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tyrantisterror · 2 months ago

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When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anywhere.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

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complainblogforthevoid · 2 months ago

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I've finally figured out an argument that convinces coding tech-bros that AI art is bad.

Got into a discussion today (actually a discussion, we were both very reasonable and calm even through I felt like committing violence) with a tech-bro-coded lady who claimed that people use AI in coding all the time so she didn't see why it mattered if people used AI in art.

Obviously I repressed the surge of violence because that would accomplish nothing. Plus, this lady is very articulate, the type who makes claims and you sit there thinking no that's wrong it must be but she said it so well you're kind of just waffling going but, no, wait-- so I knew I had to get this right if I was gonna come out of this unscathed.

The usual arguments about it being about the soul of it and creation fell flat, in fact she was adamant that anyone who believed that was in fact looking down at coding as an art form as she insisted it is. Which, sure, you can totally express yourself through coding. There's a lot more nuance as to the differences but clearly I was not going to win this one.

The other people I was with (literally 8 people anti-ai against her, but you can't change the mind of someone who doesn't want to listen and she just kept accusing us of devaluing coding as an art) took over for I kid you not 15 minutes while I tried desperately to come up with a clear and articulate way to explain the difference to her. They tried so many reasonable arguments, coding being for a function ("what, art doesn't serve a function?") coding being many discrete building blocks that you put together differently, and the AI simply provides the blocks and you put it together yourself ("isn't that what prompt building is") that it's bad for the environment ("but not if it's used for capitalism, hm?" "Yeah literally that's how capitalism works it doesn't care about the environment" she didn't like that response)

But I finally got it.

And the answer is: It's not about what you do, it's about what you claim to be.

Imagine that someone asks an AI to write a code and, by some miracle, it works perfectly without them having to tweak it---which is great because they couldn't tell you what a single solitary thing in that code means.

Now imagine this person, with their code that they don't know how it works, goes and applies to be a coder somewhere, presenting this AI code as proof that they're qualified.

Should they be hired?

She was horrified, of course. Of course they shouldn't be. They're not qualified. They can't actually code, and even if by some miracle they did have an AI successfully write a flawless code for every issue they came across that wouldn't be their code, you could hire any shmuck on the street to do that, no reason to pay someone like they're creating something.

When actual engineers use AI what they do is get some kind of base, which they then go though and check for problems and then if they find any they fix them, and add on to the base code with their own knowledge instead of just trying different prompt after prompt until they randomly come across one that works.

People who generate code like this don't usually call themselves engineers. They're people who needed a bit of code and didn't have the knowledge to generate it, and so used a resource.

And there you go. There are people who have none of the skills of artists, they don't practice, they don't create for themselves. When they feed the prompt to the AI they then don't just use the resulting image as a reference point for their own personal masterpiece, and if they don't like it they don't have the skills to change it---they simply try another prompt, and do that until they get something they like.

These people are calling themselves artists.

Not only that, these people are bringing the AI generated thing to interviews, and they are getting hired, leaving people who slave over their craft out of the job.

And that is the difference, for the tech bros who think AI art isn't a big deal.

#complaintblog #anti ai art #fuck ai art

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unpretty · 3 months ago

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today was the day we finalized the migration of essential software at work from some old and busted shit that was ready to die at any time, to the new cloud version of the same software that we are no longer responsible for maintaining. which is good because no one was actually maintaining ours. it's just been slowly crufting into unusability for a decade. so anyway they set aside an hour for a teams meeting where they'd walk us through the different interface and how to go through normal processes.

"it's not that big a change," they said. "it's all the same stuff, it just looks a little different," they said.

they did not account for the fact that the primary user of this software is someone who doesn't actually know how it works or what it's doing. they learned how to do their job entirely through rote memorization. they know which buttons they are supposed to press in which order, and that is the full extent of what they know. they also did not account for the fact that this person's processes were learned thirdhand from other people who were not using this software normally to begin with.

it's like. imagine if someone had only ever used tumblr in the app. and you try to get them to use it in a desktop browser, but they cannot figure out how to post. and you go through explaining where the button is and how to format text and add tags, even though you could have sworn it was all the same in the app. but then they're like, "okay, but what's the phone number" and you're like "what" and they're like "the phone number to call to make a post?" and it turns out somehow they still had the ability to post by calling a phone number, and every time they posted on the app they called the post in first and then edited the audio post to transcribe it into text before screenshotting the text for a photo post. and nothing you can say to them will make them understand that none of that is necessary or correct. they shouldn't have even been able to do some of that. they can just type into the post box now, like a civilized person. "okay," they say, "but what is the phone number, though? because when i made my account my friend gave me this checklist and the first thing on it is to call the number."

