#Clear and Concise Instructions

[theshadowrealmitself]

What am I actually supposed to say in office hours? I’m failing this one class and the only way I’m passing (with a C) is if I somehow get 100% on the next two quizzes and then an 80% minimum on the final, and everyone keeps telling me to go to the professor’s office hours

Which I’m down with doing since I really really don’t wanna fail but…what am I supposed to do in those hours? Cry?

I mean, I’ve gone to other people’s office hours, but it was always with a clear request like “can you clarify this assignment’s instructions” or “can you please tell me why I got this grade?”

[large-penises-sporting-goods]

In positive news, I got my third customer service pin at work today!

My store's company has a customer service telephone hotline and website feedback form, which isn't just for complaints-- customers can give positive comments about specific employees as well! These comments are sent to the manager of whatever store is specified in the review, and each employee has a file that their compliments go into.

When my boss is feeling fancy, he'll print them for the employee to keep for their own records or whatever (though in theory an employee could ask for a copy of what's been filed. I think. Nobody really explains this.)

I'm not sure if every compliment awards a pin, or just certain ones, but for months the store was out of pins so nobody was getting any. The pins just got restocked, and I got one today!

I have a fabric flower on my lanyard (a cartoony one with a smiley face), and my goal is to fill all five petals with pins. Now I'm more than halfway there!

[de-fanzine-cpr-pale]

just a reminder!

I WILL ONLY ACCEPT SUBMISSIONS FROM THE FORMS LINKED IN MY PINNED.

Please read the instructions for submissions HERE.

For submitting ART go >HERE<.

For submitting WRITING go >HERE<.

READ EVERYTHING! Thank you!!!!!!

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[tizeline]

Family Secrets: Part 3

<- Previous I Next ->

I rewatched the season 2 finale to see how Karai explains what Ninpo is and how it works, and the instructions were pretty vague, so vague instructions it is! We know that it's a manifisation of the Hamatos connection to each other and all that, but Donnie is definitely the type of guy that needs a clear and concise step-by-step tutorial, not non-specific guidence about being in tune with your emotions lmao wish him luck guys

[freaktoru]

ONLY GOOD GIRLS GET GOOD GRADES!

✰ pairing: professor!sylus x fem!reader ✰ summary: desperate to raise your failing grade, you meet professor sylus in his office where he gives you feedback that looks a little different from what you expected. wc; 4.9k (im so sorry) ✰ warnings: use of pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, slight dom/sub dynamics, power play, pussy slapping (once), minor cum play, some thigh riding, size kink bcz sylus is huge, tummy bulge, choking, kinda pet play, sylus might be abit ooc (sorry i tired), 18+ MDNI ✰ note: first time writing for sylus, i hope i did him justice. guys those slutty fucking glasses get me everytime. likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

You exhale a shaky breath, looking down at your paper through blurry eyes. Thick, wet tears prick at the corners, threatening to fall onto the big, mocking red ink that displays your grade. A fucking fail. 

Having been a straight A student throughout university—and really, for as long as you could remember—you couldn’t wrap your head around how things had spiraled to this point. Any grade below an A had always been unthinkable for you. But now, for the first time in your life, you were actually failing a class.

You thought that you might actually be losing it— that all the non-stop studying you’ve been doing must be finally getting to you. All those all-nighters and sleep deprived study days, all the long readings and writing until you can’t feel your hand— you might have finally achieved what they call ‘burnout’. 

No, that just couldn’t be right. Every other prof handed you A’s without a fight, but professor Sylus? The bastard had you fighting a war you were never meant to win—just to leave you with failing grades and nothing to show for it.

Though despite his harsh grading style, he was a good professor—there was no doubt about that. Always so clear and concise with his assignment instructions, answering every single question he was asked during lecture, and always providing his students with the most thorough and meticulous feedback. Yes, he sure was a good and generous professor—to everyone but you.

If it weren’t for your disappointing grades, one might say you were actually his best student. Sitting in the very first row of his class, listening so attentively to every word he spoke with that deep, soothing voice of his, and always wearing a cute lil’ skirt, paired with thigh high socks. Perfect student? Your grades might suggest otherwise but at least you managed to look the part.  

