term but little and ageling as far as that glossary goes seemed redundant to me, hence why I included it, but admittedly that was done without thinking)

Polymind is a bit fascinating because it ends up unintentionally showing why system terminology ends up not being exclusive to any one specific group.

Like when you try to describe plural experiences in a way that tries not to use an existing plural definitions, it shows a lot more blatantly that at its core we do all have the same experience of being more than one. Any term you make has a high chance of applying to the other group.

Then when you get into the terminology needed to actually describe those experiences, you find you kind of need most of the shared terminology otherwise you need to recreate the whole damn lexicon.

Like the reason terms get shared is more like "We have DID need a fast and easy way to describe fictional alters. Oh, soulbonders have a lot of terminology for this already that fits what we need, we'll start using fictive and source."

Or "We're a non-disordered system and need a way to describe one headmate taking over. Oh, medically there's switching and front, that's a fast and simple way to describe it."

And like a lot of subcultures online are like that and when you try to fight it you end up with complicated and not very practical terms. Especially when there's terms that have been used for over 30 goddamn years that are simpler and easier to use.

Hell even trying not to use any existing plural terminology, Polymind ended taking a lot of them unintentionally (i.e. part, ageling, little, protector).

It also highlights an issue where unless you do deeper introspection, which is not always practical for... obvious reasons, you probably won't know exactly what you fall under. Expecting people to look in depth trauma history to figure out what terminology they're allowed to use is despicable.

Also that the problem is at its core that people don't think we should exist at all and that the terminology stink ends up being more of a way to make harassment and fakeclaiming seem "justified" and also a method of erasing history and separating systems from resources/making them harder to find but eh

[thetepes]

Not to play devils advocate, but I feel like lilys opinion on the usage of the n word is valid. Regardless of someone’s race, I think it’s a little backwards to dictate what someone has to say about another races cultures just because they’re white (or not of that culture), differing opinions aren’t the end of the world and hers wasn’t inherently racist I fear the same goes for the anime thing too, I’m sorry but Japan DOES have of a loli problem, even if her wording was extreme

I’m not white myself (to be fair, not black/japanese either), not that I think it matters to what I can and can’t say about this but I don’t want you to assume I am white because I somewhat defended lily, which is someone I did NOT want to run defense to but maybe I’m too conservative for this space but I mean this in the most respectful way possible, it feels like some of you are reaching on some things just to paint her in a worse light, as if she wasn’t already famously bad 😭

(Feel free to correct me, I’m not trying to be intentionally ignorant for the sake of it I’m just tired of hearing of a lot of echo chambers about the issue without getting to WHY what she says is racist when I think like pretty reasonable??)

Anon, my friend, I do not know how to break this to you, but that is racist. I know you do not mean to be. I know you're trying your best to be as inoffensive as possible. I'm going to do my very best to answer you genuinely because you seem genuine.

Saying Japan has a Loli problem is like saying America has a child pageant problem. It's there. It's a problem, but it's not something floating on the surface everyone in Japan is aware of the magnitude of. It's a niche genre of ero fiction that comes up about as much to your every day Japanese person as child pageants in America.

In the 80's there was this loli boom that took place where it split off from your more typical bishōjo into lolicon. You would find stuff like Future Boy under that genre long before you'd find any ero.

It wasn't until an otaku named Tsutomu Miyazaki was arrested in the late 80s that the darker side of loli came to the awareness of your every day Japanese person. It was a popular genre so there was a LOT of hentai of it. He killed and murdered several little girls between the ages of I think 3 to 6 and it started a panic very similar to the Satanic Panic that happened in USAmerica. He had a massive collection of anime and hentai. I mean massive. From normal things you'd see in Walmart to stuff you could only buy from very specific websites online no normal person would even know about. It wasn't just Loli that was effected though it was all anime.

It's why Otaku culture was so repressed and shameful for a long time and it even killed the Loli boom because the style was associated with the killings. It wasn't until very recently that Otaku culture made a come back, but still Loli isn't making that come back because of the online opinion on Lolicon. It's gone from an art style to something a lot darker and I think that's where the communication sort of faulters? Because if you say to a Japanese person "you have a loli problem" they're going to think you're having a Satanic Panic moment at them.

At least that's been my experience.

This whole thing is why there was the Moe boom in the 2000's, it was an over correction on the part of artists. Trying desperately to get away from that label and people taking advantage of that as well to make slop.

The rise of the Lolita in Harajuku also muddied the water on this because there's an entire beautiful subculture there that branches into a thousand different expressions. "You have a loli problem!" What's the problem with girls in frilly dresses?

You as someone online, who is adept at being online, in critical spaces and animation/anime spaces have so much more exposure to this stuff than anyone on the daily in Japan.