so anyway we were on that teams call for almost three hours and they still don't have a handle on the new software

#original #boring work stuff #i am looking forward to being out of town during the week they have to do the actual complicated stuff lmfao

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femalewhumper701 · 1 year ago

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A reminder, unfortunately

My DNI list is very short, y'all. And it's right at the top of the page. Please check it before reblogging. I do not want my stuff posted on blogs that also post gross shit defending real-life war crimes.

Save that shit for fiction. It's okay in fiction. It's not okay in actual irl present-day Palestine. There is no justification for what is happening in actual irl present-day Palestine. Invading other countries is wrong. Taking shit that isn't yours is wrong. Oppression is wrong. Wholesale slaughter is wrong. Targeting hospitals and killing journalists isn't just wrong, it's an actual literal crime that should get you dragged before the Hague. Deliberately not being a signatory thereof so you won't be held liable for your bullshit is disgusting.

I try to keep my fiction and my current event blogging separate for this exact reason, BUT I do not want my posts appearing next to posts defending the indefensible even more than I want to maintain that measured separation.

My position is simple, absolute, and unshakable. Free Ukraine. Free Palestine. Prosecute colonizers and war criminals.

Just so we're clear.

#i take responsibility for not being more thorough in looking into my contacts #but i shouldn't have to when it's in big bold font at the top

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hyperlexichypatia · 1 month ago

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I've seen basically two response arguments to Kennedy's slurs about autistic people being unable to pay taxes, have a job, play baseball, go on a date, write a poem, or use the toilet.

Both the responses are good and necessary, but I think they're incomplete. The two response arguments are essentially: 1. "That's not true, there are plenty of autistic people who have jobs and go on dates and play baseball," and 2. (largely in response to 1.) "Autistic people deserve acceptance and dignity even if they can't pay taxes or write poetry or use the toilet; people's value isn't determined by their abilities or productivity."

And, again, both of these responses are true and good and necessary. But what I'm not seeing people talk about enough is why Kennedy listed those specific skills, and what he's trying to imply with them. Because, see, when people are reduced to a dehumanized stereotype, "Not everyone is like that dehumanized stereotype" isn't sufficient, and neither is "Even people who are like that dehumanized stereotype deserve respect." The problem is the dehumanization. So let's look at the list of things we supposedly can't do, which Kennedy is using to conjure an image of "Inhuman Unthinking Blob."

Having a job. This is the big one. In American culture, your value, your personhood, is solely dependent on Your Job. Are you a valuable cog in the capitalist machine, or are you a cheap cog in the capitalist machine, or are you so worthless you're not even in the capitalist machine, and therefore have no reason to be alive? So it's good and necessary and important to spell out "A person doesn't have to have a job to be a person with dignity and rights." But there's a larger question out there, which is: What, exactly, constitutes "a job"? Yes, absolutely, everyone should have dignity and rights (and material needs like guaranteed housing, food, and consensual healthcare). But also, most disabled people, including ""severely"" disabled people, can and do perform productive labor benefiting their communities. It's just often labor that capitalist society doesn't classify as "a job," like caregiving, studying, or making art. It's important to say that people shouldn't need "a job" in order to deserve rights or resources. It's also important to point out that disabled people have been doing labor this whole time, just without the dignity, rights, or pay associated with "a job." In a socialist utopia where everyone had their material needs guaranteed, labor would still be done, and a lot of it would still be done by disabled people. That's important. Disabled people's contributions to society matter. And erasing that is something ableists do on purpose -- excluding the labor done by disabled people from the category of "job" is integral to excluding disabled people from the category of "productive" and thus the category "worthy of life."

