#academic code protection

[zomb13s]

Tabula Rasa Inversa: Structural Sovereignty through Metaphysical Code

A Theoretical Physics-Based Framework for Code-Embedded Sovereignty and Ethical Cybernetics Abstract This paper introduces a formal theoretical model…Tabula Rasa Inversa: Structural Sovereignty through Metaphysical Code

[girl-bateman]

How does one get assigned as sam coded / dean coded ? Do I need a doctors note ? A psych evaluation perhaps ?

[gimmethatagustd]

blunt rotation | pjm

Supplying your law school classmates with weed on the regular might as well be a full-time job. It's lucrative, but lately, you've seen a dip in profits. Maybe it's because you keep giving out the Pretty Boy Discount to a certain guy in your ethics class…

Pairing: Pretty Boy Jimin x weed dealer Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Law school, classmates to lovers, smut, a classic jai weed fic

Word Count: 7,477

Content Warning: Marijuana, a somewhat subby Jimin, consensual sex while high, choking, fingering, cunnilingus, protected vaginal sex, self-indulgent rants about capitalism and classism, lame dick jokes

A/N: On god, this fic is probably more about weed than anything else khskdjfs. My 420 fics are probs especially bad, and i decided i do not care. #blazeit

Soundtrack: a weed playlist made by yours truly 

“What is the difference between ethics, morality, and law?” 

Professor Kim leans against the desk at the front of the lecture hall with his hands gripping the edge on either side of his hips. The action makes the muscles in his arms flex, and you eat up the tan skin exposed by how his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The tight white button-up accentuates plump pectoral muscles that threaten to pop and lose a few buttons. It wouldn’t surprise you if it happened. Professor Kim is known for being accidentally destructive. 

It is unethical to fuck your professor because it would create a conflict of interest; you’d imagine it would be hard for Professor Kim to ethically assess your academic performance if he’d been balls deep in you. 

It’s morally wrong to fuck your professor because you know he’s married, not because he has ever provided your class with information about his personal life, but because you sit at the front of the class. From your position, you can see the glint of his wedding band. 

Legally, you’re pretty sure there isn’t a law against fucking your professor. It probably goes against your university’s code of conduct, but that’s not a law. 

You sink further into your seat and let your eyes wander the room. Everyone diligently takes notes as Professor Kim turns to the presentation projected on the large screen behind him. Ethics and Professional Responsibility isn’t your favorite class, but no one said getting your J.D. would be fun. On the contrary, everyone you knew said it would fucking suck. And it kinda does. 

One thing that doesn’t suck, though, is having a class with your program’s resident pretty boy, Park Jimin. 

Pretty boys aren’t your type at all. You prefer boys who are rough around the edges. You’re not interested if a guy doesn’t look like he’s a one-way ticket to jail or hell. Maybe it’s the rebel in you. Maybe you like the idea that opposites attract. A lawyer and a criminal sounds like a cute ship, no? 

Pretty boys are too soft for you. They’re the type to have skincare routines and listen to Jack Harlow. No thanks. 

Yet your eyes always manage to find Jimin. 

He’s sitting to your left and a few rows behind you, but close enough to see him when you turn your head. He sits with perfect posture as he scribbles notes on his iPad, plump lips puckered in a cute little beak of concentration. 

Fuck, no, not cute. Ridiculous. Soft and childish. Everyone in the room is at least in their mid-twenties, some even in their late fifties. A prestigious J.D. program has no room for beaks and squishy cheeks. 

You’re about to look away when Jimin lifts his stylus to his mouth. The end presses a small dent into his plush bottom lip. You instinctually lick your lips, though your mouth suddenly feels dry. 

Jimin sits that way for a few more seconds with furrowed eyebrows as he focuses on his notes. At Professor Kim’s mention of the end-of-the-year oral argument, your classmate finally lifts his head to face the front of the room. His eyes are bright and wide, unlike the haggard look of your peers, and you watch them shift back and forth as he reads whatever is on the screen. You have no idea what Professor Kim’s talking about; your roommate, Hoseok, will fill you in when you get home. 

All you know is that Jimin finally pulls his stylus away from his lips and casts a sideways glance in your direction. You lock eyes for a split second before he quickly ducks his head, suddenly interested in his notes again. 

You snort loud enough for the woman sitting next to you to give you an odd look, but you ignore her and return your eyes to Professor Kim. 

Your eyes don’t stray from the front of the lecture hall for the rest of the class. It’s not difficult; there isn’t anything else you find interesting enough in the room to distract you. Nothing. Especially not Pretty Boy Jimin. 

“Hey, can I come over tonight?” 

Two pale hands splay across your desk once the class is dismissed. Chipped, black polish adorns each nail, except for the pinkies, which are painted white. 

“Why are you asking me? You don’t need my permission to visit your boyfriend’s apartment.” 

“I’m trying to work on my manners, jeez.”

You roll your eyes and slide your tablet into your backpack. “Where were your manners when you and Hobi fucked on my couch? Hmm, Yoongi? Where were they then?” 

Yoongi lets out a low groan as he steps to the side to let you fall in line with him as you exit the classroom. Your roommate is waiting in the hallway, always the last student to arrive and the first to leave. 

“That’s different,” Yoongi huffs, though this time, the sound is due to Hoseok crushing him in a hug once they make it into the hall. “Besides, I’m asking because I’m bringing my friend. We aren’t going to stay. He just wants someone to come with him.” 

Hoseok untangles his arms from Yoongi’s and adjusts his backpack. Your best friends act like surviving a three-hour class is like surviving a lifetime apart. 

“Ohh, a friend?” Hoseok leans against Yoongi with his eyebrows arched. His questioning tone is fair. The three of you don’t have many friends aside from each other. It’s hard to maintain friendships with people outside of law school. There’s simply no time. 

“What is this, the buddy system?” You snicker as you follow the two men to their cars. “Sorry, I only do business with adults.” 

There is quite literally no reason for you to be judgemental about whoever this mystery friend is, but class has put you in a cranky mood. Probably because of stupid fucking Park Jimin with his distracting lips. Your unpreparedness for the oral argument is slowly causing anxiety to creep into your chest. 

Yoongi gives you a light smack to your bicep. “Some people get nervous about this shit, you know that.” 

“It’s weed, oh my god. You act like we’re cooking meth in our basement.” 

Yoongi stops walking to give you a stern look with narrowed eyes and a cocked head. “You don’t even have a basement.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s 2023, and weed is legal.” 

“It is legal to purchase weed at a licensed dispensary. However, you are not licensed to sell weed, nor is your apartment a dispensary.” 

“It’s got enough weed in it to be one,” Hoseok snorts, but the sound quickly morphs into a severe cough when Yoongi’s glare is directed at him. 

Yoongi yanks his car door open and slides into the driver’s seat. Then, with one leg still on the ground and his arm holding the door open, he lets out a long sigh. “You two are insufferable.”

“Love you too, babe!” Hoseok giggles and sends his boyfriend a flying kiss as Yoongi drives out of the parking lot. 

“For an anti-capitalist, Yoongi is so old-fashioned. I’m providing a product to the everyday person at a reasonable price,” you grumble while you fasten your seatbelt in Hoseok’s car. “Dispensaries are classist. They’re way too fucking expensive, and they’re all in affluent neighborhoods, anyway. The gentrification of marijuana in this country is ridiculous. Where does Yoongi think those tax funds end up? Not in neighborhoods that need them. And what about expunging people’s records? Is the government ever going to do that?” 

You slump in your seat, the sudden energetic burst of social consciousness in you dying out. “I hate rich people.”

Hoseok hums in agreement, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. “We’re about to be rich people, though.” 

“Not me. Civil rights law isn’t going to make me rich, and I’m not touching corporate with a ten-foot pole.” 

Yoongi and so many other people in your program are too dependent on what is and don’t stop to question what can be or what should be.

Ethics is a social construct, morality is subjective, and law is arbitrary. 

Going to law school is less about learning how to be a lawyer and more about learning how to play a game. 

When Park Jimin walks into your living room, all you can do is blink at him. Your eyes are red and glassy, your mouth dry even though you’ve been sipping water, and your limbs feel too gooey to bother getting up. Maybe you’re hallucinating him, which would be very upsetting because you don’t want to explore why he’s sticking around in your head. 

But then Yoongi is ushering the guy to sit next to you, and the dip in the couch as he eases down feels too real. 

“Ah, Jimin! You’re the friend!” Hoseok gives the newcomer a blinding smile. Smoke punctuates each word, billowing toward the ceiling. There’s already a thin haze to the room; you and Hoseok have been smoking for a while. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Jimin gives Hoseok a small smile. He also turns to give you one, but it falters when you meet his gaze. 

You’re not sure what expression you’re wearing. It could be anything, really. Or nothing at all. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. His lips are so pink. You want to ask him how soft they are. 

“How much do you want?” Is what you ask instead. 

Jimin turns to Yoongi, who is now cuddled up with Hoseok on the other side of the room. The chair is made for only one person, but they have never known personal boundaries. You suppose if they’re dating, it doesn’t matter. 

“Just give him an eighth,” Yoongi says with a dismissive wave. He’s more focused on plucking the blunt from Hoseok’s lips and bringing it to his own. 

“Of what?” You huff your words, twisting the joint you’ve got between your middle finger and thumb. It’s clear that Jimin knows nothing about weed. He can’t even come up with a measurement or a strain. 

Yoongi glares at you as if this is somehow your fault before saying, “Anything. Maybe not Girl Scout Cookies or Sour Diesel, though. I don’t want his brain melting out of his ears.” 

Jimin makes a slight noise of surprise at that. 

“Kidding,” Yoongi teases. “Well, about the brain-melting part. I mean it about the strains, though.” 

Leaving your joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, you stand up with a groan. Moving is low on your list of things to do right now. The indica you’ve been smoking makes your movements feel slow, though you can’t tell if they actually are. 

“Come on,” you mumble, gesturing for him to follow you down the hall. He goes without a word, eyes wide as if he’s about to discover something profound within the walls of your apartment. You don’t want to admit how cute he is, just as timid in your apartment as in class. 

“We keep everything in the office. It’s super organized, but I guess that’s expected.” You don’t know why you’re rambling (yes, you do, it’s the weed). 

Jimin nods. “Makes sense.” 

He’s so cute, you think, when he asks if he wants you to close the door once you’ve reached the office. As if there is something to hide in here. Hoseok and Yoongi are the only other people in the apartment. 

“I’m going to give you a hybrid. You know what that means?” 

Jimin hovers over you when you crouch next to a dresser with multiple drawers. Numerous glass jars, all labeled with pieces of white tape and messy handwriting, are stacked in the drawer you open. You sift through them, taking a few to inspect before placing them back again. 

“I do not.” At least he’s honest. 

“It’s the happy medium between sativa and indica. Sativa gives you a head high. People tend to feel alert and creative sometimes. Indica gives you a body high. It’s the stereotypical kind of weed people talk about that makes you lazy and get the munchies. It’s because sativa has more THC than CBD, whereas indica is more CBD-heavy. Think about how people use CBD products when they’ve got joint pains or anxiety, right?” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” The statement is redundant, but you don’t mention it. Jimin looks like he hangs onto your every word as though his life depends on it. It’s funny, and you have to stop yourself from laughing at him.

Finding what you’re looking for, you hand a jar to Jimin. “It’s already weighed, so you can take the whole thing.” 

Jimin holds the jar like it’s a newborn. This time, you let a few giggles slip out. 

“Do you have something to smoke it with? A piece or a bong?” 

A shake of his head is no surprise, but you act shocked because you’re high and feeling good, and you love how he looks when his eyes grow wide.

“Wow, you’re so cute,” you say with a grin that starkly opposes the shy blush that paints Jimin’s face. “You probably don’t know how to roll either, do you?” 

Another shake of his head. Of course. 

It’s not difficult to show Jimin how. You pull up another chair at your desk and push away all your notes and textbooks for school to clear a path to work. You show him how to grind the weed and roll a blunt and a joint — so he can figure out which one he likes better. 

Jimin’s body is warm as he presses against yours, your shoulders bumping into each other every time you move your arm. He keeps close, eyes glued to your hands as you work slowly but diligently. It’s a bit disarming having him so close. Aside from the occasional hello during class, you’ve never really talked to Jimin. Concentrating with all his Pretty Boy energy fogging up your mind is tricky. 

Or is it the weed? Nah, it’s the weed. 

“If you end up not liking either, go to a head shop to buy a bowl — it’s a pipe. Maybe don’t go with a bong yet. Yoongi can help you. He likes bowls better, so he’ll have good recommendations.” 

Once finished, you slip the blunts and joints into a ziplock bag. When you pass it to Jimin, you can’t help but let your fingers brush against his. The touch sends waves of hot electricity up your arm. The shock of it makes your entire body tingle. Sure, the weed is making your body extra sensitive, but it’s not only that. He’s so fucking hot. 

You don’t realize you’re staring at him. It’s hard not to stare or even know where to begin. His plush, pillowy lips? His fluffy, dirty-blonde hair that falls into his eyes? So cute that you don’t even care when he has to do a Bieber flip to get his bangs out of his face? 

And, fuck, he’s not wearing the usual crisp white Oxford shirt and black chinos get-up. He must have gone home to change after class because now he’s wearing a form-fitting black t-shirt (probably designer from the looks of it) and grey jogger sweatpants that do nothing to hide how thick his thighs are and you’re sure if you get a chance to look at his ass you’ll find that that part of his body is thick, too. Expensive athleisure wear looks even better on him than professional clothing. It makes him look soft. 

