#maybe this is why i have such a hard time getting to know people irl and forming proper interpersonal relationships

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[nightmare8-420]

i feel like a part of my soul has been ripped from my chest and i dont know why.

[iftitah]

.

[robinsnest2111]

scared they're just. keeping in touch. because I give them my money by buying tickets and merch orz

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,” 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness. 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks. 

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there. 

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall. 

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large. 

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture. 

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt. 

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out. 

You got a B. 

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88. 

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds. 

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare. 

Academia was truly hell. 

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,” 

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly. 

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—” 

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?” 

“I am, I wanted to—” 

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—” 

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?” 

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze,  “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,” 

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—” 

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,” 

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.” 

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease. 

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist. 

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin. 

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?). 

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do. 

“See you soon.” 

Oh, he would. 

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours. 

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to. 

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it. 

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?” 

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip. 

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal. 

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside. 

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—” 

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,” 

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,” 

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—” 

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,” 

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle. 

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall. 

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,” 

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,” 

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,” 

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. 

“You learn fast.” 

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism. 

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again. 

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it. 

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top. 

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck— 

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good. 

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought. 

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss— 

And you clearly needed sleep. 

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it). 

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’” 

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action. 

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you. 

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you. 

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—” 

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?” 

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch. 

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—” 

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?” 

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck. 

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—” 

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,” 

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm. 

What the fuck was that? 

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up. 

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working. 

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you— 

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you? 

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade. 

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory— 

And then you heard him say your name— 

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?” 

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together. 

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him. 

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall. 

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream. 

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—” 

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today —  and a deep royal purple one no less,  “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here. 

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head. 

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,” 

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,” 

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together. 

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment. 

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,” 

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom. 

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves— 

What the fuck were you doing? 

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor. 

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—). 

You needed to stop doing that. 

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right? 

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment. 

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he. 

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back— 

But why did his smile look so strained? 

There must be something wrong with him. 

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you. 

Why had he stopped you? 

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands. 

But this, this felt different. 

You were different. 

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism. 

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile. 

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm  — but not the  one he was looking for. 

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you— 

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?” 

And it was you. 

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?” 

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,” 

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease,  “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?” 

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

 “I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,” 

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?” 

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?” 

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,” 

“No, but—” 

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it. 

And he didn’t want to pull away. 

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—” 

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?” 

“But—” 

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,” 

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire. 

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?” 

And there’s only one answer — you. 

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours— 

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together. 

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager? 

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you. 

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM. 

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you. 

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him. 

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind. 

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better. 

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.  

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face. 

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you. 

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,” 

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip. 

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard. 

Fuck. 

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his  chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office. 

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms. 

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped. 

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings. 

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to? 

It was that time again. 

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart. 

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board —  his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name. 

God. Fuck.  

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes. 

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.  

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear? 

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?” 

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“ 

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,” 

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips. 

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—” 

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,” 

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up. 

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture. 

Double fuck. 

Why was this so difficult? 

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting. 

But you didn’t know how to go in. 

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him. 

Or wouldn’t. 

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it. 

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. 

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?” 

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?” 

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?” 

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?” 

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword. 

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there. 

“But?” You wait for it. 

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,” 

You pause a moment, “Really?” 

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his? 

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,” 

Your breath catches, “Really?” 

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,” 

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take. 

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,” 

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises. 

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—” 

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,” 

He stares, “What do you—” 

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,” 

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?” 

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,” 

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,” 

“I would say it depends,” 

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk. 

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?” 

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—” 

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,” 

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips. 

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more. 

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?” 

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again. 