Paying taxes. This is the most transparently ridiculous one, because absolutely everybody in the U.S. pays taxes. Poor people pay taxes (too much). Rich people pay taxes (nowhere near enough). Undocumented immigrants pay taxes. You buy a Snickers? It's priced $1.79 but you pay $1.92. That's a tax. You live somewhere? You're paying property taxes. You rent your home? How do you think your landlord pays their property taxes? From your rent. You're paying property taxes. You have a crappy underpaid minimum wage job? You're paying FICA. Everybody pays taxes. What Kennedy probably means to imply is "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes." Politicians love pretending that "taxes" means "federal income taxes" so they can claim to "lower taxes" while shifting the tax burden somewhere else (cf. Trump's attempt to claim that tariffs aren't taxes). And. And also. There's another subtle implication in there, that I see a lot from parents and ableists. Because of the deep intersection of ableism and classism, Kennedy is implying "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes" (therefore they're inferior) but also "They're not smart enough to do something complicated like file a tax return." When ableists talk about disabled people who "can't take care of themselves" or specifically "can't pay their bills" or "can't pay taxes," they're intentionally trying to conflate an economic state (having enough money to pay bills/taxes) with a cognitive ability (having the skills/executive function to manage money, budget, pay bills on time, or file a tax return). Kennedy probably doesn't file his own tax return either. I'm sure he has an accountant for that. Presumed-neurotypical people are allowed to do that. The world is full of rich people who lack executive function or money-management skills, whose wealth insulates them from the consequences of that, because they can either afford to just lose money, or they can afford to hire someone to handle it for them. The world is also full of poor people for whom one missed payment has ruined them. The world is also full of disabled people for whom one missed payment has gotten them declared mentally incompetent, institutionalized, or placed under guardianship -- by abled family members who probably hire an accountant to manage their own money. Again, all this is deliberate. Kennedy and other ableists/classists/eugenicsts are intentionally trying to conflate "lacks money," "lacks money management abilities/skills," and "lacks General Intelligence" as one more-or-less interchangeable phenomenon (Note: If you've read this far and haven't figured out my angle yet: There is no such thing as "General Intelligence" and the very concept is harmful).

Write a poem. Again, this is deliberately ambiguous wording -- pretty much anyone can write a poem, including people who can't write or speak. Have you ever expressed an idea in which the words you used had an additional meaning on top of their literal meaning? Boom, you can write a poem. Maybe not a good one. But Kennedy didn't say that autistic people's poetry is bad -- plenty of neurotypical people's poetry is bad too, after all. There is a somewhat positive stereotype floating around that neurodivergent people are creative. We may be tragic, burdens on society, our parents' heartbreak, worthless, stupid, subhuman, but at least we're creative. Probably due to being more animal-like, "closer to nature." And neurobigots like Kennedy absolutely hate this stereotype. No matter how much dehumanization the "positive" stereotype is rooted in, we cannot have any positive attributes at all. They must never let us forget that we have no redeeming value whatsoever. We must be rendered as completely lacking in thought, feelings, expression, and creation. I'm seeing some echos of 18th century racism, too -- a common belief among 18th century white Europeans was that even if non-Europeans were superficially clever, they could produce no "higher culture," no great art or poetry or literature, because they were intrinsically a lower tier of human. This seems to be the root of Kennedy's implication -- not that autistic people "can't" write poetry (anyone can), or that autistic people are bad at writing poetry (most beginners are), but that an autistic person's creative output cannot constitute true poetry, true "high culture," because it comes from an inferior mind.

Play baseball. This is an especially slippery one, because like writing poetry, it's a learned skill with gradations of skill level, not an intrinsic ability that someone does or doesn't have. Most autistic people aren't pro-level baseball players, but neither are most allistic people. And again, Kennedy didn't say "Autistic people are bad at baseball." He said that we would never play baseball. "Has ever played or will ever play baseball" is such a ridiculously low bar that even I can meet it. Technically speaking, I can play baseball. I have played baseball, in school gym class. I know how! You sit there minding your business until it's your turn to stand up, and then someone hands you a bat, and then someone throws a ball, and you're supposed to try to hit the ball with the bat, and in theory, after you fail three times, you're supposed to be allowed to sit back down again and go back to imagining wild self-insert fanfic, but the coach gives you "extra tries" out of pity, so you have to humiliate yourself with five or six attempts instead of three. Yeah. I can play baseball. So what's Kennedy going for with this one? Baseball in the U.S. is associated with two things: American identity, and idyllic midcentury childhood. If autistic people can't participate in America's Pastime, can we really even be Americans? Do we really count as citizens? I don't think Kennedy is personally, ideologically all that committed to xenophobia himself; he's just hitched his wagon to a deeply xenophobic administration because they indulge his medical conspiracy theories. But he knows how to align his goals to the administration's. He knows that his boss is deeply committed to narrowing and restricting who counts as "an American," who's not really part of "our culture," who's not really a part of baseball and hot dogs and the Fourth of July, if you know what I mean. Okay, okay. Maybe I'm reaching with this one. But I'm definitely not reaching with the other association he's going for: Idyllic Midcentury Childhood. All kids play baseball. By which I mean, all boys play baseball. I'm not sure Kennedy knows that girls can play it too, or that he cares. The point is, baseball is part of childhood, and autistic people are never children. We don't play, we don't learn, we don't go through developmental stages, we're just forever Mindless Blobs. That's why things that would be considered cruelty if done to neurotypical children aren't cruelty when they're done to us. We're not really children. We never become adults, either -- how can we, if we don't go through childhood first? You can tell we're subhuman because we don't go through the universal experiences of Real People Life.