“Thank you,” Jimin says, speaking your name softly, and you feel like your knees grow weak at the sound of it tumbling from lips like those. “I’m sorry, I feel like I barged in here and took up your time. Not knowing anything… I’m sure you’re used to people with more knowledge than I do.” 

Shaking your head, you guide Jimin out of the office and lock it behind you. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?” 

It’s funny that he’s concerned about something like this, as if marijuana knowledge is so embarrassing not to have. 

When you turn around, you realize the two of you are standing way too close. Your apartment isn’t a shoebox, but it certainly isn’t large. The hallway is slim, and Hoseok has a million and one plants and decorative furniture scattered around for the “aesthetic,” which makes it even harder to navigate tight spaces. 

You’re not complaining, though. This close, you can see that Jimin is wearing contacts that make his eyes hazel, little flecks of orangish-brown highlighting his naturally dark irises. 

Jimin’s eyes drop to your lips, and you feel your stomach drop along with them. Even though you’re not touching each other, your skin tingles with the knowledge that you could be touching. He’s so close. All it would take is one tiny shuffle forward, and you could slot yourself against his nimble — but what you assume is a very solid — frame. 

“Yeah,” he speaks as he releases a soft exhale. You feel his warmth and shudder. “Thank you, still.”

“No problem,” you whisper. 

Jimin’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. His teeth draw it in slightly, and when he lets go, you can see how his lip bounces back into place. 

Dragging your eyes back to meet his takes an embarrassing amount of effort. He’s finally looking at your eyes, too, with an expression you don’t understand because you don’t really know him. 

“How much do I owe you?”

Right. Because he’s here with Yoongi for a reason. You swallow, turning your head to the side to hopefully break whatever spell Jimin and weed have put you under. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Jimin inhales sharply, but you keep your eyes down. “I must pay you something. I don’t know what’s a standard amount.” 

If you were anyone else, you could honestly rip him off. The guy has no clue — he is even admitting that he doesn’t! But there are embers smoldering in the pit of your stomach. 

“Nope,” you say with a tone of finality. You can hardly think before your following words slip out of your mouth like snakes. “Pretty Boys get weed free of charge.” 

“W-w-what?” Jimin looks unbearably cute when he’s confused. It’s almost too much for you to handle. 

So you don’t. 

Without another word, you head back to the living room. Jimin follows silently. You’re sure his face is still painted with shock because Yoongi gives the two of you an odd look. 

“Right where I left you,” you tease.

Untangling his limbs from Hoseok’s, Yoongi lets out an old man grunt and stands. You hadn’t believed him when he said he wouldn’t be staying, but it’s clear that he’s sticking to his promise when he starts patting down his legs to make sure he has his keys. 

“Got what you need, Chim?” 

Chim? How close are Yoongi and Jimin? And why are you only now learning of this friendship? 

Jimin nods, his bottom lip between his teeth once again. He insists that you’ve been a great help to him, all while keeping his eyes locked with yours. It’s so different than his shy avoidance in class. 

“Don’t worry, Yoong,” you insist as you plop back on the couch. Your joint is patiently waiting for you. “I took good care of him.” 

You’ve never been very good at math, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to know that Pretty Boy Jimin ends up costing you hundreds of dollars as the semester progresses. 

All your peers will walk away from law school making six figures easily. But not you. You just had to give a shit about the world, didn’t you? You just had to pick an area of law that values protecting human rights over making a profit. 

God, being a good person is so hard! 

And now, Park Jimin is sucking you dry before you can even earn money. Every time his fat little ass sashays away from your apartment with another jar of free weed, you can practically hear the chime of money signs ringing out with each step. 

There’s a worse feeling, though. It hadn’t occurred to you until now, as you stand in the entranceway of Jimin’s apartment unit, your backpack carrying precious cargo inside slung over one shoulder. 

Allowing Jimin to walk out of your apartment with the Pretty Boy Discount of free marijuana hurts your pocket, but doing a free weed delivery is even more pathetic. You’re wasting your own time and gas money to drive to Park Jimin’s motherfucking apartment to deliver him weed that you aren’t even going to charge him for simply because he’s hot. 

Maybe this is the terrible consequence of abstaining from sex to “focus on school” — as if smoking weed with Hoseok all day isn’t a distraction. But, on the other hand, maybe you just need to get laid. 

Dipping on this commitment would be easy, you think as you bounce on the balls of your feet. You could leave right now before Jimin answers the door, ask Hoseok to handle Jimin’s future requests, and put all of this behind you. But, of course, the entire situation is ridiculous anyway. You don’t even know Jimin. Not really. 

There’s a clicking sound from the other side of Jimin’s front door. Logically, you know it’s the sound of him unlocking the door, but your nerves tell you it’s the sound of your fate being locked into place. It may as well be because Jimin opens the door with a smile that puffs up his cheeks, his hair looks damp, and he smells like body wash. 

Fuck. 

“Hi!” His voice squeaks, but a deep cough returns it to a normal tone. “I mean, uh, I appreciate you coming by.” 

Your tongue presses into your cheek as you regard him for a moment. He might consider your silence as negative because he quickly sidesteps to allow you into his apartment. 

You give Jimin a smirk. “I think you should at least give me a tip.” 

“O-oh, I mean… oh, um,” he stutters, and you can’t help but laugh. 

A rush of air escapes your nostrils in a low-energy, nearly silent laugh. While coming to Jimin’s place might seem like a lot of effort, the truth is that you’re bored, and lately, you’ve been seeking anything to get your mind off the loneliness you feel when your apartment is dark and Hoseok is with Yoongi. 

So, even though part of you chastises yourself, you’re willing to risk looking pathetic or desperate if it means you can have someone to smoke with and get some time away from your too-quiet apartment. Not because Jimin is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

Jimin’s pretty eyes widen, and you quickly wave your hand to brush off his sudden panic. 

“I’m kidding,” you confess as you twist your backpack around your body to pull out a small glass mason jar. It’s cute how concerned he is. 

No, not cute. Naive. You shake yourself out of the feeling. 

”Well, come on then.” You walk through Jimin’s apartment into the living room. It’s your first time making a delivery with him, so you’ve never been to his apartment. Yet you walk through the building with unearned familiarity. You’ve got manners; sometimes, you choose not to use them.

“How have you and Hoseok been?” 

“Prepping for finals. And that fucking oral argument Kim’s got us doing,” you groan. School talk wasn’t something you had in mind when you showed up, but in the months you’ve spent getting to know Jimin more, you’ve learned he’s a total nerd. He’s probably excited about the assessment. 

“Sometimes I think he’s trying to kill us,” Jimin says with a slight grin. “Is it ethical, moral, or legal to terrify your students to the point of throwing up before evaluations?” 

“Don’t tease Yoongi like that! You know he has public speaking anxiety!” 

Jimin does a little half-skip to avoid your attempt to slap his chest. Although you know the both of you are drowning in student loans and law school tuition fees, the apartment is much nicer than expected. You wonder if Jimin has a roommate. He’s never mentioned one before.  

“Don’t tell him, or he’ll beat me up.” 

Eyerolls aren’t a commitment to anything, but you know Jimin knows you wouldn’t dare repeat his words. 

Plopping onto his couch, you scoot the coffee table between your knees and set the jar down. Beside the jar, you place everything you need to roll for Jimin, including a grinder and swishers. You could have rolled it all in advance, but you don’t like to feel rushed. Prepping is the best part. It relaxes you.

Jimin slowly slides into place beside you on the couch. He leaves enough room between the two of you to be respectful, although something tells you it’s less about his desire to make you feel comfortable and more about his discomfort. 

He’s nervous, but you don’t know why. He keeps dragging his palms against his thighs, roughly rubbing his jeans. Every once in a while, he lifts his hand to touch his bottom lip. Then, when you sneak a glance at him, he quickly turns away. There’s nothing of note to look at in the apartment, but he seems engrossed in something for those fleeting moments before you’re sure he’s looking at you once again. 

“I should probably learn how to do this… Like, properly… I can’t remember everything you did the first time,” Jimin mumbles. When you look up, his cheeks are dusted a light pink. 

“Sorry, I probably went too fast that time.” You give him an apologetic look that makes his face redden even more. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. Just need a good teacher.” 

If Jimin expects you to be his teacher again, he doesn’t say so. You could be. You can’t stop yourself from giving the guy free weed; you might as well add comprehensive rolling lessons in the mix. 

By this point, rolling a blunt is about muscle memory; you don’t have to use an ounce of brainpower. Your eyes can wander, sweep over the contents of Jimin’s living room, your thoughts floating off to wonder about the little details of the man’s life you aren’t privy to. Who are his friends? Where is his family? You look for photographs on shelves or hanging on the walls, items that are a staple in your and Hoseok’s apartment. Would Yoongi be in any of his photos? So many people in the city come in like ghosts.

“Do you, um, would you like to stay?” 

Jimin’s voice pulls you back to the living room, where your hands have already finished two blunts without you realizing it. 

“Isn’t that what you meant when you said I could smoke with you?” You question around the blunt you’ve brought between your lips, pausing to light it.

Jimin shakes his head, not as an answer to your question, but to himself. “Yes, of course.” 

“You wanna share this or smoke your own?“ You can keep working on rolling the rest in the meantime.

Rather than answer your question verbally, Jimin does something that makes your heart fall into the pit of your fucking stomach. The supposedly shy, naive man parts his lips and juts his chin toward you. 

The meaning behind his action hits you in the chest immediately. You let your eyes drift over his mouth, and you try not to react when his tongue swipes across his bottom lip while he patiently waits for you to give him what he wants. And you’re gonna do it, too. No questions asked. 

Pinching the blunt between your middle finger and thumb, you twist on the couch to face Jimin with your legs tucked beneath you. Of course, if your fingertips brush against his lips when you place the blunt between them, that’s no one’s business, and you fucking plead the fifth, thanks. 

Jimin’s eyes never leave yours when he wraps his lips around the blunt and inhales. He takes the hit like a champ, not coughing once despite the smoke’s thickness when he exhales. It’s been a few months since he started coming to you for weed. You shouldn’t be proud of his improvement, but you are anyway. Even if it’s weird to be. 

“Thanks.” Jimin looks like a droopy-eyed dragon, eyes heavy and narrow when he expresses his appreciation. His voice is low and thick, and it makes your stomach swoop. 

You nod your head and take the blunt from him. “No problem.” 

Time is hardly discernible in normal circumstances for you, especially when you’re high. So you can’t imagine how long you sit with Jimin on his couch, watching smoke billow in the air and talking about how unfortunate it is that Frank Ocean and Rihanna ghosted the music industry. 

For a while, the two of you fall silent. You lean your head against the couch and close your eyes, content with listening to the music Jimin put on until another thought enters your mind. One you can’t bring yourself to ignore.  

“You ever fucked while you’re high?” 

You ask the question once you and Jimin have finished the first blunt and move on to the second. The lighter you’re using is hot pink with blue and purple flowers printed on it. Something feels fitting about that. 

The question takes you by surprise even though you’re the one asking it, unsure why you’re asking it aside from knowing the weed will make you more likely to speak your mind. Jimin, though. The poor guy is even more startled. As he should be, you think. 

His hand trembles slightly when he passes you the blunt when it’s your turn to take a hit. “Uhh, um, have I— what?” 

You roll your eyes and blow a smoke ring in Jimin’s direction. You wait for his coughing to subside before you repeat yourself. 

“Have you ever had sex while under the influence of marijuana, Jimin-ssi?”

“No…” 

“Hmm, you should. It’s really fun. Feels good.” 

“Oh.” 

“Do you wanna try it now?” 

It’s comical how Jimin gulps, literally gulps, like a fucking cartoon character. “Now?” 

Marijuana is an aphrodisiac. It won’t make Jimin want you, but it’s clear from his suggestive behavior that he already does. The weed will simply, hopefully, make him less nervous about it. 

You pretend you don’t notice how he shifts to press his thighs together on the couch. 

“Come on,” you encourage him. “Stop thinking so much.” 

You know you’re too forward and sudden, but it feels justified because you’ve been thinking about Jimin for months. The buildup over the past few months has been stifling. 

Giving consent is what finally unlocks something in Jimin. One moment he’s staring at you with wide, timid eyes; the next, he’s got his hand around your throat. 

With a light squeeze, Jimin pulls you into him to slot his lips with yours. Holding back a moan is nearly impossible when his tongue pries your lips open. It’s wet and hot, and your skin tingles when you taste the smoke on him when his tongue curls around your own. Smoking always makes you feel warm, but you feel like you’re on fire when Jimin whimpers into your mouth. His pace is unrelenting. You feel like you’re tripping over yourself as you attempt to keep up with the quick work of his lips. The effort has you practically straddling his lap. 

Tightening his grip on your throat, Jimin uses it to tilt you how he wants you. A pleased hum vibrates against your mouth when he hears you moan from the pressure of his fingers digging into the soft skin of your neck. It’s only when you start to get lightheaded, and your lips slow that Jimin finally pulls away. 

His eyes’ heavy, sensual look remains, but you’re surprised to find his slick lips forced into a frown. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You could ask why, but you assume Jimin’s forwardness isn’t typical behavior. The good thing is that it is for you.

Rather than address the unnecessary tension, you let your lips do all the work and pull Jimin in for another ruthless kiss. 