The entire world has a porn problem. The entire world has a sexualizing little girls problem. To point at Japan and specifically repeatedly deem the entire country as having an issue with pedophilia is racist. To go out of your way to bring it up when you're not even discussing anime or Japan is racist. When your hate and ignorance for a place and it's people bleeds into everything you do

That is racism.

[uniquecellest]

I like movie Moira McTaggert. I dislike how they give her so little sustance but that's also what I love?

"she's charles's love interest" In First Class she isn't given much with Charles (which yay love interest wise bc she can do better and nay in their lame attempt to make them seem romantically compatible) but she and Charles are close in like a best friends way but some other CIA agents assume it's more (they go with it bc 60s) meanwhile she's actually closer to Raven and imo it's Moira not Erik Raven goes to when she wants to know if someone can kiss her without her looking normal, Moira reassures her (Moira tells Hank off later then laughs when he comes in blue and furry before leaving for Cuba in like ironic you wouldn't kiss a naturally blue girl but now you're blue way)

where was she in DoFP which is where I imagine maybe she was there in 63 when Erik got arrested (workoholic bastard *affectionate*) and sure she doesn't remember Erik clearly but she kind of knows him so she may be sticks her neck out and gets him into the underground plastic cell (the other option was death and she just knows that that can't happen. Not only bc of the brotherhood but she vaguely remembers Charles's presence and knows Charles will not handle that shit well) and the reason why her course of action is accepted instead of dismissed or stolen by one of her male colleagues is bc Lady Kennedy spoke up for her, agreed to it, and was adamant in letting it be known that I was Moira's idea.

Then in Apocalypse she and Charles meet again (I'm re-writting the cringe ass meeting). In post DoFP with Charles and Hank re-opening the school he invites her over prior to the school opening that is when he gives her back her memories, she keeps the school quiet. Eventually she out-ranks Stryker and that pisses him off but oh well. Anyways he calls her over to Westchester because he knows something is wrong and she is the main one (aside from Lady Kennedy bc Lady Kennedy was a frequent visitor and writer to Erik) that has kept tabs on him at least where he lives and asks her to try contact him but then Apocalypse happens (Alex survives in my version) they all go and save Charles, Moira goes with Raven and Peter to knock some sense into Erik - in Moira's case literally. idk how but she does. Everything else follows in-verse minus Moira getting her memories back. Turns out Magda and Nina were alive and had been kidnapped but Magda and Erik divorce amicably as he doesn't want to put her in danger again and she has now seen first hand some shit that can happen to and around him. Nina goes to the Xavier school

(I'm making up a different movie in place of Phoenix) in the 90s they find out Banshee and Angel and some others are alive. They find out that the sentinals that killed them didn't kill them but teleported them somewhere else where Amahl Faruk finds them and brainwashes them into working for him. Hank, Raven, and Alex feel as though it is their duty - as the ones closest to them - to bring them back but Amahl is after Ororo and Charles. Hank, Raven, and Alex sneak out when the others are on a field trip overnight in like DC or something. in DC Moira is talking with Charles and Erik about a new mutant disturbance which throws them off as neither have detected any mutants in weeks which startles Moira bc how can the two strongest mutants not know. Amahl then hypnotizes Ororo and Charles - Academic he is still being up - feels that something is off and sees Storm but she doesn't feel right telepathically he calls to her to no avail, going after her Charles and Storm are kidnapped. Moira goes to the DC CIA office to gather Intel on what happened and threatens to cut everyone there a new one (Erik's with her and any beef they have, squashed. She's his bestie now) and with CIA Intel and plane they set off to save Charles and Ororo. (I can make this thing a whole post alone so I'm gonna stop here for now.)

but we still get the Paris proposal (Raven is also alive) Moira and Hank are Charles's Best Woman/Man, Raven is ordaining, with Magda and Angel as Erik's and Sean and Nina as the flower throwers (metal so Erik can reuse them later and make them last longer) and turns out Moira's son is a mutant (which for some explain her advocacy aside from her friendship with Charles) that becomes the ring bearer. And Alex is the first person to give a speech at the reception that makes everyone do a spit take

[kalmiaphlox]

WIP or Snip, you decide

thank you @xxnashiraxx and @busy-baker for the tags!

OK, Last time I gave yall something very weird so here is something nice(ish).

From a future chapter of "Till Lies Break Our Hearts" that isn't all that far away. 😚

Astarion is playing a dangerous game.