Go on a date. Okay. This one. This is the one where I get actively angry at the well-meaning, "inclusive" responses. "Just because an autistic person has high support needs and can't do XYZ doesn't mean --" no. Stop right there. There is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no impairment or disability that prevents someone from dating. There are people -- autistic and otherwise, disabled and otherwise -- who for whatever reason, choose not to pursue dating. Maybe they're aromantic, maybe they're loners, maybe they have religious objections, maybe dating just isn't something they're interested in. Fine. That's their choice. But there is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no such thing as a disability that renders people incapable of romantic relationships. There is no such fucking thing as being "too disabled" or "too severe" or "too profound" or "too high support needs" to have a romantic relationship if two or more people want one. That is not a thing that exists. That is a thing ableists made up. There is no such thing as an autistic person who "can't" go on a date. There are autistic people who aren't allowed to go on dates, because their family or caregivers control them, infantilize them, restrict their freedoms, or treat them as mindless blobs. But all disabled people (yes, all) can pursue romantic relationships. All disabled people (yes, all) deserve the human right to pursue romantic relationships if they choose to. With other disabled people. With abled people. With whomever. And yeah, dating doesn't necessarily have to be romantic or sexual, but let me be perfectly clear -- disabled people, autistic people, "high support needs" autistic people have a right to have sex, too. A multiply disabled autistic person who needs 24/7 assistance deserves the absolute, unreserved right to have wild, kinky, balls-to-the-wall, whole-chicken sex with the entire starting lineup of the Detroit Lions, if xe so chooses to, and if said Lions are on board. We should not accept the premise that there is any such thing as a disabled person who "can't" go on a date.

Use a toilet without assistance. This is the Kennedy playbook trump card, but unlike some of the other claims, this one is actually true. There's no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date, but yes, there are in fact plenty of disabled people, including autistic people, who need help with using the toilet. So what's Kennedy going for here? He's trying to evoke two things: Disgust and infantilization. We have a visceral disgust around excretory functions. Needing to eliminate waste reminds us that we're animals made of meat, not the higher intellectual beings we pretend to be. Everyone poops. So we do it in private, we describe it with euphemisms, and if someone needs help with it, well, they're not keeping up their end of the social compact to collectively pretend we're not animals with animal bodily functions. So people who need assistance with the waste process are disgusting, subhuman, a violation of imagined purity. And of course, they're babies. Babies wear diapers. Babies need help using the toilet. So an older child or adult who needs diapers or toileting help is basically a big baby. We have entire election cycles centered on "Which candidate has incontinence issues?" as a proxy for "Which candidate is a big baby unfit to lead?" as though someone's bladder leakage has any bearing on their wisdom or policy positions. And of course, since people who need help with toileting Are Babies, we're meant to assume that they can't do any of those other things, either. They can't even use the toilet, let alone write poetry or go on a date. In reality, plenty of people who need toileting help are writing poetry and going on dates. One of the biggest misconceptions that holds disabled people back from education or, in some cases, from basic communication, is this myth of linear "developmental stages" -- that if someone isn't "smart enough" to master an "easier/earlier" skill, then they can't possibly be "smart enough" to master a completely unrelated skill that some abled person thinks of as "more advanced." This is literally the primary barrier to communication access for speech-disabled people, and the reason nonspeaking people who type to communicate are so often disbelieved -- if someone isn't "smart enough" to master a "baby skill" like talking, they can't possibly be "smart enough" to read and write! Nevermind that for many speech disabled people, reading and writing are much easier than speaking. And if someone isn't "smart enough" to use the toilet unassisted, they can't possibly learn any advanced topics at all, because they must the "mind of a baby." (The only people with the minds of babies are babies. A 50 year old with incontinence has the mind of a 50 year old.)

