#not here to discuss the ethics of it lol

[pandelacreme]

some of yall like to shit on the fundamental idea of national personifications for being cringe, but the fact i am seeing miku worldwide, east asia yuri, and the whole meme about folks reinventing hetalia every few years really goes to show that people love national personifications.

and i am not saying this to dismiss criticisms of it -- both in terms of media (anti-korean narratives in hetalia, the widespread antisemitism in the countryhumans fandom) and in actual ..literal... propaganda (e.g. bharat mata, lady liberty/uncle sam, etc.)

but.. maybe i'll be torched for this, but i do think what matters most is not the fundamental concept but moreso how people choose to engage with with it. and saying that does not mean disregarding all of the issues listed above! stay critical.

but people just love personifying things. to give an abstract concept human/familiar traits has been human beings' way of understanding and perceiving the world since our very existence. so it isn't surprising that nation/imagined community, something many of us hold intrinsic to forming our sense of self, is often subject to personifying.

and i would argue that this love extends to other media that isn't explicitly about national personifications but has a nationally diverse cast (e.g. yuri on ice, street fighter, etc.). obviously it's not 1:1 as the characters in these media are understood to be ... regular people. but i think it would be a purposefully obtuse reading to not account for the appeal of national representation (hell, in yuri on ice they are literally representing for their nation).

regardless of whether or not you like/dislike national personifications, i just wanted to express that the concept itself is not niche and i don't think it should be surprising that lots of people engage with it through a medium they enjoy.

[trans-elrond]

exvangelicals and similar. isn’t it wild how you thought you understood the concept of “dying to yourself” as a sheltered youth only to realize with sudden clarity when you were a little more grown up that the old self that needs killing is in fact the self that was formed through church teachings; and the new self being resurrected is all the things you were taught to hate & fear.

[randomnameless]

Localization discourse has started to rear its head again because of some Funimation localizer defending a line from Dragon Maid but it really got me thinking, I feel like so many people are so quick on demonizing anyone who doesn't like localization changes as pro-GG when it's much more simpler. People don't hate localization changes because of the message itself but rather because it's not what the character is saying 9/10 and it comes off as calculated and cynical. I feel like it's kind of a direct consequence of transformative fandom, with the whole "I'm going to write the story the way I want it to be and fill up the spaces" but instead of a fanfic it's with the original source material.

Pro GG?

What is GG? AI?

I remember this argument of the "it's not what the character is saying" and people being pissed because they couldn't get the "right" script - and tbh, after reading some arguments here and there, localisation always comes with necessary changes/adaptation to the text, let it be grammatically or to convey ideas from a language to another, so if you want a 100% faithful script then... better start to learn the language lol

With Funimation though...

The Shinchan earlier post was telling enough of my opinion about drastic changes that aren't used to transcribe a meaning or convey an idea to a foreign audience, it's just... erasing the source material and swapping your own ideas on them.

Like, uhhh

Funimation acquired the Shin-chan US license in 2005. Funimation's dub takes many liberties with the source material and was heavily Americanized. Many sexual references, dark humor, and references to then-current popular American culture were added, including many jokes about subjects such as Jews, terrorism, and Viagra. Characters were given significantly different personalities and new, previously non-existent backstories. For instance, Shin is refused an allowance, on he basis that he could use it to buy drugs (crystal meth), his schoolmate Kazama ('Georgie Herbert Walker Prescott III' in this dub) was an absurdly hawkish ultra-conservative Republican, the unseen father of Nene (known in the dub as "Penny") was suggested to be physically abusive towards both his wife and daughter, Principal Enchou was rewritten as a half Romani, half Peruvian man with a complicated, checkered backstory that includes a stint as an accident-prone magician, The kids' teacher: Yoshinaga-sensei (known in the dub as "Miss Polly"), was rewritten as a kinky and often domineering nymphomaniac,

The earlier Vitello and Phuuz dub also edited some jokes and/or what was considered indecent exposure like shin's buttocks and tried to "occidentalise" a few references, but it wasn't like straight up changing what a character is or their personality!

No doubts funimation was "authorised" by whoever had the rights of the franchise to lolcalise and edit it as they did but it just comes out as a "why did they rewrite that stuff like they did", to make more money, to make another "mature cartoon" like Family Guy expy, idk.

And to be honest... I don't really care, because I grew up with the Vitello Dub and read some manga chapters of Shin-chan, so I know what the manga/anime (sure, the dog wasn't named lucky but shiro!) is supposed to say and/or be about.

I don't agree when you say those "lololcalisations" are a consequence of the transformative fandom in general, transformative works have existed since... forever lol (some dude wrote in the early middle ages (grégoire de Tours?) how Franks are descendans of Achilles or something to explain how kickass his king and his people are like, at this point, he's writing a self-insert OC story, right?)

But in modern times, there used to be a clear (?) divide between what was transformative work and what was canon - 50 Shades of Grey sort of started as a Twilight fanfic, but it became its own thing and no calls it a Twilight adaptation or "Twilight" anymore.

The Aeneid? Despite what devoted fans wants the world to believe, is "just" a fanfiction, aka someone writing about the characters he """loves""" no matter how OOC they are. It's a Fodlan fanfic and treated as such. Or should lol.

Still, if in a fanfic, Flayn can apologise for being born as a lizard because having lizard blood means she's automatically evil and oppresses humanity due to the fact she exists, it's only a fanfic. It's not something I like, OOC as fuck, but okay, moving on. Rhea eating ketchup is my own hc, also OOC since we don't see her eating any in the games, same thing - but fanfics are OOC by essence because they're a transformative work !

As I said, okay, moving on.

But when what is supposed to be as close as "canon", albeit translated, dips in the same "OOC" territory?

Sure, Eng!Raphael will say "I" instead of "ore" to refer to himself - and yet, imo, if professional localisers (at least the people picked by the company to bring games to an international audience!) have some sort of leeway with canon, their work is inherently transformative - since they're localising -they are still bound by some rules, unlike a fanfic author, because the aim of their work is not the same.

When you write a fanfic, you write it for yourself, to tell the story you want.

Of course it depends, like the funi shin chan dub showed, but usually, I think, when you are a professional localising something (a manga, anime, book, tv series, myth, story, anything!) you are supposed to only bring "necessary" changes to the source material to bring this source material to the "targeted audience".

And it's kind of hard to determine at what point is a "change" necessary or not - back in the 2000, "Jonouchi" had to be changed in "Joey" because, supposedly, non japanese children wouldn't be able to understand/connect/watch/idk a show with a foreign name (even here in France, we got "Petit Coeur" aka Small/Little Heart for... Piccolo in the early 90s!) - but now in the 2020s Midorima isn't dubbed "Mike".

(even if 2013 saw a localised Fates edit "Suzukaze" to "Kaze" for reasons as foggy as Fodlan's 10k years of lore)

And we of course have the notion of "targeted audience" - here in France, in the 90s, basically any "animated cartoon" was supposed to be targeted for children, like 3 to 10 years old. Which is the reason why we got lunar dubs for Hokuto no Ken and City Hunter (no "brothels", but instead, "vegetarian restaurants"!).

Yugioh was dubbed for a younger audience than, I guess, what was the targeted audience for the manga (even the original anime, regardless of the dub or not, feels like it was made for younger "children" than the ones who would read the manga!).

And this is where I wanted to come with the modern "transform the source material!" lolcalisations - are they "heavily" edited because they target a specific audience?

Like... the funimation Shinchan dub was obviously not aimed at children the manga, or even the original anime, hell even the Vitello dub, were targeting.

It's almost as if we're not talking about "bringing this definite thing to random people", but "finding/tweaking random things to definite people".

Take Fodlan's lolcalisation, especially Treehouse/Pat's.

NoA was the only regional branch to have, on the official website, something like "the Church controls Fodlan".

Through the 4 (already 4!) years of coverage, some people are still finding dub exclusive lines that portray the CoS as "BaD" or in a more negative light than the original text. Pat completely missed (or was it on purpose?) Rhea's character, so Leigh had to dub Rhage, when Supreme Leader was scrubbed off her most, uh, dubious personality traits (tfw no information campaign anymore :( or calling Rhea a Nabatean as an insult :()

Why? Why those changes? Is it because Pat/Treehouse didn't want to bring the game to the US, but wanted to bring this game to the "Dany revolution yas slay kween" crowd + the "organised religion especially catholicism BaD" crowd? Or because they thought bringing "a game" to this crowd would bring more money than to bring "Fire Emblem Three Houses" to the general US crowd? So they "reworked" FE16 to have messages that would attract this certain crowd ?

