#for A Significant Chunk Of Change

[attila-werther]

every time the mabini biography brings up mabini's mood being unhappy or sad or etc, I have to close the book and lean back in my chair for a minute, like,

[lesbiancarat]

hello! you seem incredibly knowledgeable about seventeen, so I wanted to ask you if you knew anything about what specific songs the performance unit has been involved in choreographing? I remember a point where I regularly saw the misconception that like… hoshi was choreographing the entirety of their title tracks, and I don’t see that anymore, which is nice, but I am kind of curious to know the specifics past “he was involved in choreographing stuff, but these days it’s not super common”

it seems like that info on who’s choreographed something is mostly anecdotal? I know dino did flower, and hoshi did fast pace, and hoshi & dino did 247 & still lonely, and the pfu did highlight, because there’s specific sources for that stuff, but I’m lost outside of that.

my instinctual feeling is that the pfu’s done the choreo for their songs from debut -> an ode, with perhaps the exception of lilili yabbay? shhh & lilili yabbay are what I’m personally really curious about…

anyways! there’s a lot of ambiguity! perhaps that’s just the way it’ll stay, which is fair and fine, but I was curious if you might know anything on the topic, is all.

(as an aside, for the choreography videos playlist linked on the carat resources carrd, would the nu’est w & seventeen “heaven” video count as something that should be listed there…? I don’t know since it was tragically never officially released)

yeah that's because it is mostly anecdotal unfortunately. there are choreography credits in the albums, but it's not always super helpful since it's not usually broken up by song, and it's not uncommon for b-side choreos to be made after the album is released when they're rehearsing it for a concert/tour. I know this has happened with pfu songs especially in recent years

I did find this reddit post that compiles the album credits along with song anecdotal credits up to sector17 era. unfortunately it doesn't tell you anything about shhh or lilili yabbay specifically, though it is interesting to see that hoshi (and some of the other members as well) were at least somewhat involved in choreographing up to heng:garae era, and then member involvement (at least that's credited) sharply drops off. I would guess this mainly had to do with svt just getting busier and the members having less time/energy to choreograph themselves, though it is kind of interesting that this kind of coincides with the hybe acquisition (as much as I like to be a hybe hater I don't think this is directly because of them, but i digress)

i tried to do some research on shhh and lilili yabbay specifically. I couldn't find anything on shhh (it's also just a bit of a hard song title to do searches for in general). for lilili yabbay i did find a translation of this fancall from 2020 with hoshi where he says each of the members choreographed their individual parts and then brought it to the contemporary dance teacher. but ode to you tour was specifically mentioned, and after rewatching the stage, I think he was referring to the intro dance pfu did before lilili yabbay on that tour, not the original choreo itself TT

you could try to watch behind videos (including old going seventeen before it became a variety show) from those eras to see if any of the members mention anything about the choreo in passing, but obviously that's very time-consuming and it's easy to miss things

honestly i've wished for a long time that choreography credits were better documented, but we can only work with what svt/pledis has given us... sorry I didn't have more information for you!

(also yes, i was mainly focusing on official releases for the choreo playlist, but I appreciate the suggestion nonetheless! always looking for things I may have missed!)

[redrosydiaz]

finished the terror show! and i gotta say — probably not a surprise but — i liked the book better. tbh i don't think the show was long enough. like the book was SO long and despite the slow moving pace it had SO much packed into it, and i think because the show was only 10 episodes it ended up having to smush a bunch of things together and skip out of others and that totally took away from it. don't get me wrong, it's a decent show! but i think it had the potential to be even better if they'd gotten to like, take the time to faithfully adapt the book.

also there was not enough tuunbaq!!!

[tesl8n]

Left work early because I was angry abt some bullshit there, and was like "I'm going to go to TKD tonight to work off this anger" but because I left early I had time to cool down and now I don't feel like I need to go lmao

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[syluses]

terrible thing

subject: caleb x reader

cw. yandere! caleb, obsessive behaviors, toxicity, unhealthy relationships, childhood bestfriend! caleb, unrequited love, jealous is an understatement, scoundrel caleb, manipulation

an. THIS IS FOR THE NONNIE THAT ASKED FOR THIS!!! im sooo sorry it took so long but i super hope u enjoy <3 i liked ur idea and made a lil fic based around it <3 by lil i mean almost 6k words :3 also listen to ‘terrible thing’ by ag because that song is LITERALLY CALEB.

Some things are better left unsaid.

And whenever Caleb is involved in the conversation? Your new boyfriend is definitely one of them.

You feel a little guilty for it, you know. For not telling him. I mean, you’d only spent the better chunk of your childhood running towards his room for safety during thunderstorms, using his arms as your own personal refuge whenever lightning flashed behind the windows and thunder boomed. You still have the ledger you’d written in your youth against him, stowed in a box in your closet, to record his slightest transgressions. It collects dusts like all the countless summers you’d leisured away with him as little children.

He’s your best friend, always has been; entering your twenties does not change that- or the thick tether connecting you from humble Linkon to his expensive suite in Skyhaven.

It’s just…

You know Caleb. Of course you know Caleb- your shared history a direct proof of that. Calling him protective would be the understatment of the year and you’re sure as soon as a significant other is introduced into the foundation of your life, he’d do all he could to uproot him from it. Not out of malice, no, his habits (resting an arm over your shoulder, hovering and glaring at men- or people in general- who stare at you for so much as a second longer than necessary, dismissing the idea of romance completely when you innocently bring it up, in awe at the prospect of finding your own disney prince to whisk you off your feet) come from a good place.

But for as caring and considerate your bestfriend- the veritable staple to your adolescence- has been, that ‘good place’ is one you want to leave. Gently extricate yourself from. It’s high time you grow up and see the world for what it really has to offer outside of your Gran’s cozy suburban home, from the crook of Caleb’s elbow, comforting as it is.

And your new boyfriend? Yeah... It’s better not to tell Caleb about him. At least not until later.

You convince yourself it’s better that way, that you’re making the wiser choice, because c’mon- Your friend is just terribly busy what with his rank as colonel at the DAA, his missions that leave him tired and pressed for free time in his day-to-day hustle. It’s impressive how he still manages to find the time to call you with the scant windows of opportunity his schedule allows, barraging you with thoughtful messages and cute pics he takes of miscellaneous items because they, quote-on-quote, ‘reminded him of you.’

Caleb would blow his fuse. Oh, undoubtedly.

And you worry for him sometimes, you know? This decision is in your boyfriend’s better interest- one hundred percent- but it’s in Caleb’s as well. You don’t want him slipping on the job because his mind’s a mess and his bestfriend from childhood- the one he has an inexplicable, self-bestowed duty to protect- has put his heart into overdrive.

You’d just worry him to death. Mistakes, no matter how seemingly minor, are fatal within aircraft apparatus. He can’t afford to make them, and you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if something were to happen to him. It’d be devastating.

For so many reasons— informing your bestfriend of your new suitor is just an awful, harebrained, bad fucking idea.

That’s… for another time. But not now, not when you’re so in love it feels like you’re walking on a cloud with him, his larger hand in yours like an anchoring weight between chaotic hunter trips and scares- a very welcome consolation that calms your heart and makes you feel like a princess- the one you’d always secretly wished to embody as a little girl.

You’re… older now. Grown. Caleb can’t scare them all away, right…? Especially not if he’s unaware of them.

This fairy tale- perfect, gentle, sweet- is one you want to indulge in for a little bit longer.

So yes. Whenever Caleb visits again, eagerly inviting himself into your quaint apartment with a bag of your favorite snacks in tow as conferral, your boyfriend will not be mentioned.

✿✿✿

When he comes in, he brushes past you- wafting up cold air and the citrusy notes of his faded cologne- and ruffles your hair with a chuckle.

The stirrings of unease take root in you as you toss a laugh back and trail him into the kitchen like a lost puppy: not just because you haven’t kept a secret from him in ages- a miserably failed attempt, might you add- but mainly for the reason that your phone is buzzing in your pocket and you have no choice but to ignore it because the caller is the one individual you have vowed to hide.

Mere seconds before Caleb turns to face you, setting his haul on the counter, you fish your phone from your jeans and power it off, wincing at the apology you’ll have to give your boyfriend later when he inevitably asks what became of his unanswered call. It’s- It’s fine, though. He’ll understand once you tell him, albeit, the same cannot be said for Caleb.

The brunet idles between your cabinets and fridge, scrutinizing your stock, and speaks behind his shoulder, nodding you over. “C’mon, pipsqueak. What’re you waitin’ out there for? Need your help puttin’ away all the groceries. What do you say, will you lend me a hand?”

Walking in, you quickly get to work, humming nonchalantly. “Ah, I suppose I can.” You rotate the items of his purchase in hand and smile appreciatively, tucking them away neatly- all the while, your eyes dart to his profile as he rearranges the contents of your refridgerator without prompting. He throws you a glance in between though, violet eyes soft with mirth, his lips drawn in an easy smile, to thank you. “What would I do without you?” He teases.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you repress a grin, shrugging with nonchalance as you squeeze between his broad shoulder to slip a carton of apple juice in the fridge, “But I will say I’m thankful for the loot. This is enough to feed a family of five.”

“And you for a week,” he comments lightly with an innocuous pinch to your cheek on your exit, “which is all that matters.” You grimace and swat his hand away- long fingers, ever tactile, dropping to instead poke at your side- rubbing your face dramatically, and Caleb chuckles. Genuine and warm.

“Guess you can’t live without me either.”

He says, awfully pleased with the fact, and then you watch from your periphery, still pouting for the theatric value, as his face turns into a severe blur, his hand casting out to latch around your wrist.

Unthinking, you pause. With a hard blink, you feel yourself get spun around and then he’s right there, in your face, dwarfing you completely as he brings your little hand to his side and peers down at you, thick brows furrowed steadily.

“What?” You go.

Almost hesitantly- like he’s fearing the worst- he leans forward, dips his chin down, the tip of his nose grazing your shoulder in a way that has you bracing for impact, or something else- and breathes the scent of you in.

Floral, soft, tinged with your lavender detergent. Pleasant on the senses; Caleb’s never outright admitted that your smell is like a balm to his nervous system, mild and soothing, but he can make that confession in his heart when it takes all of five seconds to pin the anomaly marring it.

It’s faint, but there. Another man’s cologne— a little minty, a little earthy, about as aromatic as a wet dog let in from the rain as Caleb snuffles at your neck and scowls.

“Who is that?” He asks. More of a demand, really- his long, slim digits giving yours an unwitting but growingly hard squeeze in his. You immediately blanche, and you inwardly pray he can’t see the bob of your throat as you swallow or hear the heavy thumps of your heart in your chest as his invasive words- and touch- spurs it into unease.

You try to steel yourself. “W-What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he chastises without so much as a doubt of your apparent wrong. Despite his icy, intense stare, his touch betrays it, his grip firm but his thumb rubbing gentle, fast circles over the back of your hand as he keeps it in his. “I can smell somethin’ on you. Someone. You… Pipsqueak, you haven’t been gettin’ up to no good while I was at the DAA, have you?”

It’s rare to hear his voice lower like it is now, friendly, playful charm replaced by an almost cold, foreign edge as his eyes- no longer so warm- narrow into an accusing glare. They flit across the bridge of your nose down to your parted lips, and then to the wings of your collarbone as his lashes slowly flutter.

Contemplative. You almost wonder what it is he’s thinking before you bar yourself off from that curiosity, reasonable as it is. You’ve seen, from your younger years, just how far he’ll go to protect you- whether that be from punks down the street or guys at school who shove love letters in your locker on Valentine’s day- and you’re not so sure you want to re-experience the vivid footage of that which is very likely replaying through his head right now.

You get it, okay, you do. You grew up together and as your bestfriend- really, your singular stronghold- he’ll do his very best to shield you from the world and all the creeping men in it. But your boyfriend does not fall under that same umbrella. Your boyfriend genuinely cares for you and wants the best for you, but you doubt Caleb will take any of his real affection into consideration.

It’s why you plant ten toes into the ground and look him dead in the eye when you say,

“No. ‘Course not,” and you give a short giggle for good measure, gently weaseling your hand free from his own (albeit, it takes a considerable amount of effort, his grasp not quite willing to part with you). “C’mon, you know I work with all sorts of people at the Hunter’s Administration. And I didn’t shower yet. What, do I smell bad?”

“No,” he ripostes, still louring into your eyes like they’re a gateway to the most abstruse corners of your soul, waiting for them to offer up your secrets. “You could never smell bad,” he clarifies, “but the same can’t be said for whatever’s on you right now.”

“I see and interact with tons of people each day, Caleb. It’s nothing, really.” A gentle but firm, if not marginally amused reminder from your end- although your stomach is absolutely churning under his scrutiny which only seems to deepen and not let up.