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.” 

~~~~ 

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore. 

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks? 

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations. 

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head. 

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you. 

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.” 

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples. 

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave. 

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with. 

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all? 

Oh, great, you were becoming existential. 

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best. 

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike. 

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile. 

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn. 

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?” 

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?” 

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’” 

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,” 

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,” 

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?” 

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page: 

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this. 

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction. 

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?” 

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,” 

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin. 

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow. 

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,” 

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,” 

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again. 

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,” 

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly. 

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,” 

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,” 

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?” 

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?” 

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned. 

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—” 

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested — 

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in. 

Fuck, indeed. 

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲

order 84 | Scenario | Cater, Jade, Idia, Silver | gender neutral

❀ NOTE: PRETTY BOYS AHHHH, I wonder if all the characters are canonically attractive or are some characters like Ace considered mid?

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so…”

➺ Cater Diamond

There’s a reason why Cater has so many followers on MagiCam. It’s because he has a cute face!! You’re not sure if he’s aware but he just has to be.

He does these tiny things like brushing the hair out of his face or slightly turning his head when he laughs. You didn’t really realize how pretty he was for a while. Sure, you got nervous just staring at him but now you can’t even look him in the eye.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so hot…”

He blinked for a moment. He was in the middle of drying his hair when you said that. All he could think is “Oh wow?” He noticed that you’ve been staring at him so intensely for the past few days— maybe weeks.

But you said it straight to his face? He thought he misheard you at first but you definitely said that.

“Wow, I didn’t know you fancied me that way MC!” Admittedly it did fluster him, he was flattering in the best way possible.

“Don’t get it twisted, it’s not in the way you’re thinking!”

You’re in denial.

⊱Jade Leech

He has that certain look to him. It’s different than Floyd even though they’re identical twins. Maybe he’s not aware how MMMMMMM he is but he has to.

Just the way he looks at you can get you weak on the floor. His eyes… You noticed how his eyes squint ever so slightly when he’s focused. He’s calm under any circumstances yet so amusing in his own way. He’s the type of person you’d want to follow around just for the fun of it. And in his own way… he’s just so damn cute too.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so cute…”

He quickly turned his head to stare at you. He’s not sure what you mean or why. It was so out of the blue. You’ve been stalking him for a while. Of course he knew and allowed it and treated it as if it was normal.

“Pardon? In what way am I… cute?” He turned his head curiously.

“Cute!” You said again.

He wasn’t sure how to feel, the last time someone called him cute was when he was a little kid. Most people would think of Jade as alluring or handsome, cute is something he hasn’t heard in a while.

“If you’re talking about my appearance, you must think Floyd is cute as well.” He says while smiling at you.

“Eh I guess so. But he’s not as cute as you.”

He moved closer, “Tell me, what else do you think of me?”

You put your hands out in front of you, as if to say stop. “Why do you have to be so close..?!”

*ੈ Idia Shroud

It’s already canon that Idia is very attractive from the character archives book and the ghost marriage event while being complete oblivious. He’s charming in his own way.

It’s hard to believe he’s so oblivious to his good looks. His smile is nerdy yet… attractive. His personality is rough but that’s what makes him so fun. Teasing someone like him is hilarious.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so hot.”

He immediately cranked his head your direction with a baffled expression. He shook his head and let out an irritated squeal.

“Wh-who says stuff like that to somebody’s face?! Online I get it but this is IRL! Why does someone like you even think that?”

He just gets really flustered and ends up rambling about how it doesn’t make sense. But when he looks back on it, it gives him an ego boost for a few minutes and then he’s embarrassed because— it makes him happy that you think of him that way.

-ˋˏ Silver

Unintentional or not, Silver has been seeing you around a lot. He doesn’t think much of it since you’re in the same school so it’s not anything crazy but when he does see you, you’re always staring at him with this… funny expression.

Did he do something wrong? He tries to wave at you when he can but as soon as he turns his head you run away or start acting like you weren’t the one staring first.

But what were you suppose to do? Whenever you saw him, all your attention was diverted to his gentle yet sharp expression. His resting face was already so deadly, you couldn’t imagine if he were to smile.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so pretty…”

He froze with a puzzled look on his face. This was one of the times you actually started a conversation with him instead of staring and running away and you say something so flirtatious?

“Ah…” He blinked as you gazed into his eyes nervously, “Thank you I suppose.” But in what way was he suppose to take that?

[cordeliawhohung]

Real Talk.

Hi. I wish I had good news, but I don't. This is going to get very venty and probably triggering, so I apologize in advance, but I don't want to just vanish.

I've made the decision to private pretty much everything on my account here on tumblr, and I am heavily fighting the urge to delete everything off of my AO3. I realize that I'm sort of self destructing, in a way, and I'm trying very hard not to just toss everything into the void lest I come to regret it later, but here we are.

Things in my IRL have not been great, and they haven't been good for a long while. I started up this blog a little over a year ago at the crux of my depression, fighting off extreme suicidal ideation and untreated PTSD. On top of that, I had to support my mother through marrying her abuser and watching her slowly lose herself while I helped assisted in taking care of my kid brother, and helped my other brothers through their battles with addiction. Like everyone else in the world, I've had a lot on my plate. So much so to the point that my anxiety and stress is making me sick.

For the first time in a very long time, I had picked up writing again and found it to be a wonderful outlet to really get my feelings out in a safe way. It was so freeing being able to be in control of everything, and explore the very real and scary emotions that people have otherwise wanted me to snuff out. I wish I could snuff it out. I have had no choice but to feel everything I wish I could run away from, but at least this way I was the one dictating everything. Even through the pain and the last few months of pure disassociation, this was mine.

Now, I hate it. I hate it all. I can hardly stand looking at these stories or anything I write.

I am not going to share names; and please do not go looking for this person or harass them as I'd quite frankly rather kill myself than have another glimimp situation and would probably just actually delete all my works; but something that really kicked this up was someone plagiarizing one of my works. While not exactly copy and pasted, I could compare pretty much every line they wrote to my own work. I do not mind people taking inspiration from my works, but the fact someone took it upon themselves to essentially create a "fix-it-fic" of my work was honestly the last straw for me, I think. And to just regurgitate half of what I had written like some high schooler summarizing a story?