(and apparently it worked, iirc the US sales made up for 50% of FE16's sales, so it was very popular (and profitable!!))

The Pat/Treehouse changes weren't "necessary" to understand the source material, or try to find similar references (a trip to a hot spring in Shinchan was replaced with a trip to Paris, because children who might not be familiar with japan might not know what is a hot spring, or what a "trip to the hot spring" is supposed to be), so why were they made?

Is it like the Funimation dub? To reach specific people, even if the meaning and essence of the original material is lost?

In a nutshell, I don't think localisation companies (Treehouse or Funi) work in a vaccum, if they can lolcalise so much, it obviously means they got the authorisation of whoever has the rights to the original source material (maybe even the creator themselves!) to "edit" the content...

But that's what I came to regret the time where localisation, even if they had westernised names and more westernised refs, wasn't that "free", as in, Funi and Pat/Treehouse write their fanfic of Shinchan/FE16 ? Sure, why not, I mean, everyone can write a fanfic. Can I get a peak at the original source - edited as necessary because i'm not reading in the original language and I might not catch all references - please? No, because the only thing available is either something I cannot understand, or a fanfiction that takes liberties, as fanfic do, with canon.

Take Shinchan.

OG : Shin is a preschooler who has a dog named Shiro - meaning white - because his dog is white.

Vitello dub : Shin is a preschooler who has a dog named Lucky.

Funi dub : Shin wants an allowance but his parents are afraid he will buy meth and he has a dog named Lucky.

Remove the "old school" Vitello dub, and either Shin is a preschooler who named his dog "white" because the dog is white, or Shin is... a young child who receives money but lives in an area where he could buy drugs.

I can't understand the OG material, and I know the Funi one is a fanfiction, so what should I do? Treat this fanfic as canon, or, learn the language/try to understand the material by myself using dubious tools like translating apps? Or am I cursed to forever miss on Shinchan, even in the 2000s, aka an era where people can translate and localise movies from one language to another, but apparently for this one manga/anime, it's not possible unless it's lolcalised? Snowhite was turned into "Blanche-Neige" but the story is mostly the same than the one told in the US, but for Shinchan, I can only get the "Family Guy" version that isn't told in Japan?

I remember there was a controversy about localisation (when the thing that sparked that controversy wasn't even localisation related!) where some people, annoyed with the "liberties" they have with their dub version, became intense and rude and want to see localisers as "mere" translators...

And it escalated to have some localisers basically saying a game they localised is "their take" on a story - which is true, because each translation/localisation works with the bias of the translator/localiser, even if they try to be as neutral as possible, they can't completely remove themselves from their work -

Still, in FE16, Pat'n'Treehouse removed the "Supreme Leader uses propaganda" mention. Why? Is it their bias talking, they don't want her to "look bad"? But the script, the game wants the player to know she uses "information campaigns". Pat's "take" is she doesn't use it, but as a player, can't I be offered the choice to make my own take after seeing the script that mentions it, or not? Is Pat the one who directed the script, and wrote it as the "main thread" that links everything in the game (regardless of Fodlan's consistency lol), or was it Kusakihara/someone else?

If pat arbitrarly "removes" this part of the script, but I see it because I play in Japanese/Chinese/Korean/heck maybe other languages whose dub wasn't overseen by Pat, can it be said I played the same game as the players who played with the Pat dub/script?

Pat's CF!Felix calls Dimitri a monster, OG CF!Felix calls him a man -> thankfully we can count on fans to find stuff like this out but, again, why this bias against Dimitri in CF - that comes here from the lolcalisation, and not from the original text?

Why is it there? What if someone wants to play, and hopefully, understand, not Pat's "take" on their relationship in CF, but the writers/developer's? Is that someone fucked, or kindly asked to learn japanese (aka to do Pat'n'Treehouse's job?).

I don't really have The Perfect Solution (tm) anon to the general localisation discourse, at one point I was on the "just translate" fence, but when you understand a pun or a reference, and how it connects to something else, the game/book/anime/movie you're watching takes another level and it's much more enjoyable!

And yet, growing up with 4Kids and seeing shit like Treehouse butchering stuff, or hearing about Funimation Shinchan is... disheartening.

The only thing I can say is I'll always be rooting for dual audio, let it be for preferences but also to get at least what is easily understandable to everyone (I mean intonations, shocks, laughs, etc etc) and a glimpse at what the game/moving/anime is supposed to be enjoyed, especially with story heavy scripts like the FE series - while reading subs, because even the script is translated/localised, at least with the audio, it's easier to spot "lolcalisations".

And let's not forget the most important lol

The Fandom itself!

Let it be for FE, Tales or anything else, what I find fascinating (on Tumblr but even on redshit and SF once upon a time!) is how fans will be able to compare scripts, people familiar/fluent/who know a language will be able to spot the changes, and inform anyone who wants to be informed in the community that, say, Xander and Marx are pretty different characters, just like Jp!Effie and "I love to eat"!Effie.

Of course sometimes there will be misinformation (remember the Dimitri is rude because he uses the omae pronoun?), but I still find fascinating how, faced with ridiculous lolcalisations, fandom itself - aka part of the people who were supposed to be the targets of said lolcalisation - tries to "correct" and remove the unecessary edits. There are still people who dgaf about what was lolcalised from what wasn't, but even if it's just a consequence of the lolcalisation growing more and more unrestrained/unchained to the source material - it makes fandom engagment all the more precious and fascinating.

Like, you have real people basically combing the script and/or providing a translation - for free! - to help other fans, when some lolcalisers are paid to... edit and "lolcalise" the script some fans want to see.

And so, we're back to square 1 : who is the targeted audience of Funi's Shinchan or FE Treehouse?

The players/watchers?

FE Fates was, I suppose, ultimately lolcalised for a """western"" audience", aka an US one because no one gives a fuck about the rest of the world - and yet, assuming a majority of fans are from the US, said lolcalisation was mocked/ridiculed and ultimateld decried by part of that audience from who the game was lolcalised.

Some people (I've seen a redshit post about it today!) claim the lolcalised changed aren't made for the audience, but, much like a fanfiction, those changed weren't made to be more palatable to an audience, but were made for themselves - aka to push some agenda (see redshit's theory about funi pushing a "woke" agenda in their dubs and subs when it doesn't exist in the og scripts).

And to be fair, with FE16's US exclusive "Church BaD and controls the world!!!" + "Dimtri is not a man but a monster!", idk what Treehouse was trying to do, push their "organised religions BaD" agenda and "Supreme Leader is right so let's make her opponents BaD to highlight how right she is" bias? - but I can't help but wonder if it was indeed the case, and given how Pat sucked as a voice director, if the localised!version wasn't just some sort of trolley Treehouse used to convey their ideas, regardless of what the game wanted to say.

I mean, it's still fascinating, to this day, nearly 5 years after the release of the game, that we still find "Treehouse exclusive" lines, or how FEH who's still running, also has "Treehouse exclusive" lines for Fodlan characters that absolutely don't match the non global, aka, jp lines, let them be written or spoken - putting on the tinfoil hat, I wonder if Treehouse or whoever oversees the localisation isn't deadly afraid that if they don't pay extreme attention and/or rewrite anything related to Fodlan, global!players will realise that they were fed "Pat's Fire Emblem Treehouse", instead of FE16, thus takes extra care to comb and/or rewritte every line/dialogue that could make a global player think twice and note that this thing they're reading/hearing of in FEH (or even Engage!! See Dimitri's lolcalised line about people of different races living together!) is completely different from "Pat's Fire Emblem Treehouse".

Tl;Dr because I ranted and disgressed and idk where am I anymore with this post lol :

I think there's a difference between fandom's transformative works - done for fun, as a hobby! - and some lolcaliser's transformative works - they're paid for that and aren't supposed to bring a fanfiction to the audience, at least not as localisers ; so I wouldn't blame "fandom" for the fuckery that happened (Funi's shinchan is more than 17 years old!) and is sadly still happening.

On the contrary, given how fandom (at least some part of it) actively refuses to accept the lolcalised "fanfiction" - to the point of doing translation work! - I think fandom is the reason why this discourse is happening.