He looks uncertain with himself, his own mini emotional outburst, as his jaw opens and closes. His indigo gaze, still smouldering but somewhat assuaged, flits across your clavicle before he looks up and slowly says,

“You’re not… keeping things from me, are you? If someone started seeing you, you’d tell me, rrright?”

“‘Course,” you snicker after a beat, and at the small lump of bitterness in you, you can’t help but tack on- “Not that you’d let anyone see me, anyway...”

Missing its sardonic edge, Caleb heaves a small laugh at your not-joke and gives a half nod. “Yeah,” he agrees without an iota of shame, “but it’s for your own good.” Reluctantly, he releases your hand and lets you apply a number of steps between you, still eyeing you as you resolutely continue unpacking his groceries. “‘Member what I told you, back when we were kids? Guys only ever want one thing from girls, and I don’t wanna see some peabrained jerk break your heart, Pipsqueak. He wouldn’t deserve you anyway.”

“I think,” He starts, laughing to himself, but now it’s your turn to miss the punchline, “I think I’d actually see red.”

Before you can so much as formulate a response in your head, your friend takes it upon himself to stop your busying hands and say in a gentle voice, “Hey, I got the groceries, okay? Why don’t you… go get cleaned up? So you’ll be all nice and comfy durin’ the movie.” Caleb flashes you a winning smile as a bonus, peering into you with less agitation than before and more calculated softness. You can tell, for both of your sakes, he’s still trying to calm himself from that little boyfriend scare.

As another incentive- perhaps the most tempting- he adds, “I’ll even make the popcorn while you’re in there!”

You don’t acknowledge the cause behind his words- what really pushed him to voice that suggestion- and instead nod diplomatically.

“Alright, if ya say so,” you murmur easily. “But you’d better put lots of butter on it.”

“Oh, you be careful what you wish for, Pipsqueak. Especially when you’ll end up throwin’ it all on the floor at the slightest jumpscare,” he teases. “I’ll be scrubbing the carpet for hours.”

With a pout, you give him a playful shove and dismiss him completely, not bothering to reply to that. You abandon your post behind the pantry with barely-concealed relief and sigh once you reach the bathroom, locking the door and typing out a quick text to your boyfriend as a temporary olive branch. You don’t want him to be mad. In any case, you don’t think he will be, considering he’s far more understanding than Caleb in some regards- but if you want to maintain good terms in this blossoming relationship, it’ll have to be far from your friend’s controlling- but well meaning- hand.

Caleb’s… just making a big deal out of this. Per usual.

If anything, despite the niggling sense of guilt that makes you feel awful to even look him in the eye, you just feel even more compelled to keep this from him.

He really might blow his fuse, otherwise.

When you exit the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders, Caleb pushes a bowl of popcorn into your hands like he’s trying to placate you.

He smiles, giving you a once-over. “See? Nice n’ clean.”

You’re not entirely sure what the point made is, but you deign a nod anyway, gleefully accepting the bowl.

Extra butter, just as he promised.

✿✿✿

You’ve loved Linkon for as long as you can remember.

It’s held you, welcomed you in when you were just a tatterdamelion girl fresh from a facility that you don’t really remember, but still carry somewhere deep within you all the same. This city supplied you with a roof over your head, a loving grandmother, and an opportunity to lead a normal life— it’d be more difficult to not fall in love with it.

You think Caleb’s presence, warm and comforting, has a lot to do with your pleasant feelings surrounding it. He was both your bestfriend all throughout childhood and your safeguard; wherever you went, he happily trailed, and with the two of you- and Gran- things were simple and tranquil.

This is your hometown.

You’d thought you’d experienced most if not all of what it had to offer, fondly memorized each route and cornerstore- but over a candlelit dinner at a restaurant you’ve never been, your boyfriend smiles as the waitress brings out your entrées.

Hestiantly awaiting him to dig in first, your fork hovers uncertainly over a dish you’ve never seen before- but it makes your mouth water all the same. With a warm chuckle, he instructs you to eat and you do, gushing at least a million times about how good it tastes.

Between bites, you carry on easy conversation (mostly your rambling- about hunter work and then that cute cat you saw the other day- and his happily lending an ear) and your date is moving splendidly. Midway through your meal, the table falls silent for a moment while you take an indulgent sip from your fruity, non-alcoholic drink, and your boyfriend perks up as if remembering something.

“Ah,” he says, setting his own glass down with the hint of a cheeky grin, “You know, I have something to tell you.”

You lift an eyebrow, recuperating from your long chatter which, you realize with a dollop of bashfulness, was one-sided. You were just so excited to speak with him- and can you really be blamed? He’s perfect, sweet, understanding… He doesn’t get mad at you for not allocating your whole time to him, your schedule hardly allowing for it- although you’d be happy if it did- and he doesn’t drop so much as one cautionary piece of advice at the somewhat short dress you’re wearing tonight- just for him. His opening word was a warm compliment of ‘you’re stunning’ paired with a quick embrace, and you felt like he really meant it.

Honest to God you think you love him.

“Y-Yeah?” You smile tentatively, nudging him to continue. You’re not quite sure what he has to say, but you want to listen. “What is it?”

He takes a beat to laugh softly. You wrinkle your forehead and laugh back, curtly reaching over the table to give his hand a little squeeze. “What is it?” You press with amusement, his eyes glittering under the dim, lemony light the fixture overhead casts.

“Nothing to worry about, just-“ His grin only intensifies as he begins to elaborate, but yours slowly fizzles out, your lashes fluttering thoughtfully, “I think you’ve got a secret admirer or something, babe. The other day, someone hit me up with a text to piss off. And I was confused at first, you know-?”

The pleasant sound of his unaffected chuckle does little to soothe your nerves as they build in your gut, the gears in your head turning for an answer- some explanation for the inexplicable dread clutching your chest. “Like, who is this asshole? But then I remembered that blond guy from your work and-“

No. No.

You startle without thinking, darting forward to offer out a trembling hand, “Hey- can I see that text?” With perfect, singleminded focus, you watch his face of humor warp into one of slight unease, but he gives a belated shrug and fishes it from his pocket. “Uh, sure. Here you go, babe-“

Slumping back down into your booth, you dial out his password and scroll through his contact list with your lower lip caught in your teeth. You don’t want to believe the worst- God forbid this awful suspicion end up being true- but there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of your head that speaks with strange clarity and you can’t will yourself to ignore it, not after that interaction you’d had with your friend last week.

Your thumb stops in its tracks to hover over a singular, unlabeled profile picture. With a thick swallow, mucus feeling thick as mollasses in your throat, you tap on the message and it fills his phone screen.

Hey guy, look, i’m sure you’re a cool dude and all but stay away from y/n. I won’t tell you again :)

A quavering breath filters in through your glossed lips.

Surely not.

A- A prank. It must be a prank on his end, right?

But you know Caleb. You know him from anywhere, you know him like a fucking mirror- or a platonic soulmate, you’re so close. He’s been your bestfriend all throughout childhood and you’d be damned if you couldn’t recognize him in text, even over a small number of words on someone else’s phone screen.

The world sears around you, darkening in your periphery. Your surroundings- blurred with the coming of a very angered, indignant emotion- and the concerned visage of your boyfriend- wither away like ash.

All you can see is how small- how helpless- Caleb has made you feel, the color red, terrible and pigmented, stinging your sclera.

W- Why can’t he just fucking see that you’re fine-? You don’t need him to protect you, and—

The better part of your rationale fades, tears wetting your eyes and the mascara that’d clumped on your lashes, balling your fingers with an iron grip in fear of your carefully-applied makeup waterfalling all over your cheeks. Dammit! You’re so upset right now you can’t even think.

The chair screeches from under you, alerting the fellow restaurant-goers who perk upright around you, but you can’t find it in you to care about them- or your sweet, gawking boyfriend as you throw him a feeble, too-tight smile and march for the nearest exit.

“Uh- b-babe-? Wait-“

It’s long overdue that you grow up, yes, but you realize this- the little stunts pulled to keep you in the house, more notably the attic, as a teen, and now the blatant threats made to your present partner through ominous texts- is childish, and Caleb is pushing the envelope, too.

You’re starting to fucking wonder if he even wants to grow up, or keep you and him trapped in his fantastical, little imaginary world forever.

✿✿✿

To your singular surprise, he’s already there when you arrive, emerging from the living room of your apartment with the ease of someone who owns the place.

He doesn’t own the place. You worked taxing hours, both physical and otherwise, at your job and counted up the pennies to afford the rent here- your flat falls under your name and it’s yours. Not his. Not everything is Caleb’s- not everything can he just assert his hands all over and take.

This is your life! What you’re trying to make of it!

You’re so angry you can hardly look at him without glaring daggers, crossing your arms across your chest just to keep them from shaking at your sides as you halt by the threshold and find your bearings.

“Caleb,” you grit out. He’s stupidly self-assured as he folds his own arms and props himself against the wall, dipping his chin slightly to appraise you. A low-cut, silky dress that leaves little to the imagination, lipstick that makes your lips almost glitter and mascara that threatens to run— you wonder just what that squint in his eye means as he takes it all in.

When he lets out a breathless, angered sort of scoff, you think you’ve grasped the fundamentals of it. He doesn’t like it. And of course he doesn’t, right-? Because you look grown up, like a confident, take-no-bullshit woman- a country mile from the little fumbling girl he grew up with and constantly had to monitor.

You haven’t seen him in a week, and even now you realize this unannounced visit is earlier than his general schedule, but a lot has changed in that short amount of time.

“Hm. What’s got you so worked up, Pipsqueak?”

Infuriating.

“You-!” You unclench your jaw just enough to speak. “You know what you did!”

“Sorry. I’m gonna need you to be a lil more specific,” he teases with a hint of a cruel smile, “Help me understand what you’re sayin’ here.”

You’re almost impressed with how steady the words come out; you’re half expecting to break down in furious sobs right then and there, but you more or less manage to save face. “You’re threatening my boyfriend now?”

There’s nothing to be leisured on here- so you’ll just cut to the point because the quicker he understands the line you’re drawing, the sooner he’ll leave and you can be done with this. Your lovely date has been ruined for the night, you’re all kinds of humiliated and you’ll have a whole plethora of apologetic texts to type out for your boyfriend— who you’ve inwardly decided will have to become privy to the little dilemma with your overprotective friend. You wanted to keep it off the books, but Caleb has made that all but impossible.

A little muscle in his face twitches. Some of the mirth, contrived as it was, fading at your accosting. “And you’re keeping things from me now?” He accuses back.

He hardly gave you any other choice, did he? Caleb’s no different than a guard dog wherever you’re involved, and your poor boyfriend wouldn’t stand much of a chance if your closest friend thought you to be in some kind of danger and blindly rushed in. But he’s— that’s just where Caleb doesn’t understand, does he? That you’re fine on your own, truly, that you’re safe and you feel loved in his arms. It’s so so maddening but you try your damnedest to hold onto the trace of dignity you still have left after the last hour.

“I’m allowed to fall in love, you know! Go out and- and start a life separate from you and our childhood!”

A sharp intake of air on his end. The arms folded over his chest stiffen, fingertips bluntly digging into the crooks of his elbows.

“And what about me?” He asks slowly. “You think I’ll just… be content to be left in your dust while you go and- and give yourself up to the first guy who looks at you?”

A wounded sound disguised as a laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, is that what you think of me? Think I’m just some insecure little school girl who’s got a crush and doesn’t know how to act?”

With a coolness that masks the true turmoil inside him, Caleb pushes himself off the wall and approaches you. Whether it’s the stirrings of fear that keep you grounded in place- the unexpected but startling realization that right now, you feel afraid of him- or the determination steeling your nerves, you don’t know, but you hold your ground even when he’s no more than a foot away.

“Honestly?” He starts, “you’re lookin’ the part right now, Pipsqueak.”

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes. Your fingers mirror the brunet’s, curling up together and stabbing the fleshy plane of your palm. You refuse to cry in front of him. It’s different from when you were kids, like if you were to burst into tears now, he’d use it as more of an example as to why you’re not steady on your own; the warm memories of being tucked in his embrace seem sugar-coated now, like you were missing the bigger picture all along.

Perhaps it was naivety- wishful thinking- believing that the spot under his arm or at his breast was the safest in the world.

This Caleb is one you don’t even recognize, let alone want to cuddle up to.

Your nostrils flare, your tone beaten, small, but it reaches its mark. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best to get out of your shadow.”

Seemingly, he ignores you, simply saying, “You can do… so much better than him.

“Hah, oh really? And what’s better, Caleb? Since you’re soooo enlightened,” you throw back, bravely (or stupidly) stepping closer to sneer in his face until yours is just meager inches from his. He makes no move to reapply that distance, small as it was, indigo eyes regarding you with a slight narrow as he looks down his nose at you and frowns.