“I don’t wanna hear any apologies from you,” you murmur against his mouth. “The only thing I want your lips doing is eating me out.” 

Jimin lets out a high-pitched whine that sets something dangerous off, buzzing through your body. “Please.” 

Maybe you’re pathetic with how quickly you strip yourself of your clothes, but Jimin doesn’t seem to care. His eyes never leave your body as you toss the clothing onto the floor. “You’re so beautiful…” 

“Yeah?” You lean with your back against the arm of the couch, scooting down slightly so you can let your legs fall open. 

He nods sharply and is silent momentarily as he rubs his palms down the length of your legs, settling between them. 

"I’ve always wanted to talk to you,” Jimin speaks with a hushed tone. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I just get nervous. I’m sure that seems pretty lame." 

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Every touch sends goosebumps pebbling across your skin. It’s exhilarating. You feel like your entire body is a hot wire, sparking and buzzing at a dangerous frequency. 

"Yoongi said this would be a good way for us to get to know each other. The weed, not this this!” It’s shocking to you how adorable he can be at the same time he sucks the skin of your inner thigh into his mouth, swirling his tongue around after biting down hard enough to make you gasp. 

Your head falls back as you feel the tip of Jimin’s tongue drags along your clit. He swirls it around, drawing small circles in a steady rhythm. Every time his tongue pulls back, you can hear a soft smacking sound of his lips. He’s likely swallowing the drool collecting in his mouth. You’re sure he’s probably getting a bad case of cotton mouth from the excessive sound. 

It makes you smile knowing he’s that sensitive. It takes much more weed in your system to start feeling dry in the mouth, but you’ve been smoking more years than Jimin and at a higher frequency. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan out a misshapen puff of smoke when Jimin’s tongue returns to your clit. 

This time he wraps his plush lips around it and suckles lightly, using his tongue to flick from side to side. His little grunts and moans make your pussy vibrate, sending a tingling sensation through the inside of your thighs and down to your toes. 

Your hand shakes as you bring the blunt back to your lips. A whine tries to break through, but you force it back down your throat as you inhale more smoke. It’s hard when your body feels like it’s burning up. 

Every gentle touch of Jimin’s lips and tongue on your skin feels like a punch to your stomach in a way that is so deliriously delicious you can hardly take it. Wetness drips down your pussy and smears against your thighs, either from your arousal or Jimin’s drool or both, but you don’t care how messy it is when Jimin pulls back enough to spit more onto your clit. 

You let out a surprised sound, lifting your head slightly to see a string of saliva connect Jimin’s pouty bottom lip with your skin. 

Fuck, you didn’t think Pretty Boy had it in him. 

Using two fingers, Jimin spreads his spit around your clit, pushing it down until he slides into your pussy with ease. You didn’t need the extra lubrication, but you groan at the wet sound that echoes through Jimin’s apartment as he thrusts his fingers deep inside you. He brings his lips back to your clit, sucking harder and massaging your skin with his tongue even faster to match the pace his fingers take. 

When he finally locates the spot that makes your legs shake, hitting it repeatedly, you dig your fingers into his fluffy hair and yank his head back. 

“H-h-here,” you stutter, pressing the blunt against his lips. They’re shiny, and the idea of sticking a wet blunt between your lips makes you want to cringe, but you don’t care because his lips are shiny with you. 

Jimin doesn’t stop thrusting into you, but his pace slows as he concentrates on taking another hit. 

“I’m so fucking hard,” he groans. With the blunt between his lips, Jimin’s hands fly to unbutton his jeans. Another groan sounds around the blunt once he’s freed himself of the retraining pants. 

You let out a quiet sigh as you try to collect yourself while Jimin smokes. “I told you it feels good. It’s different, isn’t it?” 

“Mhmm…”

There’s a large wet patch staining the front of Jimin’s briefs. It makes the fabric stick to his cock, clearly outlining his length and girth — big enough to make you drool but small enough that you won’t go home sore and regretful. 

“Lemme ride you.” You use your free hand to push Jimin into the back of the couch. He plants his feet on the floor and spreads his thighs as you get comfortable in his lap. “Wanna smoke the rest while we fuck.” 

Your head is in the clouds, your body melting like butter as Jimin skirts his hands along your sides. He eventually pauses to squeeze your hips, and you swear you can feel him all over you. 

It’s quick work, tugging down the final article of clothing separating the two of you. It’s hard not to stare, especially when Jimin twitches and shivers with every light touch of your fingertips along the ridges and veins of his cock. 

Your clit drags against the head of his cock when you adjust in his lap, and you let out a ragged moan. 

“Soaked,” Jimin murmurs, “You’ve got me all wet.” 

It’s true. Jimin’s thighs glisten from where you’ve leaked all over him. Your clit throbs so much it’s beginning to hurt from the sensitivity. 

“Condom,” you practically wheeze out. “If you go in raw, you’re probably gonna bust a nut immediately, and I’m not interested in that for many reasons.” 

Jimin’s face turns even pinker. 

“O-okay, give me a second, please.” So fucking polite, and for what? 

He holds you at the base of your spine with one hand as he leans forward to snatch his jeans with his other hand. There’s a condom in his wallet, so you assume your classmate isn’t all innocent. 

It’s quick work rolling the condom on. Uninterested in teasing yourself further because you feel like you’ll die if you don’t orgasm soon, you push Jimin hard against the back of the couch. You slip down his cock with ease, with no stretch or sting, from how turned on you are. 

“I feel like I’m already gonna come.” Jimin throws his head back against the couch. 

His lips fall open, and you quickly snatch the blunt from them so it doesn’t fall and burn one of you. He looks beautiful, angelic even. His lips are puffy and pink, his cute little mismatched front teeth peeking out. His tongue flicks around his mouth as his breathing grows heavier. 

You squeeze one of his shoulders with your free hand while your other keeps the blunt pinched to your lips. As you take a drag, you lift your hips and quickly bring them back down, your ass slapping Jimin’s thighs as you engulf his cock again. Your skin sounds wet and sticky, but Jimin’s whine drowns out the sound. 

“Shit,” he hisses. Blunt nails dig into your skin, but it doesn’t hurt; it only feels good. Everything feels so good. 

You hardly notice how hard you shake as you slam yourself down on Jimins’ cock again. Your head is too spacey to go fast, but you do your best to set a steady pace of bouncing on Jimin’s cock. It doesn’t matter if he’s already going to come. You feel your orgasm building up with every squeeze of his fingers and the pathetic moans from his mouth. 

You lean forward to latch your lips to the base of Jimin’s neck when he again drops his head. Pulling the skin into your mouth, you suck hard. You know the shock the discomfort will send across his body, pain that quickly morphs into pleasure and makes his cock twitch inside you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin reaches up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. Sweat makes the hair remain in place, pushed up, making him look as wrecked as he sounds. His cheeks are bright red now, and the color bleeds down his neck, where you’re sure his chest is bright red, too. 

Fuck, why didn’t you take off his shirt? It feels like a quick and dirty fuck, although you’re not sure you want it to be. You’re unsure what you want this to be or mean. Or how you want it to feel. 

All you know is that you feel like you’ll come at the sight of Jimin’s toned stomach and chest when you pull the hem of his shirt up to bunch it right above his nipples. 

Holding onto the fabric gives you more leverage to pick up your pace. It’s needed because Jimin is a puddle beneath you. His arms are tossed to his slides like they’re made out of rubber, flopped onto the couch cushions. He can barely lift his hips. He only makes a few weak attempts to thrust into you before he’s whining again, head lolled to the side with furrowed eyebrows. He looks so fucked out. 

“Please, ahh, fuck, please,” Jimin begs, though you’re not sure for what. 

“Wanna come, pretty boy?” You squeeze his t-shirt harder and yank it slightly, just enough to pull Jimin’s back a few inches from the couch. “You’re gonna have to work harder. I already gave you so much.” 

Jimin’s eyes roll in pleasure when you clench around him, little “oh’s” and “ah’s” punched out of him. “Okay, yes, yes, fuck, yes, I’ll be soooo—”

You bring his hands back to your waist as he babbles. The contact must give him a bit of clarity because he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and begins to thrust into you hard. 

“I’ll. Be. So. Fucking. Good.” Every word is punctuated by a mind-shattering thrust as Jimin pulls you down onto his cock. 

If you were on the edge before, you’re falling by the time he picks up the pace and thrusts into you even harder. The buildup was long and hot, yet your orgasm hits you so hard it might as well have been a surprise. 

You curl into yourself and press your face into the crook of Jimin’s neck while he continues his unforgiving rhythm until he comes with a choked-out moan of your name. 

The silence should be uncomfortable. How awkward and irrational was it to simply… tell Jimin that you wanted to fuck? And for Jimin to go along with it? Casual hookups aren’t really your thing. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to be the exception for everything, though. 

Heavy breathing fills the silence as the two of you try to calm down, your chests rising and falling in tandem. It’s comforting to lean all your weight on Jimin, despite how his bunched-up t-shirt presses uncomfortably into your chest. Even the feeling of his cock softening inside of you doesn’t bother you any. 

At some point, Jimin had placed the blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table. It’s shocking that he had the mind to do so; you would have accidentally burned a hole into his comfy, expensive-looking couch. It’s a good thing you had the mind to use a condom. Imagine burn marks and cum stains. Sheesh. 

The kiss Jimin presses to your temple when he turns his head feels way more domestic than you deserve. You smile, teeth pressed against his skin, despite yourself. You can blame the giddiness you feel on the weed, and not whatever Pretty Boy Jimin has done to trigger warmth inside your chest. 

“I think I gave you more than the tip…” 

With narrowed eyes, you lift your head from Jimin’s neck to look him square in the face so quickly that you’re worried you might pull a muscle in your neck. “You’re not fucking funny.” 

Jimin lets his head fall back to laugh hard enough that his eyes squeeze shut. It’s so endearing that you overlook such a bad joke. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to get away with a lot. You don’t mind it as much as you act like you do. 

[glowettee]

⋆˚࿔glowettee hotline 6: finding peace after studying.ᐟ

hey lovelies! 🤍i'm finally back with glowettee hotline

abbey sent in the sweetest question to the glowettee hotline about something i think so many of us struggle with. that persistent anxiety that whispers "you could do more" even after you've literally been studying for hours and hours? yeah, i know that voice all too well.

i was literally up until 3am last night reorganizing my color-coded study guides even though i'd already finished them, so trust me when i say i understand that perfectionist energy. there's something about academics that brings out that need for control in all of us, right?

first, i want you to know that what you're experiencing is actually super common among high-achievers. that anxiety isn't a sign that you're doing something wrong - it's actually your brain being a little too good at wanting to succeed. your brain has basically created this false equation that anxiety = productivity, when actually they're totally different things.

when i was in my worst perfectionist spiral last semester (we don't talk about the great midterm meltdown of 2024), my academic counselor shared something that literally changed everything for me. she called it "productive completion" versus "perfectionist completion" and the difference is everything.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ why your brain keeps doing this ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

your brain has been rewarded for being anxious in the past. every time you've pushed yourself to do "just one more thing" because of anxiety, your brain logged that as a win. it doesn't realize how exhausted and burnt out you're becoming.

also? uncertainty is literally uncomfortable for our brains on a neurological level. your organized nature (which is actually a superpower when balanced!) means your brain craves that feeling of "doneness" - but perfectionism keeps moving the goalpost so you never actually reach it.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ practical things that actually help ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

create a "done list" instead of just a to-do list. physically write down everything you've accomplished in a study session. when anxiety says "you've done nothing," you have literal evidence to the contrary.

implement a physical "closing ritual" to signal to your brain that work time is over. i close my laptop, put my books in my bag, and light this little vanilla candle that's only for post-study relaxation. your brain needs these concrete transitions.

use time-based boundaries rather than task-based ones. "i will study for 2 focused hours" is better than "i will study until i feel done" because perfectionism ensures you'll never feel done.

try the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique when anxiety spirals hit. name 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. it literally interrupts the anxiety pathway in your brain.

create a "worry hour" where you give yourself permission to stress about academics - but only during that designated time. when anxious thoughts come outside that hour, tell them "not now, i'll think about you at 4pm."

practice self-compassion statements that feel authentic to you. mine is "being imperfect doesn't mean i'm ineffective." find yours and repeat it when that voice starts up.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the deeper work ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

here's the thing about perfectionism that took me forever to understand - it's often a protection mechanism. somewhere along the way, you learned that being perfect kept you safe from criticism or failure or whatever scary thing your brain is trying to avoid.

the real question to gently ask yourself is: what would happen if you did "just enough" instead of everything possible? what are you afraid would occur? usually when we dig into this, we find some core beliefs that need updating.

for me, i realized i had this weird belief that if i wasn't constantly anxious about academics, it meant i didn't care enough. which is obviously not true! you can care deeply about your studies while still having boundaries and rest.

abbey, i want you to know that your worth isn't measured by how exhausted you are at the end of a study session. your organized nature is a gift - but it should serve you, not control you.

sending you the warmest thoughts and a reminder that you're doing so much better than you think you are. your anxiety is lying to you about how much is "enough."

xoxo, mindy 🤍

leave a message after the tone…

submit your questions here!!

[internetdaddy98]

Point of Care

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Robby and Y/N share a quiet dinner at a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, where they allow their relationship to move past the secrecy and uncertainty that has defined it. 

Word Count: 1.9 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times.