[c0wch-eee]

Oh yeah I remember this one. Something my humanities teacher taught at my STEM school is that if the only reason you’re forwarding a scientific/technological concept is because “it would be so cool if it were real,” you should reconsider if you should actually follow through. Progress for the sake of progress is never a valid reason for why an invention should exist.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[neonfretra]

does anyone want to discuss hrpf outside of shipping + written fic context . because i think about where what i do sits in relation to it all

for brevity i will be referring to the real person as the player and the fictionalized interpretation of the player as the character

to get things outta the way, i dont think theres very much you can say about real life people before you start crossin into real person fiction (rpf) territory LOL

transformative art is rpf. speculation is rpf. narratives is rpf. the second you start steppin away from a direct relay of the facts as is, we gettin in ficticious waters IMO. its really a neutral thing to me and my ethics begin and end at "dont show people who dont wanna see"

and its real funny to think about how i do art just because it feels like i set up way less barriers compared to people who DO write fic . i see all this talk about making sure you make your stuff login exclusive, about not sharin it to the people involved, disclaimers about how its in fact NOT a reflection of reality that your favorite athlete is mpregnant and YOU are are mfather.

and i just hit post and call it a day LOL

TO BE CLEAR there is definitely layers to it in the sense that i see similar amounts of caution with say ship art or certain degrees of raunch.

shipping in the rpf scene is funny to me in the sense of the tendency to treat shipping as THE exclusive rpf thing. like no i dont think my tomas tatar fanart is 1:1 on the reality front either. for example, nj devils hairline is not that far back and thags the only inaccuracy.

heres the kicker: mmy foot.

most of my doodles tend to evoke a degree of characterization or narrative. yeag maybe its a little less 30k slowburn and a little more fabian zetterlund shot putting a man but. that is fictional, that is a character

im not saying that rpf defines players more than the reality of them does but i do believe it does enforce certain views

in the spaces i hang around ive noticed the narrativization around certain characters being part fueled by the information that is filtered by reporters and part interpretations bounced back and forth by fandom . and when you have eyes on a story, its easy to pick out information solely as it agrees with you

maybe the most prominent narrative ive seen for the sharks has been macklin celebrini having a jock dad -> therefore he got daddy issues, joe thornton houses him -> therefore mentor and father figure joe thornton? where even though i havent seen any direct relay of information from any players (though ivent been looking LOL) a lot of the discussion around it revolves around this common understanding that it just is (the funnier part is arguably that will smith hockey has been doing more for this narrative for patrick marleau BUT NEITHER HERE NOR THERE.)

and its really interesting to note HOW fandom warps or weaves the story by going off common tropes or dynamics to make sense of the public facing parts we do see, which is what i think is magnified through the lens of fanworks but not (necessarily) CREATED by fanworks

which is where i feel my work is part of the. ecosystem??? life cycle??? and then we all return to the dirt and the worms eat us???

how much or how little we define the gap between player and character changes from person to person. i simply do not have that goin on here. devin cooley eats joey daccords hair take it or leave it. annnnd main tag that

other times i feel we wear the divide thin are when there is headcanon that uses facts about the player (ie a lot of ship talk) or when the character becomes the kneejerk understanding of the player (ie liveblogs. very fun way to get a read of a communitys feelings on something because of how immediate the reactions on it are)

the point of this post isnt to shame or interrogate people about participating in rpf, im not looking for those sort of feelings, im fascinated by fandom culture as a twig off the old branch and i would love to hear other perspectives on the same topic (and different communities! i dont have much involvement in fic. which is. a massive hole in my perspective on this probably)

is it possible to cross the line from rpf to plain old original content LOL (the answer is intent i know but. walk with me here its fun to think about)

naturally theres a degree of "original character" to every depiction . you gotta make up some amount of it. theres no clear separation OF rpf and original content because everything is about borrowing. you make characters with inspiration from other things. its near enough universal for someone who deals with characters to have at some point lifted a character directly out of their original context and made them their own.

its not just their face or name or some other physical attribute that makes it rpf id also argue because i have seen people using attributes of real people as "claims" for origubal characters (like a "faceclaim" to say "this is how i imagine my character to look")

on top of that there is fluctuating interest on actually depicting the player, with approaches that i have heard of ranging from "character that shares the quantitative aspects of the player and thats IT" to "character that was made heavily referencing to things the player has said/done"

its interesting when certain players in rpf have a consistent character! which trends to be in teams with a more active rpf oriented fanbase (vs interest mainly in the real life hockey played), comparing the fandom of kraken to the golden knights on tumblr for instance. its also interesting to note that more popular teams just have more rpf centric leans. because there are more people to write rpf. i mean also we are on a fandom centric site and rpf bridges that gap from narrative/character fueled media and sportsball more LOL

(if you like sports from a purely sports oriented angle do you enjoy watching it? genuine question. because at what point is it "i could just be doing this myself" because ive hit that point with other things before LMAO)

i do call the difference being more "fandom" oriented but IDK if thats correctly using the word or just less syllables. and on top of that i cant exactly tell you if its popularity or stand out personality that holds more sway. though then again i guess those two traits arent separate from each other necessarily. or even that those are the only two factors to broad appeal (probably popularity with another player is up there. but im not trying to find a formula for most attractive to make rpf of)

to return to the kraken because that is the most rpf oriented team i follow, i do notice when players portrayed consistently. i can definitely tell you like. one or two character traits about players i do not follow the media of solely from liveblogs and art. complexity of the character varies by a lot, though i do think its interesting to consider the hows and whys.

a trait or interest being highlighted by media (i tend to see this in offical media coverage that gets spread by jokes) -> the character heavily revolves around this feature in jokes or casual reference, with heavy personal interpretation

media pushing a narrative by following a more cohesive timeline or story structure (i usually see this in fanworks. easier to identify the influence of IMO) -> fairly consistent character backstory or , at least in the broad strokes of it

just general agreements about tropes that are appealing with little basis on the player -> this is usually the more relationship focused character interpretation

there isnt usually just one factor (and this isnt an exhaustive list of factors) to one characters history. unless its a super new player on the radar.

its definitely a character that belongs to the fandom! as in the unique character to the unique community! its actually really funny how they evolve. you could probably fingerprint someones influences if you tried hard enough. with how new the kraken is (and the fact the fandom leans more towards being united as one body than any other team ive seen so far) it does get pretty easy to get it down to the post but. do your own treasure search. I wont deprive you!

(also its EMBARASSING... what if the people i mention SEE... im SHY...)

harder with an older fandom like the sharks there are so many dead and defunct sources or jokes so widely spread that it gets hard to locate the origin . because dead and defunct sources. though i think its growing a new ring around the fandom tree because of the newer players! so its a thought. to think about how different events influence the size and activity of a fanbase and to ask how different fans from different. eras? of a fanbase interact (or dont).

again i notice this in the sharks fandoms by comparing fans from the playoff contending sharks era (last playoff season was 18-19? start is a little murky but ill toss out that 2012 was the year tomas hertl was drafted because tomas hertl was an era of the sharks LOL a whole 12 years! i know people younger than his professional career and those people are catching up to me in height. humbling!) and fans from when the sharks were very much not playoff contending (quite an amount of the current active fans LOL). not sure if theres much to say without looking stupid. different jokes, notable players, friend groups, feelings towards other teams. all still feel very strongly about general manager mike grier scattering players like dandellion seeds to the wind.

(AGAIN. HOPING NO SHARKS FANS NOTICE THIS. IM SHY)

how many sharks fans havent seen logan couture on ice

again i am saying all this as someone who ACTIVELY participates in this BTW!!! does anyone notice that players i dont know definitely have a flatter "whatever is the funniest thing to say" angle . or that characters of players i know a few things about have like one punchline . or even that certain characters are consistent and not just bound by direct interpretations of one moment (which i do a lot of when im liveblogging) (dont get your hopes up for anything new here, the character usually is "pathetic and a little bit of a bastard")

i keep writing these disclaimers like. if someone disagreed this strongly they would not be reading this far. hi! is anyone still here. is someone still reading.

i have created life and i dont know to kill it.

i talk about one of my depictions of a player as a separate character (that is to say, a SEPARATE character from the character intended to represent the player) and i have NO idea if this is like. an OC? a defamation case in waiting? my spawn? do i have to pay childcare. does anyone know who or what im talking about or has the character been festering in my mind like an infection.

is it just me???

my advice to you: if you dont want somethin to come back dont give it a name.

consider dissecting your personal and the more widespread fandoms take on players and characters! its fun for me but i also just like taking things apart ^_^ i fear i may not be as analytical as this post demands i do a lot of restating information and thats it

[nightcolorz]

Going to vent to you because this seems like a safe space for Armand sympathizers lol…

LIKE obviously Armand is doing all the wrongs, he didn't have to agree to literally any of this, blah blah etc etc BUT GIRL. if the guy i had been casually dating for two years because he had great benefits one day revealed to me that he was a child sex slave, the thing i would not do is be like 'wow, i guess what you're secretly saying is you want me to turn our relationship into an unnegotiated 24/7 TPE huh'.