Professor Sylus however, didn’t see you that way. Sure, you always had interesting points to add to his lecture and great questions to ask him, but god, he couldn’t lie to himself— your too good, eager to learn attitude fucking pissed him off. Always raising your hand with that stupid excitement every time he asked a question, never forgetting to thank him after class like the good student you were, and looking like a little fucking whore — jesus, it drove him nuts.

And that’s exactly why he failed you— you were just too good. His gaze lingered on you anytime he returned a grade to you, watching your brows furrow and your face twist with confusion through his piercing red eyes. He didn’t mean to look—but fuck, he always did. Your frustration simply amused him. 

This little game of his might be wrong— some might even call it unethical, but he couldn’t help it. Some fucked up part of him wanted to see just how far a perfect student like you would go for a passing grade—what kind of unspeakable lines you’d cross to get what you wanted.  

You clutched the paper in your hand, crumpling it up, as the hours of painstaking writing—to meet his absurd instructions and demands— became absolutely meaningless. Looking up, you found him leaning with his arms crossed on the wooden lectern, looking at you through watchful eyes— lips pulled into an amused, lazy smirk. Fucking bastard. 

The class was finally over and people were slowly pouring out of the room, everyone leaving with graded papers in hand. Throwing your own, now, crumpled paper in your bag, you stood up, walking up to the front of the class. Sylus looked like he’d been waiting ages for this moment. 

“Sir, do you mind if I speak to you about my grade?” you ask, trying to keep your erratic emotions under control. You were fuming. Without a doubt, you deserved an A for that paper. But what really got to you was how effortlessly confident he looked, fully knowing he was failing you. 

“What, not happy with your grade?” he drawled slowly, his tall frame towering over you, studying you intently through his thin, frameless glasses. 

“To be honest sir, not at all. I was just wondering if you could give me some feedback” you replied, eyes fixed on your hands, nervously twiddling your thumbs, too afraid to meet his burning gaze. 

“I'll be at the university charity event until later this evening, you can come by my office afterwards. Room 305” he said flatly, his eyes wandering over your body, scanning over your ridiculously slutty outfit. Looking up at him, you nodded, giving him a quick “thank you” before leaving the room. His self-assured demeanor had a way of making your confidence flawlessly melt away. It disgusted you.

The rest of your day was spent in nervous anticipation, drifting in and out of focus during every class. You spent too much time in your head, thinking and crafting the perfect things to say to your professor—desperately hoping that he would be reasonable enough to raise your grade.

Hours later, with the sun sinking low in the sky and your head weighed down by the stress of your day, you finally found yourself planted in front of the dark brown wood door that was labelled as room 305. Nervous sweat beaded at your forehead as you stood there, arms glued at your sides, fingernails digging into your palms. This was fucking nerve wracking. You lifted a trembling knuckle to the door, lightly knocking before hearing a faint “Come in.”

Walking into the office, you saw your professor sitting behind his desk, wearing just a half buttoned dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves— holding that same, mocking red pen between his fingers. 

“Sit” was all he said without looking up from his page, pointing to the red leather armchair that stood in front of his desk. Red eyes, red leather chair and ridiculous red ink. Sitting down, you pressed your thighs together, placing your hands nervously in your lap. Your stomach felt like it was running laps—fluttering and twisting from the anxiety.

His office was pristine and expensive, just like him—decorated throughout with rich red, gold, and black accents. Not a speck of dust could be found in sight—the only semblance of a mess being visible on his dark, wooden desk. Books and stacks of papers to grade were scattered across it, with a pack of those awful red pens on top—almost like they were placed there just to mock you.

“You wanted to see me?” he questioned, scribbling comments on the paper he was currently grading—clearly too occupied to meet your eyes. You shifted nervously in your seat, reaching down to retrieve your crumpled paper from your bag. 

“Y-Yes, I was wondering what I could have done differently on my essay” you replied, noting how silly and small his pen looked in contrast to his big, slender hands. Sighing, he put it down, his red eyes finally shifting to meet your own. A warm rush made its way up your cheeks, turning them a light shade of pink. With a long finger, he adjusted his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, then folded his arms across his broad chest.

Finally, your professor spoke up. “Fix your spelling” was all he said, leaning back in his chair, not sparing your paper a second glance. Your eyes widened. That was it? All he had to say was to fix your spelling?

“But sir, I don’t think I had any spelling mistakes, I read my paper over at least ten times before handing it in,” you countered. You weren’t one to argue about your grades—it wasn’t in your nature, but fuck, was this starting to piss you off. 