The HR office was tucked away in the admin wing, far from the chaos of the ER, far from the trauma bay and the noise of overhead codes. You had only been here once before, during your orientation. It smelled like coffee, printer toner, and bureaucratic permanence.

Robby walked beside you, his hand grazing yours occasionally but never quite closing the distance. They weren’t here for declarations or fireworks. Just a form. A conversation. A choice made real on paper. The HR coordinator, a polite woman named Marissa, greeted them with a curious smile when they entered. “Dr. Robinavitch, Dr. Sheridan, what can I help you with?”

Robby cleared his throat, but it was you who spoke first. Your voice was clear and composed.

“We’d like to disclose a personal relationship, in accordance with policy.” Marissa blinked. Then smiled with polite surprise. “Of course. Give me just a moment.” Marissa made a few notes. “And Dr. Robinavitch is not your direct supervisor for evaluations, correct?”

“He oversees me clinically during shifts, but my academic advisor and evaluation lead is Dr. Langdon,” you clarified.

“Good,” Marissa said, with an approving tone. “Then this will go in your file as a disclosed relationship with no formal conflict of interest. It’ll be flagged in case of any potential future issues—scheduling, assessments, anything like that. Transparency protects both of you.”

She handed them the forms, two copies each, standard hospital-issue. Disclosure, acknowledgment, consent. You signed quickly. Robby paused for just a moment before adding his signature.

When you were done, Marissa took the forms back with a practiced efficiency. “You’re all set. I appreciate you coming in. It speaks well of both of you.”

“Thanks,” Robby said, rising with a polite nod. You followed, the knot between your shoulders easing a little.

When you stepped out into the hallway a few minutes later, you bumped your shoulder gently against his arm. “So… that’s it?”

Robby nodded. “That’s it. You’re officially my HR-sanctioned problem now.”

You laughed under your breath. “And you’re mine.”

They didn’t kiss, didn’t hold hands, not here. But they walked back toward the elevators side by side, a little lighter, a little steadier. No more secrets. No more limbo.

Just them.

By the book. ---------------------------------

You celebrated by having a romantic dinner. It was a quiet corner table in a warm, dimly lit restaurant tucked between buildings older than either of you. The kind of place with flickering candles in amber glass holders and exposed brick walls soaked in years of laughter and whispered conversation. Outside, the city bustled in its usual rhythm, but in here, the world had narrowed to just the two of you, seated across from each other like the edge of a confession neither had fully spoken aloud.

You looked different now. Softer somehow, your long hair curled loose over your shoulders, cheeks touched with warmth that wasn’t just from the wine you’d shared. You were in a sweater that slipped a little off one shoulder, and jeans, and no trace of the badge that usually clung to you like armor. Robby couldn’t stop looking at you. Not in a possessive way, but in the way a man looked at something he’d convinced himself he could never deserve.

And yet, here they were.

The silence between them was comfortable now, not cautious. A shared peace that had taken months of slow-burning tension, half-spoken words, and stolen moments to arrive at.

“I think Dana’s onto us,” You murmured with a wry smile, your fingers gently circling the rim of your wine glass.

Robby let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Dana’s been onto us since last winter.”

You laughed, and the sound made his chest ache. He’d once thought he’d never hear you laugh like that, freely, without hesitation. It felt like a kind of miracle. Your voice belonged to him now in a way he would never take for granted.

He reached across the table and let his fingers graze yours. You met him halfway, linking your hands slowly, tenderly, like this was the first time all over again.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you said softly.

His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. Your pulse was fast. So was his. “Me neither.”

“I mean it,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Not just sneaking around. Not just seeing each other when we’re off shift. I don’t want this to be something temporary or secret or… cautious. I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m not completely, terrifyingly in love with you.”

The words stunned him in the gentlest way. Not because he hadn’t known, he had. But because you’d said it without fear, without retreating. Just you, laid bare, offering everything.

He swallowed hard. “Jesus, Y/N…”

You didn’t look away. “I need to know if you feel the same. If this is just… something you’re trying not to regret. Or if you’re in this, really in it.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he exhaled, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“I’ve spent my whole life living by rules I thought would protect people. Thought if I kept my distance, if I didn’t let anyone get too close, I could control the outcomes. No one got hurt. No one depended on me more than they should. I survived that way. But I wasn’t living. Not really.”

He looked up, and his eyes were glassy. “You undid me. In the best goddamn way. And now I don’t want to imagine a version of this life where you’re not in it.”

You blinked hard, your fingers tightening around his.

He added, quieter, “This isn’t just some late midlife crisis, some reckless mistake. You’re it, my sweet Sheri. You’re it for me.”

The candle between them flickered like it knew. You smiled slowly, radiant and soft and just a little broken open, and he thought you’d never looked more beautiful.

You sat there for a long time, fingers tangled on the tabletop, trading small stories about your first impressions, the awkward early days of your residency, the way Dana had teased Robby mercilessly after catching him staring at you one too many times during rounds. He told you he remembered your first shift like it was yesterday, the way you’d walked into the trauma bay with your tiny frame and enormous eyes, so quiet he’d nearly overlooked you. And then you’d stepped up to run a code with the kind of calm confidence that made him stop in his tracks.

You told him about all the nights you’d gone home aching because you’d wanted so badly to impress him, not just as your attending, but as a man you admired, respected, maybe even adored long before you admitted it.

By the time dessert arrived, something chocolate you didn’t really touch, you were leaning toward each other across the table, full of memory and warmth, the gravity between you undeniable.

You looked at him, your brown eyes soft, clear, and deeply certain. There was something about the way you were watching him, steadier than he’d ever seen, though your cheeks were flushed, and your lips slightly parted like you had something just on the edge of confession.

“Come home with me,” you said, gentle and sure.

The words pulled something from deep inside him, a jolt of surprise, not because he didn’t want to, but because it felt like stepping over another boundary he hadn’t let himself imagine crossing until now.

Her home.

Her life.

He hesitated only for a breath, and in that breath, your fingers gripped his tighter, anchoring him.

“It’s okay,” you added quietly. “You don’t have to. I just— I want you to see me. Not just in your apartment. Not just at work. I want you to know who I am when the day is over and everything’s quiet.”

And how could he say no to that?

He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I want that too.”

Outside, the night was cold, but when he pulled your coat around your shoulders and kissed your temple like a promise, you didn’t feel a thing but his hand in yours and the heat of the future unfolding in front of them.

Your apartment was in Shadyside, tucked on a quiet tree-lined street in a high-ceilinged brownstone with soft golden light spilling through arched windows. The interior was warm and elegant, mid-century furniture, thick rugs, bookshelves crammed with everything from poetry to medical journals, candles you actually burned, and little details that made Robby pause in the doorway as he took it all in.

It smelled like you. Soft floral notes and warmth. A place he already knew would haunt him if he ever left.

You watched him with a small smile as he walked the perimeter, taking it in. His fingertips skimmed a framed photograph of your family, you and your parents at a summer estate by the water, smiling in linen and sunlight.

“You’re rich,” he said after a beat, half-joking but not really. His brow arched. “Like, actually rich.”

You rolled your eyes, amused and unbothered. “My parents are.”

“And you live like this?”

“Yeah. Why?” you teased, tilting your head. “Worried I’m a little too high society for your taste, Dr. Robinavitch?”

He smirked but said nothing, stepping closer, his eyes roaming over the apartment with new context.

You were quiet for a moment, then shrugged as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the couch. “I never wanted anyone to know. Not at the hospital. I didn’t want it to change how they saw me. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice low as he joined her on the couch. “It’s just another part of you. And I want to know every part.”

Your breath caught for just a second.

Then, after a moment, you said softly, “My family does Thanksgiving big. My mom starts planning in September. My dad orders wines like he’s hosting the President. We get in fights about how to roast the turkey, and there’s always at least one person crying by dessert.”

Robby watched you.

“And I’d like you to come.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a second, the old instinct kicked in, distance, retreat, stay safe.

But you reached for his hand again, and your grip was steady, your gaze open.

“I’m not asking you to meet them tomorrow,” you said. “But I’m not hiding anymore, and I don’t want you to hide either. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it.”

He nodded, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, slow and full of love. “We’re doing it.”

Later that night, he stood in the doorway of your bedroom as you changed into a soft T-shirt and shorts, your hair loose down your back, face clean of makeup. The quiet intimacy of it startled him more than sex ever could—watching you fold back the comforter, light a candle on the nightstand, and slide into bed with the ease of someone letting him in fully.

He joined you under the covers, unsure of the right way to exist in someone else’s space, but you turned toward him, warm and sleepy, and laid your head on his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re going to hate how early I wake up,” He mumbled.

“I already do.”

He laughed softly as he held you.

They stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled under the weight of down and history and the kind of love that doesn’t always announce itself loudly, but settles deep, unwavering.And sometime in the early morning, just before the sun rose, Robby looked down at the woman sleeping against his side, her lashes dark against her cheek, her breath soft and even, and thought: This is it. This is home.

-------------

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[yuujispunches]

Of deadlines and desires ~ M.F. (Part 1)

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x fem!reader

Summary: Megumi Fushiguro infuriated you like no one else in that college, he knew how to get under your skin. You wanted to strangle him most of the time but a moment of weakness might just change everything.

CW (content warning): college AU (modern setting, no curses), academic rivals, aged-up Megumi and reader (in their 20s), smut, MDNI (+18), fingering, p in v sex, protected sex, some cursing, mentions of alcohol.

AN (author’s note): Hi guys! This is the first part of a small series I’m going to make, it’s the first time I’m really writing something like this but I think I’m really happy with how it turned out. As always a reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this in my phone so I’m sorry if there are any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy Andes me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send them! (you can check the list of character I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist || Part 2 || Part 3 >>

You hate Megumi Fushiguro.

That’s what you tell everyone. That’s what you tell yourself every time he walks into lecture, cool and aloof like he owns the goddamn room. It’s what you mutter under your breath whenever his name pops up at the top of the grade sheet, again, just a fraction of a point above yours. Every time he smirks when Professor Saito praises his thesis framework. Every time he doesn’t even look like he’s trying.

And it’s definitely what you whisper through clenched teeth when he strolls past you on the quad like you’re invisible, only to throw a lazy “Try harder next time.” Over his shoulder without even really looking at you.

Smug bastard.

But tonight? Tonight, you’re not thinking about grades or academic validation or whose literary analysis was more “emotionally resonant.” Tonight, you’re at a party.

Well, you didn’t mean to be. You told yourself you’d just stop by for a drink, show face, say hi to Nobara, make good on your practically empty social life. You’re the kind of person who highlights your planner. Who color codes your notes and sets calendar reminders for assignments you already submitted. So maybe, just maybe, you wanted to feel a little reckless for once.

It’s working. The cheap vodka’s doing something warm and unwise to your veins.

The house is buzzing with bodies and base-heavy music. Someone spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor. There’s a line for the bathroom and someone crying on the porch.

And standing in the middle of the living room like he’s some kind of dark omen is him.

Megumi Fushiguro.

Wearing a black t-shirt stretched a little too tightly across his chest. Holding a red solo cup like he’s seconds away from chucking it at a wall out of boredom.

You freeze. You could turn around. You should. You are about to. But then he sees you.

And he smirks.

“Didn’t think this was your scene.” He says, voice just loud enough to be heard over the music as he closes the space between you.

“Didn’t think you were capable of smiling.” You shoot back.

“It’s not a smile. It’s pity.” He retorts with a cocky grin etched on his face.

You scoff, already reaching for a drink you probably shouldn’t have. “What, you feel bad I’m here while you could be home reorganizing your books by existential crisis level?”

He laughs and that’s annoying too. Because it’s deep and smooth and doesn’t match the tightness in your stomach.

“You’re projecting again.”

You take a sip, even though your drink tastes like floor cleaner. “You wish.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just lifts his cup, eyes scanning you with that irritating coolness he always wears like armor. But there’s something else there too. Something that makes your skin feel hot under your clothes.

“I thought you’d be in the library.” He says. “Grinding your teeth over our last essay.”

“I thought you’d be halfway inside your own ass about how smart you are.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you off your game.” He scorns.

You blink, taken aback. What the fuck does that even mean? “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re always so... focused. Makes me wonder what you’d be like if you loosened up.”

Your pulse quickens and you hate it.

There’s always been tension between you. A low buzz under every debate, every paper handed back with too few red marks. You’d chalked it up to competition to the way two smart people burn when placed too close for too long. But now?

Now he’s looking at you like you’re not a rival. Like you’re prey. And maybe you’re drunk. Maybe the vodka’s making you reckless. But you don’t walk away.

Instead, you step closer.

“I’m perfectly capable of letting loose.” You say, voice low, defiant.

He tilts his head, clearly amused. “Prove it.”

So you do.

——————————————————————————

It starts with dancing.

If it can be called that. You have never been one to dance. But you press in close enough that you can feel the heat of him behind you. The music’s pulsing, people swaying and grinding around you in a haze of movement and bass. You’re not sure who closes the gap that separated you first, but one second you’re taunting him with your hips, and the next he’s got a hand on your waist.

You turn your head just enough to feel his breath against your jaw.

“You sure you want to play this game?” He asks, voice rough.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

But his grip tightens, grounding you. You roll your hips back and feel the way his breath hitches just slightly, but you notice.

You’re dizzy from it. From him. And when his hand slides lower, fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, you know you’ve crossed some invisible line you can’t uncross.