And then when he came to me in a panic to tell me his life is falling apart and his employees are plotting to kill him and his protection isn't going to last much longer and i should flee the country for my own safety because he's the most vulnerable he's ever been since the time he was abducted by the crazy torture cult, the thing i absolutely would not do at that moment is surprise him by introducing that dynamic into our relationship completely out of nowhere and then order him to stay right here because I've got a totally cool plan to outmanipulate his enemies and I'll be his master now :)

And then I orchestrate a series of hot public encounters where i blur the lines of being angry and disgusted with him right up against ignoring the boundaries he sets and telling him to do whatever i want wherever i want. and because i never bothered to ask him, i don't know if he's genuinely into it or if it's because i've weaponised his trauma when he's feeling unstable, but like, he's the one who manipulated me into doing this anyway by telling me his sad backstory, so actually i'm the victim here??

AND THEN when I tell him my awesome idea of turning a nazi collaborator into a human eating monster machine and I want him to do it even though he is clearly revulsed by this idea from every angle, I'll berate him endlessly for refusing and be annoyed with him because by saying no he's making me turn her and that's not cool bro, and when he begs me not to do it, or at least not to tell him because it's breaking the rules and he's vulnerable to the machinations of the coven rn, I'll shut him up with my dom routine, and then tell him to come watch because he'll realize he does actually want it after he does it.

and when he asks me whether this is a genuine invitation in this moment or if I'm ordering him to do it and will be upset if he doesn't, I'll be so hurt and angry with him because wow, I can't believe after months of using my nonconsensual game of acting like his childhood master to get him to do things for me, he's acting like I'd use my nonconsensual game of pretending to be his childhood master against him, fuck you for trying to manipulate me right now you worthless piece of shit </3.

like even daniel, the most neutral and ethical judge of whether it's okay to make someone a vampire, can tell the only reason he'd set his one boundary at murdering and cursing another human being for eternity is because it's not hot or convenient, and not because of 500 years of witnessing the most insane vampire maker shenanigans known to Europe.

and then the entire audience claps because honestly i'm just trying so hard and my boyfriend just keeps fucking it all up for me and taking away my choices. literally what else could i have done in this situation :(

AHHHH ANON U ATE THIS UP ‼️🙏 and Yes this is absolutely THE safe place for Armand sympathizers!! I am the Armand sympathizer king and u have just brought me an Armand sympathizer gift lined with gold and jewels and placed it in front of my thrown and I’m knighting u Armand sympathizer general as I bow before u

ur so right and it’s actually so crazy to me that this isn’t a more popular take. it’s insane to me bcus im remembering how seriously this fandom was taking Claudia’s s1 sexual assault and how sensitively it was being discussed and now these same ppl r insisting that it’s unfair to “demonize” Louis for preforming non consensual bdsm with a csa victim without any safe word or prior discussion specifically because he told him about his csa and Louis found a chance to leverage control in this relationship. I saw someone insisting that it’s ridiculous to interpret Louis as sexually exploitative for being a pimp because he was a nice pimp and he was self aware about how pimping was bad and like ??? 😭😭 how do I even argue with that, that is just so absurd I’m lost for words. No guys he was one of the good pimps because he “didnt take advantage of his position” (😭⁉️) and he knew that it was wrong to sexually exploit vulnerable women and just chose to do it anyway so see it wasn’t that bad. And because Louis knows sexual abuse is wrong and chooses to do it anyway despite this he clearly isn’t mirroring the sexual abuse Armand experienced in his non consensual power play dynamic with him because uh yeah he wouldn’t do that ig 😭. It’s not like Louis canonically is capable of using sexual exploitation to manipulate people’s vulnerabilities for his stability and gain. Like guys book Louis also felt guilty for being a slave owner and knew it was wrong 😭😭 am I gonna hear “it’s unfair to say Louis being a slave owner was indicative of his negative traits cuz he felt bad about it” come out of ur mouths 😭⁉️cuz oh my god I hope not 😭 “Louis was only a pimp because pimping was his way of keeping his family afloat and asserting the masculine identity he felt obligated to preform for his safety” and he is doing the same thing with Armand guys obviously??!! He is taking advantage of armand’s history of sexual abuse to keep himself safe from vulnerability with the coven and to assert his masculine identity as a shield like 😭 and that doesn’t stop what he’s doing from being wrong like no fucking shit. He’s a complex character and his actions come from a place of fear and not straight forward evil, but that doesn’t mean u have to defend literal sexual abuse to analyze that and to enjoy Louis as ur favorite character 😭 I keep saying this but louis is a great character and there’s nothing wrong with him being ur fav but it is pretty mf weird to insist that everything he does is ok when things that he do include like, non consent 😭

I feel ur annoyances so hard anon, it’s driving me a lil crazy rn cuz in s2 ep6’s wake i have barely seen anyone discuss the Louis fucking Armand in the coffin scene like it was pretty shitty and abusive and not like, non complexly hot and fun and nothing else. Like, Armand has been panicking for a while and insisting to Louis that he is loosing respect from the coven and therefore his control and he’s in danger because of it, and Louis decides to stroll into Armand’s office unannounced, demand he strip for him immediately, demand again without any room for argument when Armand says he can’t, and then fuck Armand in view and ear shot of the whole coven in a degrading power assertion that Louis knows will put Armand in even more of a vulnerable and compromising position, like ?? I get it read the pages to me while I fuck u was pretty hot but omg can we talk about this with some nuance 😭⁉️ this is possibly the most overt instance of Louis not asking, *demanding* that Armand sexually submit and preform for him specifically as a grab to assert dominance over the coven. And Armand of course won’t say no, he’s been quite literally trained to believe that he has services that people r entitled to take from him at any time because he’s a product to be used. He also believes that saying no is not an option because submitting to the master will keep him safe, and Louis I think knows this to an extent and knows that taking advantage of this will help him stay afloat. I believe that this scene was a significant contributor to Armand deciding to betray Louis, because Louis’s actions *do* put him in danger with the coven and cause him to loose his position of power (Santiago mocking him for getting fucked by Louis cough cough). And Armand at this point is realizing, I can choose to be in a relationship with Louis that is causing my sense of stability and safety to fall apart, or I can choose to regain my position of power by forgoing Louis and getting to retain my safety. When u think about it like that it makes perfect sense for him to do that 😭 and I’m tired of seeing takes treating Armand like he’s a sneaky little snake and not a cornered animal

on the subject of Daniel because u mentioned him at the end there, oh my god it has pissed me off since the beginning how a lot of people act like Daniel is the embodiment of the neutral, unbiased correct word of god figure who is just telling the audience how it really is. Like?? No??? 😭😭 Daniel is a shitty journalist and a shitty person, he’s borderline racist and ignorant, he is not looking to expand his perspective or approach his subjects with any empathy or nuance because he decided going in that he hates them and they r bad, which is like?? Defeats the entire purpose of the affective journalism that he is trying to preform 😭😭 He is NOT the guy u should be getting ur takes from, he is a character like any other, he is not a source for correct analysis or meta or unfiltered truth.

But anyways lol, not to be personal and vulnerable in the gay vampire sex tv show post but it’s rlly disheartening for me to witness this blatant excusing and downplaying of a sexually abusive dynamic as someone who has experienced a very similar type of “but was it technicallyyy non consensual though..?” Sexual abuse. Like guys pls 😭🙏 I thought that “bdsm dynamic that merges with actual, genuine grabs for control and blurs the line between fun sex and real demands or anger” was like considered unambiguously bad? 😭 There asses do NOT have a safe word. In conclusion anon u r everything to me and everyone else um USE UR BRAIN🔥🔥🔥🔥

thank u sm for the ask OMGG ur so well spoken and correct and I enjoyed reading ur ask so so much

[herejusttosufferalong]

Re: To the anon asking about Rory.