“Fix your punctuation then” he said lazily, clearly putting little to no effort into the feedback he was giving you. What could he say to such a perfect student like yourself? There was nothing he could have asked you to improve. 

“I also looked over that before submitting my paper” you protested, growing angry with his lazy attitude. This is not how you expected this to go. 

“Then fix whatever else needs to be fixed” he stated plainly, still leaned back in his chair, watching the growing anger spread across your face with a calm, measured gaze.

“I don't understand” you huffed hopelessly. He was impossible. But fine, if he wanted to play this stupid game, you would play.

He hummed lightly, a playful smile pulling at his lips. Sylus was enjoying this—maybe a little too much. Standing up, he walked from behind his desk to the right side of the room, towards the big wall of bookshelves. Your eyes carefully followed him, watching his slender fingers trail slowly over the books.

“I’m sorry sir, I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I’m frustrated because no matter what I do, my work never seems to please you” you admitted quietly, lowering your eyes back down to your fidgeting hands—a nervous habit of yours—that no matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to break. 

Sylus chuckled a deep laugh. “Please me? Your work is always a pleasure to read.” he replies smoothly, his surprising compliment sending an unusual warm sliver of hope mixed with pleasure down your spine.

Sylus was testing you—playing with you. He’d become too invested in this little game of his and now he finally had you pinned down right where he wanted you—at his mercy.

“Then what can I do to get a better grade in your class?” you ask, muttering the question quietly. For the second time just today, tears were threatening to escape your eyes. 

Gaze still locked on your nervous hands, you didn’t actually notice him walk across the room. Flinching slightly, you felt him place his hands on either side of the leather armchair behind you, bringing his lips close to your ear—his warm breath sending goosebumps racing over your trembling skin. Frozen in place, you anxiously awaited his next move.

“Don’t you get it? Only good girls get good grades.” you felt his soft whisper hit the shell of your ear. This was so wrong, he was too close to you—closer than a professor should ever get to his student. But if this was so wrong, why were your thighs pressed against each other, desperately trying to suppress your warm arousal from settling in your panties? 

Speechless, you were unsure of what to say. His tone hovered just on the edge of seduction, and you felt his gaze on you—sharp and deliberate, as if he were studying you. Sylus was lingering on the brink of sweet and forbidden temptation, waiting to see if you’d step in with him. 

He moved his head to the other side of yours, his warm, steady breath now tickling your other ear. 

“Awww, has the kitten lost her claws?” he said, his taunt a mere whisper, ghosting over your skin. That you had. Your anger had begun to dissipate, slowly being overridden by an unfamiliar feeling of arousal. Every shift in his movements, every word he spoke, blurred the line between right and wrong a little more.

“S-Sir” was all you managed to utter. He was hovering over you, gently running his finger tips up and down the length of the arm chair. Your own hands were clutching onto the hem of your skirt, fidgeting nervously with the fabric. 

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he asked mockingly, raising an amused eyebrow at your stunned, silent state. 

You were heavily debating the ethical implications of your current situation. On one hand, you were a fair student—one who’d never go as far as fuck her professor for a better grade. On the other hand, it couldn’t be a coincidence that you only dressed the way you did for professor Sylus’s class, only answered his questions with that stupid excitement, and only ever went as far as you currently found yourself—just for him. Fuck, this was already bordering on morally wrong, but you couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling you felt low in your core— the slick coating your panties. There was truly no denying the fact that you craved your disgustingly attractive professor's attention and praise. 

Dropping your head down lower, you managed to mutter out the most pathetic question you’d probably ever asked, “Am I not good enough sir?” 

Letting out a quiet laugh, he walked in front of where you were sitting, easily pushing your pressed thighs apart with just his leg. Warm fingers met with your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. Sylus was nearly twice your size and absurdly tall, forcing you to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

“You’re arguably my best student”

“Sir, I—”

“But what kind of good student dresses like a little whore? What kind of good student comes begging her professor for better grades? Hm?” he cuts you off, lightly tugging on your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You try to stop your restless trembling, try to stop the arousal from running through your body—but it's no use, those red, hungry eyes can see right through you—can see how worked up he has you. 

“Open up, kitten” he taps your chin and your mouth falls open, lips parting for him without question. Sylus has finally crossed that deliciously dangerous line—and you crossed it right with him. 