You spin in his arms, grabbing his collar.

“We shouldn’t- ” You start.

He cuts you off.

“I don’t care.”

And then, before you can protest any further he’s kissing you.

It’s messy. Too much teeth, too much heat. You’ve spent the last two years arguing with this man words like blades, insults flung like grenades. But now it’s all hands and mouths and a feverish kind of need.

You pull him upstairs.

——————————————————————————

The room you manage find is thankfully empty.

He slams the door behind you, but you barely register it, you’re too busy fumbling at his shirt, yanking it over his head with the kind of frustration you’ve been building for semesters.

“You’re such a- ”

“- pretentious asshole?” He finishes for you, grinning as he backs you toward the bed. “Yeah. I know.”

You shove him. He laughs.

Then you’re both falling onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and tension.

Clothes come off in pieces, your top over your head, his jeans shoved down his thighs. You can feel how hard he is through his boxers when he grinds against you. You gasp, arching up.

“Still hate me?” He murmurs, lips trailing down your neck.

“I might hate you more now.”

“You’re wet for someone you hate.”

“Shut up.”

But you’re gasping when his fingers slip between your thighs, stroking you through your underwear. It’s infuriating how good he is at this. Like he’s studied you the way he studies for exams, precise, unrelenting, deliberate.

He hooks your panties to the side and sinks one finger into you, then another.

“Fuck.” You whisper, nails digging into his back.

He kisses you again, swallowing your moans, slower this time, but no less intense. His fingers move inside you, curling just right, dragging pleasure out of you like he’s coaxing it from your bones.

You grind against his hand, shameless.

“I knew you’d be like this.” He says, mouth brushing your ear. “So fucking stubborn until someone breaks you open.”

“I’m not broken.” He hits that spot again, you gasp.

“No. You’re perfect.”

It’s the sincerity that does you in.

You don’t want him to see you like this raw, open, vulnerable. But he’s already pulling away to shed the rest of his clothes, and you forget how to breathe when you see him.

Leaning back against the pillows, you reach for him, lips parting.

You help him roll on a condom with a hiss between his teeth, pumping him up a few times, slow deliberate strokes and for a moment he swears he is about to loose it right there and then, no better than an hormonal teenager. He regains his composure just barely before it’s too late and then settles between your thighs, kissing you like he means it. Like he’s wanted this. For a long time.

When he pushes in, it’s slow. Deliberate. Like he wants you to feel every inch.

You moan, it’s not graceful. He swallows the sound with his mouth once again.

“Still with me?” He murmurs, forehead resting against yours.

“Harder.” You whisper.

He gives you what you ask for.

Each thrust pushes the breath from your lungs. You wrap your legs around him, you lift your, meeting him stroke for stroke. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss him or he kisses you. At this point you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

You’re close. God, you’re so close. His name leaves your lips like a curse, like a prayer.

And when you finally come, it crashes over you like a wave overwhelming and bright and utterly unacademic.

He follows soon after, shuddering against you, jaw clenched.

For a moment, there’s only silence. Heavy breathing. Sweat cooling on skin.

Then you break the silence.

“Well.” you say hoarsely. “That was a mistake.”

He huffs a laugh and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Totally.”

You lie there in the dark. His fingers find yours.

You let them.

——————————————————————————

The next morning, you wake up tangled in sheets that aren’t yours, Megumi’s chest rising and falling next to you.

You should feel regret. You should feel awkward.

Instead, you feel... oddly peaceful. Not that you would ever admit it out loud.

That is, until he cracks an eye open and says, “I still got a better grade on that Gojo paper.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it.

He laughs real and unguarded. And despite yourself, you laugh too.

Maybe you don’t hate him after all.

Maybe you never did.

taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[shameonskadi]

Since people were asking for my notes from the "Attachment and Boundary Collapse in Sibling Incest"-Seminar that I can NOT believe i'm actually taking this semester (Am I in Gallaghercest school???), here are some of my notes from the first two weeks. There's more, it just takes ages to translate it, but if anyone is interested I can post more.

Feel like I also need to point out some parts that absolutely wrecked me, because they feel so Noel and Liam coded to me. Here you go:

-Not always inltiated by one clearly dominant party - this complicates blame but not harm.

-Initiating sibling may turn into safe place for the victim, groomed mentality. Grooming can occur subconsciously influenced by learned behaviour, modelling abuse.

-Survivors often report a deep shame and the need to repress it - not address it. Extremely vague choice of words when talking about their childhood experiences.

-Most come to terms with it but don't seek justice, feeling shame or the need to protect their sibling.

-Childhood incest -> Adult incest where both parties now consent - who decides where manipulation and grooming begins and ends? The phenomenon of "getting used to it" and "growing to like it".

-He really loves her but thinks this is the way you show love. She really loves him so she doesn't fight it.

-Sister never stops seeing her brother as her safe person because he was her first admirer. (little note: this killed me. I'm sobbing and shaking)

-Brother may later express awareness that it was wrong and try to keep his distance to his sister. She misses him but thrives in her personal life for the first time.

-If incest is the only consistent form of closeness or attention it may become scripted into their relational behaviour.

-Impact on Attachment Styles:

-Older Sibling: Risk of emotional isolation, "walls up", torn between wanting closeness and not trusting himself or others.

-Younger sibling: Struggles with commitment, trust and boundaries, may carry ambivalent feelings torwards their sibling (loyalty and love and betrayal and anger).

If this has grammar or spelling mistakes I'm sorry, oops. That's it for now (*≧▽≦) We're writing the academic, psychological gcest bible, just wait until I have to write an essay at the end of the semester... lol.

[anneapocalypse]

Not gonna lie, analysis of Minfilia that rests on a reading of her as some kind of hiring manager at a company really doesn't sit right with me, not just because it lends itself to some particularly uncharitable readings of Minfilia, but because it seems to me like a pretty inaccurate reading of what the Scions actually are in ARR.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are the union of the Circle of Knowing, a group of activist academics who accurately predicted the apocalypse but failed to prevent it and lost their beloved mentor in the process, and the Path of the Twelve, a group for Echo-bearers to help them better understand and make use of their gift--all doing their best to pick up the pieces and protect the realm in the wake of said apocalypse. Minfilia, formerly the leader of the Path of the Twelve, has now been thrust into the position of leadership over both at the late Louisoix's behest. The Scions in ARR aren't a company, they're an activist group, and in ARR still a very small one without the massive web of political connections they fall into later. They don't have a lot of financial resources. They're largely working quietly and behind the scenes. They have a secret code phrase to identify friends of the organization. Being recruited into this group in ARR is closer to being recruited into a resistance cell than being interviewed for a formal job.

Minfilia's role prior to the Calamity was as the leader of a support group for people experiencing a frightening, isolating, and as-yet poorly-understood phenomenon, a group where they could find others like them, understand what's happening to them, and learn how to use their gift for good. And to some extent, this is still a part of her role. The Warrior of Light is brought in because they were witnessed experiencing the Echo, and Minfilia is reaching out to them as a fellow Echo-bearer. I think it's a mistake to interpret her words and actions without that context, particularly her expressed hope that this most recent Echo-bearer she's invited into her group will find something like family there. I mean, listen to the joy with which she says, "I too possess the Echo." She's telling the WoL that they're not alone, that there is a name and an explanation for what they've been experiencing, that they can find others like themselves here. Yes, she's also asking for their help. But this is a pretty far cry from a job interview. However flawed the Scions may be as an organization, I can only see Minfilia's overtures here as offered in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie. And framing that as her trying to build loyalty she can exploit in a corporate manner feels extremely ungenerous given what we know of her character.

I don't want to sound like I'm here to defend the Scions in ARR against any and all criticism--I've discussed my own in the past, from their concerning tendency toward self-sacrifice to the attitude they develop toward the WoL (which is kind of up for interpretation based on your character's relationship to them but which can come across as a cavalier attitude toward the WoL's safety, taking advantage of their unique abilities, etc). In particular, the Scions' experience as a small activist organization, and Minfilia's particular experience as Echo support group leader, has ill-prepared any of them to be thrust into an international spotlight following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon. The attack on the Waking Sands has already revealed the weaknesses in their opsec, and certain scenes in the ARR patch quests reveal something of a power struggle between Minfilia and Alphinaud--one which Alphinaud ultimately wins, because Minfilia lacks the kind of confidence in her position to stand against the force of his personality, and she, like most of the other Scions, starts to fall into the trap of seeing Alphinaud as the second coming of Louisoix and lets him push her around accordingly. Minfilia is simply not equipped or prepared to lead the kind of organization the Scions are turning into. (Urianger, incidentally is one of the few who seems to notice this and remark on it, but also seems to feel that he can't directly object.) The cracks begin to show, and then it all falls apart, and when the Scions finally begin to put themselves back together post-Heavensward, I think they all understand that they can't go back, that what they rebuild will be something new. Over the next few expacs I think we see them developing a new group identity, recognizing that that old model no longer serves them and doing their best to adapt to constantly changing circumstances.

The Scions in ARR have plenty of problems, but they're not a for-profit company and they're also not the same organization as the Scions of later expacs. I think that context needs to be taken into account when interpreting their actions, especially those of their leader.

[magic-shop-stories]

Would you be able to write something ot7 based on how they would be in an arranged marriage (both consenting to the marriage but just maybe not super happy about it at first or maybe they are but are awkward or however you want to do it.) Maybe like a head cannon? I really love the ones that you’ve written. Maybe some angst, some fluff, cuteness, smut. It’s okay if you can’t. I look forward to reading your work in the future either way!

💌 Reply:

Hi there! 💜 Thank you so much for this brilliant request... OT7 arranged marriage? YES, my brain is already spinning with drama, reluctant pining, and chaotic bonding moments. I’ll dive into angsty tensions (looking at you, Yoongi), awkward fluff (Jin’s "worldwide handsome" wedding meltdowns), and eventual OT7 devotion... ahhh my head!!!. I hope you like it... it’s been a blast to write! Thank you for inspiring this chaos! 🖤

NOTE:IMPORTANT! Due to Tumblr’s persistent "processing error" (RIP my sanity), I couldn’t post the full OT7 arranged marriage headcanons in one go without the draft self-destructing, so I split it up not wanting to not post...

THIS POST = Hyung Line (Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi

Maknae Line (Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook) in extra post

Apologies for the hassle! Blame Tumblr’s coding demons, not your sleep depreeved girl that tried to get help from tumblr support for almsot three days (RIP)

LINK TO MAKNAE LINE POST

Warnings: themes of arranged/forced unions, dark political intrigue, family manipulation, heavy emotional distress/internal conflict, explicit content (light smut), subtle violence/domestic tension, corporate and academic power plays

Arranged Marriage Headcanons (AU) (Angst/Fluff/Smut Mix)

NAMJOON = RELUCTANT HEIR & HIS UNLIKELY MUSE

“You think I’m a disaster? Wait till you see my heart.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family owns a tech empire on the brink of collapse

Namjoon’s lineage controls a global network of libraries and academic institutions

your union merges knowledge and innovation to outmaneuver rivals

Your Reason

you agreed to protect your younger sibling from being forced into the marriage instead

Namjoon’s Reason

his father’s dying wish

“Preserve our legacy. Even if it costs you your freedom.”

THE WEDDING

= CLASH OF WORLDS

Your Attire

sleek, modern gown

holographic train (nod to your family’s tech roots)

Namjoon’s Attire

navy hanbok with a frayed hem

“It’s my grandmother’s. She… believed in love. I don’t.”

Location

library-turned-venue

books stacked into aisles

other BTS members sit in the front row:

Jin mouths “You’ll be fine!” 

discreetly flipping off a scowling uncle

Yoongi mutters, “This is dystopian.”

slips you a flask of whiskey

Jungkook frowns at his tie

Hobi adjusts it for him

Jimin squeezes your hand before you walk the aisle

Taehyung sketches the scene

captioning it “Two Strangers & A Thousand Books.”

Vows

You: “I promise not to sell your books. Even the boring ones.” Namjoon: “I… promise to try not to set the lab on fire. Again.” 

nervous smirk

crowd laughs awkwardly

Reception

you hide in a bathroom stall

Namjoon finds you

knees pulled to your chest

You: “This is a mistake. ”Namjoon: “Probably. But mistakes make the best footnotes.”

offers his hand

“Dance with me? The DJ’s playing Debussy.”

EARLY DAYS

= TENSION & TEA STAINS

Mansion

fusion of your tech (holographic walls, AI assistants)

his chaos (leaning bookshelves, half-dead bonsais)

First Fight

over the thermostat

You: “Why is it so low? Are you preserving yourself?!” Namjoon: “Cold air helps me think! And your robots keep judging me!”

glares at your hovering drone

Members’ Meddling

Jin “accidentally” sends you both to a couples’ spa

Namjoon gets mud-mask in his hair

you laugh for the first time in weeks

Yoongi leaves a playlist called “Songs for Idiots Who Can’t Communicate.”

Taehyung gifts a shared journal: 

“Write to each other. Or draw dicks. Whatever.”

Breaking Point

Namjoon works through the night, ignoring you

you snap, throwing his Plato anthology out the window

You: “Marry your books next time!” Namjoon: “I did! But they don’t yell at me!”

Silence!!!

he mumbles then

 “…But they also don’t make me want to be better.”

TURNING POINTS

= PAPERBACK ROMANCE

Storm

power outage

you find him in the dark

he's reciting Rumi to calm himself

you join in, voice shaking

he whispers: “You’re… good at this.”