They’ve been close friends for AGES. He’s not going anywhere sadly.

I don’t really like his vibe

Hey, I’m the one who asked about Rory—thanks for replying. I know they’ve been besties forever, but what I meant was if Rory was a huge part of L’s life before HBS. I don’t remember seeing him much when L and J were together, except in a couple of stories and the singing vids. Also, are Tom and Charmaine married? I like them for some reason; they don’t give me the ick like Rory and his gang do.

Continuation of my earlier ask:

My BFF and I talked to two of our male friends, and they patiently listened. We just finished filling them in on the drama from yesterday and today. We’ve been chatting since 5 am lol. Here’s what they had to say:

Luke and Nic are in love: There’s a lot of eye-fucking to prove it. The tension suggests they haven’t acted on it, which is expected. The guys think Nic wouldn’t be okay with that, and Luke seems decent enough not to have crossed that line. However, they do believe they might have hooked up before Luke had his HBS. They could be reevaluating their relationship, using intimacy tools to see if it’s genuine affection or just heightened emotions and sexual tension from filming their season.

Luke’s friend group seems toxic: By friend group, they mean just Rory. The others seem fine. L dating a young girl soon after Rory did confirms Rory as the alpha of the group, and L as gullible since none of his other friends are doing the same. Maybe J dating someone young also influenced L dating A. It could be an ego thing, a guy thing, or both. L will probably cringe at this situation looking back. They said this whole relationship has nothing to do with Nic. This is Luke’s problem—a midlife crisis, even—and he needs to figure it out, which won’t happen as long as he’s with Rory and his gang.

A is super insecure: It doesn’t make sense because she’s the one who bagged the hot Netflix lead and goes on vacations with him. But her social media behavior reeks of insecurity and constantly seeking validation. This confirms that L isn’t invested in the relationship, which confirms to us he’s VERY much into Nic. So, think about this whenever A’s trolling upsets you. 😉

Nicola doesn’t care: The guys think L and N might have discussed their feelings, but Nic sees that L has issues to deal with—mainly himself. She’s hustling and thriving, not caring about his current relationship. Posting their pictures shows her character and work ethic. This only benefits her, and Luke should learn from it. They think L should make a final thank you post, even if people find it disingenuous. It’s better than nothing.

A needs to chill with the Hailey Bieber cosplay: The white outfit was an exact recreation of Hailey’s, and it’s weird. She keeps track of her comment section and allows comparisons to Hailey, which is embarrassing to say the least. The guys think A will stick around as long as she can. L seems to struggle with breakups, and now that A’s integrated into his friend group, it’ll take a lot of time to end things. She might be playing into his guilt, which is why he’s still liking her posts. She's young but smart enough to understand that. They think the only way out is for L to keep busy with work, but he doesn’t seem to have any now. Expect things to get worse before they get better. If he works, he can slowly distance himself from the relationship, and it will inevitably end. Either that or he’ll meet Nic, talk, realize they still have feelings, and that will give him the courage to end it with A. Even then, he has to make it up to Nic for all the shit he’s pulled.

Nic and Newts dating: Once they start dating, we won’t get a hard launch or pap pics. They might return to their old social media banter and comment and like each other’s posts.

So yeah, I’m really grateful to have my brother and these friends who indulge and listen to me. I think it’s safe to say they’re roped into the ship as well lol. Love to see what you guys think. Omg, also, I watched a TikTok of Luke singing as a teen, and the guy in the back looks like Rory. If it is, HE’S the one who glowed up, not L lol.

It is Rory in the background looking jealous AF

Thank you for sharing anon, love seeing the different perspectives

💜🥃

[ilynpilled]

Do you think that Jaimie could have exonerated himself for killing the king and that his silence is driven predominantly by a desire for self victimisation and pride? Or was he in a hopeless situation with it?

i think ive already discussed this at length on here, but for the short version: while you can endlessly debate whether he would be believed, whether he has reason to believe that people would absolve him, whether they would actually absolve him, how it would have changed things, and would revealing the existence of hidden nukes be a thing that prevents or speeds up the process to another tragedy, for me personally the whole “why didnt jaime just simply exonerate himself by telling everybody why he did the kingslaying” premise is a kind of reductive way to engage with his pov highlighting how the honor system in westeros operates, how it is inextricably linked to feudalism, and the impact of that at an individual level on someone whose coming of age is defined by the experience of witnessing and partaking in the enablement of a mad tyrant whose power to brutally harm innocents is directly reinforced by said honor system.

jaime is confronted with a very grim reality that violently tears down the figure of the knight (among other things) which is a pretty life-shattering revelation to him personally. it changes his relationship to his society and harms his ability to maintain faith in his previous values. the end result of the wilfully blind and complete prioritization of vows, honor, and sworn duty is complacency that allows the situation to escalate to unlawful and brutal executions, the repeated abuse and rape of the queen, the start of a war, and a mad tyrant being given the chance to burn a whole city and claim half a million lives. this is something he witnessed with a front row seat. the bitterness and lack of faith in the existing ethical frameworks and the way things seem to work is an amalgamation of everything that led up to the kingslaying, not just the aftermath. i dont think we can isolate it to anger due to receiving scorn for the act, which is more like a nail in the coffin.

there is a lot more to where he ends up as an individual than just pride and a desire to victimize himself, and acknowledging this is not apologia lol. i dont believe that not allowing him that achieves anything but reduce the complexity of his character. he has plenty of reasons to find the way his society works deeply hypocritical and absurd, and it plays a big part in his decision to not explain. not everything that goes wrong for jaime has to be entirely because he’s a narcissistic dick, nor will the issues his character identifies magically disappear after a confession.

[mywitchyblog]

Hi there! i just wanted to say thank you so much for writing so many in depth essays that really delve deep into the concepts of shifting. I'm planning on going through all of them today lol they are very interesting. I have a question in regards to age changing, and before I ask, I have nothing against age changing, I am simply curious : could you maybe expand on the age changing for exploitative reasons and what would those reasons include? Does experiencing young love only stop at love without carrying into intimacy? what if someone ages themselves down, and shifts to have both romantic and sexual experiences with minors? questions like that. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

Part 1: Fetishistic and Exploitative Reasons for Aging Down

When discussing the reasons for aging down in a Desired Reality (DR), it’s essential to acknowledge that not all intentions are ethical. Some individuals might engage in age changing with motivations that are exploitative or fetishistic. Here are specific examples:

1. Fetishizing Youthful Sexuality:

Example: A person might age themselves down specifically to engage in sexual experiences that revolve around the idea of being "young and inexperienced." Their focus is on scenarios that highlight the novelty or innocence of youth, driven by an attraction to these aspects. This is a clear example of fetishizing youth, where the motivation for shifting is to indulge in sexual fantasies centered around being younger.

2. Manipulating the Age Transition:

Example: Some individuals might script themselves to be a minor in their DR and plan to shift back to their Original Reality (OR) or change the DR as soon as they or others in that DR reach 18 or 20 years of age. The motivation here is rooted in fetishizing youth. As soon as the characters are no longer minors (18) or no longer teenagers (20), they lose interest and shift back because it no longer fulfills their fetishistic desires. This indicates an unhealthy fixation on the age transition itself rather than on a genuine experience.

Important Distinction: It’s essential to note that this is different from those who shift to a teenage-centric DR and return to their OR once the "main plot" or storyline has ended. In the latter case, the shift back is about completing a narrative or experience. Correlation does not equal causation; simply shifting back after a storyline ends is not inherently fetishistic.

3. Scripting Power Imbalances:

Example: Normally, when you shift, your awareness and maturity align with the age you have scripted in your DR. However, some individuals might script themselves to retain the awareness and mindset of an adult while being in the body of a minor. This allows them to manipulate or dominate younger characters in their DR by exploiting the power imbalance. The intention here is deeply unethical, as it involves using shifting to control or exploit others who are genuinely experiencing life as younger individuals.

4. Regressive Fetishism:

Example: A person might shift to a much younger age, such as a child or pre-teen, to engage in scenarios that involve being taken care of or infantilized in a way that aligns with regressive or age-play fetishes. Here, the focus is not on healing or reliving childhood in a meaningful way but on indulging in fetishistic fantasies that involve exaggerated age differences and power dynamics.