So. To sum up: Kennedy is intentionally evoking the concept of autistic people as The Abject Unthinking, and neither "Plenty of autistic people can do those things he says we can't do" nor "Disabled people deserve respect and dignity even if they can't do those things" fully addresses the dehumanization he's trying to conjure. Maybe I'm just jaded, too, about calls for "respect and dignity" for disabled people that don't challenge the concept of The Abject Unthinking. I see behavioral therapists, institution staff, and parents pursuing adult guardianship talking about "respect and dignity." I see articles about how to restrain and forcibly drug people with "respect and dignity." Ableists literally murder disabled people in cold blood in the name of "respect and dignity." I don't know what "respect and dignity" means to these people, but it's sure not synonymous with "bodily autonomy" or "civil rights." By this point, I consider "respect and dignity" about as meaningful as "thoughts and prayers." All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, express themselves. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, make their own decisions about their own bodies. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, participate in their communities. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, pursue relationships with other people of their choice.

#us politics #eugenics #ableism #actually autistic #infantilization #neurobigotry #psych abolition #anti institution #this is one of those longposts where i link to a bunch of my previous posts because i'm arrogant like that

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intromortal · 2 months ago

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ꕥ GET YOURSELF A REAL MAN ⸝⸝⸝ smoking hot older!enhypen headcanons

⚠︎ smut. mdni. every party depicted in this work is an adult. this work contains age gaps (not specified, the members are just older.) power dynamics, step-cest, cheating. accurate warnings listed for each member

✷ NIA if you feel like you've already read this, it's because you have! this is a repost from my previous acc that i decided to bring back here. i plan to turn each one into their own full-on drabbles, but in the meantime, have this :)

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

⚠︎ | dad's bestie!hee, brief f!rec oral mention, dub-con

heeseung tried to stay away from you for so long, tried with all his might to resist you. you are just too young, and you’re his friends’ daughter. he knows it’s wrong but how can he help it when you’re so pretty? so gorgeous? and such a dirty little thing too, always trying to wordlessly seduce him. he notices how your lustful eyes follow him everywhere whenever he’s over at your parents house for dinner and you happen to be there too. he notices how you bite your lips raw and the way your thighs clench so hard under the table when he speaks to you. he notices how you always wear the most revealing outfits you can get away with for him, little shorts and tiny tops enhancing your curves so beautifully, an open invitation for him to completely ravage you. it makes him want to fucking ruin you.

that’s how he ends up sneaking in your room so late one night, after everyone already went to sleep, your parents so naive for offering him to stay the night too. your innocent sleeping form making his cock twitch in his pants as he thinks of all the dirty things he could do to you. the things he could make you do to him for being such a sly little slut.

he carefully slides in your bed, face hovering over your clothed cunt before lowering himself and pressing his tongue on it, spit smearing on those same shorts that make his mind go places it shouldn't. he works on your pussy just like that, fingers slipping past your shorts and inside your dripping hole, wet tongue sucking on your clit over the fabric but never actually touching you with it. he knows if he got a taste of your sweet little hole he would be a goner forever. he can tell you're awake by then, just pretending to sleep as your hips start to ride his digits and needy mewls leave your lips oh so sweetly. ones he will have to silence with his thick cock inside your mouth if you don’t stop it, “can’t have your parents find you’re such a whore for me… what would they think, angel?”

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

⚠︎ | step-dad!jay, step-cest, ddlg, infidelity, big cock jay, breeding kink, p in v

step-dad jay who has had a soft spot for you ever since he started dating your mom... to the oblivious eye merely a healthy stepdad-daughter relationship, but anyone paying attention more closely would find just how weirdly close you two are. always spending way too much time together, always making up some excuse to leave gatherings together, jay always so protective of you and straight up mean to any boyfriend you bring home for him to meet. he always says it’s because he just wants the best for you, sweet thing. only he knows that what he means by best, is himself.