Lab Incident

you collaborate on an AI project

he breaks your prototype

fixes it with a makeshift solution

it's so genius you kiss him mid-rant

Journal

you doodle a robot holding a flower

he writes back: 

“Metaphor for us? Fragile, but… growing.”

INTIMACY

= NERVOUS HANDS, BURNING PAGES

First Kiss

after he quotes Pablo Neruda at 2 a.m.

you cut him off

pressing him against a bookshelf

“Poetry later.” 

Namjoon: “I—I’ve never… I mean, I’ve read about….” You: “Let’s write about it instead.”

Smutty Moments

his clumsiness dissolves into precision when he’s focused

maps your body like a forgotten text

murmuring, “Here… you shiver. Why?”

lets you take control

surprises you with sudden confidence

pinning you to his desk, glasses askew

“I’m a quick study.”

he wraps you in his oversized sweater

reads Vonnegut aloud until you sleep

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you convert the mansion into a free tech/library hub for students

members visit often:

Jin teaches cooking classes

“Step one: don’t let Joon near the stove!”

Jungkook and Hobi build a VR poetry garden

Tae paints a mural of you and Namjoon

you as a warrior, him as a scholar, back-to-back

Namjoon’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony): “You were the footnote that became the whole story.” You: “And you’re the disaster I’d choose a thousand times.”

Final

chases your toddler through the library

both laughing

Jimin whispers: “Who knew Captain Chaos could be such a dad?”  Yoongi: “Shut up. They’re cute.”

JIN = RELUCTANT PRINCE & HIS UNEXPECTED DUET

“You think I’m just a pretty face? Sweetheart, I’m the whole damn symphony.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (old-money hotel tycoons) needed Jin’s royal-blooded lineage

= a literal prince from a dissolved monarchy

needed him to revive their global reputation

his family, in turn, craved modern wealth to fund their cultural preservation projects

Your Reason

to save your father’s empire from bankruptcy

Jin’s Reason

to protect his brother from being forced into the marriage

“He’s too soft for this shit.” 

signing the contract with a flourish

“I’ll handle it. I always do.”

THE WEDDING

= SPARKLES, SARCASM, AND SECRET TEARS

Your Attire

champagne-colored gown with a 15-foot train

= your mother’s choice

feeling more like a chandelier than a bride

Jin’s Attire

custom ivory tuxedo

actual Swarovski crystals sewn into the lapels

“If I’m a pawn, I’ll be the shiniest pawn in history.”

smirks, adjusting his cufflinks

Location

historic palace ballroom

BTS members are your reluctant bridal party:

Yoongi as the “flower guy”

chucks petals like baseballs

Hobi accidentally trips the DJ’s cord

switching the march song to “Dynamite”

Jungkook spills wine on your toxic aunt

“Oops. Gravity’s a bitch.”

Namjoon gives a rambling speech about “love as a societal construct” 

Jimin steals the mic

Taehyung photobombs every picture

Vows

You: “I vow not to murder you in your sleep. Even if you deserve it.” Jin: “I vow to keep my handsomeness at a manageable level… which is impossible, but I’ll try.” 

crowd groans

he winks

Reception

Jin drags you onto the balcony

both suffocating from the fakeness

You: “This is hell.” Jin: “Hell has a open bar and a photo booth. Lighten up.” 

plucks a rose from a centerpiece

tucking it behind your ear

“You look better when you’re not pretending to smile.”

EARLY DAYS

= EGO CLASHES & EMOTIONAL ESPRESSO MACHINES

Penthouse

luxury high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows

Jin’s side is spotless

yours looks like a tornado hit a tech conference

First Fight

over his “no carbs after 8 PM” rule

You: “You’re not my personal trainer!” Jin: “And you’re not my wife! Oh wait...”

he freezes

you slam the door

he spends the night serenading your locked room with “Epiphany” until security is called

Members’ Meddling:

Hobi forces you both into couple’s karaoke

Jin belts “Yours” with dramatic vibrato

you accidentally harmonize

Jimin gifts matching pajamas

“Argue in style, losers.”

Yoongi sends a text

“Just bang it out. Literally.”

Breaking Point

Jin hosts a lavish dinner to impress your parents

you catch him re-plating your homemade dumplings into fancy china

You: “Why? My cooking not good enough for Prince Perfect?” Jin: “No! I just… didn’t want them to criticize you.” 

his voice cracks

“I know what that feels like.”

TURNING POINTS

= FROM PAGEANTRY TO PARTNERS

Midnight Kitchen

you find him stress-baking at 3 a.m.

flour in his hair

“I… don’t know how to be real with you." 

you help him fold dumplings

hands brushing

“Start here."

Scandal

Paparazzi photos of him clubbing surface

he panics

you shut it down

“We were both there. Dancing badly. Next question.” 

he stares

“Why defend me?”  “Because you’re mine to tease. Not theirs.”

Gift

buys you a vintage gaming console after overhearing you rant about childhood nostalgia

“I’m not trying to be sweet. It was on sale.”

INTIMACY

= VANITY MELTED INTO VULNERABILITY

First Kiss

after he wins a gaming battle

gloating: “Bow to your king.” 

you yank his collar

silencing him

he melts

whispering: “Okay, you win. But I’m still prettier.”

Smutty Moments

his confidence is infuriatingly hot

undoes his shirt one button at a time

smirk never fading

“Like what you see? It’s a limited edition.”

when you trace the scar on his hip (a childhood accident), he flinches

“I don’t… show people that.” 

you kiss it

“Now it’s my favorite part.”

morning after:

cooks pancakes shaped like his face

“So you never forget who’s really in charge.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-own a Michelin-starred restaurant

him in the kitchen

you handling tech

members are “taste-testers”:

Jungkook challenges Jin to eat a ghost pepper

Jin win

then cries into your shoulder

Taehyung paints a mural of Jin as a “Grecian God of Noodles.”

Yoongi invests

muttering: “Only because the kimchi pancakes are decent.”

Jin’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a really messy duet.” 

slips a ring made from a broken crystal off his wedding tux

“Perfectly imperfect. Like us.”

You: “Still a drama king.” Jin: “And you’re still my favorite audience.”

Final

carries your toddler on his shoulders through the restaurant

both wearing mini chef hats

Jimin snaps a pic for Instagram: 

“Worldwide Handsomest Appa 💜.”

YOONGI =  BROKEN MAESTRO & HIS UNLIKELY SYMPHONY

“You want my heart? Dig through the rubble first.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

merger between Seoul’s oldest underground music empire (Yoongi’s family, the Min Syndicate)

your family’s cutting-edge tech conglomerate

alliance ensures dominance over rival factions trying to monopolize the city’s cultural soul

your family gets street cred

his gets financial leverage

Your Reason

to protect your startup from being crushed by corporate sharks

Yoongi’s Reason

to shield hisolder brother and girlfriend from a life of debt and danger

“He’s a pianist, not a pawn,” 

Yoongi growls signing the contract

cigarette dangling from his lips

“I’ll be the villain. Always am.”

WEDDING

= SMOKE, SILENCE, AND A SCAR

Your Attire

black velvet gown with a high collar

designed to hide the mic transmitter sewn into the hem

= wedding gift from your engineers

Yoongi’s Attire

charcoal suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to his elbows

later (after unbuttoning his shirt) revealing a scar on his shoulder

when you ask about it, he snaps

“None of your business.”

Location

renovated warehouse in Mapo-gu

chains hang from the ceiling

draped with fairy lights

BTS members linger like shadows:

Jin heckles Yoongi: 

“You look constipated. Smile, Your Grumpiness!”

Hobi nervously rearranges the altar candles

Jimin stops him

“Hyung, they’re not Lego.”

Taehyung scribbles lyrics on the program

Jungkook pockets a steak knife (just in case)

Namjoon gives a speech quoting Kierkegaard: 

“Life isn’t a problem to be solved, but..” 

Yoongi cuts him off: 

“Save it, Plato.”

Vows

You: “I vow not to hack your studio. Unless you deserve it.” Yoongi: “I vow to… exist. That’s all you’re getting.”

Reception

he disappears

you find him on the rooftop, nursing a flask

staring at the scarred skyline

You: “Regretting this already?” Yoongi: “Regret implies I had a choice.” 

offers the flask

Yoongi: “Whiskey?” You: “I prefer soju.” Yoongi (smirking): “Figures. You’re trouble.”

EARLY DAYS

= WAR ZONE WITH A SOUNDTRACK

Loft

concrete bunker with a studio booth, neon signs

your tech sprawled across a steel desk

his side smells like smoke and espresso

yours like solder and ambition

First Fight

over noise complaints

You: “Your bass shakes the damn walls at 3 a.m.!” Yoongi: “Your robots sound like dying cats. Fix them.”

Compromise

he produces a track titled “STFU (Sweetheart, This Frequency)” 

he blasts it

you retaliate by hacking his speakers to play “Nyan Cat” on loop

Members’ Meddling

Jimin leaves a “Romance for Dummies” playlist:

Track 1: “I Need U” (acoustic)

Yoongi deletes it

you recover it

Jin sends a “Couples’ Survival Kit”

= bandaids, earplugs, and a “Worldwide Handsome” facemask

Yoongi burns the mask

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as rival superheroes

Yoongi begrudgingly hangs it in the hallway

Breaking Point

you overhear him arguing with a loan shark on the phone

“Touch my brother and I’ll end you.” 

later, he works until his hands bleed

you storm in

slamming a first-aid kit on his desk

You: “You’re not a martyr. Stop acting like one.” Yoongi: “What do you care?” You (yanking his chair around): “Because I hate wasted potential. Even yours.”

TURNING POINTS

= CRACKS IN THE ARMOR

Scar Story

comes home shirtless

fresh from a fight

shoulder scar raw

you clean his wounds silently

he finally confesses

“I got it at 19. Accident, later took a knife for my brother. Worth it.”

Collab

you design a synth program for his mixtape

he grumbles: “Don’t fuck it up." 

stays up with you for 48 hours

when it’s done, he mutters, “…Not bad.” 

high praise

Nightmare

wakes screaming from a panic attack

you don’t ask

just hold him

he tenses

then collapses into your arms

“Don’t… tell anyone.” 

INTIMACY

= ROUGH EDGES, HIDDEN TENDERNESS

First Kiss

you beat him at Mario Kart

he slams his controller

“Bullshit. You cheated.”

you lean in

“Cry about it.” 

he kisses you like a man starved

all teeth and desperation

“Happy?”  “Getting there.” 

you smirk

Smutty Moments

his touch is intense

almost angry

bites your lip

grips your hips hard enough to bruise

when you trace his scar, he stills

whispering: “Careful. That’s… my weak spot.”

mornings after

= he’s gone before dawn

but leaves a coffee on your desk (creamer ratio perfect)

catches you humming his melody

“You… like it?” 

you shrug

“It’s okay.” 

he hides a smile

“Yeah. Okay.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-found SugaTech

= hybrid music-tech empire

loft is now a studio where street kids learn production

members are regulars:

Hobi teaches dance breaks

Jin judges ramen cook-offs

Jungkook films a docu-series: 

“Min Yoongi: Grump with a Gold Heart.” 

Yoongi threatens to sue

Namjoon hosts poetry slams

Yoongi “accidentally” plays trap beats over them

Yoongi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony): 

“I don’t believe in fate. But you? You’re a glitch in the system I can’t delete.”

You: “Still a romantic, I see.” Yoongi: “Shut up. And… thanks. For not giving up.”

Final

cradles your newborn daughter

her tiny fist gripping his pinky

Jimin coos: “Uncle Yoongi’s a softie!” 

Yoongi flips him off

but kisses her forehead

“Don’t tell anyone, kid.”

J-HOPE = SUNSHINE WARRIOR & HIS SHADOWED HEART

“You want the real me? Brace yourself, it’s not all confetti and glitter.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (philanthropists rebuilding war-torn regions) needed Hobi’s family

= a dynasty of cultural ambassadors

to legitimize their global outreach

his clan was drowning in debt from funding art festivals

the marriage merges hope and hustle

Your Reason

to shield your NGO from being dismantled by corrupt officials

Hobi’s Reason

to protect his family’s dance studio from foreclosure

“We'd rather die than lose it.” 

signing the papers with a too-bright smile

“So… let’s dance through hell together, yeah?”

WEDDING

= PERFORMANCE WITH CRACKED MASK

Your Attire

fiery red gown with a detachable skirt

for “emergency escapes.”

you joke about it

Hobi’s Attire

gold-tailored suit, sequined gloves

shoes that click when he walks

“Gotta shine, even in the dark.”

his knuckles whiten around a stress ball

Location

renovated theater in Busan

BTS members are co-conspirators:

Jin hijacks the DJ booth

blasting “Chicken Noodle Soup” and "Super Tuna"

Yoongi mans the bar

slipping extra shots into Hobi’s lemonade

“Liquid courage”

Jimin choreographs the bridal party’s entranc

Taehyung trips

Jungkook backflips to cover it

Namjoon accidentally sets the floral arch on fire

“Symbolic… of passion?” 

Vows

You: “I vow to never dull your sparkle. Even when it’s blinding.” Hobi: “I vow to… keep smiling. For both of us.” 

his voice wavers

Reception

drags you into a storage closet

collapsing against the wall

You: “You’re shaking.”Hobi: “Adrenaline. I’m fine.”

he laughs, hollow

“Always fine.” 

you press a hand to his chest

his heartbeat races

“…Liar.”