Part 2: Valid and Acceptable Reasons for Aging Down

In contrast, there are many legitimate, valid, and even therapeutic reasons for aging down in a DR, including for romantic or sexual reasons, provided the intent is healthy and respectful. Here are some examples:

1. Healing Past Trauma:

Example: A person might age themselves down to relive a stage of life where they experienced trauma in their Original Reality (OR). By shifting to a DR where they have a loving and supportive environment, they can heal from past wounds and experience a fulfilling, nurturing childhood or adolescence that they missed out on. This process can be deeply therapeutic, helping the shifter process and overcome their past.

2. Reliving Missed Opportunities:

Example: A shifter might choose to become a teenager in their DR to experience aspects of life they missed in their OR, such as participating in high school sports, attending prom, or forming close friendships. This intention is about exploring personal growth and enjoying life experiences that they couldn’t have in their OR, rather than focusing on relationships with minors or sexualizing the experience.

3. Exploring Innocent Young Love:

Example: Some people might age themselves down to experience the innocence of young love, which can include romantic relationships that are not centered around sexuality but rather on emotional connection and affection. The intent here is to experience or relive the purity and excitement of first loves and youthful romances, which can be a wholesome and fulfilling experience without any exploitative motives.

Extended Scenario: Some people age themselves down and script a romantic and sexual relationship that begins when they are minors or teens and continues well into adulthood. In this sense, they are not "shifting for a minor" but for a romantic relationship where they grow up with the person they love. This approach focuses on long-term connection and growth, not on fetishizing youth.

4. Nostalgia and Exploration:

Example: A shifter might age themselves down to explore a time in their life with a sense of nostalgia or curiosity. For example, they might want to experience what it would be like to go back to middle school or high school with the knowledge they have now, not to exploit others but to understand and appreciate that stage of life from a new perspective. This can include forming friendships, engaging in school activities, or simply enjoying the simplicity of youth. The intent here is reflective and exploratory, focusing on the richness of life experiences rather than on any fetishistic or exploitative motivations.

5. Long-Term Romantic Relationships:

Example: Some individuals may script a romantic and sexual relationship in their DR that begins during their teenage years and continues as both individuals grow into adulthood. The intention here is to experience a deep, enduring connection with someone as they both navigate different stages of life together. This kind of age-down scenario is focused on the development of a long-term relationship, emphasizing the journey of growing up with a loved one, rather than on any fetishistic attraction to youth.

6. Persisting Shifters with Original Intentions:

Example: Some shifters may have started scripting their DR when they were much younger, with a love interest who matched their Original Reality (OR) age at the time. Over time, even as they grew older in their OR, they continued trying to shift into this DR without giving up. Their original intention may have been to experience romance or even sexual experiences as a minor, but now, it’s more about fulfilling a long-term goal they’ve been committed to for years. Their persistence is not about fetishizing minors but about finally achieving the reality they envisioned when they were younger. It's more about fulfilling a long-standing personal desire rather than an inappropriate attraction.

Conclusion:

The distinction between valid and exploitative reasons for aging down in reality shifting is crucial and lies primarily in the intention behind the shift. Ethical reasons for age changing revolve around personal growth, healing from past trauma, exploring missed opportunities, and experiencing life stages in a meaningful, respectful manner. These motivations focus on genuine emotional connections, nostalgia, and the pursuit of long-term relationships that evolve naturally within the Desired Reality (DR).

Conversely, exploitative or fetishistic reasons involve a problematic focus on manipulating age dynamics for personal gratification, often centered around unhealthy fixations on youth, power imbalances, or regressive fantasies. Such motivations are unethical and misalign with the respectful, introspective practices that should guide reality shifting.

Ultimately, shifters must engage in deep self-reflection to ensure their actions are driven by healthy, positive intentions. By doing so, they can maintain the integrity of their shifting practice, fostering experiences that are enriching, respectful, and aligned with their personal growth and well-being.

P.S : Ultimately, this is why I don't judge people who choose to age themselves down in their desired reality (DR). If people can age themselves up for romantic or sexual reasons, why is the opposite—aging down—considered "prohibited"? This double standard shouldn't exist because, in both cases, individuals are simply shifting to a reality where they have always been a certain age.

Some are quick to "call out" shifters who age themselves down, labeling them as creeps or worse, without acknowledging that teenagers often shift to a DR where they are married with kids and then immediately shift to a DR where they have a 16-year-old high school sweetheart.

Both sides of this issue should be subject to the same level of scrutiny. In the end, every reason for shifting can be boiled down to the desire for experience. As humans, our desires for different experiences vary widely.

As I've said before, I don't care if someone who is 50, 20, or 16 decides to age themselves up or down, as long as the relationships they form in their DR are based on love, appreciation, and mutual respect. Who am I to judge? Are they harming their significant other or treating them like an object? No. Then I don't care—do what you want to do. Plus those realities are alwaredy existing those event you scripted ? they already happened are happening and will happen regardless if you shift there or not.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Hey I maybe kinda dumb but did lily just said that you support pedophilia or had pedophilic beliefs or is she talking about someone else in her new vid sorry if I’m reading this wrong I just am really flabbergasted by what she said

Lily for some reason clings for dear life to a Twitter argument I had with people who don't understand Revolutionary Girl Utena and refuse to engage with the actual text of the work. Instead they screech about the metatextual ethics of the situation being depicted like crazy Twitter people tend to do. Which, you know, Lily also says people on Twitter are crazy and unreasonable... but she's eager to use the opinions of Twitter people against me when it suits her lol.

TL:DR; I said Akio is the devil seducing Utena in the story, I think its stupid to deny that Utena is attracted to him because of the actual text of the show (and I used to do that as a young lesbian too), boiling the situation down to "Akio raped Utena" is an oversimplified mischaracterization of what the show is communicating on a narrative level, and I really don't think Japanese people 30 years ago writing this were thinking about age of consent or statutory rape.

I liken it to trying to talk about the themes, text and metaphors of a movie about revenge but someone keeps interrupting the discussion with: "But murder is illegal? Hello? Murder is ILLEGAL. How can you condone this? Murder is illegal!"

You can watch the entire episode in question with my commentary and analysis right here for context:

[batterfang]

AI Art and Goth

I'm going to be yelling into the void here, I know, but I want to get this out there because it's frustrating and I just need to yell about it okay lol. It's my blog, I'll complain if I want to.

So, recently there's been some discussion online about bands/record labels in the goth scene potentially using AI generated "art" for their album/single covers. Why does this matter, to me? It matters because as an artist myself, I know the time that goes into creating a piece. The hours, months, and years I've spent laboring away at something that means so much to me. A piece of my soul is in every little drawing or painting I make with intention. My art is my mark in this huge world and evidence that I existed. It's an extension of my feelings and thoughts and loves. That's what art means to me.

On the other side, you have ai generators. On top of frankensteining images from the internet at large, they can also steal pictures or artworks and overlay filters on top of them to make them look like the generator made them. (So I've learned today, which makes me very upset and I also learned what "scraping" means.)

So with that said, I'm sure anyone would understand why record labels maybe using ai instead of hiring artists to create an original piece OR using the huge selection of public domain works that are available is frustrating and an ethics issue. Right? Especially those people that are a part of a subculture that is based on an art form - music. Right?? Apparently that's not the case because there was waaay too many people for comfort arguing that it doesn't matter. "Who cares if they're using ai art?" ... "It doesn't look like ai art to me, stop this holy crusade." ... "This is just rage bait." ... "What about sampling used in music? It's the same thing." To that last one especially, NO IT IS NOT, THANK YOU LOL. Artists interacting with another artist's work and transforming it is not the same as a computer stealing images and spitting out a monstrosity. You might tune your inputs to get a certain outcome, but that computer is doing all the work, all the composing, it's placing everything in that image. Why don't people understand what art means?

Whether or not these suspicious cover arts are in fact ai is up for debate, I'm not arguing that. (Though after personally reaching out to one record label about it and having received the most vague answer possible where they didn't even address my questions fully, I'm even more convinced that they're probably using ai.) What I'm arguing here is that it shouldn't be acceptable, from an ethical and moral standpoint. I don't want souless ai generated pictures to become the norm in the subculture. I want artists to support each other. I want the goth community to support it's artists and musicians. The use of ai art cheapens art in the worst way and harms artists and I cannot vibe with anyone who thinks otherwise.