You don’t care if you’re being reckless. You deserve an answer after all his awful antics. Maybe you’ve been going around his back with your boyfriend, but it’s not like he was owed that knowledge to begin with, and he’s done you an even greater disservice by running behind yours to tamper with your relationships.

You press, “What’s better, Caleb! TELL ME!”

“Me,” Caleb murmurs, but you take it clear as a bell. You slacken, anger loosening from the tight lines in your visage, but you watch- unseeingly- as a mite of joy blinks across his face. Light as quicksilver. “Caleb is better.”

Without a word, you push past him, leaving him alone in your apartment. It’d be a losing battle to kick him out your door, and you were tired of fighting.

Tired of him, really.

✿✿✿

You don’t know how fast you’re going, or for how far you drive. Just that it’s barely below the speed limit, you guess, and it’s within Linkon’s outskirts. It’s a handful of hours that pass when you realize you’re going in circles. You’re not so sure where to land.

It’s after dark when you swerve your car into some empty parking lot- a park, you think- and get out to sit yourself on a wooden bench. It’s a starry night, a beautiful clear sky overhead- but you can’t find it in you to admire the view as frustration and sorrow, the feelings you’d been burying all throughout the seemingly endless drive, bubble to the surface.

You hang your head between your hands and cry.

Something is wrong with Caleb. He’s like a dog with a bone; you’re more than horrified to realize that in the grand scheme of things, you are the chewtoy. He’ll nip at the hands that get too close, your boyfriend’s most of all.

If tonight taught you one thing, it’s that he cant be reasoned with. Fine. You don’t need him anyway. If he’s just gonna see you as some pitiful little object he can put a leash on at his own whims, then you don’t think you want to be friends anymore- the decade of knowing him, relying on him, be damned.

(But you suppose he doesn’t want to be ‘friends’ either, huh?)

When he’d said he wanted to be a pilot, you didn’t stop him. No, you clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug and told him you’d support him every step of the way, that you were proud.

Evidently, he doesn’t give a shit about you or how you feel or what you want— he’s bigheaded and selfish. Does he seriously think he can just say what he said tonight without any consequence?

Me. Caleb is better.

You scoff, fingernails denting your palm as you clench your fists. It’s all you can do to stop them from shaking or punching the air.

For a moment you almost contemplate picking yourself up, giving your partner a ring or climbing back into your vehicle to steer it towards home… B-But you don’t think you want to go back, not when it means facing him, not right now—

Between the gap of your wrists as you cradle your temples, headlights pour over the concrete below. The rumbling hum of an engine gets louder and then tires crunch over pebbled road as a car pulls in. Your shoulders stiffen. You risk a wary glance up and feel a mixture of relief and confusion when you clock it as your boyfriend’s.

…What? What’s he doing here?

You prepare to stand, but a figure throws a long leg out of the front and the silhouette that appears, tall and broad, approaching with measured ease, makes you freeze.

His face shines under a singular lamp post and you’re embittered all over again at the sight of Caleb.

Wiping your tears away before he can fully see them, you practically leap off the bench when he’s still a couple yards from reaching you, but your heart lurches to your throat when something- an invisible force- throws you back onto the seat.

“Sit,” his voice, leaving little room for negotiation, rings.

Gobsmacked, you jerk your head up. He’s a few feet away now, swiftly trimming that space until he’s stood right before you and slipping his hand under your chin to hold your gaze, wide with shock, on him.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Your dreadful expression hardens into one of calm anger. “What, am I your prisoner now? You’re really gonna- fucking hold me hostage on this stupid bench?” You sniffle.

For a certain window of time, the familiar car behind him slotted by yours is completely forgotten, your attention wholly fixed on the man (your should-be bestfriend) towering over you.

Dimly lit, you watch as his eyes narrow, sweeping over you with thought- albeit, just what exactly is running through his mind, you don’t know if you want to find out. Right now, though, you think you hate him, and you have waning faith that he’ll choose the right option here- that is, to piss off to wherever he came from and get his nose out of your relationships.

“…Did you hear anything I said?” He asks pointedly.

The sharpness of it silences you, your jaw fluttering shut above his palm, his touch betraying a gentleness that flummoxes you. He shifts it to thumb away at your silvery tears.

You struggle for an answer, for an appropriate way to even respond to all this. “Caleb-“

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” He lets out a little laugh, then, but the hurt is clear as day on the half of his face that the dim, lemony light glows on. He shakes his head, “After what I said, you just… left? You’ve become quite the heartbreaker, huh, Pipsqueak?”

His eyes glitter. You get the vague feeling that there’s something you’re not grasping here, like another nonsensical joke you don’t understand yet as a tinge of amusement pinches his lips.

“Hm.”

Finally, you break from his inscrutable gaze and heave a sigh. “Caleb, look, I-I just want to forget tonight and—“

“I’m gonna say a few things,” he cooly interupts. You gawk. “Caleb-“

“-And you’re gonna listen.”

You’re stunned into a clumsy sort of quietude, mouth quavering shut as you spare a frenetic glance down to your wrists, bound by invisible restraits to your side, straight as a ramrod. You can’t move them. Every second spent is tense, and wraught with the anticipation that he’ll shortly let go and tell you this is some prank- definitely his sickest yet- but you’re sorely mistaken.

“I love you, Y/n,” he starts, with an expression so sober that it steals the breath from your lungs, dark violet eyes rippling with intensity. The swing set somewhere behind you offers a groan as a breeze whisks its chains aside. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest; perhaps the one thing he can’t paralyze into silence.

Time drags to a screeching stop at his words- not because you’ve never heard them before: years ago, during stormful, scary nights you’d cling onto him and press your ear to his chest, the steady thrum of his heart and those three words lulling you into peaceful sleep- but because you’ve never heard them in that way.

Not even from your boyfriend.

A second passes and you’re… frightened. Unmistakably, horribly frightened.

You get the feeling he’s wounded, however, face warping with some deepseated, double-edged conviction, as he stares.

He lifts a hand, his free one, and splays it over his broad chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt as his brow furrows, “I love you so fucking much it actually hurts sometimes. And it was… fine, for a while, pretending all I felt for you was friendly. But—“ and this is when his face, and the kicked puppy sort of look, darkens, his nostrils flaring as he drops his hand to his side.

“But then you started running from me,”

“I- I never tried to run, Caleb-!?”

Smoothly, he continues. “Decided I wasn’t good enough for you. But haven’t I always protected you? When it was thundering, when the neighborhood bullies came knocking on the door- I was there to hold you. To fight off your bad dreams,” He breaks off with a breathy laugh that sends a cold chill down your spine. Franky, no amount of humor, no matter how small, feels appropriate right now. “Remember? Even when Gran said to eat your veggies, it was me who cleaned your plate for you. It was always me, Pipsqueak.”

You blink. But every time you open your eyes, you think it’s someone new standing before you. It’s all surreal, like you can’t trust your own sight.

“And now…” he moves impossibly closer, sandwiching you against the back of the bench, hunching over. You give your wrists, trembling from resistance, another harsh tug but they don’t move.

“We finally get to be together again, just to find out you’ve been tryin’ to seek that out in another guy? Pipsqueak- you know nobody will love you like I have, right…?”

Distantly, as the tip of his nose nears yours and you spot a fleck of something on his cheekbone, smeared and red, you wonder just whose car you’ll be escorted home in.

Yours, or your boyfriend’s.

[deinocheirus]

A while ago on discord people were talking about the terms their alien species had for each other in their own languages, and i took a rough stab at it....Which then made me fall down a rabbit hole of thinking about the actual languages these would be from, since none of these guys are monolinguistic and there would have to be a reason these languages might be seen as a "default" language of a species.

(The animal names some species name each other after are "translated" loosely comparable Earth life for the sake of brevity)

Ramblings on the languages these are for under the cut.

Human: English. (many of these names are works in progress and might be changed later)

Snamel: Ossgtat. One of the languages spoken by early snamel space colonists. While spoken ossgtat eventually evolved into new languages or died off across planetary colonies, the ancient form of the language remains relevant as both a religious and scientific language (comparable to how humans use lain), as well as has had many failed pushes to be a species wide lingua franca

The most common term for jawfish is not derived from ancient Ossgtat, but rather is a loanword of the colony that first made contact with them.

Jawfish: Wossoss. The most commonly spoken language of the whistler jawfish subspecies. While the Clicker subspecies has four times the population then the Whistlers, they lack a language as widely used as wossoss.

The "deformed" suffix initially on contact was used to refer specifically to physical deformity, but as centuries pass has evolved to refer to things that are generally strange or unworldly.

Tandem: A'awa. While only the 12th most spoken language for the species, the A'awa language is significant in being the one spoken by the population of first contact, and as a result has become the language of science and technology and a frequent source of loan words in other languages. Several languages adopt A'awag words to describe alien beings or concepts.

Raptor: "Our Talk" a constructed language made centuries after first contact. The exceptional vocal mimicry of the species has resulted in alien languages being more commonly spoken amongst Raptors then their own languages, and those that do remain of theirs have radically changed from alien influence.

Our Talk was born out of an isolationist movement, constructed out of the chunks of various dialects in an attempt to make a new "purely raptor" language. Their terms for alien species are onomatopoeias, "pohum" for humans is pronounced in particularly human-like inflection.

Canary: Gsiii. While neither the most common language or the language of the Canaries first contact was attempted with The Gsiii empire ended up the first canary nation to fully embrace alien diplomacy and is the most common language of canaries off homeworld. While not universal, gsiiik terminology has spread to several other major languages, to the point that now the gsiiik word "legged" has lost its association with limbs and has evolved into the term for aliens in general.

Considering canaries are both small and blind, it is not surprising that the number of legs their giant alien visitors have is our most noteworthy feature. Interacting with a human being is usually like interacting with a massive pairs of legs.

Trunkfish: Patriarch speech. The singular vocal language used by males of the entire species and a lingua franca (something achievable when your entire species resides in a body of water the size of Lake Erie). Females and subadults communicate in a diverse array of languages made up of weak electric pulse.

"Demon" is a translation of a broad group of supernatural beings in trunkfish beliefs that are neither moral nor divine in nature that may be cruel or benevolent, and might also be translated as "spirit" or "fairy". Some aliens are given descriptive names, but others are directly named after preexisting folkloric creatures. Humans specifically are named after a sort of demonic tree believed to both cause or ward off mudslides.

Many trunkfish still see aliens as literal supernatural beings, and envision space travel and other planets as just various fairy worlds and hells that are already a part of their cosmology.

Grex: "Xenology dialect". The grex languages are constructed out of a small fixed pool of instinctive calls known at birth, however these calls can be both altered and used as syllables or phonemes in larger learnt words.

Dialects of grex languages often form around different professions and fields of research, "Anti-People" depending on one's dialect or context and pronunciation could mean anything from an alien, a misanthrope, a murderer, a fictional character, or a type of basket.

Holophant: Ocean script. The civilization of first contact has a plethora of languages signed, written, danced, and tactilely used. The terms for alien species in their signed languages tend to not be translatable, largely made up of modified or entirely new unique single signs.

The most common words for aliens in general is just the sign for animal with a black flash of their chromatophores, as opposed to the neutral dappled markings used for animals in general. In written form this is usually written as either "black" or "night" animals, in reference to coming from the night sky (space)

"Ocean script" is a logographic written language and one of the two core writing systems of the region. Here aliens are described with more readily translatable compound words.

[thebibliosphere]

Wait, PMDD and GERD are connected to MCAS? Because I have both of those. Would you please talk a little more about that?

They can be connected to MCAS, yes.

If you google it, the current AI answer will tell you that mast cells are present in the esophagus, which is true, but only because mast cells are present in every part of the body.

What would be more helpful to say is that the esophagus is lined with histamine receptors, and when these receptors are activated it leads to chronic inflammation caused by several mast cell mediators which can make you more prone to acid damage.

Mast cells also release chemicals that can cause the stomach to overproduce acid, as well as relax the esophageal sphincter, which makes it easier for the acid to wash back up into the esophagus, causing further damage.

This is why some of the treatment aimed at GERD is actually antihistamines like Famotidine (Pepcid), which are type 2 histamine blockers, though I’ve yet to meet a GERD patient whose doctor has explained to them why this antihistamine works to relieve their GERD. The answer is mast cells.

(Note: MCAS is a multi system spectrum disorder that requires multiple factors to be present. Having some mild form of mast cell instability is actually far more common that is actually realized even by the broader medical community, with mast cell dysfunction now being linked to things like fibromyalgia, IBS, endometriosis, etc and I suspect in the next few decades, research is going to pivot drastically to focusing on mast cell treatment as a form of prevention instead of treating these disorders as things with no known cause and only symptom management.

My point of this whole section is to say: if you have GERD, that doesn’t automatically mean you have MCAS. You might have some form of mast cell instability that is causing issues, but so does a significant chunk of the population. It just isn’t discussed or recognized by current medical literature, though that is thankfully changing. Slowly, but the change is there.)