EARLY DAYS

= SUNSHINE STORMS

Penthouse

minimalist space splashed with neon art

his dance studio takes up half the living room

your NGO blueprints cover the kitchen table

First Fight

over his relentless optimism

You: “Stop saying ‘It’ll work out!’ when it won’t!” Hobi: “What do you want me to do? Cry? Scream? Would that make you feel better?!”

slams the door

then returns with tea

“…Sorry. Habit.”

Members’ Meddling

Jimin signs you up for salsa classes

Hobi’s grin slips when you stumble

J-Hope: “You’re… not a dancer, huh?”  You: “Not everyone’s a prodigy.” 

you snap

he freezes

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as sun and storm clouds

Hobi stares at it for hours.

Jin sends a “Fight Clean!” kit

= boxing gloves and herbal tea

“Hit each other safely!”

Breaking Point

you find him practicing a routine at 3 a.m.

shirt soaked, eyes bloodshot

You: “You’ll collapse.” Hobi: “I have to be perfect. For Army, for the family, for y..." You (grabbing his wrists): “For who? Me? I didn’t marry perfection. I married you.” 

he crumples

TURNING POINTS

= RAINBOWS AFTER RAIN

Panic Attack

he hyperventilates before a charity gala

you drag him to a bathroom

wiping his smudged eyeliner

“Breathe. Just… be Hoseok tonight.”

Dance

teaches you a simple waltz

“Stop counting steps. Feel the music.” 

you sway, foreheads touching

“See? You’re a natural.”

Truth

confesses his family’s debts

“I’m not the hero they think I am.” 

you show him your NGO’s failures

“We’re both faking it. Let’s… fake it together.”

INTIMACY

= FIERY RHYTHMS, QUIET TRUTHS

First Kiss

after he wins an award for his charity work

he’s mid-speech, voice cracking

you pull him backstage and kiss him fiercely

“You don’t have to perform for me.”

Smutty Moments

his passion is electric

hands gripping your waist

hips moving like he’s choreographing your bodies

“Keep up” 

he smirks, but his eyes beg "Don’t let go"

he traces your scars (physical, emotional)

“Beautiful.The cracks… they let the light in.”

catches you dancing badly to his playlist

“Cute.” 

he teases you

later joining in

“But here... let me lead.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-run a community center

dance classes upstairs

crisis counseling downstairs

members are family:

Jungkook teaches parkour

Yoongi funds music therapy

Jimin and Tae host monthly “Dance Away the Pain” nights

Namjoon writes grants

Jin cooks endless kimchi stew for everyone for free

Hobi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a freestyle. Messy. Real.” 

slips a ring made from his familys old studio key

“Home is wherever we’re both… us.”

You: “Still cheesy.” Hobi (grinning through tears): “But you love it.”

Final

he spins your daughter in the studio

her giggles echoing

Jimin films it

Hobi posts it with “#DaddyHobi”

then immediately deletes it

he's blushing

“That stays in the vault!”

JIMIN/TAEHYUNG/JUNGKOOK in extra post

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: what the tokyo debunker boys left you with after the two of you break up (alternatively, how they make you better.)

COMMENTS: its bittersweet. you guys broke up on good terms. might get back together idk i kept it vague (✿◡‿◡)

TAGLIST: @as1iiiwhaa @astralsocfactory

Jin leaves you with a sense of security. While you two were together, he armed you against any insults or rumors that people could throw your way, and you’re better off for it. It no longer feels like you’re a baby deer stumbling around Darkwick—you’ve really come into your own.

Tohma leaves you with a sense of perception. You can read people’s micro-expressions much easier now, even without Tohma’s guiding gaze. You used to look to him for help, but you don’t need it anymore. He cared for you well.

Luca leaves you with a soft heart and a strong will. Even when you were scared, you could find the strength to protect others just by seeing his courage. It was easier to rely on him when you needed a crutch, but you have since vowed to become that crutch for others.

Kaito leaves you with a love for the life you live. Even if it didn’t work out with him, you feel as though he still hangs around your mind, directing you to the ramen shop that you had your first date on and the park that he stargazed with you at. Your heart doesn’t ache from going to these places—you feel content.

Alan leaves you with a new perspective. The two of you had a lot of talks about him, his past, and how he felt about it. Your open mindedness while being with him not only changed him for the better, but allowed you to understand where he was coming from when he said he should not be forgiven. You hope he can find it someday, even without you.

Sho leaves you with a new appreciation for food. Even if you were a well versed cook before, he leaves you with tips and tricks to make even the simplest dish a lot more tasty. You find yourself eating better, even on days where you feel like you can’t make anything at all.

Leo leaves you with a sharper tongue. You’re far more likely to stand up for yourself now, after years and years of his jabs and teasing. There is a part of you that misses it, even though you knew it was for the better. Leo would be proud of you—of that, you are certain.

Haru leaves you with a love of early mornings. You wake up a little earlier than you used to, and open your curtains to let the sun in. Haru always used to insist that getting some natural sunlight was the best part of the day, and you still very much believe him.

Towa leaves you with a deeper connection to nature. Even though you aren’t with him anymore, you still find yourself taking walks and going on hikes whenever you get too stressed, inspired by what he used to do with you. 

Ren leaves you with a plethora of interests. Before meeting him, you had a few interests that you held close to your chest, but since knowing him, you’ve gained many more. It’s sweet to see all the merch he got you, and all the matching pieces that you still have, knowing that the days of enjoying those pieces of media are far from over.

Taiga leaves you with his self defense lessons. Darkwick is a dangerous place, and so is the real world. He felt better knowing you could handle yourself adequately even when he isn’t around. In a way, it’s as though Taiga is still protecting you, even from far away.

Romeo leaves you with a sense of luxury. You take better care of yourself once being with him, and since you’ve had someone by your side who regularly reminded you that you deserve good things, you retained it. It was hard when you first started dating him—but Romeo would never let your insecurities stand.

Ritsu leaves you with a better sense of academics. You find yourself organizing your notes in the way he’d taught you, color coded and chronological. It’s like instinct now, and whenever you find yourself doing it you laugh. He may no longer be with you, but his little quirks and habits still stayed.

Subaru leaves you with a sense of serenity within your very soul. You’re not sure if it's the tea or his soft voice, but something about Subaru having been in your life soothes you. When stress tries to take hold on you, you sit down with a cup of tea and breathe.

Haku leaves you with a boosted self confidence. You can look at yourself in the mirror while wearing an outfit that would make you cringe a couple years ago and see yourself as beautiful. It’s easier to step outside the house after trying something new with your style, because you’ve become better aware of how lovely you truly are.

Zenji leaves you with an eye for beauty in the simplest of things. Before, your life was a whirlwind of danger, but after him you find yourself stopping to listen to the birds. They sound so beautiful—and the sunset looks stunning—and those two people are smiling, happy together—and if you would only stop to look, there is happiness and beauty everywhere you go.

Edward leaves you with a sense of empowerment. He was always one to lift you up, to encourage you to seek the answers out on your own, even if he made it a pain. Knowing he had your back (and still does, even if things aren’t the same anymore) made it easier to be strong when you felt like the world was going to tear you down.

Rui leaves you with a love for chores and the mundane. Especially after Darkwick, it can be difficult to find the time to settle down and monitor yourself. Rui always encouraged you to rest, to make sure you didn’t work too hard—and even now, when he isn’t with you anymore, you still find yourself doing the same thing.

Lyca leaves you with an appreciation for your own effort. You are much kinder to yourself when you fail, or when you don’t accomplish everything you meant to. It’s as though you hear his voice, saying “just do it tomorrow, what’s the big deal? You’ll get it done at some point since you’re working so hard.” He’s comforting even from your past.

Yuri leaves you with a myriad of knowledge about your body and health. It’s a lot easier to track any issues you may have, and determine whether or not you should go to the doctor for them. Sometimes you swear you can still hear him gently scolding you for working too hard when you eat your dinner, curled up under your favorite blanket on the couch.

Jiro leaves you with all of his tea brewing knowledge. It’s seeped so far into the cracks of your life that you doubt you could do away with it now—not that you want to. You drink his tea blends almost every day, and even if you forget who brought them into your life sometimes, you will always feel a bittersweet happiness when you drink them.

[zomb13s]

Tabula Rasa Inversa: Structural Sovereignty through Metaphysical Code

A Theoretical Physics-Based Framework for Code-Embedded Sovereignty and Ethical Cybernetics Abstract This paper introduces a formal theoretical model rooted in physics, cybernetics, and sovereignty ethics to describe how stolen or co-opted intellectual portfolios inherently encode structural feedback loops that bind dependent systems to the original author. Using principles of graph theory,…

[mikaylathenerd5]

COACH ROMAN IN FULL PROTECTIVE MODE - Headcanon🐝��🏈

Main Mainlist ৹ Join My Taglist

Coach Roman is deep in his she’s mine and I’ll ruin your academic career for her era.

This man is skipping film review to bring her granola bars. He’s printing her published research and taping it to the locker room like it’s a damn scouting report. A freshman flirted once—he transferred. Toby disrespected Isla’s scarf—he got a lecture.

He’s protective, petty, and fully domesticated. And he’s doing it all in Georgia Tech sweats with a clipboard in one hand and baby name suggestions in the other.

These 20 headcanons are full of soft threats, low growls, and a man so gone for his woman that HR may or may not have questions. Reblog at your own risk. You will fall in love with him:

Isla bends down to grab her charger during a faculty mixer. Roman watches a TA stare too long. Doesn’t say a word—just adjusts his stance so his entire 6'3 frame blocks her from view.

Isla gets a headache during finals week. Roman cancels his own practice, shows up with Advil, coconut water, and that specific granola bar she likes.

An undergrad makes a TikTok thirst trap about Isla after seeing her at a lecture. Roman sees it. The TikTok vanishes within 48 hours. The student transfers to remote learning.

Isla mentions walking to her car alone at night one time. Roman now picks her up from campus every evening—even if he has meetings. “You can be independent, and I can still give a damn.”

He downloads Find My iPhone and never admits he checks it unless she’s out late. “Just making sure you’re not dealing with one of your circuits exploding or whatever.”

Isla’s talking to her old classmate at a tech conference. Roman walks up behind her mid-sentence, hand around her waist, low voice: “Hey, babe. You good?” The man clears his throat and walks away.

Someone at the university calls her “Mrs. Reigns” by accident. Roman doesn’t correct them. Just smirks and says, “Not yet.”

Isla’s research gets picked up by an academic journal. Roman prints out the article, highlights her name, and tapes it to the team bulletin board with: “Best thing to ever happen to this school.”

Toby gets tangled in Isla’s favorite scarf. Roman carefully untangles him, folds the scarf, then proceeds to give the cat a full lecture on respecting women and their property.

Roman doesn’t say “I love you” often. But he says “I got you,” “You’re not doing this alone,” and “If anyone ever makes you cry again, I’m not calling HR first.”

Isla’s advisor once “jokingly” suggested she scale back her workload now that she was pregnant. Roman showed up to the next department mixer, stood silently behind Isla while she presented her research, and smiled like a lion watching someone dare to get too close to his mate.

Roman has a whole Google Calendar blocked out as “Isla Time.” If anyone asks to schedule a meeting during those hours, he replies with: “Unavailable. Period.”

Isla forgets to eat lunch during a coding sprint. Roman walks into the lab with takeout and glares at everyone like they should’ve reminded her.

A freshman nervously handed Isla a note after class that said “I think you’re beautiful.” She didn’t even get the chance to tell Roman—he found it crumpled in her bag while grabbing her laptop. The next day, Roman stood outside her lecture hall with his arms crossed and a very visible Georgia Tech staff badge. The freshman turned around and dropped the class.

Isla was walking too long at an alumni event. Roman literally crouched down and rubbed her ankles in front of two Deans like it was normal. “You’re carrying our child. Let ‘em stare.”

When Isla felt insecure about her growing body, Roman kissed every stretch mark. “This is what strong looks like, baby. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He once stopped in the middle of a coaching huddle because Isla texted “baby kicked so hard I saw stars.” He walked off the field. No explanation. Came back 10 minutes later like it never happened.

A tenured professor called Isla “emotional.” Roman leaned over the faculty lunch table and calmly said, “You’ve never carried something worth fighting for, huh?” The table went silent. Isla never had to deal with that man again.

Roman secretly installed extra locks and a camera outside Isla’s apartment before she moved in with him. “Just in case,” he said. She rolled her eyes—then hugged him for three minutes straight.

Isla jokes that he’s overprotective. Roman shrugs. “You’re the love of my life. I don’t do casual when it comes to you.”

📝 Author’s Note: Y’all… I’ve been thinking about feral, overprotective, but soft-for-one-woman Coach Roman all day and couldn’t hold this in any longer 😮‍💨 He’s got his headset on, a clipboard in one hand, and Isla's name written all over his soul. This headcanon lives rent-free in my brain, and now it lives in yours too. You're welcome 🫶🏽

Your reblogs, tags, and asks keep me writing—thank you so much for engaging with my work! 💛

Your support means the world. Seriously. Gracias, amores. 🫶🏽

✎ written by your local emotionally destroyed girl who believes Coach Reigns would absolutely cancel practice for his pregnant Isla

[ts-witchy-archive]

Fun witchy things to spice up your school/uni/college year

School/uni starts in late Jan/late Feb here in Australia so leave me alone if you're already in the middle of your school year lol /hl. These are just a few things I did when I was in HS and intend to do now that I'm going to university next year.