If you read all this, thanks for taking the time.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 3, Episode 13- Dear Emily and Richard-Part 5

Before we wrap up DVD & Abortion Gate, aka Dear Emily & Richard, here's my end of episode Bingo Card. I'm annoyed with myself that I always seem to forget these. I think they're fun.

Yeah, I do alter the squares a bit based on the most recent episodes but I try to keep it fair, lol. Like, there hasn't been a R&L D&D in a while so I may replace it with something else? Anyway, no Bingo this episode. When we last left off, Luke and Lawyer Lady With A Phone had returned to the diner after their date deep in a discussion about cheese. Jess is holding down the fort all by himself. I think about how if Jess and Rory were ever to move in together or get married their relationship would quickly implode when their polar opposite work ethics butted heads. You think Jess is going to be happy \working multiple jobs to pay the rent and bills while Rory is at home sitting on her spoiled ass. There's some gritty Literati realism for you. Luke snaps his fingers and orders his tired minimum wage slave nephew to pour Lawyer Lady a coffee. Jess offers to "Go out for an hour" so they can you know, play hide the pickle upstairs. Well that's certainly a nice gesture. What happens when the hour is up, by the way? Jess comes back home, now Luke has to shove his half naked date back out of the apartment before he gets back? Oh, Jess is definitely used to fleeing whenever his mother bought a man home while he was growing up, but I doubt Liz was ever considerate enough to actually give Jess subtle cues of Impending Sex, so, thank you Luke?

Thank you, I was hoping to get an idea of what time it actually was. WHY IS JESS WORKING AT 11:30 PM? (Also, Kirk is still there, and says he had been there for over four hours). Luke interrogates Jess about where he is "Going out" to at 11:30pm, but apparently sees nothing wrong with making him work past 11:30pm. Jess is slamming this hint over Luke's head just like the axe he slammed into Shane (RIP), Luke is either playing dumb or is actually dumb and doesn't pick up on it. Jess asks Luke if he "needs more time". Well, an hour is already pretty generous. How much time does Luke need to plow this lady? Big shot lawyer with a phone needs to be wined dined and 69'd. Wonder what Jess is going to do on his hour away from the coffee mines? Get up to some naughty second base hijinks with Rory? Oh, sorry Jess, you can't do that, because Rory can't say no to anyone, so she's currently asleep in a hospital waiting room with her mother, awaiting the birth of her Kinda A Sister whose existence means beans to her. Looks like it's jerking off in your car for you tonight, kid. Well, either that or a killing spree. Following up on that earlier threat towards Dean.

Luke smacking Jess upside the head outside is a glorious 2 seconds of television. But I mean, shouldn't Luke be thankful? He's doing you a favor. Do You WANT Jess to be home right now, Luke? Okay, I get it Luke. Even if you could get rid of Jess for a while, trying to perform sexually knowing your nephew could walk back through the door at any moment is definitely a boner killer and puts Jess in an equally precarious situation. (this is more or less the basis of an episode of King of Queens, by the way). The entire Jess & Luke living situation is a complete boner killer. Luke sabotages any chance of getting laid by marching the tired baby back into the diner where Jess makes things much less awkward by asking Luke in front of Nicole if Luke wants him to take an extra long shower instead. Where are Luke and Nicole going to pork then? Nowhere, that's where. This date's over. According to Luke earlier in the episode, he hasn't gotten laid in eons, and it doesn’t sound like Joanna Cooper put out.

Luke finally relieves Jess from his child-labor-law-violating shift and orders him upstairs, then (presumably) ends the date with Nicole. Looks like it's... jerking off in your car for you too, Luke. For some unknown reason Lorelai and Rory are still in the hospital waiting for GiGi to be born. Rory has fallen asleep in the waiting room. GO HOME!!!!! Crusty emerges in scrubs and Lor's Lorelai and then informs her of the birth of his child that she does not care about, nor is she a child that Lorelai is biologically related to. Crusty invites Lorelai to see Gigi in the nursery and says there's no need to wake Rory up which is for the best because she doesn't care about GiGi anyway.

As Crusty describes to Lor the sheer exhilaration of witnessing the birth of his Other More Valued Girl Child, Lorelai plasters on a fake smile and squashes down her homicidal rage towards Crusty, but that rage has never stopped her from boinking him over and over.

Welcome to the world, Geej. You are truly fucked, but at least you're not a Hayden. 4 things: One, the birth announcement lists her birth date as January 5th, even though it was established earlier that she came unexpectedly a week before February 7th. Was this the work of the same prop guy responsible for the Tomatos and On Sail signs? Two, they bestowed her with Sherry's last name instead of Christopher's. Three, Georgia was born at 1:17 am, which means by the time she's been birthed, cleaned up, spent time with Sherry, burrito'd in her blanky, and set up in the nursery its already hella later than that. It's gotta be at least 2am, dude. Maybe even 3. Lorelai, you and your kid have school and work in the morning. Neither of you have eaten or showered all night and you're stinking up the waiting room. Why didn't Sherry just agree to email you a picture of the kid or something? GO HOME!!!!

FOUR, where are Sherry's parents or any family members at all AND Christopher's parents? Here's a freshly birthed Rory. 20 inches long, 7lbs 4 ounces. Sign Guy got it right this time and didn't list her legal name as "Rory". But then she's named Rory on her police mugshot. You tried, Sign Guy. The show has been wholly consistent (as far I'm aware) with her birthdate being October 8th, 1984.

I'm impressed that they used real infants for this scene. First they used a real fish in the last episode, an upgrade from the Great Value CGI Fish earlier in the season, and now real babies. And they have the budget to pay a real life and fictional slimy worm named David Sutcliffe/ Crusty Hayden. The second to last flashback shows Fake Lorelai and Chess Club Crusty looking at Rory in the nursery. CCC says they should get married and Fake Lorelai hesitates. End of flashback. Just stick it out for another 23 years and Lorelai will be stupid and desperate enough to marry you, Crusty, and she'll have banged you several more times along the way too.

Yeah. She'll be just thrilled.

Crusty then plants a big fat kiss on Lorelai's face in front of his newborn with his fiancee who just birthed his kid a few feet down the hall, and Lorelai recoils. You slimy worm. Disgusting. Listen Geej, I know you're only an hour old, but blink twice if you need help, maybe we can Randall Pearson you into a nice new adoptive family. (Present Day) Lorelai starts to tear up, and it's unclear if it's because she's just been slimed by a worm or if it's due to the deep, deep trauma that dwells within her. Probably both. Cheer up Lorelai, you're living in the age of DVD players!

Security finally booted Lorelai and Rory from the hospital as Lorelai next shows up at Emily's house bright eyed and bushy tailed with that brand new state of the art dvd player she promised, and I strap myself in to hopefully hear all the delicious early 2000s technology references that are surely forthcoming. I am then disappointed.

Go ahead Lorelai. PLEASE say how much the DVD player cost in 2003. I am salivating. DANG. No dice. Lorelai offers to install the DVD player, Emily doesn't believe Lorelai capable of installing this futuristic piece of technology herself, Emily is happy that Lorelai bought a copy of one of her favorite movies, Lorelai is lightly pleased. Of course I Googled it. The average cost of a dvd player in 2003 was nearly 350 bucks! Final flashback. I have flashback fatigue, you guys. No more I say! Emily and Richard are all fancied up going to a ball or something at an undetermined time in the future-past. They can't find Lorelai. SURPRISE ABSCONDING, BITCHES! SHE GONE! GONE GONE. Gone to go live with her toddler in a shed behind a motel.

Did the show ever state why Lorelai and Rory, weren't you know, living indoors while Lorelai worked at the inn as a maid? In an inn with beds and running water? Mia employed a single teenage mother and said screw you and your baby, go live out back in the shed, these rooms are for paying customers! Anyway. The drama is about to be turnt up to eleventy for the remainder of season 3. I am wholly unprepared. It may be a long time before you see the words Swan Song. Maybe I'll try to come up with something else to fill the void?

[archivalofsins]

I'm glad I don't look in the tag like the shit that passes my dash is like stuff I know, and then Mikoto being hypersexualized on a bimonthly basis with the implied impression that it's fine as long as it's a male being sexualized. I have no stake in it one way or the other. If that's fun to some, it's just fun, and I'm certain other characters are sexualized just as much in different circles. Maybe I'm just lucky enough not to have seen that.