For PMDD there’s unsurprisingly a limited amount of research but the EDS clinic page on it is fairly comprehensive. Basically, hormonal fluctuations linked to the pre-menstrual stage of the menstrual cycle can prime mast cells to overreact, liberating several mast cell inflammatory chemicals but chief among them histamine which has been shown to have an effect on pain perception but also mood stability. There’s very little official studies related to histamine and PMDD, but looking at other studies such as the effect of histamine on major depressive disorder, you can sort of cobble together a bigger picture of how mast cells affect mental health and how hormonal fluctuations may impact this. Among the mast cell syndrome community you’ll sometimes see people talking about ‘masto rage’ or ‘histo rage’ and that’s because excess histamine in the brain can lead to extreme anger that can seem to come out of nowhere.

For me, this primarily happens with my PMDD and it feels like someone dropped a match into a barrel of napalm. My entire brain becomes a fucking mess that has gotten better with mast cell treatment, but not entirely eradicated.

This may be why some individuals who experience PMDD are self reporting relief from taking a histamine blocker like Famotidine during the luteal phase of their cycle.

Again, having these conditions doesn’t mean you have MCAS, but it can be an indication of some mast cell fuckery, especially if you have multiple things going on at once.

It wasn’t until I got diagnosed by my specialist that all these seemingly random unconnected disorders that I struggled with for nearly my entire life made sense because their primary instigation in my body was my untreated mast cell disorder. Everything from the chronic acid reflux that started as a child right down to my interstitial cystitis which started the moment my menstrual cycle kicked in at age 11.

Honestly it’s all been down hill since then.

Anyway, I hope this was useful.

[omgeto]

☆ GIMME, GIMME MORE — GETO SUGURU

summary: you were just a stripper who had no desire to fuck with any customers, but there was just one you couldn’t shake. once he laid his eyes on you, he wanted you. and with every little piece of you he got — he wanted more.

wc: 6.5k (my longest fic ever, lord help me) its a lot of plot with a nice chunk of smut

cw: afab!stripper!reader, angst to fluff, smutty smut, you fuck in his car, you fuck in a private room (i remembered condoms this time) so mdni sassy geto, if you squint.

an: listen to this song to feel the vibe, I love me some geto and I’ve yet to do a fic for him so I hope you enjoy this one.

the entrance to the high-end club exudes an air of opulence, with its glimmering lights and sophisticated clientele. geto suguru strolls in alongside his best friend, gojo satoru, the low hum of the music washing over them. the glances around, a mixture of boredom and detachment etched on his face. this isn't really his scene, but gojo had insisted on a night out.

as they find their way to a table, surrounded by plush seating and an atmosphere of indulgence, geto's attention wanders. the dancers on stage move with practised sensuality, but his gaze remains distant. until, that is, a change in the music's tempo signals a shift in the performance.

the spotlight illuminates the stage, revealing a figure that seems to command the room's attention effortlessly. you move with a fluid grace, your body swaying in time with the sultry rhythm. the way your hips move, the confidence in your eyes, it's as if you own the room. gojo's earlier detachment gives way to fascination he can't deny.

he couldn’t take his eyes off the way you were sliding down the pole, leaning forward in his seat to see more of you. the star shaped nipple covers and the gem encrusted thong you were wearing left nothing to the imagination. but still he couldn’t help but picture it all off of you, leaning forward in his seat to try and get a closer look. 

gojo nudges him playfully. "not bad, right?"

geto’s response is a low, appreciative whistle as his eyes remain locked on the captivating dancer. his heart races as he watches you command the stage, a magnetic presence that draws him in despite his earlier disinterest. he couldn’t help but feel that you were dancing for him, call him cocky but the way your eyes were locked on him as you threw your ass back against the pole — he knew that was just for him. he looked around the room and saw that everyone else was just as captivated by you as he was.

“she’s the best performer here, she doesn’t do private dances, she doesn’t even do a long set,” gojo brags to geto but he’s barely listening, his eyes too focused on you, “this is as much of her as we can get.” 

as the performance reaches its climax, geto’s lips curve into a slow smile. gojo’s grin is knowing. "looks like someone's found their muse." geto’s tears his gaze away just as you exit the stage, his interest piqued.

“you’ve got a request,” your boss announces insistent and smug, cornering you immediately after you exit the stage.

“you know i don't do requests, i come here, i do a 30 minute set and i leave remember?” you retort, stepping to walk straight past him, but he stops you, standing in front of you to block your path.

“this is a request you can’t refuse,” he adds, a smirk forming on his lips. your eyes narrow at his words, already feeling a sense of unease.

“oh i think i can,” your intention is clear as you step forward, intending to brush past him and continue on your way. but he remains unmoved, determined to stand in your path, his stance a physical barrier you can't easily circumvent.

“there’s a special guest tonight, someone who’s willing to pay handsomely for a private performance,” he explains, his tone implying much more than his words reveal.

you pause, folding your arms, sceptical. “how much are we talking about?”

he names a figure that makes your eyebrows shoot up. It’s a significant sum, the kind that could cover your bills for months, or even help you save for a future beyond the club. but still, you hesitate.

“like i said, i don't take request,” you conclude, brushing past your boss.

“i don’t think this particular patron will like that,” he tries to argue, following directly behind you.

“ask me if i care,” with those words, you step forward once more, your purpose clear as you attempt to carry on. but his presence remains a persistent shadow at your side, his attempts to sway you far from over. 

his argument falters momentarily, but he regains his composure quickly, his tone becoming insistent. "this particular patron isn't accustomed to denial. I don't think he'll take kindly to it."

a defiant smirk tugs at your lips, your patience waning as you find yourself driven further by your own principles. "well, here's a thought—perhaps he should learn."

with that final retort, you pivot on your heel, striding purposefully toward the locker room. the temptation of the significant sum and the vague promise of this special patron tug at the edges of your thoughts, but your determination remains resolute.

“if you don’t do it your fired.” he calls out after you, a desperate final attempt to get you to agree.

you knew you were going against your better judgement, but you turn back to face your boss and with a deep sigh you agree, “fine, i’ll do it. but you owe me.”

with simmering frustration bubbling beneath the surface, you push open the door to the private room, your entrance punctuated by the subtle swish of the heavy fabric. the air within was charged, a blend of anticipation and tension, as you found geto suguru lounging on the plush sofa, his presence an unwelcome sight that intensified your irritation.

your words come out abruptly, a firm reminder to both him and yourself, “i don’t fuck clients,” you state, a touch of defensiveness in your tone. you wanted to establish your boundaries, to make it clear you wouldn’t be swayed easily.

he chuckles, catching you off guard, his amusement evident. “thats nice…” he adds, with a hint of playfulness, “i just wanted to talk anyways.”

“to talk?” you question, surprised at his request, as you knew what went on in the private rooms and talking was far from that.

“yeah, just wanna get to know you,” he explains casually, his eyes studying you.

“i don’t do time wasters,” you complain, ready to leave the room, “and i don’t have time to waste.”

“even if im paying for your time?” he bargains, raising his eyebrows, “im sure your boss told you the pretty expensive bill im footing just for your time.”

crossing your arms, you met his gaze with a steady one of your own. “look, mr…?”

“just call me suguru,” he interjected with a smile that held a hint of charm.

“alright, suguru,” you continued, your tone resolute, “i'm not here to entertain idle chit-chat. i’ll dance for you for an hour and thats it. just abide by the club rules, otherwise im out.”

“why don’t you take private requests?” he inquiries, disregarding your comments.

“because i don’t have to,” you respond nonchalantly, “why are you so persistent that you pay for my time. there’s tons of other great strippers in this club.”

“because i want you.” he shrugs.

“well too bad,” you mock, “just because you have money doesn’t mean you can buy everything.”

“everyone’s got a price,” he argues, chuckling softly, a condescending tone underling his words, “ah, but isn't that the way the world works? everything has a price, even principles.”

the audacity of his statement ignited a fire within you, your voice heated with defiance and scorn. “you think im for sale? you think i’d compromise my integrity just for a fat stack of bills? you’re delusional.”

“oh but isn’t your integrity already compromised,” he teases, raising his eyebrows, “is miss, ‘i dont do private dances,’ not in a private dance with me right now?”

“you know wha–” 

“i changed my mind. i don’t want to talk anymore,” there was a shift in his tone, amusement danced in his eyes, “strip for me.”

you were pissed. but you couldn’t actually argue – he was right. he was paying for your time and he could spend it anyway he wanted to. you’d rather have him silently watching you anyways than talking to you. 

the music blared through the speakers in the room, and you immediately straddled geto, you could feel his dick harden underneath you. the only thing separating you two was the thin layer of fabric of your thong. 

you could see him smirk at you, but you ignored him, grinding your hips down on him to the beat of the music. his starts to trail down your sides, but you give him a pointed look reminding him of the rules – no touching. he surrenders his hands placing them besides his head, content in watching you dance on his lap.

you moved off of him, using the pole that was in the room, his eyes stayed fixed on you. you wanted to put on a show for him, so you move your body expressing a mix of sensuality and power, your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge you further, to push your boundaries even more.

the hour was eventually up, and geto didn’t say anything as he left, he just leaves a fat stack of bills on the table, and for some reason you couldn’t bite your tongue, “is that it? you’re just going to leave?”

“well the hours up, no?” he responds, checking his watch, “and, i’ve paid you for your time.” you couldn’t argue with that, so you remain silent watching as he turns his back on you to leave the room.

“suguru,” you call out, getting him to pause, “wait.”

“i thought you didn’t fuck clients,” he smirks, coming up from in between your thighs, “but i am not complaining”

“s-shut up,” you exhale, you’d like to believe that you didn’t expect this to happen, but you knew that was a lie. you didn’t get far out of the club, in fact you didn’t make it out of the parking lot. the back of geto’s car seemed to be perfect with the way he was eating you out. 

the feeling of geto sucking on your clit, had your head empty. his head being pressed between your thighs makes your back arch as you push up against his face. he laps against your folds, drowning in your wetness. 

“‘i don’t do private dances,’” he mocks your previous words, amused with himself, “oh if only you could see yourself now.” he enjoyed you like this, pinned under him, your pussy dripping all over his face, you were a writhing mess; no longer complaining to him about his actions, you were reduced down to moans and incoherent sentences, the only thing he could hear clearly was his name.

“suguru ah s-shit,” you curse, as he presses down on your clit, “do you always talk this much?” you tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding his face closer in your pussy, his nose deep in your arousal. he was practically inhaling you, swirling his tongue deep inside, trying to taste every inch of you.

“‘m close suguru,” you whine, thrust up against his face aiming to reach your peak on your own.

“calm down princess,” he teases, pulling his lips away from your pussy, “didn’t know you were this eager.” he presses his lips down on yours, making you taste yourself as his hand goes behind your neck to hold you in place. “see how sweet you can be?” 

he takes his dick out of his pants, quickly putting on a condom, not even giving you much time to think before he’s slamming into your cunt. your eyes widen as your pussy stretches, and geto can only bite his lip as he feels you clench around him.

“you feel so good, y’know that right” he murmurs, forcing himself into you deeper, “so fuckin’ tight.” 

he was merciless, gripping his hands on your tits, as he pistons out of you. he could only focus on how your cunt tightens around him with every push. you were pushing yourself down on him, fucking him right back. you didn’t care for his praise, you just wanted to cum.

“‘you’re t-too much, i-it’s too much”

“but you’re taking me so well,” he argues, with a grin. peppering kissing against your neck as he fucks you to a hilt. your hands find their way back into his hair, pulling and tugging at it as you moan out his name. 

his dick twitches inside you as you call at his name, you could feel that he was about to cum. his strokes were getting sloppier, and his mouth went from biting to sucking on your neck. you could feel yourself about to climax, clawing at his back, as he continues to hit your spot.

“suguru, i’m about to–”

“cum with me,” he demands, swiftly pulling out of and leaving his cum all over your stomach. you release onto his car seats, your cum spilling out of your pussy, pooling into his car seats.

after coming down off your high, you come to your senses. “this doesn’t change anything.” you remove yourself out of his hold, pushing him off you.

“you really gonna say that after i gave you the best time of your life?” 

"'best time of my life?'" you echo, a smirk tugging at your lips as you gather your belongings, "someone's cocky."

“i'm starting to feel you like me that way,” he teases, his words a playful challenge.

you roll your eyes, not willing to engage in his banter any longer. "goodbye, suguru," you reply, opening his car door. "don't return to the club."

“oi princess,” he calls after you, “you left your thong.”

“keep it.” you wink as you step outside of the car, “think of it as a souvenir.”