"Kore, did you try talking to them?" The idea of confrontation actually makes me want to throw up and considering the actual issues I have going on in my real life, I don't see how it's worth getting up in arms over fanfiction. Believe it or not, I'm not really good with words, and I end up making a fool of myself and coming off way different than I intend to half the time (blame the autism I guess). And I know for a fact that it won't change the fact that I still hate it. My works. Everything I write. I want it gone. I want to purge it.

I hate The Prowl and TMTIV. I can't see myself writing for them anymore. I've tried. I had to force out the last chapter of The Prowl only to just not even be able to edit it. (Yeah when that anon sent me that ask about The Prowl? "When are you updating it next?" I literally had the rough draft finished when they sent that and was trying to edit it, and now I don't even want to look at it anymore).

And this sucks because I really do enjoy sharing my stories with you guys, but it's just not fun anymore. And if it's not fun, then why do I keep doing it? And I feel bad, especially to my patreon supporters because I definitely didn't deserve the support when I started that up, and I certainly don't deserve it anymore, but I really need to step away. For a good, long while.

I don't like dealing in certainties, which is why I'm privating everything on here rather than deleting my blog, because maybe one day I'll come back and continue. But right now it's really not healthy for me. This place has grown to become so toxic. I think I'll start focusing on original works instead. Ones I may or may not post to Patreon just... depending, I guess. Writing is still so lovely and I don't want to lose it, but I certainly can't keep it here for now.

I want to apologize to my followers, and my mutals. I cherish every kind message you all have sent to me. I appreciate how considerate you all are, and I'm sorry I don't have the energy to respond half the time. I've deleted tumblr off of my phone, so to the mutuals who want to keep in contact with me, feel free to ask for my discord or something. I'll try to get on to check tumblr every now and then for that.

In the end, I really hope this is just me having some stupid mental breakdown, and that this isn't a forever goodbye, but we'll see.

I'll hopefully be back someday (: if not, I'm sorry and I still love you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What're your thought on Skully/Skelly so far? Personally, I like the kid, he seems fun and cute (might even adopt him too lol)

I’ll make an update post later once the full event is out; this post will be my first impressions of the guy! Thought it might be interesting to document my feelings now and see how those change over time.

First thing I’ll say is while I like his design, his personality didn’t match my expectations. I expected him to be polite yet also eccentric and a little sinister, not… going around kissing the hands of everyone he meets. Skully also comes off as much more harmless than he appears. It’s an odd mix of demure but also really excitable when his special interest (Halloween, lol) comes up in conversation. A fun-loving guy! He definitely looks a lot more imposing and mysterious than he actually is.

I think a lot of his intimidation factor comes from the shades. If you take them away, he looks more like a dejected fuzzy animal or a Halloween-flavored Idia/Saeran (Mystic Messenger boi). LIKE SORRY BUT WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE A SAD PUPPY LEFT OUT IN THE RAIN… His spiral eyes are cool though ^^ It’s just slightly hard to see sometimes because of the shadow his hair casts and the shading around that area.

His overall expressiveness is great! He looks cute when he smiles and blushes (from his idol complimenting him, haha). It feels very pure and innocent, which contrasts with his more… deranged expressions.

The way he speaks surprised me too… He talks about coming from a rural place, but he speaks so formally! Sometimes even more formally than Jade. I wonder if that implies being of high class/social status or if he just taught himself to speak this way for personal reasons. My worst nightmare (hah) is that Skully devolves into a heavy Kansai accent later in the event (if only because I’m not sure how to transcribe the Kansai accent into English when I write his dialogue 💦).

I mentioned in an earlier post that Skully’s outfit is a Nightmare Suit provided by the book. We don’t know what he actually dresses like irl which is a shame. Knowing that would really help with getting a read on his character, even if he were just in a school uniform (because different people can wear their uniforms very differently, as we can see in the NRC School Uniform line of cards). Stuffing Skully into a Nightmare Suit by default doesn’t tell me much about how he presents himself outside of the book, in reality.

There’s definitely a lot of interesting (and vague) lore around him 🤔 like how he doesn’t know what magical pens are and how his hometown is the only place that knows who Jack Skellington is… Hopefully those questions get answered by the end of the event. I also have to wonder why he’s such an intense Halloween otaku??? There could be no deep reason behind it, but I’m a little suspicious since this is a Halloween event. It feels like Skully’s hiding something and/or he’s not confident in himself since his dialogue implies he’s a loner irl. Maybe he’s attracted to the idea of Halloween because even the dead and creatures of the night can fit in (so he, the outcast, can also have a place among them)?

That being said, I do find Skully’s personality charming, especially when he’s opening the event with his little dramatic monologue about Halloween. It’s a nice way to interpret Jack Skellington’s whimsy and child-like wonder into a Twst character. However, I don’t exactly find myself completely endeared to his character yet. He feels a little too… safe? Too… sweet. Unless this was all intentionally and he's actually a RSA student or something/j I’d like to see more of his villainous traits and weaknesses on display to get a full scope of his character. *rubs hands together* I want to see what he’s like when he snaps… We already saw some glimpses of his nastier side when he calls his classmates worthless for not understanding him. I want to see that unleashed on the NRC students! As is, I’m not sure if I enjoy him talking down to others (he calls his classmates worthless) for not being on the same wavelength as him when it comes to his interests. It feels like something elitist otaku do (Idia has definitely done this), and that’s a big yikes for me.

[astercontrol]

If KOSA passes

Or if any other form of censorship (there are many in the works!) ever succeeds at stepping in to impede our ability to communicate online:

We have to make plans.

Now, I dunno who'll even see this post. The few followers I have are TRON fans (who despite the fantasy we live in, tend to have realistically dismal views IRL about Disney and the various corporate uses of software).

And this fandom, on average, is pretty tech-savvy. It's where I've encountered the most people under 20 years old who actually know how to use a desktop or laptop computer.

So, if there's any hope for what I'm thinking about, this is prolly a good place to start with it.

(As with all my posts, I encourage reblogging and containment-breaching.)

(Gifs are clips from TRON 1982, mainly the "deleted love scene," from the DVD extras.)

Anyway.

Current society has moved online communication much too far onto major social media sites for my comfort. Whoever you communicate with over the internet, chances are you do it through a service owned by a big company: Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Telegram, Facebook, whatever. Even TikTok (shudder).

These sites, despite their many flaws, can provide experiences that are valuable and hard to get otherwise. And once all your friends are on one site, you can't just leave and stay in touch with them all, not unless they all go the same place. It's easy to see why it's hard to abandon any social media platform.

But a backup plan is important. Because, as we've seen over and over, social media sites can't be relied on. They change their policies suddenly, without good reason-- and are inconsistent, even discriminatory, about enforcing those policies.

If they're funded by ads, the advertisers are their main customers, and your posts are the product. Their goal is that the posts most valuable to the advertisers get seen by people the advertisers consider desirable customers.

Helping you communicate-- making your posts get seen by the people you want to communicate with-- is optional to them.

Not to mention that the whole business model of an ad-funded website is generally unsustainable. Many of these sites are operating at a loss, relying on shareholders in a fragile bubble, doomed to fail soon just from lack of real profit.

And the more restrictions --like KOSA-- that the law puts on freedom of online speech, the likelier they are to go down or just become unusable. Every rule a site is required to follow is another strain on its resources, and most of them are already failing badly at even enforcing their own self-imposed rules.