“always bringing home these boys, never a worthy man,” he whispers against your mouth, spit dripping everywhere, as his warm hands encourage you to keep bouncing up and down his veiny length, salty tears still drying on your face from the pain of the stretch his unusually big cock always provides you. no matter how many times he makes you take it all, the first minutes are never easy. always slow, always filled with him whispering reassurance when you say you just can't take it. “what is daddy gonna have to do to make you understand you just deserve better?” he mouths at your neck, low groans in response to your pink manicured nails grabbing his slowly graying hair, sending heat straight to your core. he licks a stripe up your sensitive skin, relishing in the way your cunt that's already so stretched out and tight against him flutters at his words, trying to suck him in even more. “does daddy have to put a baby inside you, sweet thing mhh?”

you shake your head vehemently, the thought of your mom finding out what you’re doing with her husband making guilt knot in the pit of your stomach. he lands a few harsh slaps on your clit that have you yelping in his hold, clearly dissatisfied with your reaction. “you will take anything i give you,” he says in your ear, his firm tone leaving no room to talk back. he picks up his pace, quite literally hammering into your cunt as he holds you down by your waist with his strong hands. “daddy always knows best, pretty girl.”

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

⚠︎ | boyfriend's dad!jake, cheating, sir kink, brief fingering

jake who hates to see a pretty girl like you in tears over scummy little boys. especially when the boy in question is his own idiot son. he couldn't understand how he even got such a gem as yourself to waste time with him, a liar and a cheater. jake knows his son better than anyone else. so finding out he was cheating on you and creating a fake instagram account to anonymously send you all the proof and the screenshots he collected was easy. it’s also easy to welcome you inside his home when you go there to confront your boyfriend, and sweetly comfort you when you find out he’s not there. jake’s rough and warm hands are so soft on your thighs, thick thumb swiping over the flesh so carefully, as if you might break any second. his tone is so smooth and buttery as he whispers soothing words in the crown of your hair. how you deserve so much better and how you’re a strong girl, you will be okay precious. his presence is so strong and he radiates such a manly energy, so different from that of your boyfriend, it makes you feel all fuzzy inside. jake notices how you clench your thighs right away, how your breathing becomes labored under his soft touches and affection. “i’m sorry for being such a mess right now, sir,” you sheepishly say, and his cock jumps at the term. you’re just so so sweet, he thinks as his full lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “just give me permission, and i’ll make you feel so much better, precious.”

you’re under him in no time, back pressed to your boyfriend’s sheets as jake ghosts his fingers along the slit of your fluttering pussy, already weeping for him. “so messy… so wet babydoll… who is this for?” he asks, purposefully collecting your slick to make a mess with it on his son’s sheets. “you sir!” you reply eagerly, hips rocking into his hold in search of more friction. he chuckles as he lowers his warm mouth to your cunt, eyes locked with your own. “i’ll take care of you so good precious… so good you won’t even know why you’re crying anymore.”

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

⚠︎ | ice skating instructor!hoon, daddy kink, reader has nipple piercings, p in v

sunghoon watches enamored as you glide across the ice rink, all dolled up with the dress he chose and gifted your for this competition, the gemstones in the shape of an S on your lower back reflecting the light so prettily with every movement you make. he’s been coaching you for months now and he thanks every entity he can think of for bringing such a lovely thing like yourself in his life. he knows most people wouldn't approve of your age gap, but they don't understand what being under your spell feels like. that’s exactly what you did: put a spell on him. your accidental brushes against his crotch while he corrected your form, your little groans as your joints stretched past your limit whenever you trained, your big doe eyes always looking at him for some sort of reassurance for any sort of praise. so fucking eager to please. so desperate for love.

you’re so obedient for him as he makes you ride him silly on the seats next to the ice rink after the competition is done and everyone’s already gone home. knowing very well anyone could walk in at any moment and catch you. but you're such a needy little slut for him he can feel how hard you clench around him whenever he mentions that possibility, whenever you think about anyone seeing you so full of his thick cock that took you twenty minutes to get used to. his length twitches so deep inside you when he notices how close you are but still won't let yourself cum, so whiny and desperate in his ear because you’re waiting for him to tell you to let go. so eager for his voice even when he’s making you go dumb on his cock.