“why would i need that, when im going to see you again?” you don't respond, shutting the car door with a smile on your face as part of you hoped that he did return.

geto did see you again, practically every day after that. it became a consistent routine, he’d book a private room for a couple hours, you’d fuck, you’d talk and see each other whenever he wanted. he came when he needed you – and he always needed you.

as a stripper, you’ve always had one rule ‘don’t fuck with clients,’ but the moment that geto suguru laid his eyes on you – you were his. there was something about him that made him different from all the other patrons, although they were all snobby rich guys, the way that geto carried himself made you feel like he was worth breaking your rule. or at least that's what you told yourself. 

you didn’t just fuck each other – sometimes he just wanted to talk to you, to ask you about your day, to get to know you. and you could tell he was starting to catch feelings that you weren’t prepared to deal with. however, despite him being rich, there was something endearing in knowing that he went out of his way, every day, to pay just to see you. even when you were mean and standoffish.

you always spoke for longer than you expected – longer than he even paid for. geto surprised you, he was actually interested in talking with you. as the minutes turned into an hour, the conversations flowed in unexpected directions. you found yourselves sharing stories, discussing interests, and laughing at each other’s jokes. geto’s charming demeanour and genuine interest gradually chipped away at your initial reservations.

“did you always want to be a stripper?” he asks, you had just finished fucking and he still had an hour left of paid time with you, and he was going to use it.

“do you always pillowtalk?” you retort smartly, evading his question.

“who would’ve thought you’d still be this bitchy after being fucked so good,” he jokes, pulling you into his hold that you quickly ease into, “girl just answer the question.”

“i don’t know,” you sigh, “i needed the money, i loved to dance, so being a stripper was a no brainer to me.”

“do you like working here?” 

you shift slightly in his embrace, your fingers idly trace patterns on his chest. "liking it? well, it pays the bills, if that's what you're asking."

his fingers brush against your hair in a soothing gesture. "but is that all? just a means to an end?"

you sigh, a mixture of vulnerability and honesty in your tone. "i mean, it's not like i dreamt of becoming a stripper when I was a kid. but it's a job that's allowed me some financial stability, even if it's temporary."

geto's voice was gentle, his curiosity evident. "temporary for how long?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal. "i don’t know, i haven’t thought that far. i just wanna make money.”

"well, if you ever get tired of dancing, i can always buy the club for you." his response was unexpected, a mixture of humour and absurdity. “i think you’d make a good boss.”

“ha, if you did that i’d know that you’re truly obsessed with me,” you chuckle, his words catching you off guard. “i know you enjoy this place, but that's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"maybe, but you're worth it." he grins, his playful demeanour unwavering. "you're more than what you do here, you know."

a soft, ironic chuckle escapes your lips. "funny, coming from someone who's always here."

his grip on you tightens slightly, his voice holding a trace of seriousness. "perhaps I come here because I want to be around you. not just the dancer."

it was as if his presence had chipped away at the walls you had erected, leaving you exposed to a whirlwind of feelings you hadn't anticipated.his gaze, unwavering and intense, held yours as if searching for a sign—a spark of recognition that you too were experiencing this undeniable pull.

"suguru," you begin, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the distance between you, "this... whatever it is between us, it can't be as simple as you wanting to be around me."

he smiles softly, a gentle curve of his lips that holds both understanding and patience. "you're right, it's not simple. but isn't that what makes it worth exploring?" his words were a delicate melody, an invitation to step beyond the boundaries you had created.

you met his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. the weight of his presence was undeniable, a force that had drawn you in and left you yearning for more. but your insecurities whispered caution, reminding you of the differences that set you apart.

"suguru," you admit, your voice softer now, "i've never let anyone get this close. it's complicated, and I don't even know where this could lead."

“it doesn’t matter where it will leads,” he says, “what matters is that you like me? right?”

his words hung in the air, a direct question that pierced through the layers of uncertainty and vulnerability that surrounded you. the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his question settling like a delicate veil over the intimate space you shared.

your breath caught, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause. the truth, the raw honesty that had eluded you, stood before you—bold and unyielding. you looked into his eyes, his gaze unwavering and patient, as if he was giving you the space to find your own truth within the question.

your voice, soft and tinged with a mixture of trepidation and longing, finally found its way to the surface. "i..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. but in the depth of his gaze, you found a strange sense of comfort, an assurance that you could be honest without judgement.

"maybe," you admit, your voice a whisper that carries the weight of your emotions. "maybe i do like you, suguru." the admission felt like a release, letting go of the barriers you had constructed to protect yourself.

a slow smile curved his lips, a genuine expression that lit up his features. it was as if your honesty had unlocked a door, allowing both of you to step closer to a truth that had been waiting to surface. he replies with deep content, "maybe is a good start," 

the room felt charged with an energy you couldn't quite define, a tension that simmered beneath the surface. your eyes held his, a silent conversation that spoke volumes—an acknowledgement of the unspoken connection that had grown between you.

as you lay there, cocooned in the aftermath of both physical intimacy and heartfelt conversation, an internal struggle brewed within you. your heart was stirred by the sincerity of geto's words, by the connection that seemed to grow stronger with every interaction. yet, amidst the warmth and comfort, a sense of bittersweet uncertainty gnawed at you.

the boundary you had set, the rule you had vowed to uphold, wavered under the weight of emotions you hadn't anticipated. you were drawn to geto, but a tangle of reservations held you back.

in the embrace of the night, you found yourself torn between the allure of a connection you had come to cherish and the lingering fear of what being with him might entail. 

“you’re here early,” you comment, seeing geto in his usual seat. at this point, you were practically excited to see him, happy to go to work knowing that he’d show up.

“i guess i thought i’d change things up a bit,” he mutters his tone of voice off, “we’ve got to make this quick, though” he starts to undo his belt, “i’ve only got an hour till my next meeting.”

“wow no talking today?” you ask amused. geto usually is the one that likes to take his time, he always says he prefers to stimulate your mind before anything else, but today was different.

he gives you a pointed look, not bothering to respond so you continue to say, “an hour?” smirking as you straddle his lap, freeing his dick, “i think that’s more than enough time.” 

“new outfit?” he muses, pulling at the straps of the lingerie you were wearing. you nod, focusing on stroking his dick, “red’s your colour, i like it. but i’d rather see it off you.” suddenly, he rips off your bra and forces you up to take off your panties. you bend down to take off your heels, but he pauses you, “keep those on.”                 

“get my fingers wet for me,” he commands, dragging you back onto his lap. you happily comply, taking in two fingers into your warm, pouty mouth. he caresses your jaw as you greedily nibble on his fingers. 

he pulls them out thoroughly coated with your saliva and shoves them into your pussy. you gasp at the contact, and crumble into his side but he forces your head up with his hand pressing a rough kiss to your lips. 

“w-whats with you today?” you query, as you see the look on geto’s face – something was off with him. although you couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting from his current roughness, you were used to a gentler geto.

“nothing,” he dismisses you, slipping in another finger into your soaking pussy. his thumb rubs against your clit as his fingers easily glide in and out of you. you felt like you cum off of his fingers alone, you grind down hard against his fingers aiding yourself in reaching your climax. but just as you were nearing, he swiftly removes his fingers landing a fat smack against your clit, “i know i said i had to make it quick, but i didn’t think you’d be this excited.”

geto swiftly puts on a condom, raises you up slightly before slamming you down on his dick. he smiles as your legs wrap around his back, pleased by the sound of your heels clacking together. you shudder as he immediately fills you, your pussy stretching, taking all of him. 

he thrusts into you hard, and you try to meet his pace and fuck him back as hard as he was doing to you – but you were no match for him. you were practically a ragdoll as he hammered into you, your arms flinging around his neck to hold yourself up.

“f-fuck,” you moan, clawing at his back, “im gonna cum.”

“hold it,” he demands, continuing to give you strong, relentless strokes. your head falls into his shoulder in submission, you were already gushing all over him, but he keeps going, hard and fast. he lifts up your head, and presses a soft peck against your lips before saying, “cum.”

geto movements turn sloppy as he finishes into the condom. you release all over his dick, shuddering as you feel your peak surge through you. he presses one more kiss to your neck, before you move off of him. 

“are you good?” you finally ask him, as you put back on your outfit, “you seemed a little out of it tonight.”

he shifts on his feet, his restlessness palpable as he watches you. "yeah," he mumbles, looking around the room at everything but you, his fingers fumbling with his belt as if seeking something to anchor himself. "i'm alright."

"you sure?" you persist, a touch of concern pushing you to press further. usually, you wouldn't challenge him this way – because whatever he says goes in the time that he pays for. but the stark contrast to his usual demeanour gnaws at your thoughts. "i just want to make sure that you're okay–"

"didn't I say I was alright," he sneers, a defensive edge entering his tone, "it's like you don't listen or something."

“see, there is definitely something wrong with you,” you snap, screwing your face up at his tone, “since the usual geto that walks up in here knows that he’ll have my heel shoved up his asshole before he can talk to me like that.”

your words hang in the air, the charged tension growing thicker as you each hold your ground. he shifts his weight, his gaze flickering toward you briefly before skittering away. the air seems heavy with unspoken words, a tangible unease settling between you.

"i've actually been wondering how long we're going to be doing this for," he finally says, his voice low, almost as if he's reluctant to voice the thought.

“this?” you question, a confused look appears upon your face as you fold your arms. you knew what he was getting at – you just wanted to hear him say it, “you mean my job.”

his gaze finally lifts to meet yours, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "oh, I didn't know it was your job to fuck the customers here. I thought you were just a stripper… not a prostitute." 

his words hit like a jolt, a rush of emotion flooding your senses as you absorb their implications. your jaw tightens, a surge of frustration warring with a pang of hurt. "don't be condescending."

he chuckles, the sound a mix of amusement and something else you can't quite place. "why not? you seem to be a pro at it."

“fuck you.”

“y’know, i’ve figured a lot about you in these times we’ve spent together – despite the fact that you don’t talk much,” he starts to say, his grin getting wider with every word, “i’ve worked out that you liked to be chased, you like the fact that I was intrigued enough to make you break your dumb ass rule, you like the fact that even after I managed to break down your pussy walls, I still wanna take your rude ass to dinner.”

his words cut deep, the truth laced with a mocking tone. you glare at him, the mixture of attraction and anger churning within you. he was right in a way – you did like the chase, the thrill of his attention. 

"you really have it all figured out, don't you?" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. his observations stung because they hit too close to the mark. but there was a small part of you that reminded yourself that he was just like the rest of the rich assholes that strolled through the club – and he was proving you right in this very moment.

“well suguru, i’ve worked some things about you.” you sneer, “you’re not the first wealthy lame that has walked into this club demanding more from me than a lap dance and some ego stroking–”

“but i’m the first to get it though aren’t i,” he interrupts, his tone teasing, “what does that say about me?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms defensively. "it says that you're just like the rest of them, thinking you're different, thinking you're special."

his gaze narrows, the spark of something more intense gleaming in his eyes. "oh, I never said I was different. but I am special, darling, and you know it.” you huff defiantly, sitting back down on the couch – this was an argument you couldn’t. because although he was cocky, he was right.

geto joins you, his hand coming gripping your thigh to get your attention, “look i don't want to be doing this with you, all i want is to spend time out with you outside these four walls,” he says as you gnaw on your lip, considering it, “it would be nice to see you with some clothes on for a change.”

he holds your gaze, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh as if trying to anchor himself in the midst of the storm of emotions you've stirred. his vulnerability is a stark contrast to the confidence he usually exudes, and it catches you off guard. for a moment, you're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings – his words tugging at something deep within you that you're not quite ready to acknowledge.

but then, you remember the rules you've set for yourself, the boundaries you've fought so hard to maintain. no matter how much he may want to blur those lines, you can't afford to give in.

without giving him a direct answer, you shift slightly, his hand sliding off your thigh as you put some distance between you. your gaze flickers away from him, focusing on some distant point in the room as you compose yourself.