If we want any control over our continued ability to stay in touch with our online friends-- we need to have a backup plan. Maybe it'll be simple at first, a bare-bones system we cobble together-- but it's gotta be something that will work. For a while at least.

There are lots of really good posts about ways to build your own website, using a service like Neocities. I VERY MUCH recommend learning this skill-- learning to make websites of the very simplest, most stable, glitch-resistant type, made of html pages-- which you can upload to a host while you store backups on your home computer. If you value the writing and art that you put online, this is probably the safest you can keep it.

But that's for making your own creative work public.

As for communicating with others-- for example, receiving and answering other people's comments on your work-- that gets more complex. I personally haven't found it worthwhile to troubleshoot the problems that come with having a system that allows visitors to comment publicly on my website.

But what we do still have-- and likely will for a long time-- is email.

Those of us who came of age before social media's current hold... well, we might take this for granted. Email was the first form of online contact we ever encountered… and thus it can seem to us like the most ordinary, the most boring.

But in the current world, it is a rare and precious thing to find a method of communicating that doesn't require everyone in the chat to be signed on with the same corporation.

Email is, as of now, still perfectly legal-- as much as social media companies have been trying to herd the populace away from it. I'm sure there are other ways to share thoughts online that are not bound by laws. But I am not going to go into that here.

Email service is provided by law-abiding companies, which will comply with subpoenas if law enforcement thinks you are emailing about doing illegal things. So, email is not a surefire way to be safe, if laws become dystopian enough to threaten your freedom to talk about your own life and identity.

But it's safer than posting on a public social media page.

For now.

Email is beautifully decentralized. You can get an email address many different ways-- some reliant on a company like Gmail, others hosted on your own domain. And different people, with all different types of email addresses, hosted in all different ways-- can all communicate together by the same method.

Of course any of these people, individually, can lose their email address for some reason or other, and have to get a new one. But as long as they still know the email addresses of their contacts, they can reconnect and recover from that loss. The structure of a group linked by email is reliant not on a single company-- but on the group itself, the friends you can actually count on.

This is why I am trying to promote the idea of forming email lists, as a backup plan to give people a way to stay in touch as mainstream social media sites prove to be unsustainable.

I'm envisioning a simple system of sending emails to several addresses at once, and making each reply visible to everyone in the chat by using "reply all" (or, if desired, editing the To field to reply to only some).

If enough people get used to using email in this way, it could fill most of the needs met by any other group chat or forum …without depending on a centralized social media company that's taking dystopian measures to try and make the business profitable.

So here are some thoughts about how I personally imagine it could work.

(Feel free to comment and bring up any thoughts I haven't addressed, or suggestions to customize how specific groups could set it up. This is meant as more of a starting point for brainstorming than a catch-all solution.)

As I see it, here are the basics of what you and your friends would each need to start out:

An email address. Any kind, hosted anywhere. You should use a dedicated email account just for this group, one that you do NOT use for other communication. Being in this group will result in things you don't want happening to your main email address-- like getting a TON of email, one for every post and reply. Or someone could get your email address that you really don't want any contact with. Use a burner email account (one that you can easily replace) and change it if needed.

The knowledge of how to "REPLY ALL" in your email. This will be necessary in order to add a comment that everyone in the group can see.

The knowledge of how to EDIT THE "TO" FIELD in your email, and remove addresses from the list of all recipients. This will be necessary if you want to CHANGE WHICH PEOPLE in the group can see your comment.

The knowledge of how to FILTER WORDS in your email. This will be necessary if a topic comes up that you don't want to see any mentions of.

The knowledge of how to BLOCK PEOPLE in your email. This will be very important. If someone joins this email group who you do not want to interact with, it will be up to you to BLOCK them so that you do NOT see their messages. (If they are bad enough to evade the block with multiple burner accounts, that's what you have a burner account for. Change it, and share the new one only with those you trust not to give it to them.)

Every person in the group will be effectively a "moderator" of the group, able to remove people from it by cutting their email addresses out of the "To" field. Members will all have equal "moderator" privileges, each able to tailor the group to their own needs.

This means the group may naturally split, over time, into other groups, each one removing some people and adding others. Some will overlap, some won't. This is good! This is, in my opinion, what online interaction SHOULD be like! There should be MANY groups like this!

In this way, we can keep online discussion alive, no matter WHAT happens to any of the social media websites.

If the dystopia got bad enough to shut down email, we could even continue with postal mail and photocopies, like they did in the days of print-zine fanfiction.

If it looks like the dystopia is gonna come for postal mail too, we'll use the connection we have to preserve whatever contacts we can with people who live near us.

Not saying it's GONNA get that bad. But these steps of preparation are good no matter exactly what kind of bad stuff happens.

As long as some organized form of communication still exists, we'll have a place where it's at least a little safer to be your true self…

to plan events and meetups…

and maybe even activities a little too risque to make the final cut of a 1982 Disney movie.

They're trying to censor us. We want a Free System. So we're gonna fight back.

For the Users. Not the corporations.

Peace out, programs. <3

[reyesranch]

the whole “you have no media literacy” as an argument is so funny to me because the same people who yap about it are completely missing the point of buck and tommy’s failed first date. instead of understanding and asking why it ended the way it did, you’re putting blame onto tommy as if he left you standing on sidewalk irl and then never spoke to you again. narratively there had to be conflict, because when people say “he’s throwing himself back into the hamster wheel” well, maybe that’s true at first.

he once again is finding himself in some sort of romantic endeavor without much thought, which on one hand kudos to buck for not having a gay meltdown after realizing he’s into guys too, it’s really nice to see that he’s mostly really cool about this new fact about himself—until reality hits.

suddenly buck is not cool about the fact that he’s into guys and on a date with a guy because no one else knows yet. he’s so caught off guard because he wasn’t ready to share it, it’s new and nerve wracking despite being an 🏳️‍🌈 ally 🏳️‍🌈.

there had to be conflict to get buck to the place he needed to be to continue his queer arc. while its hard watching tommy cut their date short, it needed to happen for the story to continue. it gave buck time to think, gave him time to really process his feelings and work out the issues he was having with his queerness aka being open about it. tommy even said he didn’t want to pressure buck and it’s the reason he cut the date short, because buck didn’t seem ready and tommy very obviously didn’t want to drag it out and end up with them both hurt more so than ending it then and there.

even after bombing his date with tommy he still seeks his sister for advice and ends up coming out to her (accidentally but it’s the first step) and then proceeds to gush about tommy even though at that point, their little romance was over.

we witness buck try to come out to eddie once before finally pulling up his big boy pants and telling eddie “it was a date, when you and marisol ran into me and tommy. we were on a date.” and then proceeded to confide in eddie that he cannot stop thinking about tommy and eddie tells buck to call tommy, buck is scared tommy will say no, eddie says if he knows buck’s an idiot he’ll love him and if he doesn’t then screw him.