He pushes his thumb into your mouth, smiling as you eagerly wrap your wet lips around it, playfully swirling it with your tongue. He chuckles at the drastic switch up in your attitude—going from angry to obedient within minutes. 

Placing his other hand on the chair beside your head, he removes his finger from your mouth with a little ‘pop’. Sylus puts a knee on the chair between your legs, and brushes his fingertips down your skin, letting them travel to your thigh. His eyes are locked on yours, not wanting to miss a single flicker of emotion that crosses them.

You gasp at the feeling of his fingers meeting your inner thigh, gently squeezing and playing with its soft skin.

“Tell me something sweetie. Do you dress like this for every professor?” his voice a low, sultry whisper. Another wave of arousal courses through you, now passing through your soaked panties and settling in the armchair. Oops. 

“N-No sir” you reply breathlessly, too busy relishing in his warm, electric touch. Sylus moves his hand further under your ridiculously short skirt, long fingers meeting with your lacy, drenched panties. 

“Oh? She’s wet.” he purrs his surprise in your ear, and you think you might cum right then and there. His voice is so hot it’s fucking dangerous. You’d already crossed a line you swore you never would—but you hadn’t expected to get addicted so soon.

Your panties are pushed aside and two long fingers find their way into your dripping pussy. “Fuck” you moan at the intrusion, hand grabbing onto his strong arm that rests on the chair beside your head. 

“Such filthy words, kitten” he clicks his tongue mockingly, gently using two fingers to push every smart, coherent thought out of your brain.

“Sorry s-sir” you mutter the apology, ready to do anything to please him—anything to get that A. 

You whimper at a third finger being added into your tight cunt, your whole body already feeling overstimulated from all the attention. Sylus lets out a degrading laugh, enjoying watching you squirm from his fingers. So worked up already, how were you going to take his cock? 

“Too much already?” he lowers his lips to yours, mumbling the mocking taunt against them. You whine, pathetically rutting your hips up against his hand. You’re desperate for it—desperate for his touch. You had spent so many classes dreaming about this moment, fantasizing about what it would be like—now that you finally had it, you didn’t want to let go.

Sylus is thoroughly enjoying this—watching your chest heavily rise and fall with every shallow breath, struggling to keep your eyes open and fighting against the pleasure—it was the only thing he ever wanted to see.

The pleasure pulses through your body as you feel your climax quickly approaching. Throwing your head back on the chair, you let out pleasurable mewls and moans as Sylus’s fingers speed up their pace inside you. You finally meet your blissful end when his thumb lands softly on your clit, rubbing and playing with it. The fucker knew all too well what he was doing— dangling your orgasm on the edge like that. 

“Mmh—ah, fuck” you breathe out the moan, feeling the string of pleasure in your core finally snap. You arch your back off the chair, pulsing as you release your warm cum all over his fingers.

“That’s a good kitty” he pulls his fingers out, and you yelp when he lands a harsh slap on your swollen pussy. Amusement flickers in his eyes—did you really think he’d hand it all over to you without a fight? Stupid kitten.

Lifting his wet fingers to your neck, you feel him wiping them against the stretch of it, spreading your cum all over your bare skin. 

Your head tilts easily to the side with two of his fingers, allowing him better access to the exposed, glistening skin of your neck. He begins licking your cum off of it, dragging his tongue up and down—quickly pushing you right back into a state of arousal. It’s just too much. His mouth reaches the base of your neck, grazing his teeth over it before unexpectedly biting down, making you cry out.  

“Sir ah—”

A hand quickly clasps over your mouth, shutting you up. Sylus releases your pulsing skin from his sharp teeth, lightly nuzzling his face in your neck before moving his lips back to your ear.

“Shhh kitten, wouldn’t want anyone hearing your feedback would you?” he whispers, finishing off with a little nibble on your earlobe. 

That’s right. If someone heard you, you would likely be expelled and Professor Sylus would be fired—never to see a classroom again. But somehow the thrill of getting caught made it all the more exciting for you.

“N-No sir” you answer, keeping your voice quiet and small. 

Without another word, Sylus grabs your waist, scooping you up into his arms. Your breath hitches from the sudden motion as he switches your positions on his chair, sitting himself down in your place, and placing you in his lap. He’s so fucking big, your legs can’t quite straddle both of his—so you adjust, sliding onto one thick thigh instead.