Enchant your water bottle with cleansing/purifying energy. The water will cleanse your energy this way. I do this to help me chill the fuck out. I do not do well with academics and the last thing I need is to pick up other people's stress.

Draw sigils for academic success in the back of your notebooks and planners.

Try binding your hair or veiling this school year! It doesn't have to be for religious reasons, it can just be to protect your energy.

Colour code your books or folders to what you need from each subject and set the intention accordingly! For example, red for math because you need confidence and strength or green for science because you need some extra luck in that subject.

Do you remember the erasers with yes and no written on them? Yeah! Make one of those and flip it for on the fly divination! It actually works if you put enough intention into it and it's a fun way to pass time.

Use colour magick in your outfits and shoes/shoe laces! This is a lot of effort so I've rarely do it but I've heard a lot of good things from people who regularly do. Just be careful that you don't accidentally send a nasty lace code message with your docks (or other boots) and shoe laces.

More colour magick but get coloured pens that correspond with your wanted intention! The ink could be coloured or just the outside, it's up to you.

If you pack your own lunch try your hand at some kitchen magick this year! Deli meats, bread, butter, pasta, tofu, etc all have their own uses and meanings. You can do some amazing stuff with food! I really recommend you try it at least once :)

Set your computer's folders names to affirmations or intentions! "I have incredible grades" "I respect my physical and mental needs" "I have the perfect work/school/life balance" are all examples.

This is less about school/uni/college but enchant any jewellery you wear with protection or dedicate it to a deity!

Again, not super school related but do a glamour spell with your skin care and/or make up. It just puts me in a good mood and sets the tone for the day.

I hope you enjoyed! As always, suggestions and tips are more than welcome :)

[squidgamenation]

Squid Game School AU Headcannons!!

Team Thanos list first

(Se-mi and Nam-gyu are twins in this and their parents are Mi-Nyeo and Deok-su)

Headcannons are after the cut

Years:

Thanos is in Third year (12th)

Nam-gyu is in Second year (11th)

Se-mi is in Second year (11th)

Min-su is in Second year (11th)

Gyeong-su is in First year (10th)

Thanos

- 18

- In his last year

- Almost never shows up to class but is still on or near campus (he's selling drugs)

- Known as the school's dealer

- Popular in school (for all the wrong reasons)

- Always gets caught vaping in the bathroom

- He's always getting suspended

- Hangs out mainly with Nam-gyu

- Has a soft spot for Min-su, makes sure no one messes with him

- Gives Nam-gyu drugs for free

- Charges Se-mi for her weed just because Nam-gyu finds it funny

- Gets bad grades for sure, he's failing

- He DESPISES Myung-gi, starts fights with him outside during lunch. Head Teacher Mr. Hwang (In-ho) has to break it up

Nam-gyu

- 17

- Se-mi's twin, Han Mi-nyeo and Jang-Deok-su's son

- Goes around and bullies the First years, and Min-su when he's angry

- Likes to go up to Se-mi and tease her randomly, tells everyone she's his little sister to piss her off

- Is always stealing some of Se-mi's lunch

- Goes into class only when he's sober, otherwise he's ditching

- Has low grades but he's smart, he just doesn't care

- He needs glasses however they're too expensive and he would refuse to wear them

- Is loud at lunch and likes to talk a lot so he can feel heard

- Wears the same uniform pair twice in a row which grosses out and angers Se-mi

- Lets Thanos paint his nails during lunch

- Also gets suspended a lot

- Copies Min-su's homework when he's too lazy and high to do it on his own

Se-mi

- 17

- Nam-gyu's twin, Han Mi-nyeo and Jang Deok-su's daughter

- Hates Nam-gyu and refuses to join his friend group

- Sometimes forced to hang out with Nam-gyu and Thanos because of Min-su

- Goes by "Han Se-mi" in school just so she's not associated with "Jang Nam-gyu"

- Has to share oversized uniforms with Nam-gyu to save money, She hates it and gets dress coded often for not wearing a skirt

- Gets good/decent grades, however she doesn't apply herself much and skips classes a lot

- Only talks to Thanos so she could buy weed, Nam-gyu refuses to share with her

- Tries to avoid Nam-gyu at school as much as possible and pretends she doesn't know him

- Listens to music during class, drawing on her notes instead of focusing

- Has a girlfriend who's popular with everyone and is at the top of their grade academically

Min-su

- 17

- In the top ten students of their grade

- Attends each and every class

- Gets perfect 100% grades

- Gets bullied a lot by other students

- Always letting people copy off his work since he's too scared to say no

- Scared of Nam-gyu and Thanos but he doesn't want to be alone. He's also grateful for Thanos' protection against bullies

- However he actually likes being around Se-mi and Gyeong-su since they're really his friends

- He likes helping teachers after class by cleaning or organizing

- Spends his breaks and lunches reading silently at Thanos' table

- Had a crush on Se-mi at one point and told her at school. He found out she was gay

- Nam-gyu teased him a lot because of the crush, he was very embarrassed

Gyeong-su

- 16

- In his first year

- Get's okay grades and attends all his classes

- He thought Thanos was really cool when he first met him and now he really admires him like a fan

- Has his own friends in his year, however he likes to hang out with Thanos more

- Has a girlfriend that he never stops talking about

- Feels bad for Myung-gi when Thanos fights him. He likes his youtube channel

- Talks to Se-mi a lot whenever she sits with them

- He likes to talk about his interests at lunch whenever something similar is brought up

- Asks Min-su for help on assignments when he doesn't understand (He asked Thanos once and ended up failing)

- Once begged Thanos to paint his nails after watching him paint Nam-gyu's. He asked for purple and got laughed at in class

That's it! Let me know if you want any school au headcannons on any of the other characters!!

[sadmountaingoat]

So, I haven't stopped thinking about Nemik's manifesto for like a single second since I finished Andor. This is probably going to be a long one.

Nemik, for me, seems to be very much written in the vein of the intellectual revolutionary, that much is astoundingly clear. I wrote briefly on how Andor doesn't hide its ideas at all and shows them quite clearly to the audience but fuck I wanna talk about how much I love this character.

There are countless idealogues in Andor, its part of what makes the show wonderful. No single fifty minutes of television could dream of showing the width and breadth of the human experience in revolution but it does its best. In real life for every Che Guevara you have the fifty people sleeping in the jungle with him, for every French Resistance fighter detonating a Nazi car or British Spy kidnapping a Nazi officer you have the hundreds of civillians passively resisting. The ones who don't report suspicous anti authority activity, much like the hotel worker who does not report Andor and the pair who explain that a door had been repaired and may not be open in time for the Imperial to get through and prevent anti-fascist action.

Instead of a hundred characters resisting we see key characters. Mon Mothma, Andor, Luthen, Kleya, et al, and our minor and side characters stick in as representatives of the whole. We cannot explore millions of hotel workers, it is only important that we the audience know they are out there.

Andor makes no qualms about its core thesis statement; that all people who resist are important. That small measures of resistance contribute to the whole. Gilroy has spoken in interviews about his wider research on the history of resistances and it is evident.

The Maya Pei Brigade for exaple are there to demonstrate that often, historically, sometimes you need armed idiots with guns. The issues Mon Mothma faces in sourcing funds harks back to historical realities of the required substantive economic support in planning rebellions. So on and so on.

Now to Nemik.

A historic parallel seems evident in many writers. Most specifically like George Orwell, but also Carlo Levi, Ernest Hemmingway, Arthur Koestler, Pablo Neruda. For me he hawkens back as a character archetype to the writers of the Spanish Civil war.

Within the narrative he is well educated, as evident in his vocabulary and his skills with older "outdated" technology. He knows the weaknesses of newer machines and how to use older, reliable machinery to best protect against weaknesses that his group may otherwise be susceptible to. He is a character of immense belief, Skeen calls him a "true believer" calling him into contrast with Cassian Andor (mercenary but holds true to the code and agreements he set) and Skeen (A rebel defined by his lies and willingness to betray for profit.) While Skeen and Andor butt heads as near direct mirrors of the other, both imprisoned in youth camps at a young age and both willing to fight the other at a moment's notice, Nemik falls directly in the middle of the two. A true believer between a open skeptic and a false revolutionary.

In his introduction he is the only one to offer "Clem" a small smile. He's hopeful. The rest of them have been sharpened to an edge and understandably see Andor's arrival as a spanner thrown in the works but here we have Nemik, that little bit of hope.

"There's a growing list of things they've pushed us to forget. Things like freedom." This may be the first time I have seen Star Wars confront the idea of language on an academic level. The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is not held as reliable in academic theory (especially since the two seem to have not published together) but as a storytelling tool and an intro to critical thought it is moderately useful. It is a thought of "Linguistic Determinism" Ostensibly, the language you think in affects how you can think.

There could be myriad examples of ways this could and does not work, but Nemik's observation that the Empire is conditioning away the very idea of freedom to me hit similar to a point in Orwell's 1984 where a character who was pro party expressed that eventually, through the restriction of language, the proles may only comprehend the world as the party and the party as the world.

"Nemik sees opression everywhere."

"So confusing, isn't it. So much going wrong, so much to say, and all of it happening so quickly. The pace of repression outstrips our ability to understand it."

This is the character's thesis staement.

"It is easier to hide behind forty atrocities than a single incident."

I love it.

I could go on.

Nemik feels a shadow of writings such as Homage to Catalonia and Christ Stopped at Eboli. Phenomenally well realised character and a great insight into an element of the revolution that could have been missed. It is the writer who tells the story. Who releases the truth out. Indeed his manifesto is the final nail in the coffin of Partagaz' mentalities. The man sees the writing on the wall.

Next time I'm drunk maybe I'll ramble about how much I love his manifesto.

A reminder. The work is not prescient. These things have happened before. Take solace. Try.

[jennifer-jeong]

Fluff + Slight Angst | L&DS x GN!Reader How They Comfort You

SUMMARY Headcanons on how they'd support you

CONTENT Fluff, little bit of angst, mentions their past and past traumas

WORD COUNT: 765

ZAYNE | LI SHEN

Zayne is actually very good with his words, he’s very soothing especially when it comes to academics or stress. I imagine he learned it from his time in med school both because they teach it in his classes and also because he needed to learn it for himself (med school is painfully stressful). He’s still a bit inexperienced when it comes to intimate relationships and how to communicate in them but he still does really well. He’s struggled a lot also with his nightmares and his evol, so he probably also learned a lot about coping mechanisms through that. He probably took the time to study things like PTSD, anxiety disorders, and insomnia.

He comforts you with sweet words and logical advice. If you’ve had a bad day he’ll suggest things to help you relax so you can get back to it tomorrow. He knows that life doesn’t wait for anyone and he just wants to give you a pick-me-up the best he can. He’ll make you tea, soup, and obviously also a sweet treat at the end. He’ll give you a lot of kisses and cuddles, whatever you need. He probably also encourages you to let it out and cry if you’re feeling it, he knows that it’s good for you since it’s been scientifically proven LOL. Zayne would probably have made a great psychiatrist even despite his stoic self but regardless he does make an amazing lover.

RAFAYEL | QI YU

Rafayel is just a lil guy and isn’t super good at finding the right words to comfort you with but he knows he loves you and hates to see you like this, so he does everything he can. Rafayel hasn’t had family or loved ones with him or close to him for a long time. I imagine that in his childhood, he was probably also robbed of the opportunity to learn how to communicate in a situation like this because his home was destroyed. He’s been through so much pain though and so his empathy for you runs insanely deep. He understands any pain you feel so wholly even if he can’t explain it with words well.

He comforts you with so many hugs and buys you your favorite foods. If you’ve had a bad day he’ll immediately drop whatever he’s doing and suggest you do something together. You can have a paint night, watch a movie, cook a meal, or even just put on a random show and cuddle. He knows life sucks sometimes but he knows that his life sucks slightly less with you in it and he hopes so desperately that he does the same for you. You let him know that he makes everything better though, you communicate with him both because you like using your words but also to kind of show him how you do it so he can learn too.

XAVIER | SHEN XINGHUI

Xavier is so sweet and overall just kinda goes with the flow. He’s literally an old man LOL, he has a lot of patience and loves you so much. However, sometimes this makes it difficult because you need him to be decisive with his words sometimes but he struggles with it. He’s lived such a hectic life and has already lost you once so I imagine it’s hard for him to really understand how to put things into words. Not to mention the fact that he was seemingly very protected and sheltered back on his home planet since he always had bodyguards around him.

Xavier plays dumb sometimes on purpose because he’s a silly dude but he’s extremely observant and smart. He knows exactly when you’re feeling down or stressed or anything. He’s good at reading your emotion, just kinda unsure on what to do afterwards. But upon noticing, he will always hit you with the “are you okay?” because he knows you’ll communicate with him. Even if you just say “I’m fine” he’ll know you’re not and will encourage you to do something with him until you just tell him LOL. He knows it’s something he wants to work on but he’s smart and a very fast learner, so if you come up with any sort of codes or phrases that signify certain things, he’ll catch on fast. Have a code for “I need hugs and no talking?” he’s on it, code for “I need to yap and cry?” he’s by your side. He will literally travel to the ends of the infinite universe to find you because he promised you, and you best believe he won’t ever break that promise.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||