tommy says yes. he agrees to meet with buck after the chaos of their first date because “of course” he wants to hear what buck has to say. he tell’s buck he doesn’t need to apologize but lets him anyway because buck needs to apologize. for himself if no one else. he realizes his behavior was bad, that it wasn’t fair to tommy. he owns up to it but tommy still assures buck he overall ended the date because he didn’t want buck to feel pressured. buck admits he wasn’t ready but that after some time and thinking, he knows he can not stop thinking about tommy and what they could be. he invites him to be his date at a wedding, his sisters wedding and tommy albeit dare i say, flabbergasted, ultimately agrees because clearly, he also cannot stop thinking about buck or else why would he have given this a second chance?

the conflict of the failed first date is there to show buck’s growth from that hamster wheel mentality to grounding himself into something he knows that he wants.

that my friends, is media literacy.

you can agree to disagree.

[chkn-soup]

Baby i need more pervert vox, your so good at writing him, just please, take my soul and let me live in glory!

PHOTOSHOOT PT.2

—————————————————

Warnings: cursing?, explicit sexual content, DUBCON/NONCON (for reference I don’t condone any of these acts IRL) fondling, Somno, use of Y/n, Vox is a gaslighting master, p in V, unprotected, spanking, blood, Vox powers off!!

Syno: Vox (your fellow Vee) is a massive pervert towards you pt.2

—————————————

It made him laugh, the way you’d wake up in the morning and immediately begin complaining about the new found bruises around your body, especially on your chest from how hard his claws had been poking into them while he was fondling you.

Your whines about the pain also got him going a little, just the thought that he left those marks on you and you had not the faintest idea.

He’d put on his key fake smile and completely assure you that it happened yesterday when you tripped and fell, you could’ve sworn that you had caught yourself, but the way Vox was telling you that your chest had hit the floor pretty hard..you just had to believe him, of course..why would he ever lie to you?

He liked that you thought so highly of him that you’d never suspect that it was him, or that he’d even lie to you in such a way because you were such close friends.

That’s why he felt extra guilty about sneaking into your room that night.

—

His clawed hand turns the knob of your door slowly, creaking it open. Seeing you already peacefully sleeping, so sweetly.

He trails his way in, he wants to take it slower with you tonight, instead of just getting into the fun part, he wants to work himself up.

That’s all the more entertaining for him. He sits on your bed, his breathing begins to match your own, watching the rising of your chest as you mewl and shift in your sleep softly.

He smiles at you, genuinely this time, not like the fake ones he’d give you anytime you got in your pretty little head about all your weird injuries.

His hand runs up and down your shoulder feeling the warmth of your skin, he plays with the strap of your white tank-top. And then he places his hand on your chest, cupping your mound and squeezing gently, right on the bruises he left last time.

..”Ow..” His screen glows a much brighter blue, lighting up your features greatly as he hears your voice, you groggily get up.

“..Vox?” you blink in the gleaming light of his face. He tones is down a notch, apologizing quickly.

“What are you doing here?” You yawn out sleepily

“I..Well..I uh..I came to check on you…to see if you were ok..you were uhm..screaming and shifting in your sleep, I think you were having a nightmare.” He lies through his digital teeth.

“..Was I?” You question yourself, you don’t think you were even dreaming? But maybe Vox is right, maybe that’s how you’ve been getting all those bruises, shifting and tossing in bed.

“But..you are ok now, I’m here.” He installs a fake trust in you, he makes you depend on him without you even realizing it..and it works, you truly believe he can help you with anything, his words can cure all your problems.

“..can you stay here with me then..I don’t want to have another bad dream” he grins..,you actually believe him. He nods quickly, and of course sympathetically.

“Of course, what kind of friend would I be if I left you in such a pathetic state.” You are grateful you have such a nice friend like him.

Vox gets comfortable in bed next to you, adjusting himself so you can easily curl up into him. You wrap your arms around his figure and his hands come up to brush your hair.

He could totally take advantage of this, was this the perfect moment he had been waiting for, the perfect moment to pounce?

“..You know..Y/n, I think you’re one of the greatest assets of the V’s.” A compliment from Vox was like a blessing, he only gives compliment to people he thinks truly deserves it. Or to the people he’s trying to manipulate.

“You really think so?” You perk up, Vox knew just when to say the nicest things, just to get his way, and for you it didn’t even have to be nice, he knew how much you seeked validation, that even the smallest compliment would make you ecstatic.

Vox took advantage of that these past weeks, just so he has the opportunity of getting you in this state. He’d purposely find anything wrong with the work that you were doing and point it out, sure it hurt him to see the sad look on your face, but it all went along with his plan, to bring you to your absolute lowest and then skyrocket you back up so you’d feel that only being next to him you’d feel better.

He’d tell the other V’s to purposely pick on you or just leave you out of conversations..but what’s this, then Vox would come up to you, and have a conversation with you. You just thought Vox was so nice, it made you trust him a lot more than you already did.

And that’s exactly what he needed..to strike.

“And you’re beautiful.” Vox pokes your nose as he says this, it makes you blush, had you caught feelings for your best friend?

“..thank you..” You kinda move back away from him a little but he won’t let you slip from his grasp

“Y/n I’ve been thinking. We should team up, make something together, I know that the other V’s are all in different businesses, but..you and me, our things mixed togther would bring a whole new era to hell. Wouldn’t you just love that?” Vox smiles giddily and pinches your cheek.

“Uhm..well, y’know what yeah. It would, that would make me very happy Vox.” You slowly scooch back into him.

“Of course it would baby.” The look in Vox’s eye changes, his body begins to get warmer almost like an overheating device..what’s odd is that so do you, you feel your body warming up and you subconsciously shift your thighs togther.

“Listen, Y/n. You are..so perfect, in everything that you do. You’re so..pretty.” Here comes the praise again, Filling your empty little mind with the thought to do anything that would make Vox happy.

You fall right into his trap, your lips meet his. You pull back surprised at your own action

“Vox..I’m so sorry!” You panic, thinking you made a mistake, Vox just lets out a electronically reverberated chuckle.

Vox just grabs you by your chin and kisses you again, you let out a squeak noise but eventually kiss him back, the kiss than turns into a heated make out, and because of his pushing it includes a lot of tongue.

“You know what would make me so happy baby?” He talks in a different pitched voice, like in the way someone would speak to a pet, and it’s almost as if you are, ready to preform any trick just to get that special treat.

“What Vox, I’ll do anything” Anything? Vox almost snorts, this just all worked out too well.

“Take off these restricting clothes for me, ok baby?” You nod feverishly and sit up to begin taking off your unneeded layers.

Vox tries to act surprised at your gorgeous body, as if this wasn’t something he’s seen everyday.

“So beautiful baby, C’mere.” He roughly tugs you onto his lap. And begins grinding you on top of the stiff bulge in his silk pajama pants that he’s yet to take off.

He also sees that as a power move, that he’s still fully dressed and covered, while you’re just vulnerably naked infront of him. It shows just how much he hold over you, even his dignity.

“Please Vox, please fuck me” Vox just shushes you and goes down to suck on your chest, blue tongue flicking your nipple, and another clawed hand going to tweak with your other one.

His who’s mouth envelopes your boob, suckling on it rather harshly, your soft moans fill his ear, he can’t get enough of them.

He cuts it short to take his cock out, it’s a dark base with a light blue glowing tip, it’s pulsing out a sticky neon liquid from its slit. The sight makes you salivate.

You sink down onto his erection and his face contorts into pleasure, his screen gets brighter, and his body begins to vibrate, as if being a overworked device.

The vibrations are sent straight through his dick and into your gummy walls that are contorting around his cock in ways that he didn’t even imagine

You begin bouncing up and down on his cock, moaning out profanities that Vox was desperate to hear.

“Your such a slut Y/n, really, fucking me like this? What if the others hear us huh?” He ruts up into your warm pussy, your liquids mixing together and trickling down onto your bed sheets, his claws find your hips, and he bounces you up and down on his cock quicker, almost as if you weigh nothing, like your just a toy, a simple pocket pussy that is his to use.

“Vox~ I’m sorry” you so pathetic you’re even apologizing for your slutty behavior.

“It’s ok baby, you’re such a good girl.” He loves switching it up on you, going from attacking you to praising you like you are everything to him..and you kinda are..he just doesn’t know how to show it.