"well, hour's over," you finally say, your tone a touch colder than before. "leave the money where you usually do."

his face falls, the vulnerability replaced by a mixture of disappointment and frustration. he opens his mouth, as if he wants to protest or say something more, but the words seem to die on his lips. the atmosphere between you turns tense once again, the unspoken words and desires hanging heavily in the air. 

you don't meet his gaze as you move to gather your things, your actions brisk and efficient. you've mastered the art of detachment, of creating a barrier between yourself and the clients who come and go, no matter how they may affect you.

as you head toward the exit, your heart beats a little faster, a mix of regret and longing that you refuse to entertain. this is how it has to be – business, no matter how much your heart might argue otherwise.

behind you, you hear him sigh, a sound heavy with frustration and resignation. the door clicks shut behind you, the echo of the room's tension lingering in the silence.

he never returned after that. days turned into weeks, and still, geto's presence remained absent from the club. while you hadn't expected him to return, a small part of you had held onto a glimmer of hope that he might. but the weeks turned into months, and the emptiness left by his absence lingered.

life settled back into its routine – the dimly lit stage, the rhythmic music, you danced, you entertained, you put on a show. yet, there was an ache within you, a void that refused to be filled.

as time went on, you found yourself replaying memories of his presence in your mind – the teasing glint in his eyes, the genuine concern in his voice, the way his smile could light up a room. the connection you had shared, brief as it was, had left an indelible mark on your heart.

you missed the daily banter, the way he would surprise you with his insights, the simple pleasure of knowing he was there. the club felt different now, as if it had lost a part of its vibrancy. the nights were quieter, the laughter more subdued, and the glamour that once surrounded your performances felt somewhat dimmed.

despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the longing that had settled within you. you had a taste of something more with him, a glimpse of a world beyond the club's confines. and now, as you danced under the neon lights, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find that connection again.

the longing in your heart grew with each passing day, a constant reminder of what had been and what might have been. yet, even as you missed him, you were grateful for the moments you had shared – moments that had shown you a different side of life, a side you had almost forgotten was possible.

as you stepped into the club again to start your shift, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach. the club, which was typically alive with the pulsating beat of music and the murmurs of patrons, was eerily quiet. it was as if the very essence of the place had been stripped away, leaving behind an empty void.

confusion crept into your mind as you glanced around, searching for any sign of movement or life. your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, the sound feeling unusually loud against the backdrop of silence. what was going on? had something happened that you weren't aware of?

just as you were about to turn and leave, the sense of unease growing stronger, your eyes land on a figure sitting on the main stage. your heart skipps a beat, a mix of surprise and a rush of emotions flooding over you. it was him – geto. he was here, his presence filling the void that had gripped the club.

he sat there, as if he belonged on that stage, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense as he watches you. the familiar, cocky smirk was ever present on his lips, and despite the confusion that clouds your mind, a warmth spreads through your chest at the sight of him.

as you draw closer, his smirk softens into a genuine smile, a glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. the air was thick with tension, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty hanging between you. your heart races in your chest, the space between you charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

"suguru," you finally breathe his name, your voice a mere whisper in the stillness.

he stands, his movements fluid and confident, as he closes the distance between you. "hey," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that echoed through the empty club.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“let’s just say there’s new management here” 

“you bought the club.” you interrogate, “why?”

“i don’t know, im a guy with a lot of money, so i bought a business.” he shrugs blatantly lying, “that’s what guys like me do…”

"you missed me," you conclude, with a grin.

he nods, "I guess I missed you...or whatever," his facade drops immediately. "it's just after you rejected me, i was pissed. all i wanted to do was to show you that i actually cared about you, for you to give me a chance.”

“and buying the club was the most logical way for you to show me that you care?” you argue. “you didn’t have to do that,” emotions swirled within you – a mixture of surprise, hope, and a spark of something you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in a long time. before you could respond, he took a step closer, his fingers gently brushing against yours. it was a simple touch, but it held a promise, a connection that went beyond words.

"why do you always have to be so difficult?” he questions fiercely, “why can’t you just let me show you that i do care about you?”

the weight of his words hung in the air, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the vulnerability, the sincerity that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. “why do you care?” you retort, almost childishly. you knew that he cared, you knew why he cared – you just had an affinity for making things difficult. 

he rolls his eyes at your hard front “if it was anybody else, he would’ve given up a long time ago. but for some reason you were worth it. “because i see you for more than just the standoffish dancer who doesn’t let anyone get to her, im sure you know this by now.” he pulls you closer to him, into a strong hold. “now will you stop fronting and let me have you – all of you?”

you nod with mock reluctance, practically melting in his arms, “but what about my job? I’m not gonna stop being a stripper just because of you.”

“and i wouldn’t even ask you too,” he says quick with reassurance, “besides i find it hot that everyone gets to see you this way but they just can’t have you like i do.” he starts to work your top off your body, unhooking your bra, exposing your tits, “like just imagine, a crowd full of people watching me fuck the shit out of you — wanting you so badly, but not getting to touch.”

“we can’t do this here,” you gasp out as his fingers start to toy with your hard nipples, pinching and twisting them.

“why not?” he smirks, “you’re the boss aren’t you?”

“me, but i thought you bought the club.”

“you’re the one who said if i bought it you’d know that im truly obsessed with you,” he reasons, his lips pressing a kiss under your ear as he whispers, “do you get the picture now?”

“like I said you really d-didn’t have to do that,” you say, “i was the one that fucked things up here. you didn’t have to buy a whole business for get me to tell you that i like you.”

“oh so you do like me,” he comments sarcastically, “who would’ve thought.”

“shut up,” you grumble, swatting at his chest as he laughs, “i am sorry though. i don’t know why i pulled you into my little game, i knew i liked you a long time ago — but I just couldn't bring myself to admitting it. and I'm sorry for that .”

“it’s fine,” he reassures, “i knew dealing with you would be a challenge — granted i didn’t think it would be this hard — but i knew in the end it would be worth it.” his hands lower down your body, shimmying your pants off of you, “so now you gonna show me how sorry you truly are?”

AN: um so this was A LOT my longest fic ever, please lemme know what you thought since I am SOOOO UNSURE ABOU THIS ONE. thank you to my baessss @kazushawty @satoruhour for beta reading (I owe you two my life) also ur boss was pissed asf to find out that the club he owned was bought and given to you when he was the one that basically got you and geto together in the first place. ill make a part two where gojo comes back to the club to see the pretty little stripper who's got all of his besties attention looool jk

[zahri-melitor]

I think one of the difficulties that people who enjoy characters that have extremely mixed writing and ethics have to face is that not everyone is going to agree with you on what the correct characterisation is. And also that people aren’t out to get you if they want to preference a different read on the character to you, particularly if they’re primarily looking at it from another character’s perspective.

It makes flawed characters interesting, but it also makes discussions revolving around them a minefield.

Some people want to throw out everything but their preferred read on the character (and that may be hugely sympathetic or it may be demonising, depending on their desired storyline).

Some people are going to try and incorporate as much of it as possible into their worldview and find a throughline.

If you do choose to ignore prominent chunks of the story, other people are going to notice, particularly if some of those chunks figure prominently in their view of the character.

It is of course basically impossible to distangle this discussion from “Character X was written in a sexist/racist/classist/homophobic/abusive/stereotypical way and I don’t like that or think that is appropriate”, which so often inevitably is linked to this situation. Because of course is discriminative writing uncomfortable? Frequently! But also if it forms a significant chunk of the character’s story, that’s something people are going to attribute to the character.

People are allowed to place different levels of prominence on behaviours and find some understandable and others unacceptable. And where those lines are is going to change between people. There is no such thing as universal agreement on ethical and moral standards.

One of the things about being a villain is that they will be written doing bad things. Probably don’t get tangled up in liking a character who has been written as a villain if you’re going to get upset when people talk about the villainous things they’ve done.

Writing off characters as irredeemable and who should not be humanised because of something in their stories generally shows a lack of empathy in the person doing the writing off. Generally, the character is all too human, and not being willing to face the fact that they may also be kind to their pets or whatever is a very black and white way to look at the world.  (Characters can be complex! And flawed! And frequently are!)

I will say however, listening to people insist that a character ‘shouldn’t’ be written in a way that they clearly have, on multiple occasions, can be exhausting.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Since you've discussed your favorite parts of ep. 7, I'd like to know your biggest criticisms of it & how you would've addressed them.

[Referencing this post!]

*raises finger* (my lawyer pulls me away)

Here’s how I would change the ending (while still staying within the Disney + mobile gacha game restraints and sticking with the themes + patterns established by other OBs):

Rework all the dreams. Every single last one. I can’t count the number of issues I have with them. Between the inconsistent pacing (4-35 parts per boy), the lack of urgency, extra fat (irrelevant convos), frequent contradictory explanations of the dreams, and the on-the-nose announcements of how each boy has changed, these are horribly inefficient vehicles for storytelling and need to be significantly tightened. Maybe even consider cutting out all of them except Adeuce and the OB boys; make the rest optional or side missions or something.

Between each dorm’s dreams, cut back to Malleus and Lilia so they at least STAY relevant for a book that is supposedly about Diasomnia. Let us know what Malleus’s current state of mind is, have Lilia reflect on what it’s like to see Malleus twisted into… this. Something, anything.

Make the explanation for the dreams consistent. Instead of changing the explanation or slapping on new details every other update, just claim right from the get-go that dreams tend to pull from a dreamer’s wishes/desires but it’s unknown how the dream worlds will actually be interpreted or how they’ll interact with Malleus’s magic since each person is so different. You can still have the dreams with deeper hidden meanings, but avoid overcomplicating the logic governing dreams in the first place.

Have Lilia join up with us in the dream world. Maybe a scene where Ortho or Idia connects the dots on his identity and contacts Lilia using his Muscle Red gaming ID tag in the dream world. Lilia receives his invite that way and joins us for the battle maps + help Silver and Sebek train with their new equipment. You can also potentially use this section to have Silver and Lilia reconcile over Lilia keeping secrets from him.

Like how Sebek had moments with the first years in their dreams, give Silver moments in which he can reflect on his relationship with + thoughts on the Dawn Knight. It feels a little strange to me that we went from emotional breakdown learning about his lineage to… thanking the Dawn Knight for allowing him to meet Likia at the end??? Like it feels like we missed the middle part of that development. We never got to hear his inner thoughts about the ordeal or how he comes to terms with it. For something so heavy, you’d think there would be more screen time dedicated to that??

The sword strikes Malleus, which brings him back to his senses but doesn’t break the horn. (This is just a personal dislike thing; it’s uncomfortable for me because it inevitably reminds me of poor injured animals and that’s not exactly… fun 💦)

Lilia still gets in the way of Malleus and Silver’s final stand-off, but rather than dying, he’s in critical condition and is in very real danger of dying.

Have Malleus willingly sacrifice a significant chunk of his magic (since he has all that excess from the senators blessing him + Malleus even canonically says he’ll give up his wings, his lifespan, etc.) to bring back Lilia from the brink. This would serve multiple purposes: 1) permanently power cap Malleus, 2) show him that his previous actions actually hurt Lilia but he also has the power to do good too (so he’s not filled with complete despair at the end), 3) rids him of the excess power he didn’t ask for, so now he’s more “approachable” to people, 4) doesn’t bring up potential issues with reviving the dead, since this could be categorized as ultra powerful healing magic, and 5) parallels the self-sacrifice Lilia had for him, that Silver had for Lilia, etc.

Honestly, I think Lilia should move away to the Land of Crimson Long to retire instead of regaining his magic and returning to NRC as a student. That way, Malleus isn’t the “special” OB boy that doesn’t have to still deal with the thing he OB’d over. Have it end on a hopeful note though, like have Idia or Lilia showing Malleus how to text (which is now more feasible due to Malleus’s reduced power) so he can always reach out to Lilia at a moment’s notice. This also fits in with the theme of keeping connected.

Alternative scenario to the previous point: have Lilia be taken away to urgent care and/or in a coma for a while. Let Malleus stew with the weight of what he did. Then maybe he + Diasomnia are called in when Lilia’s unstable and this might be good-bye 💦 Idk, at least then Lilia wouldn’t be dead for all of 5 seconds and Malleus would actually have a period where he’s forced to sit and reflect on what he did. Worrying and praying that Lilia will be saved, promising to the stars that he’ll never act out again if they just save Lilia. (You can still have your power of love saves him moment here!)

Following the OB, give a more balanced view of the repercussions of Malleus’s OB. Tell us how other nations are reacting, show us that some people are suspicious of him + need extra help recovering after the fact (in addition to people who love his UM and want to stay in there longer), etc. The current version works overtime to reassure us that there are zero negative (or even dubious) consequences when, logically, there would be at least some. This includes the main cast. Realistically speaking, they’d at least have some reservations or complicated feelings revolving around what happened in their dreams and how they feel seeing Malleus return. Ultimately, they’d welcome him back but some of them would still snark a bit while others are more forgiving (depends on the character; not all of them would react the same way).

We can still have the party + knighting ceremony at the end, but include some kind of magical broadcast or something where Malleus apologizes to all of Twisted Wonderland and lets them know what steps he intends to take to make amends moving forward. In the original, he only apologized to NRC, which I feel doesn’t cover the scope of the lives he could have affected. And if you’re going to have the other OB boys recite their flaws + how pathetic they were wallowing in darkness + how they’ve changed/are better than that now, grant Malleus that same opportunity here. It would also be great if he could go around and acknowledge the important people in his life, including classmates, to show us that he truly recognizes the value in these connections. I do, however, want to caution: the speech shouldn’t sound like Malleus speedran a character arc and is now without flaws. Malleus should also have some lines where he admits he’s imperfect and may falter, and if that’s the case, then he trusts us to admonish him and set him on the right path. This would show us that he’s willing to give up control to others and that he’s being more receptive to criticism.