Yet that again would be due to people recognizing subconsciously or not that hypersexualizing certain characters of the cast is problematic on some level. I don't see this sort of discussion as often around Yuno despite the content within her music videos. I don't see it around Mahiru or Kotoko as much either. This is excluding every other character that was a child when Milgram started all together.

This may sound like a complaint or a dig at this fandoms ethics, but it isn't because literally most fandoms treat male characters like this. This isn't something the Milgram fanbase created or anything it's quite common.

It's why Persona 5 wrote those story beats around Ryuji how they did- Because when sexual harrassment happens to a man in fiction it's comedy when it happens to a woman in fiction it's either horror or very notably a moral failing on the one doing it. Or maybe again I've just gotten lucky and haven't read a lot of egregious shit in that regard.

The way all fandom tends to hypersexualize men in general is a byproduct of how the sexual issues of men are discussed in media and ignorance. The same as it is when it comes to hypersexualization and caricaturing of female characters past and present as well. I don't want this to come off as me saying being overly sexualized is a male issue alone. Because it's not. This is a very reductionist explanation of sexualization in media, something that affects all genders differently.

There's much more to it than what I'm saying here. Plus, not everyone does this with the intent of demeaning a character or reducing them to their sexual appeal alone. Some people just find a design sexy or aesthetically appealing that's pretty reasonable. Displaying why that is- is reasonable as well.

However, when that is put alongside comments like "I'd never judge a female character like this, of course, I have some class." It starts to make me raise an eyebrow just a bit. Like, I end up wondering like um why not though?

Hate to be openly pansexual (no i don't this is hyperbole) but um, women are hot, lol. What does no one else think so? Is it bad to point out the features of the Milgram women too. I'm sorry but Mahiru is hot she dresses well and homely she has a decent figure and she is not lacking in the chest department.

It really comes down to preference at the end of the day. Am i going to sit here and say Mikoto looks average? No, like Mikoto, Kazui, Mahiru, and Shidou are all genuinely attractive and can be somewhat charismatic people. Ya know something that a good few murderers are. That's kind of the point of them being the adults of the group.

They are the end result of everyone here younger than them and are more than likely the best at what they do.

Outside of that, it would be weird of me to hold anybody to a certain standard when it comes to what they're attracted to in fiction. Unless they are romanticizing a criminal act or a child. Gotta make that really clear. Since that isn't really occurring here, it is kind of free game. Go nuts, really.

I just find it interesting that everything a person would ethically have an issue with someone doing to a character that's a woman has been done to Mikoto with reckless abandon.

From hyperfocusing on the measurements of his body, overtly sexualizing him regardless of how covered up he is, making assumptions about his romantic or sexual preferences. It's like everything that would make anyone rightfully a creep if they did it to a woman whether that be in real life or in fiction has been done to this one fictional dude to the point it technically happens in cycles. I can tell when a month has ended based on if this man's body is being talked about sometimes, and I shouldn't be able to do that at any time.

It's impressive. I need to note again that I'm not saying this because I'm a prude or to protect Mikoto's very nonexistent innocence. It's just a funny and interesting double standard to look into within any fandom, not just this one. I know it's all in good fun, and this isn't meant to call it out or anybody in any way.

It's just meant to be me going,

"Hey, this is a funny thing that hasn't really been questioned that much that actually ties into other writing tropes in media that are pretty bad. Let's talk about it."

Even if it is not that deep.

Personally, I've always found it interesting as daughter of a guy that suffered interpersonal partner violence and being raised in a community where the sexual assault of both men and women is prominently discussed to see how men and women are sexualized not only in media but by fanbases. Of course, I'm way more interested in this when it comes to black people. However, when a good example of the differences is sitting right in front of me, it's hard to overlook it.

Better excuse, though- Mahiru is hot, too! Maybe stop talking about how she's delusional and instead discuss how she had low confidence and rejection sensitivity. Causing her to not understand what she was doing was too much for the situation as well as made it difficult for her to let the fact that she was not accepted by someone she liked go. Similarly to Mu.

Like maybe this line from This Is How To Be In Love With You deserves a bit more focus,

"What do you think? I know it's not the type of question you want to be asked."

A common question for one to ask their partner about the outfits they put on.

Or this one in I Love You,

"Sigh... No appetite, I can’t sleep, my hair’s a mess. What am I supposed to do now? If you won’t tell me, I can’t be me."

I'm not hungry, I can't sleep, and worst of all- I'm not even looking good right now. Yeah fuck it actually this is a Mahiru appreciation post now that woman served this community several different outfits and this bastard only gave two fuck Mikoto stop complimenting this man for his cycling body.

Yeah, he's fit. We know! The man bikes to work to stay in shape and practices swinging a bat when angry.

But guess what-

Mahiru jogs, and she even has a cute jogging outfit. We've never even seen this man on a bike. Let alone in a cycling outfit.

Q.04 Are you picky when it comes to fashion?

Mikoto: Of course I am. Nobody would want to ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, right?

Oh, you're picky huh. People wouldn't ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, yeah... So, why does Mahiru Shiina's first music video look like a fashion catalogue-

While all we see from you is you putting your clothes where they belong,

Sorry, I got heated there. It's not a fashion competition because we clearly know who would win that. Long story short, Mahiru has a cute design too.

[sgiandubh]

No question here but just a comment : That weird blogger bcac (seriously she is creepy and sanctimonious ) is having a meltdown because she’s dealing w being “picked on” or whatever. She’s so weird and a stalker and just nuts. lol. Fun to watch IMO.

Dear Weird Blogger Anon,

BCAC, who?

And yes, they are always having meltdowns whenever people start to question trifles such as ethics, as far as they are concerned. Happened before. Will happen again.

In the meanwhile and unrelated to them, I can now substantiate the fact that the person(s) trying to access my Microsoft account (and earn access to my laptop) lives across the street, where the sun seldom shines.

Yesterday morning, just as I was posting my last blog entry, I've got this, at 09:34 AM, local time:

And then, as I was just arriving to my office, I received this, at 10:32 AM, local time:

Somebody being triggered by my post. I will not discuss the content: it is the same garbage I regularly receive, irrespective of what I post in here. It is the same bitches that keep on being blocked by me every single day (thankfully, I was alone in that elevator: we have some very colorful and creative profanities, in Romanian) and then immediately run reporting my every single move to the Screeching Banshees.

I don't even know what to tell the creatures: get a life? take their pills? explain memory sticks exist?

[celestie0]

it’s so refreshing to see stories with actual plot and complicated characters rather than forcing smut into every crevice where it might fit. I know people won’t admit it, but jeez a lot of readers have porn addictions but don’t realize because they’re reading it rather than watching. There are going to be people who read your writing just for smut, but i really really hope you know that there are others out there that truly enjoy the plot and characters you write!! (also it’s refreshing to see gojo have a personality other than a childish sex-crazed freak) i love you’re writing and ability to create stories. although it is nice sometimes, i would read kickoff and ihm even if there was no smut at all. ❤️❤️

ahhh thanks for your kind words bb :’’’)) yea, i know conversations ab porn addictions can be polarizing, because there’s a partial part where it’s important to respect what a person does in their own time lol, but i also remember watching a really interesting ted talk about porn addictions (although it was more tailored towards visual porn as opposed to literature porn, i still think a lot of the points resonate tho) and how harmful they can actually be, so its a discussion worth having at times. anyways, i’m not here to extensively argue the ethics of porn addictions bc like for one i’m not a psychologist who is qualified and two i suppose it’s up to the individual to deal with 😂 but even if people want to read smut or are dying to see specific things in my fics, they should keep those desires to themselves?? i understand that my stories have/will eventually have smut and that this blog is 18+ with sexual nsfw content, but that doesn’t mean i should just be subject to such pressures to continue supplying said content all the fuckin’ time lol.

anywho sorry i went on a little rant there, but i hear you, and i’m glad to help contribute to the kind of content that you enjoy seeing!! and to hear that you would read my stories even without smut is reassuring lmfao i’ve literally thought about just not including smut in ihm or kickoff out of spite to these horny readers 💀 but i myself am horny for my own characters so i don’t think such a thing will happen 😂 but it’s nice to know i’d have your support regardless hahah

much love <3