Sylus groans at your shift, feeling his hard erection poking through his tight pants. You look down, devilishly smiling at it, suddenly sensing a flicker of control return to you. Looks like you’re not the only one who’s all worked up.

“Professor, is this the kind of feedback you give all your students?” you ask teasingly, purposely dragging out every word in the sentence.

His eyes darken, and you can almost feel his gaze burning right through you. “Just you” he replies rather possessively, tightening his grip on your waist. You make a mental note of this minor crack in his composure. Interesting.

Bringing your face closer to his, your lips hover over his—realizing you hadn’t even kissed him yet. Sylus had made you cum before even kissing you.

A big hand travels to the nape of your neck, pulling you down closer to him. Your lips crash onto his—the two of you quickly entering a fight for control. Naturally, Sylus wins, kissing you ravenously and passionately, claiming every inch of your mouth as his. 

“You know sweetie, my job is in your hands” he pulls away momentarily, muttering the almost pleading words against your lips. Another fracture in that carefully built composure—he was finally grasping the gravity of the situation.

You press your forehead to his, closing in the space between you. “And my degree is in yours” you whisper before pressing your desperate lips back on his—mind too clouded with lust to discuss what stupid things the pair of you had done.

Desperate for his touch again, you start rubbing yourself on his thigh, urgently grinding—hips begging for more. Letting your hand travel to his bulge, you feel Sylus tense briefly, before melting into your touch, allowing you to paw at him like a kitten as much as you pleased. 

Sylus never expected himself to go down this road—his favorite student grinding desperately on his lap, palming his cock and begging for his attention—it was ridiculous. By no means does Sylus consider himself a saint, but this certainly was a new step in his constant battle with morality. Now he had truly fucked up. 

Long fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, letting him pull it over your head, leaving you in just your cute pink lacy bra. He easily unclasps it with one hand, exposing your bare chest to him. He groans at the sight of your hardening nipples, his eyes displaying quite possibly the hungriest expression you’d ever seen. 

Fingers meet with your nipples, and he pinches, letting a painful whimper escape your lips. His hands begin squishing them softly, soothing the tingling pain. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. With his composure slowly crumbling, and you getting hotter and more worked up by the minute—he just couldn’t do it. 

“Fuck” he grunts, waiting no longer to pick you up and lay you down on the desk. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching Sylus quickly push off all the papers and pens around you, creating as much room as he needs to do whatever he desires with you. 

You swore you felt the air around you change—suddenly becoming overbearingly hot and thick with lust. Sylus had a raw, animalistic energy about him—an insatiable hunger that he desperately needed to fix. 

He bunches your skirt up around your waist, pushing your panties aside with just his thumb. “Fuck, kitten you’re already fucking wet again” he growls, fisting his thick length through his pants. You moan, letting yourself surrender to the pleasure of his fingers yet again—surprised when it doesn't feel the same. Clearly, your desperate need has grown. Your pussy is soaked and swollen, begging for a much bigger form of attention. 

As if reading your mind, he unbuttons his pants, letting his thick, hard, cock pop out before you. You audibly gasp at the sight, admiring his full length—practically drooling at the thought of all that being inside of you. He’s fucking huge.

“I-Is that going to fit?” you stutter stupidly, eyes glued on the sight of his cock. 

“You’ll be a good girl and take it all won’t you?” he replies in a low, husky voice, looking at you through half-lidded, lust filled eyes. Your wide-eyed expression amuses him more than it should—and he can’t help but admire it.

“I-I’ll try my best” you reply, nervous, yet so desperately eager to please.

He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to where he stands at the edge of the desk. Sylus lowers his mouth to your panties, biting down on them and slowly pulling them off using just his teeth. You shudder a little, feeling another flush of need ripple through your body. 

He studies you intently, admiring every curve and inch of your exposed skin. Your cheeks flush, trying to close your legs out of embarrassment. 

He doesn’t let you though, instead, he lifts your legs, placing one on each of his shoulders—essentially rendering you helpless under his touch. His cock head prods at your entrance— thick and leaking with precum. 

“Ready, kitten?” he adds in a thick voice, leaning down closer to you, almost folding you in half. You nod quickly— practically reeling with impatience. 