Add a nod to Raverne at the end??? Like maybe Malleus wonders where his father is and we get some explanation as to why he didn’t show up in the Castle Wildrose memories but his mom did.

I don't think I actually made many changes here; most of the plot points remain, just change the execution and what the focus is on.

[viktoriaashleyyx]

Holly Black really said "If I'm gonna change anything about a fairies nature it's going to be their lack of empathy." And gave us Roiben and Kaye.

Seriously, If you haven't read The Modern Faerie tales you are missing a HUGE chunk of the significance of Roibens relationship with Jude and how important he is as an ally to a mortal queen.

[artbyblastweave]

I know dc has sort of already tried this a few times, but if you were to create an Ultimate Universe (the early 00s one) style interpretation of the DC universe, which characters would you deconstruct (like hulk or hank pym) and which would you reconstruct (like spider-man)?

I'm not sure who, if anyone, I'd take to the woodshed in the way they did Bruce and Hank. But in a more positive direction, I think Ultimate Superman writes itself.

One thing that the Original Ultimate Universe caught basically infinite shit for was that Spider-Man was the only likeable hero out of the entire roster- everyone else was a jingoistic government stooge, a sellout, an ineffective moron, a vindictive moron, or involved in whatever label you want to stick on the clusterfuck that was the Ultimate X-Men. Certain commentators treated this as something that happened by accident- like somehow Spider-Man was the only character to slip through a net- but this was actually a very deliberate thematic and political choice. The early Ultimate Universe in particular was undergirded by a running theme of the ways in which the heroes were compromised and made dirty by having to exist in a world that was remotely politically realistic. Captain America was unexamined in his patriotism in the way that a guy unpaused direct from the end of world war 2 would realistically be; likewise the celebrity and proximity to power of the classic Avengers lineup was characterized as insidious and complicit in the crimes of the Bush Administration even as they embark on flashier superheroic exploits. The Fantastic Four's dimension-trotting adventures were explicitly underwritten by their work building new ways for the Military to kill people in the Middle East (paraphrasing a direct quote.) The X-Men were a hotbed of moral compromise, seediness and occasional bouts of ethically-dubious psychic-assisted ass-covering, with the repeated drumbeat from multiple writers that they were letting their own narrative about being feared and hated overwrite their awareness of how their entire enterprise was a complete circus- itself a metatextual commentary on the out-of-universe observation on the fact that, for all they bloviate about being oppressed, a significant chunk of their lineup consists of cishet white people with supermodel good looks:

As shown here, a consequence of all this is that Spider-Man, despite not changing much in his characterization from Baseline Peter, came out looking like a paragon. His early-career anger and sense of put-upon-ness is significantly more justified in this continuity because the entire world actually is out to get him; he got his powers through gross negligence by a military industrial complex contractor, he spends his time constantly beating the crap out of more of their runoff, and American Intelligence is circling him like a hawk waiting for an opportunity to headhunt him and sicc him on their enemies. Bendis narratively tied this to his youth; he's able to be a hero in the classic mold because the world hasn't dragged him down yet. The forces arrayed against him, of which there are many, haven't found a way to pin him down and make him sell out. Everybody is expecting him to sell out. Kingpin has a whole speech about it; Jameson's hatred of him is expressly tied to the fact that he lives in a world where skepticism of good intentions is generally pretty justified. But Peter remains, fundamentally, an outsider- in a way that feels contrived in mainline Marvel but incredibly well-earned in this context- right up until the forces aligned against him actually do get him killed. Accounting for comic book time, poor bastard only lasted a couple years before the bottom fell out and his lifestyle caught up with him. Only the good die young.

So. Superman. The parallels here are obvious, right? Superman, like Spider-Man, wants to do classic Superhero Shit. He's not overtly political and he isn't ambitious. He wants to go out and save people, he wants to stop people who're trying to hurt people from hurting people. He's the nicest guy in the world and he can eat guns and it's almost impossible to make him do something he thinks is the wrong thing to do. But if you live in a world remotely like ours, having that level of power and using it to go out and help people and save people means that you fall somewhere on the scale between weirdo and enemy of the state, and the bad guys you have to stop from hurting people work for the duly elected government, or they run the economy, and the guns you have to eat belong to the cops and the military as often as they do bank robbers in white striped shirts. Putting a nice guy who wants to do the right thing into a setting with a remotely appropriately cynical outlook on politics is basically an instant deconstruction without you having to do anything extra to the hero himself, it's like throwing a sodium bomb into a bathtub.

This sequence from Batman vs Superman is one of my favorite pieces of superhero media that exists, and any Ultimate-style spin on the character would be extrapolated directly from this. The Snyder take gets some flak for taking itself too seriously, being too dark, yadda yadda yadda, but Superman himself is very pointedly not the site of any of that darkness. Superman is just Superman. He spends this whole sequence doing Classic Superman Shit- no violence whatsoever, just rescues- and the talking heads won't stop picking him apart, looking for the angle, looking for the catch, looking for a lever to get him under control. Tyson trying to make him into some kind of existential harbinger of Man's insignificance in the universe, juxtaposed against a mother in a flood zone crying tears of joy because God didn't send boats or a helicopter but spraypainting Superman's logo on the roof actually paid off. Lex wants him dead in this version mainly because a guy this powerful being this nice makes him insecure.

What really sells this for me is that Clark is visibly aware of, and deeply uncomfortable with, the immense impact he's having on everyone- he's asking all the same questions about the implications of his own existence as the talking heads. He doesn't know either! But there are still people in burning buildings and flood zones. Someone's gotta do something, and he's someone, and he can do anything. And he is, of course, dead by the end of the movie.

[applestorms]

There's something really fundamental to me about the fact that we never actually see Sebastian's True Form as any kind of full humanoid body. Instead, we're cut down to the basics: eyes, teeth, legs, maybe the occasional clawed hand, all floating around in some loose black mist. The animal heads that we see in the memory arc flashbacks are interesting too-- a dog and a raven (or crow?), naturally, but also an octopus, a snake, a fly. Clawing and watching and grinning at all times, predatory and hungry but also, crucially, amalgamate.

This really emphasizes two fundamental aspects of Sebastian and his role in the story to me, those being:

Sebastian is an unquestionably powerful being in the universe of KURO, a point further emphasized by the fact that we can never truly know him-- not his backstory, not his fully body, not the deeper extent of his motivations or feelings or desires.

Sebastian being so undeniably inhuman is core to his relationship with Ciel, and the ways in which he both does and does not reflect/parallel both Ciel's abusers and most beloved family members.

I think you can kind of read the more indistinct aspects of Sebastian's True Form as being a kind of side effect or representation of the ways in which Ciel views him, especially early on. Again, think about the details of Sebastian that we do see at this point: eyes, mouth, shoes, hands. During his time in the cult, Ciel is objectified and sexualized, used to being watched and surveyed at all times. He is, to Sebastian, a meal, something to be preyed upon and eaten-- but also spoken to, lured in, laughed at and ridiculed and complimented. He is a child locked in a cage, trapped near the ground and thus forced to see the world from below, only ever looking up at the people surrounding him, watching their shoes as they walk around him, over him. He is held and moved, puppetted, manipulated in a very literal, physical sense. The Little Red Riding Hood comparison is very apt here, actually-- eyes to see you, hands to hold you, mouth to eat you.

Yet it is also this fundamental inhumanity that kind of makes their dynamic work at all. As this post so wonderfully puts it, Sebastian's human form is an interface, an emulation, one more body to mix up in the amalgamation of Things He Can Be so that he may better serve his new master. He doesn't really have human desires, or at least not straightforwardly. We know that he likes LARPing as a butler full time, that he is prideful and gets off on being praised (see: the circus), but he clearly isn't really attached to the specifics of that in any human way. He isn't prideful of status, or his looks, or anything that could be connected to a typical human life, because this form is just another one of many, something that can and will change in the future, and has in the past.

We know that Sebastian wants one thing: Ciel. But it is the nuances within how exactly this desire manifests itself that forms the axis that a significant chunk of their dynamic revolves around.

A really interesting aspect of KURO to me that I struggle a bit to put into words is the ways in which both Ciel and Sebastian parallel the antagonists of the series and their friends/loved ones simultaneously. I don't think I've ever read or watched a series where the line between who is a "hero" and who is a "villain" is any less clear. This is not to say that the series has no ethical values, or that there aren't Some People clearly doing worse shit than others (Baron Kelvin when I get you), but most of the main characters that we see all have some kind of fucked up or complex dynamic happening between their personal values, their relationships with others, and larger social norms.

Take Grelle in the very first true arc of the series, for example. There's a fascinating parallel that I don't think I've ever really seen anyone talk about between Grelle's immediate murder of Anne the second she fails to live up to her expectations, and the eventual consumption of Ciel at the hands of Sebastian that has been teased since the very beginning. Not only is this moment a fantastic tone-establishing moment for the rest of the series, showing firsthand the brutality that it is willing to commit against even its central characters, it's also one of the first times we get this blurring-of-the-lines moment between protagonist and antagonist. It's an ongoing theme of the series, honestly, particularly with some of the more intense enemies that they go up against-- everybody's a hypocrite, but only one side is going to win. The Circus kids were powerless and pitiful and latched onto the first kind hand that was offered to them, regardless of how they were forced to corrupt their morals in response. Maurice Cole uses and manipulates others, using his prettiness to get what he wants, after being scammed out of a future by being the second to be born. We can only solve this murder if we let these people die.

This is one of the reasons why I view Sebastian and Ciel's relationship as being so fundamentally codependent. There's been a couple posts going around talking about this, but to say it again: Sebastian is everything to Ciel, in a very literal sense. He is the predator and monster lurking in the shadows, he is the doting butler lovingly brewing his tea and picking his clothes and tucking him into bed, he is the dog biting anyone who gets near him, the demon laughing at his pain, the wife picking the best furniture for the lounge. He saved him to kill him. He's got his father's face. They're no different from anybody else, but they can't be without each other either.

Maybe it's enough that they picked each other, and continue to pick one another, doubling down as they grow nearer and nearer to the decimation. Sebastian is grooming Ciel, growing and cultivating him, but in a dynamic under which he has little to no control. Ciel is a victim, a traumatized and abused child, using every scrap of power and knowledge he can get his hands on to order his pet monster who to kill. He never changes his goals, quite literally never grows up, but he gains strength and confidence and loyalty.

They are nothing, and everything. It makes sense, doesn't it?

[alltimefail-sims]

Does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes...

Alongside addressing general wolf-lore, my next "Deep Dive" post will have an entire section on Jacob Volkov, Lou Howell, Rory Oaklow, and Celene López due to the significant role they play in my personal story and lore around Moonwood Mill. The lore I have for them spans a pretty decent chunk of time, ranging roughly from the time Jacob is 13 - younger than we see here - up until they're all in their 40s (which is where I always start my werewolf save), and there's no better way for me to illustrate that than a visual aid!

Note: The top row is Jacob Volkov, second row is Lou Howell, the third row is Rory Oaklow, and the fourth row is Celene López. The first column depicts each of them as teens (a flashback for the older three, but where Jacob is when you start the game), second column they are young adults (a flash into the future for Jacob, but where the game picks up for Lou/Rory/Celene), and the third and final column depicts them as "older" adults.

I've included full body shots of their outfits below the cut for those who are curious. <3

[kpoplustzone]

Moving K drama Smut - Go Youn-jung as Jang Hee Soo - Part 1

Get that scholarship

Part 2 on Ko fi - Link

Hui Soo stood nervously in front of Mr. Kim’s desk, her shoulders slumped with worry. The head teacher, Mr. Kim, whom her friends affectionately called “Sam” behind his back, though Hui Soo would never dare, looked up from his stack of college applications with a concerned expression.

“Hui Soo-ah, please, have a seat,” Mr. Kim said gently, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “You seem troubled.”

Hui Soo sat down, her gaze fixed on her hands, which she nervously twisted in her lap. “Mr. Kim, it’s about college… the application fees, the entrance exams… and then, if I even get accepted, the tuition.” Her voice trembled slightly. “My father… he works so hard at the market, but I know it’s a struggle. He wants me to go to a good university, but I can see the worry in his eyes when he talks about the cost.”

Mr. Kim leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. “I understand, Hui Soo. College expenses are a significant burden for many families. You’re a bright student with excellent grades. Have you considered applying for financial aid or scholarships?”

Hui Soo nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. I’ve spent hours searching online and filling out applications. But the deadlines are so close, and I don’t know if I’ll qualify for enough. I just… I wanted to ask if there’s anything else? Anything the school offers that I might not know about? Or any advice you might have?” Her voice was filled with a desperate hope. “I really want to ease my father’s burden, Mr. Kim. He’s sacrificed so much for me already.”