His cock forces it ways through your gummy walls and they are forced to take shape around him, make him the perfect fit and stretch to perfection.

“Oh fuck, your pussy was made for me baby.” He groans out as his heels dig into the bed as he begins to relentlessly pound into you from under you.

Your chest moves with the sheer velocity he’s pounding into you at, the vibrations from his body getting much stronger at this furious workout, a digital sweat trickles down his screen, as he furiously pounds into your pussy like a sex toy.

“Vox! Vox!” His name begins to pour out of your mouth unwillingly like a symphony

“Fuck, already dick drunk baby?” He scoffs as his hand goes to spank your ass harshly, loving the way your skin feels against his palm, he rubs your as and even claws into it enough to draw blood as he uses your pussy for his own pleasure

“I’ve been waiting to go this for years” he moans out, you think nothing of that statement with how caught up on his dick you are.

“Vox gonna-“ you whimper out and the vibrations from his dick and the ruthless pounding of his cock send you over the edge, you pathetically whine out, and your whole body spasms as if your were short circuiting just like him.

“Fuck, cumming already baby, how fucking pathetic are you, was I that good for you to be cumming so soon?” He scoffs at you and the mix of degradation and your tiredness and just pure overstimulation on how he hasn’t stopped his pace, catches up with you and tears begin pouring down your face.

“Haha, oh poor baby, come here honey, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you cry.” his lips find yours again as you both begin to feverishly grind against eachother and shove your tongues down each others throats. He even pulls his tongue out of your mouth for a second, just to get a taste of the salty tears streaming down your face.

As he begins getting closer to his edge his claws dig into your skin harsher, drawing more blood, and he begins letting out spurts of electricity from everywhere, the electricity zaps you in short counts. It tingles your skin and leaves you with an itch deep inside your blood stream, it makes you feel all vibratory inside as the electricity pulses through you, his screen begins to glitch as well

And as he comes to a finish, blue sticky strings of cum painting your insides with his seed, his screen goes blank.

You take a moment to breathe

“…..Vox..?” You almost whimper out as you get off his dick, did you..break him?

Suddenly his screen comes back..he blinks.

“Woah..that was amazing baby, we should do that more often.” He grins and chuckles genuinely this time.

“..Are you asking me to be your girlfriend!!” You get so incredibly giddy

“Uh..yeah kid why not” you’re so happy that you dont care how off put he is by actually dating, he’s not used to it..he usually just..fucks and then goes..but..yeah, he can get used to being called your boyfriend.

—————

Thank you guys for all the support, I love you guys. And I’m trying to get as many reqs as I can!!! Pls be patient😞🙏🏼🙏🏼🫶🏼🎀

[pikahlua]

I have literal zero horse in this race so good faith question: does "koi" (come) sometimes have the same potentially negative connotation as "come on/come here"? while you occasionally hear adventure-y protagonists say "come on" in an excited "come join me/let's go!" kind of way, the only way I've ever heard it used irl is in annoyance, like "come onnnn [implied hurry up], or a curt "c'mon let's go." as someone with limited Japanese skill and who knows Bakugou usually takes the shortest way to say stuff, the only thing that bothers me about the translation is the excessive ellipses the localization team uses in general—though here it feels like maybe it's meant to soften the negative implication mentioned above? also Bakugou being Bakugou him not saying hurry up or saying let's go actually feels like it's prioritizing Deku as an equal and a natural place to end. like there's no more doubt, it's just a direct statement to come join him/everyone because Deku deserves this.

MY WISH CAME TRUUUEEEE

(I know you're not the same anon though, and you are far more polite about it ❤️)

Gosh you've given me so much to respond to as well. Gonna break it down for you.

1. Potential negative connotations in "koi"?

Technically, yes, the word "koi" in Japanese does have negative connotations! That's because the verb is conjugated into imperative form, which is also known as "command form." Commands in Japanese are considered to be rude. It's about more than just a casual way of speaking--telling someone to do something is considered outright rude. The more polite way to phrase this word would be in request form as "kite."

But it's Katsuki. EVERYTHING he says is in the rudest form possible. That context is super important. It's why all his classmates have to warm up to him for talking like a wannabe yakuza all the time, even to older people. At some point, they all just accept Katsuki talks like this regardless of what he ACTUALLY thinks about the people around him. And to be clear, this applies to more people than just Katsuki. It's one way socially-equal guys talk to each other in Japanese. The casual/rudeness can easily be heard as dude-speak too (I'll address this more in a moment). So the fact that Katsuki is the one saying this otherwise rude word doesn't come across as actually malicious but rather as just familiar and casual and masculine.

To further elaborate, this "koi" Katsuki speaks is meant to show a change between him at the end compared with back in the summer camp arc. The "Stay back, Deku" he says before he disappears in Kurogiri's portal is ALSO spoken in command form as "kunna Deku." ("Kunna" is actually a contraction of "kuruna" btw.) It's command form of the exact same verb "kuru (to come)" but also in NEGATIVE form. The literal translation of what he says there is "Don't come, Deku," compared with at the very end where he says "Come, Deku." Now obviously those phrases just sound WEIRD in English, so of course the translators had to localize them a bit to make them sound like something an English-speaking teenager would actually say, hence we get "Stay back," and "C'mon."

And to round it all off, I'll address the dude-speak part now. Katsuki isn't the only character who says "koi," so we actually can see how consistent the translator was with this word for an entirely different character!

The dudest of the bros, KIRISHIMAAAAAAAA!

And yes, Katsuki reaching out for Izuku and saying the exact same thing Kirishima said is absolutely a parallel, and it's the most-obviously-on-purpose parallel Horikoshi ever drew.

2. Potential neutral connotations in "c'mon"?

Now, one may argue "Wait, it's not a consistent translation! Because 'come on' is not the same as 'c'mon'!"

To which I say, "Your regionalism is showing."

Anon, I'm gonna be real, I have a real hard time believing you have only ever heard "c'mon" spoken in an annoyed or curt way. I absolutely believe that's the way you hear it the most often, but I have a hard time not believing you've heard it in other contexts but your brain just interpreted those moments for you as "come on" despite the speaker using the contraction.

But! Because I truly believe that's what you do in your head without realizing it (our brains are fantastic at quickly correcting other people's mistakes in pronunciation and grammar that don't match our internal models of our fluent languages), I'm not mad at you or anything. I just want to bring it to your attention that either that's the case or else you live in a particular region where no one uses the word "c'mon" in other contexts. But this is such a silly specific thing to hold the translator to (and you clearly don't, so kudos to you). And even if "c'mon" is ONLY spoken in an annoyed fashion, well, @bakuhatsufallinlove says it best:

even if c'mon could sound annoyed......... it's kacchan........... his love language is gremlin fury he's a tsundere....... "C'MON DAMMIT" he yells flustered and embarrassed about how bad he wants to hold hands

It's still in-character for Katsuki to say something affectionate in such a rude manner! We just established this above! If anything, it's consistent for the translator to have contracted the word to "c'mon" because that's what they do to translate Katsuki ALL OVER THE PLACE in the story.

But if it matters to you, no, I do not read the word "c'mon" in an annoyed or curt manner. I read it as fairly neutral if a bit casual.

3. Ellipses

I'm not mad at you or making fun of you when I say this, but I just have to say it.

watch them come back at you and be like "IT WAS THE ELLIPSES I WAS TALKING ABOUT" XD

I JUST HAVE TO SAY I CALLED IT!

Really, I'm serious, I am NOT making fun of you. The reason I suspected this would be some people's major gripe is actually quite fascinating. Younger generations have come to see the ellipses in casual conversation as rude or sarcastic:

For many older adults, using several dots between sentences acts as a natural break or a means to distinguish different ideas. In contrast, younger generations often perceive this habit as puzzling, finding it confusing or even off-putting. "It drives me up a wall," remarked one Gen Z user, echoing a sentiment shared by many who encounter this texting style.