A long whine escapes your lips as he pushes just the tip in, pulse hammering as you struggle to handle the stretch. You bite down hard on your lip, feeling a metallic taste fill your mouth. There was no way it was going all in. No fucking way. But it would. Sylus would make it fit. 

“So tight kitten, I’ve only put the tip in and you’re struggling already?” he asks in between ragged breaths, slowly pushing his cock further in. 

“Sylus—sir p-please wait” you rasp out, overwhelmed by the stretch. He’s not even halfway in and tears are already beading at the corners of your rolled back eyes—and you couldn’t help feeling like you were being split in half. 

“I didn’t know we were on a first name basis now, kitten. I have to say, I enjoy hearing my name on your lips” he drawls, wrapping a hand around your neck, squeezing it lightly. 

“I-I’m sorry” comes out as a pathetic, breathy stutter as you ball your fists, desperately clutching on to the air around you. You’ve never felt so stretched out before, so blissfully full. 

He slowly pushes the rest of his thick cock in, coating it in your slick. Your back arches off the desk and you moan, finally letting those tears escape your blurry eyes. You can’t form a single coherent sentence or thought anymore—he’s pushed that ability out of you entirely with his cock. 

“Crying already?” he mocks, wiping a tear with his thumb. He’s so mean, mocking and teasing your every expression, fully aware of what he’s doing to you. Being at your professors mercy like this—it’s actually humiliating, but also so fucking arousing.

“Please d-don’t move” you inhale sharply, trying your best to adjust to both his length and his width. He removes his other hand from the desk, pushing down on your stomach, admiring the bulge visible through your skin. He has you filled so nicely, the curve of him pushing up beneath your skin, marking you from both inside and out.

Your pathetic please falls on deaf ears, and he starts slowly moving his hips in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot with the head of his cock over and over again. You choke out a sob between moans, barely keeping your eyes open. 

“Eyes on me, kitten” his voice pulls you out of your trance. Your eyelids feel so heavy but you obey, noticing how every thrust makes his glasses slide a little further down the bridge of nose. The sight was erotic. 

His pace was absolutely agonizing. The sheer stretch of him, paired with everything else, left you impossibly overstimulated— moaning and whimpering around his cock. The room was filled with lewd sounds, echoing and bouncing off the walls, every moan and groan reminding you of the forbidden moment the two of you found yourselves in.

“Nngh—Sylus, fuck” you whine, unable to take all the pleasure. It was too much all at once. 

“What is it sweetie? You’re doing so well” he purrs, lifting his hand from your throat to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. How sweet. 

You look so blissfully fucked out. Your forehead is glistening with sweat, eyes drooping low and voice slowly losing itself to the pleasure coursing through you. Of all the things Sylus had seen, this? This was truly unforgettable.

His pace was bordering on frantic—the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix was literally tearing you apart. “P-Please, I’m gonna come” you cry out in between harsh sobs—feeling like you were being held captive by the pleasure—unable to rip away.

“Go on” is all he says before your body releases, convulsing from pleasure, your sweet orgasm finally crashing over you. Toes curl in your shoes, and your hand grabs onto his, gripping him so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. Sylus only chuckles at your quivering body, and continues fucking into you until he reaches his own high.

“N-no more, please, no more” you whine, desperately trying to push him away when he doesn’t stop mercilessly pounding into you. 

“You can take it, kitten” he replies with a grunt, slowing down his pace as he approaches his climax.

“Shit—” you barely hear him mutter under his breath, as his cock begins to throb inside of you, releasing thick strands of his own cum inside you warm walls. His breathing is shallow, glasses barely holding onto his nose, as he drops his head down, keeping himself buried deep inside you. 

You both stay there a while longer, catching your breath and letting the last pulses of pleasure escape your shuddering bodies. Sylus finally pulls out of you, and you prop yourself up on trembling elbows. 

“Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” he asks—your eyes visibly widening as you instantly understand what he means. 

Sylus takes a step back from the desk, sitting back down in that damn red armchair. You barely manage to slide off the desk, almost stepping on that mocking pack of red pens— which have now made their home on the ground after Sylus had pushed them off the desk. Fuck those red pens. Fuck the colour red. 

He leans back lazily, a playful smirk pulled on his lips. You drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping two hands around his half-hard cock. Your tongue meets the tip and you begin to kitten lick every drop of cum, cleaning every inch of it like the good girl you were. 

When you finish, Sylus zips himself back up, and tilts your head up with two fingers. 