“my lovely girl… you can let go baby, i got you,” he whispers as his mouth latches on one of your nipples, the metallic taste of the piercing adorning it filling his mouth and overwhelming his senses. such a dirty little slut hidden under your good girl façade.

you shake your head and pick up the pace, but can do nothing to stop your walls from fluttering around him as he literally forces your orgasm out of you, holding you down on his cock and pressing his tip so deeply inside you it makes you see starts, telling you that "it's okay honey, you're making daddy feel so good"

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

⚠︎ | ceo!sunoo and he's MEAN, oral m!rec, master kink, power dynamics, slight pet play (puppy), degradation

sunoo acts like hiring you, on request of his daughter (your best friend), was such a big big favor. and initially you thought so too; the money is good, the office is close to your apartment, your coworkers are nice too! sunoo even made sure you climbed up the ladder quicker than any other employee of his ever had. sure you are competent and you do your job well, but you were also so naive for thinking he wouldn't expect anything back.

after all he takes such good care of you in the company, why wouldn't he want you to return the favor?

it’s not rare for you to find yourself on your knees under his work desk, the door of his office open.

“open up for me… gonna let master use your mouth huh?,” he says, tapping his leaking cock on your lips and smearing all of his salty precum all over your pretty features.

“yes, master.” you do as you’re told right away, glossy eyes never leaving his as you stretch your mouth wide open for him, anticipating the struggle that always comes with welcoming his length anywhere in your body. and you’re right, he rams his cock in your mouth without giving you any time to adjust, his cock so thick and big you’re already choking all around him and it’s not even halfway in. his tip already brushing the back of your mouth. he tilts his head sideways and stares at you like you’re dumb, waiting for you to take more. you truly do try, big tears falling from your eyes as you try your best to not disappoint him. and he laughs at you. “useless little puppy,” he sighs, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing you against his dick. “this should be easy for you by now. i know it’s big but i’ve been training you.” he cooes, his bottom lip jutting out in an expression of fake pity. “been making you gag on this cock for so long and you still can’t take it?”

your lashes are all wet with tears now, and you can’t tell if it's the hurt of having disappointed your master or the physical pain his member is causing you, but you can feel how it twitches in your throat when he notices your distress. he takes it out of your mouth, needy whines leaving you at the loss of weight in your tongue, and holds it over your face. “since you can’t suck cock properly,” he punctuates the last word vehemently. “lap it up. like the stupid little dog you are.”

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

⚠︎ | professor!jungwon, teacher/student dynamics, car sex, face sitting, mentions of breeding, sir kink

the lovely professor yang jungwon is everyone’s crush in your university. he’s that one teacher everyone is constantly daydreaming about. so gentle, helpful, smart, funny and charming. he just has it all. it doesn't help that he’s so open about how much he loves his two year old son, always showing anyone that comes to his lectures pictures upon pictures of his baby on his phone. every single person swooning over he’s taking such good care of his kid as a single dad.

he takes such good care of you too, in the backseats of his car before you both go to your lectures: him to teach and you to learn. you’re straddling his face, his mouth latched on your sensitive little bundle of nerves as he switches between sucking on it and lapping at it like a man starved. you’re a moaning mess over him, your hips moving on their own volition as he ghosts his fingers on your thighs and traces them up to your lower back, his big hands bringing your entire weight down on his mouth.

“fuck jungwon… feels so good,” you moan as you throw your head back, eyes closed shut at the overwhelming sensation. you yelp out in pain when he nibbles on your clit a little too harshly for it to be a mistake. “sir… sorry sir.”

he goes back to lapping at your cunt, the tip of his tongue only occasionally prodding at your entrance, ignoring your mewls and whines for more. he makes you cum like that, depriving you over and over of what you really want until just a slight swipe of his tongue on your neglected clit is all it takes for you to gush all of your juices in his mouth. “so good for me… such a good girl…” he whispers as you come down from your high. and before you can even register it he pushes you lower, down to his cock and slaps it over your sensitive cunt a few times, making you jump slightly because of the overstimulation. he grabs your neck and clashes your lips to his, tongue lapping at your own as he lets you taste your own release, “gonna fuck you so good baby,” he says as he locks eyes with you, a glint you’ve never seen before hidden under the lustful shadow covering his irises and blown out pupils. “wanna give you a baby of your own… want to fill your tight little pussy up…”

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