No, I'm not about to say MHA was translated by Baby Boomers. I'm laughing because I too am of a young enough generation to see the ellipses as awkward in a casual text-based conversation. It has a certain "tone" to me. But it's funny because there's something else going on here with MHA entirely.

This isn't casual text-based conversation. This is formal publication.

The ellipses has an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT meaning in formal publication. The ellipses used here in chapter 430 of MHA is about formatting consistency. Somehow, the people who complain about the ellipses in Katsuki's final line fail to see that the ellipses ARE USED FUCKING EVERYWHERE IN MHA. LIKE IT'S A FUCKING INFESTATION OF ELLIPSES.

Do you know how many ellipses are present in the translation of MHA chapter 430? 75, and only 8 of which are actual ellipses considered "spoken" by a character. The rest?

They're bridges connecting sentences spoken across multiple speech bubbles.

Hell, on the same damn page as Katsuki's "C'mon, Deku," ALL MIGHT DOES THE SAME THING!

This is not meant to be read as "You've also... ...earned this power fair and square!!" You're meant to ignore the ellipses. All they tell you is that this is a single sentence broken up into pieces on the page. It's the SAME for Katsuki's line! For the purposes of reading Katsuki's final line, those ellipses are effectively not there. They're bridges for the visual m-dashes or commas that the multiple speech bubbles might represent.

So don't knock the translator for consistently following a standard formatting convention. That's, like, his actual job lol.

[mer-acle]

i hold all the power (evil laugh, evil laugh)

Give me...

The big athena hcs

I desire knowledge and inspiration (evil laugh, evil laugh)

Haha

You kinda put me on the spot there. Not bc I don't have big headcanons but bc I'm like how do I phrase this without being like "here's the plot of that fic I wrote" yk? And now I'm unsure what constitutes a big headcanon... so I'm just gonna give you some more random ones and maybe you can help me out with what you were thinking of? (O.O)

For Epic specifically: Her owl form is a dark barn owl, bc they're really pretty and rare and have ginger feathers that match her hair

She dislikes Poseidon so much because he's so much like her father but her perception of him isn't softened by the love she has for Zeus.

Prometheus really saved her after Pallas's death. He kinda filled the void that losing Triton as a paternal figure had left more so than that of Pallas herself, but he took her along for his little creation projects (like the humans whoops) and they really match each other's freak. Yk. Until Zeus takes Prometheus away and definitely forbids Athena from visiting. I will literally murder him one of these days.

Speaking of Zeus taking people away, Athena was STRUGGLING after Pallas. Unsurprisingly, but still. Nobody but Hephaestus knows her from when she was still pretty openly mourning, they're all too young, and he never really asked why, but my girl was so depressed and lonely. She spend IRL HOURS in Quick Thought rewatching that battle and trying to figure out the moment where she went wrong. She knows Zeus intervened, but it doesn't matter to her, it's her spear, it's her kill. He was all like "for a nymph?" when she asked to take Pallas's name. "well, if you think that is a title worthy of your status..." It was her most open rebellion against his wishes for a while.

Her favorite domain is wisdom, but it's followed by crafting, not war. Don't get me wrong, she enjoys a good fight, but if she had to choose and wasn't worried about Zeus's opinion, she would choose crafting over war any day. The reason in my hc is how the domains are assigned, she was basically born with Wisdom, her powers are all about thought, and Zeus later assigned her with warfare which her powers work well with, but weren't technically meant for it. Meanwhile crafting is her "Passion domain" meaning her power in it literally stems from her intense enjoyment for creating. Imagine "What else can I do" from Encanto, but it's her discovering making clothes for the first time. The angst factor of this obviously being "My life has one mission, create the greatest warrior" Why is that her one mission? Is it the crushing weight of who she has to be?

My favorite bigger concept has to be her relationship with truth. In other words, Athena lies and manipulates her way through life, she is smarter than her father but knows he holds the power, so her council is whatever works in the moment, if she knows it's hopeless, she'll tell him what he wants to hear. Life has become a game for her, a game where she sells her soul for approval, bc she's lost those who loved her unconditionally, and can't trust those around her bc they're all trapped in the game with her, she doesn't want to be the favorite, she needs to be the favorite, it's the only way to survive, the only way for some semblance of safety and control, and yes, she gets along with mortals better than gods because they hold no power over her, they can't threaten the position she's worked so hard to achieve. Until Odysseus compromises a part of her that she hadn't thought she still had. Attachment never felt like danger with Pallas, but it does now, because what does it matter if you're more powerful when you respect the other person too much not to honor their wishes, should they tell you to leave them alone? If asked, she will have to leave, and that's terrifying (None of that would be overly conscious before My goodbye but for me, that breakup deep down always will be Athena being scared of her own feelings and trying to stop it before it goes too far and being at least 15 years too late.)

Woah that got dark lol I just wrote the last section and was like 👀fuck I am projecting SO bad. Like... gods I am so not okay. Jokes on me I thought I had headcanons all I have is trauma lmao

Anyways lol

Hope you liked it, and do let me know if you had something else in mind, I'll do my best :3

[hollyhomburg]

I haven’t had an idea about hybrids in a long long time but 🥺 what about pup hybrid koo who gets abandoned by his owners for being too high energy, who waits by the door every day for them to come back, doesn’t like to talk to other humans because they’re not his owner but then slowly, the volunteer who comes into his room to talk to him every day and eat his meals with him and feed him treats starts to chip away at his heart and adopts him.

only to have him wake up Literally lying on top of them, deal with him breaking out of the house and following them to work, everywhere- jk is just so worried about being left behind again but! It’s a good thing his owner is really understanding and doesn’t mind that he’s a clingy little puppy.

And of course Doberman! jk is also still covered with tattoos just like irl jk 🥺 big floppy ears hanging over his face, the breed and tattoos usually turn people off from adopting him because Dobermans you know- they’re /protection/ dogs, they don’t see jks wide terrified eyes hidden behind his big ears. They just see the tattoos and piercings and walk the other way. Im imagining the first time jk ever falls asleep on the m/c, head on her lap, her fingers rubbing against the spot on the back of them where they’re sensitive and tingly saying to herself “at least he didn’t doc your ears, I would have expected- given the other /modifications/ he made to you, that he’d have done that. At least he had the decency to leave them alone”

And she asks cuz of course she does, why jks old owner covered him with tattoo’s and maybe she should have waited until he was more awake but jk just says “liked to come with hyung to work, saved his best designs for me”

Maybe years later they have a run in with Jks old owner and it’s one of the other boys, tattoo artist yoongi maybe? but 🥺 jk finally gets his closure because he finds out yoongi didn’t abandon him he just got into an accident and was in a coma for 6 months and then had 18 months of re-learning how to walk after that. How to do art, how to tattoo again and yoongis finally back on his feet. Even when he was in a wheelchair yoongi never stopped going to different shelters to try and find Jk. Yoongi never gave up looking for his pup 🥺

Imagine tattoo artist yoongi with arms full of pretty floral tattoos in the same style as the ones on jk’s arm 🥺 and the m/c once again questions him about it and jk gives her the honest answer of “I asked for them”

Maybe jk is now faced with the horrible choice of being the one who leaves his new owner who he loves a lot and going back to the person who he once missed more than anything! Of course his little pup brain just comes up with the simple solution! They both just have to move in together to look after him! That way he gets both!! And only- the m/c and yoongi are really opposites- but they decide to try and make being roommates work if only because jk deserves it.

And maybe yoongi starts taking care of her too because he always did let jungkook depend on him lots 🥺 for cooking and brushing out his long fluffy hair and showers after boxing class. And yoongi fusses because around her work schedule she forgets to eat a bunch and he ends up going to drop off lunches because honestly- the tatto shop kinda runs it’s self since namjoon and taehyung took over during yoongis accident- they never met jk because they only bought into the business after yoongis accident when he had to sell off half of it to cover his medical bills (I’m picturing calico mini- a new addition, who took over jks job of checking people in for their appointments and answering the phone)