“Good kitty” he purrs, gently rubbing his thumb along your jaw. 

“Sir?” you ask after a brief moment of silence, looking up into those burning red eyes.

“Hm?”

“A-About my grade” you trail off nervously. Kneeling before him like this, the weight of your own desperation burned bright on your cheeks—it was fucking humiliating.

He’d been waiting for you to ask him the burning question—seeing how far you went before you begged for a better grade.

“Didn’t I tell you? Only good girls get good grades” he echoes his earlier words, voice so sweet it was practically dripping with honey. 

“I don’t understand?” 

“Good girls don’t fuck their professors for A’s”

© @blessedmisery 2025

[wolfythewitch]

I think my academic advisor is losing patience with all my questions but unfortunately if I don't receive clear, concise, comprehensible, instructions with no room for error I will in fact tie myself to a railroad track

[thoughtfulfiction]

People Watcher

Author’s Note: Poll winner, anon requested protective Joe!

Joe wasn’t one to hover. He never tried to control you or tell you what to do. That wasn’t his style. You were smart, independent and more than capable of navigating life’s challenges on your own. But that didn’t stop him from looking out for you in his own way, subtle, steady, always intentional.

Like on game days.

“You sure you’re good sitting in the suite?” Joe asked, tugging a hoodie over his head as he walked out of his office Wednesday evening after a long film session. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the question, one you knew well by now.

“You know I don’t mind,” you smiled, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. “Your mom’s fun. She gets loud when you’re winning and she’s always super proud of you. Both of your parents are.”

That earned you a quiet chuckle from Joe. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just…you know. It’s easier that way.”

He didn’t have to say what that way meant. You knew he wanted you away from the chaos of the stands, where emotions could run high and things could turn ugly fast. It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Joe knew better than anyone that you could. But the idea of you being out there alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t always know when to stop, didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it made his skin crawl a little bit.

“I know,” you said softly, stepping over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

Joe’s hand covered yours, holding it still for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do that.”

He usually didn’t respond to pregame texts, locking himself away in the depths of his mind and replacing his usual nonchalant self with a stone cold killer, the mentality he had to maintain while on the field to perform at his best. And yet, it eased his mind getting that text from you when he checked his phone one last time beforehand. A reminder of what he was coming home to.

Joe never asked for much, he rarely actually said be careful or stay safe, but that simple request had always been his way of saying both.

It was like that all the time with him. Tiny acts of service that didn’t seem big until you put them all together. How he always asked you to text him when you got somewhere, even though he had your location. How he’d casually mention alternate routes home if traffic was bad or if he heard about an accident nearby. How he never asked you not to go out with your friends but would always remind you to call him if you needed anything, no matter what time it was.

He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate in public. The man wasn’t one for big grand gestures, preferring to show his love in quieter ways. In the extra hoodie he always left in your car because he knew you got cold easily. In the way he’d ask if you had someone to walk with you to your car if you were staying at the office late.

It was thoughtful without being overbearing, protective without being possessive, just Joe, in that calm, steady way that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

“You know I’m okay, right?” you asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I know,” Joe said. His lips quirked slightly, just the faintest smile. “But humor me anyway.”

Funny thing is, the trip was supposed to be for the girls. Your best friend Rachel’s requests were concise and clear, a drunken weekend in miami that you’d either never remember OR you’d have memories that would last a lifetime. With those instructions you started figuring out an itinerary. You looked at places to stay, how long the trip would be and where exactly you’d be spending way too much money on green tea shots every night.

“We could do the Gale for a week?” You suggested one evening, your laptop open comparing prices and amenities for you, Rachel and a few other girls that had let you know they would be joining.

“I like that place,” she smiles, tossing a jalapeño chip in her mouth. “The beds are super nice and we could stay in those two bedroom suites.”

Joe pops into the conversation, grabbing his keys that were previously resting next to your computer. “Wait…you’re gonna be gone for days? I thought we all were gonna do something together, you know, to make sure Rachel doesn’t do anything illegal. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re above the law,” he gives her a pointed look, “this isn’t The Purge.”

“I mean…you can come if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “But I know Miami’s not really your thing.”

Joe, who was halfway through tying his sneakers, paused and gave you a look—one eyebrow raised just enough to tell you he wasn’t buying your nonchalant tone.