Hui Soo leaned forward, her posture betraying none of the worry she had initially felt. Her gaze was steady, almost piercing, as she looked at Mr. Kim. Without a hint of nervousness, she reached across the desk and placed her hand firmly on top of his. Her touch wasn’t soft or hesitant; it was a direct, confident move, and she began to stroke the back of his hand with a slow, deliberate motion, her eyes never leaving his.

“Mr. Kim,” she began, her voice low and even, lacking any tremor of pleading. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not worried about the college fees. My old man works his ass off, but this is a big chunk of change. I need to figure out a way to make this happen, and frankly, you’re the only one in this stuffy school who seems like they might have a clue.” Her fingers continued their slow caress, her gaze intense, almost challenging him to react. The boldness of her touch and the directness of her words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the typical demure student. Mr. Kim was indeed taken aback, not just by her words but by the cool confidence in her eyes and the deliberate intimacy of her touch. This wasn't a fragile girl begging; this was someone who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to push for it. The casual stroke of her hand on his, the unwavering intensity of her gaze, it all carried a different kind of weight, a subtle undercurrent that made the usual student-teacher dynamic feel… different.

Mr. Kim, still slightly reeling from Hui Soo’s unexpected boldness, found himself instinctively responding to her touch. His fingers, which had been resting inert on the desk, now subtly shifted, teasingly intertwining with hers. He could feel the softness of her skin against his, the gentle pressure of her strokes sending a surprising warmth through him.

Hui Soo’s lips curved into a slow, sly smile, a knowing look in her eyes that suggested she was fully aware of the effect she was having on him. Her gaze flickered from their entwined hands up to his face, and the confidence she exuded was almost palpable. Mr. Kim, usually so composed and in control in his position of authority, found himself momentarily speechless, his mind racing to catch up with the sudden shift in the dynamic between them.

Her thumb traced the lines on his palm, a deliberate, sensual movement that spoke volumes without a single word. He could see the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath her crisp school uniform, the subtle flush creeping up her neck. It was a level of intimacy that was completely inappropriate for a student-teacher relationship, yet in this moment, in the quiet confines of his office, it felt strangely… compelling.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of his usual professional demeanor, but his voice still held a slight tremor. “Hui Soo-ah… this is… unexpected.”

Her smile widened, a hint of mischief now dancing in her eyes. “Is it… Unwelcome, Mr. Kim?” she asked softly, her fingers continuing their teasing exploration of his hand. The question hung in the air, loaded with unspoken possibilities, and Mr. Kim found himself utterly captivated by the bold advance of this seemingly quiet student. The academic worries that had likely brought her here now seemed secondary to the undeniable sexual tension that had suddenly filled the room.

Mr. Kim’s eyes darted quickly towards the closed door of his office, his mind suddenly hyper-aware of the possibility of being seen. He strained his ears, listening for any sounds from the hallway outside, the usual afternoon bustle of the school seemingly muted. A sense of forbidden excitement, mixed with a healthy dose of panic, began to bubble within him.

Meanwhile, Hui Soo, her sly smile widening with each passing second, used her free hand to slowly, deliberately unbutton the top button of her crisp white school shirt. Her movements were languid, almost theatrical, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flame. The fabric parted slightly, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage, the pale skin just visible above the lacy edge of what looked like a delicate bra. The subtle glimpse of skin was enough to send a jolt of pure lust through Mr. Kim.

Her fingers continued to tease his hand, her thumb now tracing slow circles on his palm, her touch feeling both innocent and incredibly provocative at the same time. Her eyes remained locked on his, a silent challenge in their depths, as if daring him to acknowledge the blatant sexual undercurrent that had suddenly taken over their interaction. Mr. Kim found himself completely captivated, his usual authority and composure dissolving under the weight of her unexpected and brazen advance. His heart began to pound in his chest, and his mouth suddenly felt dry. The air in the small office seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension that was both terrifying and incredibly arousing.

Hui Soo slowly rose from her chair, her movements fluid and deliberate, drawing Mr. Kim’s gaze with her. She walked towards his desk, the short distance seeming to amplify the sudden intimacy between them. As she reached him, she leaned forward, lowering her head just enough to give him a deep, unobstructed view down the open collar of her shirt.

The sight was stunning up close. Mr. Kim could see the delicate lace of her bra framing the tops of her full breasts, the soft swell of her cleavage making his breath catch in his throat. He had always thought of Hui Soo as a diligent, quiet student, never noticing the subtle curves of her body beneath her uniform. Up close, her beauty was undeniable. Her big, dark eyes held his captive, her perfect, youthful face just inches from his. He could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, a sweet, floral aroma that was now mixed with a hint of something more… primal. He couldn't help but notice the toned lines of her body, a subtle firmness that spoke of the long-distance running she was known for.

Slowly, seductively, she reached out a hand, her fingertips gently tracing his lips. Her touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt of pure electricity through Mr. Kim. He found himself holding his breath, his gaze locked on her face, unable to speak or move. Her fingers then trailed down his neck, the delicate slide of her skin against his making him shudder involuntarily. A warmth spread through his chest, a confusing and undeniably arousing sensation. He had never imagined being in this position, so intensely turned on by a student, especially one so young. The realization, while alarming, did little to quell the desire that was now building within him.

Hui Soo shifted on his lap, the pressure of her clothed pussy grinding against his definitely hard cock sending a jolt of pure sensation through Mr. Kim’s trousers. He could feel the heat radiating from her, even through the layers of their uniforms. Her thighs squeezed his, effectively trapping him in her bold embrace.

Her voice, now a low, husky purr, dropped even further as she leaned in close, her lips just inches from his ear. “Mr. Kim,” she whispered, her breath tickling his earlobe and sending shivers down his spine. “That recommendation… it would mean everything to me. My father…” she paused, letting the words hang in the air before continuing, “Well, let’s just say I’m a very grateful girl. And I’m willing to show my gratitude… for all two years of senior high. Whenever you want. Wherever you want.”

Her hips made a subtle, suggestive grind against his lap, the pressure of her wetness through her panties unmistakable. Mr. Kim’s hands, which had been hovering nervously, now instinctively gripped her waist, partly to steady himself, partly to pull her closer.

“You understand what you’re suggesting, Hui Soo-ah?” he managed to say, his voice a low, strained whisper. He was acutely aware of the inappropriateness of the situation, the blatant violation of his professional boundaries. Yet, the feel of her hot pussy pressed against his throbbing cock, her brazen offer, was undeniably arousing.

Her smile turned even more sly, a predatory glint in her big, dark eyes. “Oh, I understand perfectly, Mr. Kim,” she breathed, her fingers now playing with the collar of his shirt, her touch sending little jolts of electricity through him. “You help me, and I help you. Seems like a fair trade to me. And trust me, Mr. Kim… I can be very, very… grateful.” Her hips gave another deliberate wiggle, and Mr. Kim felt his cock surge even harder against the confines of his pants. He swallowed hard, his internal conflict raging. The temptation was almost unbearable.

Hui Soo pressed her lips against Mr. Kim’s, her initial attempt clumsy and uncertain, a clear indication of her inexperience. Mr. Kim remained stiff at first, his mind still battling between his professional obligations and the undeniable arousal that was building within him. But then, Hui Soo’s hips began to grind against his cock with a slow, deliberate rhythm, the pressure of her hot, wet pussy through her uniform pants against his hardening erection a potent weapon against his willpower.

With each subtle rotation of her hips, each deliberate press, Mr. Kim’s resolve began to weaken. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the insistent pressure against his crotch, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, escaping his lips almost involuntarily. The sound seemed to embolden Hui Soo. Her kiss deepened, her lips parting slightly as she tentatively licked his, mimicking the movements she was making with her hips. It was still awkward, a far cry from a practiced lover, but her raw desire and her boldness in initiating the act were incredibly arousing. Mr. Kim found himself unable to resist any longer. He tentatively parted his lips, returning her kiss with a hesitant pressure. The moment his mouth met hers more fully, Hui Soo let out a soft, muffled moan against his lips, a sound that vibrated through his body and sealed his surrender to the forbidden pleasure.

Her tongue traced a wet, warm path down Mr. Kim’s throat, lingering at his Adam’s apple with a playful nibble that made him involuntarily jerk. He could feel her hot breath against his skin, the contrast with the cool air of the office sending another shiver down his spine. Her gaze dropped lower, following the line of her tongue as it disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

Then, with a deliberate slowness that only amplified the anticipation, she knelt before him, her eyes locking with his with an expression that was a potent mix of boldness and raw desire. It was clear what she expected, what she was craving. Her fair, slender hands reached for his belt buckle, her fingers fumbling slightly with the leather strap before finally undoing it with a soft click.

She then moved to the zipper of his trousers, her touch feather-light yet sending a jolt of pure electricity through his groin. As the zipper slid down, revealing the outline of his thick, hard cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, a soft gasp escaped her lips. She ran her hands along the length of his shaft through the thin cotton, her touch both reverent and possessive. Mr. Kim watched her, his breath caught in his throat, a mix of shock and intense arousal swirling within him. He glanced towards the door again, his ears straining to catch any sounds above the pounding of his own heart. The muffled voices and occasional laughter of students in the hallway served as a stark reminder of where they were and the precariousness of their situation.

Hui Soo’s gaze lifted from his bulging briefs to meet his eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips. Slowly, she leaned forward, bringing her mouth tantalizingly close to the fabric that contained his erection. He could feel her warm breath through the cotton, and then her lips pressed against him, soft and insistent. She began to suck gently through the fabric, her tongue swirling and licking over the prominent bulge, making his briefs instantly damp with her saliva.

“Mmm, you feel so hard, Mr. Kim,” she murmured against his cock, her voice husky and thick with desire. “I bet you’ve been wanting this for a long time.” Her hands continued to caress him through the wet fabric, exploring the length and girth of his erection with a newfound confidence.

Kneeling before him, her short skirt had ridden high up her thighs, revealing the supple expanse of her fair skin, a stark contrast to the dark fabric of her skirt. Her dark hair spilled out onto his lap, framing her beautiful face as she lavished attention on his clothed cock. The sight was incredibly erotic, the juxtaposition of the innocent school uniform with her overtly sexual actions sending Mr. Kim’s arousal soaring to new heights. He gripped the edge of his desk tightly, trying to maintain some semblance of control as Hui Soo continued her sensual assault.

As Mr. Kim’s cock grew even harder, the tip, glistening with his own precum, finally pushed past the stretched fabric of his briefs, making its grand appearance. Hui Soo didn’t hesitate. With a low growl in her throat, she licked the exposed head, her tongue wrapping around it with a practiced ease that belied her earlier inexperience with kissing.

Then, she returned to the task at hand, her mouth работая his entire shaft through the now thoroughly soaked cotton of his briefs. She sucked and licked with a fervent intensity, her hands still caressing him through the wet fabric, exploring every vein and contour. But it was the direct contact with the tip that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through Mr. Kim. Her tongue flicked and swirled around the sensitive head, paying particular attention to the frenulum, the thin strip of skin beneath.

He could taste her saliva mixing with his own precum, a heady, intoxicating flavor that only amplified his already raging desire. His hands clenched onto the edge of the desk, his body tensing with each flick of her tongue. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pressure building in his groin with every wet, insistent stroke of her mouth.

Hui Soo seemed to sense his growing arousal. She increased the intensity of her suction, taking more and more of his shaft into her mouth through the wet briefs, while simultaneously lavishing attention on the exposed tip. She flicked her tongue up and down the ridge, tasting him completely, making him moan aloud, his carefully constructed composure finally starting to crumble. The risk of being caught, the forbidden nature of their encounter, and the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of what Hui Soo was doing to him were creating a perfect storm of arousal.

With a final, satisfied sigh, Hui Soo slowly pulled her mouth away from Mr. Kim’s throbbing cock, the glistening head now slick with her saliva and his copious amount of cum. She licked her lips, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she swallowed the last thick drops. Then, with a newfound confidence, she stood up, her gaze still locked on his.

Deliberately, she reached behind her neck and unbuttoned her uniform shirt. The fabric fell open, revealing the lacy cups of her bra. Her eyes met Mr. Kim’s, a playful challenge in their depths. With another slow, teasing movement, she unhooked her bra, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. She stood before him, her bare breasts full and perky, the nipples still hard from the earlier action. Her uniform skirt remained the only garment she wore.

“Now,” she said, her voice cool and composed, that earlier nervousness completely gone, “about that scholarship, Mr. Kim. I believe we have a lot more to discuss.” Her smile widened, a knowing look in her eyes that made it clear this was far from over. The power dynamic in the room had shifted, and Mr. Kim, still slightly dazed from his release, was acutely aware of it. The afternoon had taken a turn he never could have predicted, and the promise in Hui Soo’s eyes suggested it was only just beginning.