They hold that pose, her back bowing, supported effortlessly in his arms while staring into each other's eyes for what should be a blissfully intimate moment, but Astarion is left disturbingly conflicted. Is now a good time, or would that be exceptionally awkward given the prior conversation, even if it ended on a lighter note? What if Hircine rejects this advance? There's only so much boundary crossing one can take before they push back.  He hesitates for too long and for the umpteenth time tonight, Hircine stuns Astarion—and also herself by the uncertainty flickering across her features when she grabs his collar between her hands, pulling him down. Their lips meet, and her's are certainly not as soft as he expected. He's never thought of such a thing, ever, especially not when resting his head against her chest, listening to the feeble, but steady beat of Hircine’s heart following a feeding. He expected more timidity from his wife, and by the way their lips easily found each other, the rising heat of her flesh branding itself against his, Astarion knows she has, at the very least, kissed someone before.  A few more beats pass before she breaks the kiss, the gray of her skin turning a plum in what he assumes is embarrassment at her own audacity. He won't let a moment like this pass though, and Astarion closes the gap once again for another kiss, a lingering taste. Hircine needs to think he wants more from her. They like the chase, that chance to feel desirable, and then he'll pull back on his flirtations when it's time for her to chase him. Love and lust is a game at the end of the night, and Astarion has played it masterfully more times than he can count. It's stayed very tame by the time they pull away, and really those sweet pecks on the lips are his favorite, they always leave both sides wanting more, even if he's the only one left alive at the end. If he has to suffer for eternity, he's going to find some minimal amount of enjoyment in it. A shudder travels through Hircine's slight frame as he helps her stand back upright, now dazed, and a little confused at the turn of events for the night. Did she think they would just end with some mild chatter and call it quits? No, no. I'm in this for my freedom. Everything is at stake! And fine, maybe he's the tiniest bit hungry for more than just her blood. He's a man deprived of soft, non-sexual affection, and if he's married, he's going to wring out every benefit that shackle might grant him.

Tagging @davenswitcher, @amoremagnificentbastard, @andauril, @roguishcat

@obsessedwhyyes, @pinkberrytea and @bakuliwrites

[bkdk-bylerthings]

okay, I wasn't going to say anything initially to this but then I found some evidence to what y’all are saying is uhhhhh

Number one: For the second person who reblogged my post, I don't know if you intend this to be saying about me but why would you assume that I hate Will or/and Mike? Or it just seems like your talking to the bylers in general, using my post as your example.

What I said was not harmful at all and is actually a legitimate thing that could happen, at least Will defending himself and I have evidence for that, will show later in this post.

You claim that Will is innocent and can't do no harm basically, it seems like you don't want him to grow into being a strong character that can protect himself and others at all in season 5 and let him be the helpless one, seems to me you don't understand. And what obsession? With him being able to be strong and protect himself? Yeah, then I do think we have an obsession because why wouldn’t anyone not want to see that? Ofc we want the character who basically has been just a warning for the others about whats coming to actually take a stand for himself! Like are you kidding me?!

It's funny bc my post was NEVER about this. But you somehow made it into an argument/disagreement

Then about the gun thing, to me you're looking way too deep into it. Like WAY too deep. And what panic attack, they were all freaking out when the shootout happened.

And did you just call us idiots? For what? saying Mike picking up a silly object to use as defense is us saying he is useless or a loser? Uh cuz we didn't? Once again, never did I say Mike can't also protect himself and others, never called him useless or a loser. I was talking about one little scenario so that we can finally see Will being a well developed character while also including byler in it.

And Here’s my evidence for that, FROM THE CREATORS OF THE SHOW THEMSELVES:

“Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected.”

“It’s will coming into his own as a young man”

SO! What this clearly means is that Will is going to be a main character here, so are we going to see the main character being innocent, in fear, in need of being protected by anyone... especially Mike, scared to use a gun or whatever weapon of choice

NO, we're not.

This is his season to shine and not cower in fear, and what’s the thing about Mike leading Will around the UD either, like what, Mike has never actually been in the upside down before while Will has survived there for a whole ass Week, while yes he was scared, he still survived, and now after everything that has happened I believe he is to be braver (tho he was literally like what? 11? 12? When he got stuck there anyone would be scared), and why is he braver- bc of Mike.

And I'm not saying Mike isn't still gonna protect him or himself or whoever, honestly I believe they will protect each other, bc that's what power couples do. Pmo fr cuz my post was so innocent but someone had to make into a whole thing.

I could say more but this is already long asf

What I NEED to see in Stranger Things Season 5 is Will protecting Mike with a shotgun, bc season 1 Will just easily knowing how to use a gun is underrated and I feel not talked about enough and WILL USEING A GUN NEEDS TO BE BROUGHT BACK PLSSSSS I NEED TO SEE IT

and to add the cherry on top I need Mike drooling over him while he thinks Will looks fine as hell protecting him/using a gun to protect him