But anyway back to yoongi and his babying It’s natural for him to say “up!” To her (a total accident he swears) when she’s wearing a soaked shirt after coming in from the rain, blushing hard, but kinda grinning when she follows obediently. Because jk always liked it when yoongi would dress him 🥺 hyungs perfect little puppy doll all pliant and good. And it would be okay if only she didn’t slip up too! Accidentally calling yoongi a good boy on more than one occasion or going in for a “good pup kiss” cuz jk is like- kinda a kissy puppy, likes good morning kisses and thank you for putting your dishes away and “I missed you cuz you just peed kisses and I was worried a monster was gonna eat you in the bathroom” kisses. Jk has them both very well trained.

Of course he’d tease her endlessly for that. “Maybe we should get you a pair of puppy ears for Halloween if you’re gonna listen to me the way that jk does” “yeah? I’ll get you a pair of kitty ears and tatto whiskers on you in your sleep” only what if one day yoongi reveals he actually does have whisker tattoos they’re just black light 😭

Only why don’t they kiss each other the way they give him good boy kisses 🥺 why don’t they cuddle each other like they cuddle him??? Why don’t they good hands the way they hold hands with him when he goes out so that they don’t get lost! Jk has to remedy this right away 😠 he can’t loose either of them ever again so he’s gotta set them up!!!

[vellatrelle]

So uh,,,,, kinda stupid but someone stole my wallet just like a few hours ago.... Like 8pm (gmt+8) and I'm stupid enough to have all my cash inside it,,, I was getting off the bus and noticed the person in front of me taking a long time to get off and the person next to me just seemed to be in a rush while also bumping to me. I walked out and around 5 mins after I noticed my bag feeling kind of dangly and when I checked it, my wallet was already gone.

I went to the nearest security guard but they just kinda eh at me and said they can't help me and told me to go to the mall's customer service. I went there right after but they couldn't provide that much help too. I rushed to the police station right after and told them all the details.

They told me they'll look into it but said they can't promise anything since in this case, there's a very low chance that I'd be able to get anything back and even if I did, obviously the culprit would take all of my money and maybe just dump my wallet somewhere.

At the end of the day I have no one to blame but myself for being careless and I'm really angry at myself for letting this happen.

I'm lucky that at the time I was meeting up with a friend of mine, had she not been there and lent me some money, I wouldn't have anything to take a ride home.

I currently have a small amount of savings as most of my money was in that wallet :'( so uh yes, 5am post cuz I'm really devastated and couldn't sleep.

Any sort of support helps! I'm so sorry that you have to see me being like this rn but god im so stressed.

(if you follow me on another social media and wonder why I haven't said anything about this,,,, well idk I still find it hard and embarrassing to talk about it there as most of the people I know irl follow me there ajjsjsjs)

[goat-guy-tm]

I was talking about deep analysis of Curly and Jimmy's dynamic in my discord server (which you should join), and I thought "Hey! Maybe tumblr would like this!" So, here this is! It's a rough copy paste of what I said, edited slightly to fit better in a post format:

Also long post warning.

I feel like because a lot of ppl haven't experience people like Jimmy irl they have a hard time understanding why Curly acts the way he does, and by no means is it still 100% okay, but when you know someone that's been mentally manipulating you for years if can become easy to be tunnel visioned to they pain they cause others. I think a big example of that is when Anya shows concern over Jimmy's last psych evaluation but when Curly does it Jimmy (from the little text we get about it) tells him it was just all jokes, which could have been, but when it's just Jimmy and Curly it's much lighter in perspective, because Curly believes him, and Curly sees no reason for Jimmy to lie to him about his mental state (which he obviously was doing as he has quite the psychotic break a few days later)

Not to mention, Jimmy gets quite aggressive at Curly when he notices that Curly is rethinking his career. He activly calls him horrible things for 'not appreciating his position and wanting something new' (<not direct words but overview), when if Jimmy was a good friend he would have been talking about it with Curly. Instead he shames Curly for it, that in Jimmy's mind it's unfair for Curly to not be happy cause Curly has a better seat than him, but he'll frame it as them, the whole crew, to make Curly feel bad about it.

Like, when the rest of the crew learned they were going to be let go after that haul, none of them were really mad at Curly for him being the only one to be given a recommendation and compensation. Yeah Anya and Swansea are upset about it, but only Jimmy is the one to call out Curly for being the only one to relieve special treatment, when it's pretty established Curly is/was one of Pony Expresses' best pilots. But Jimmy doesn't talk about himself during the party. Swansea mentions how unfair it is that PE is throwing them to the side after all these years, Anya almost has a panic attack over not having any money in savings, Daisuke isn't really phased since he's only an intern, but Jimmy gets mad at CURLY, not Pony Express. He even full on calls it Curly running away, as if Pone Express closing them down is Curly's fault for wanting something different for his life

I mean what's wild to me is I'm p sure Curly even has a conversation with Jimmy in the game about how he hasn't been handed anything and has been working hard for where he is. Curly never out right really says it, but he does make mention of both of them working hard. Then again Curly doesn't talk about himself a lot even in conversation (minus the "on the edge of a bridge with your feet in the cememnt" one cause Jimmy made it about him)

When going back through the playthrough, I realized Jimmy is such a well written villian because he convinces even Curly that Curly is the villian here, the one in the wrong. Curly isn't perfect, he is quite literally the imperfect victim, but Jimmy is such a big manipulator that he convinces Curly it's HIS fault all this is happening, that Curly needs JIMMY so that he can fix all this, only for Curly to realizes what Jimmy's been doing when he finds Jimmy curled up outside the cockpit with a ship wide system failure blaring.

Buddy Corl: "Hey, just an idea, would Jimmy keep Anya alive so that Curly can stay alive? He berates her medical expertise but never elects to care for Curly beyond feeding him pills."

I'd say 50/50. A big thing is Jimmy quite obviously doesn't view Anya as a person, or at the very least views her as bottom of the barrel useless, but after the crash and with Curly how he was, there was no way he'd be able to do it and survive, because the entire time Swansea has the axe and Jimmy even recognizes that if he steps out of line too far within the lines of "I'm captian so I say so", then Swansea would basically usurp him. His own personal caring for Curly was most likely to keep him suffering. He voted on keeping Curly alive, and unless he was just trying to blend in with the others, then he did it because he wanted to keep Curly suffering.

Friend Corl again: "There was a Tumblr post that claimed the hands of the others were missing (the overview angle of Curly on the table was used as evidence) but this could just be the angle of the scene itself as he was going to die shortly after."

Hm, it could have been either the angle, a rendering choice from the devs or Jimmy could have cut their hands off. Idk why he would only go for the hands though, since he seems to show full intrest in cannablism. But you could chalk it up to a concept of keeping them from being able to do anything. Yes they are dead but Jimmy is far gone enough to believe that cutting their hands off could still make him better because they can't do anything to change what he's done.

Anyways that's it! For some context on why this is so important to me, from elementary school to the end of middle school I had a 'friend' that I was extremely close with. She was a horrible person who mentally, emotionally and physically tortured me for years, but since I was a child I never saw anything wrong with it. I would even rush to her defense when people would point out to me that what she was doing was bad. Now a days I hate her, and I love to talk shit about her, but I think a lot of people don't fully take in Curly's actions because they haven't gone through that (and they shouldn't, mind you).

I feel for Curly a lot, because I see myself in him in how he tries so desperately to protect someone he didn't even realize was killing him. Curly isn't perfect, and believe me I wasn't perfect when I was friends with her. She made me act out against people to gain her approval, she made me bitter and mean to others, do things I would never do. Very few people acknowledge what an over powering manipulator that has been controlling you for years can do to a person.