“You want me to come with you to Rachel’s birthday trip?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We wanna go for a few days. Just some beach time, clubs, you know… typical Miami stuff.” She shrugged. “We’d just all be one big group and we can all hang out. It’d be fun.”

“I would’ve asked earlier if I knew you were interested. Figured you’d probably rather stay home.” You added in.

Joe nodded slowly, like he was considering it. Truthfully, a loud week in Miami didn’t exactly sound like his idea of a good time. Crowded clubs, overpriced drinks, endless social energy? Not really his scene. But before he could answer, his best friend Zacciah’s voice chimed in from the living room.

“Wait, we’re talking Miami?” Zacciah grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m in,” Trae added from the couch, like this was already a done deal.

Joe shot them both a flat look. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yeah, but you are,” Zacciah smirked. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun. Beach, clubs, a big group of us—it’s not just her friends.”

“Yeah,” Trae added with a grin. “We’ll make it a whole thing.”

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I’m going, we’re doing it right.”

The next thing you knew, Joe had chartered a private flight and rented a sprawling beach house with enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own space.

“You know this was originally supposed to be a casually chaotic weekend with the girls, right? Now you’ve turned it into an episode of Selling Sunset.” You teased when he showed her the house listing.

He paused, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t that set in California?”

“Right, so you do pay attention when I watch?” You ask suspicious of him since he always said the show was stupid and that you were losing brain cells every episode.

“Anyway, you’ll still get your chaotic girl time,” Joe said with a shrug, moving on from the previous topic of discussion. That alone answered your question. “I just didn’t want you stuck in some overpriced shoebox with no A/C.”

You smiled, shaking your head. He wasn’t loud about it, no grand speeches about taking care of you, but this was Joe in his element. Quietly looking out for you in the most thoughtful ways.

And honestly? You weren’t mad about the upgrade.

As the group filtered into the spacious Miami beach house, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The huge windows opened up to an expansive view of the ocean, and the pool out back practically screamed “boujee vacation.” Rachel played soft music, curating her perfect birthday week playlist in the background as everyone started to claim rooms, tossing bags on beds and getting settled in.

Joe, ever the planner, wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. He’d seen this kind of trip before—a group of people letting loose, and inevitably, a few hangovers in the morning. He wasn’t about to be unprepared.

He was already on his phone, tapping away.

“Alright,” Joe called out to the group, his voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re doing a grocery run online. Everyone needs to add in whatever they want. Let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”

He wasn’t asking for suggestions, he was in charge of this, and everyone knew it. They scattered, pulling out their phones to check in. But Joe had already begun filling in his list.

“Got your Gatorade, your ibuprofen…” he muttered to himself, typing rapidly. “Liquid IVs. Don’t forget the snacks. Chips, candy, all that crap you’re going to want after a night out.”

He shot a glance over at you, raising an eyebrow as you rummaged through your suitcase. “I’m putting all of your favorites on the list. I know you’ll need ‘em. We just won’t mention the Gatorade purchase to my Body Armour people.”

You rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “You know me too well.”

Joe didn’t respond. He just kept typing, making sure he’d covered everything he was sent. He added a few extra things, more water, some fruit for the mornings, and whatever random drink Zacciah had requested. The usual crew was already bouncing ideas off each other, but Joe remained methodical.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, placing his phone on the counter. “List is done. Should be here in a couple hours.”

It was a small thing, but it wasn’t surprising. Joe took care of the details in ways people didn’t always notice. The Gatorade, the medicine, and the snacks weren’t just for the group; they were specifically for you. He knew what you liked, what you’d need after a long night of dancing and drinking. It wasn’t a huge deal, just another way he quietly looked out for you.

“Thanks,” you said, walking up to him. You brushed your hand against his arm. “You always think of everything.”

Joe just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone has to,” he said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’d rather be prepared than have to force Trae to run out and grab things in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” you replied, smiling up at him.

For Joe, it wasn’t about making a show of things. It was just how he was, always looking out, always a step ahead. The house was amazing, the trip was going to be fun, but as always, his focus was on making sure everything ran smoothly. Even down to the little things.

The club’s bass thrummed low and steady the next night, vibrating through the floor as Joe slid into a booth near the back. It was his kind of spot—dim lighting, tucked away from the chaos of the dance floor but still with a clear view of everything. The sunglasses he wore inside weren’t just for show; they made it easier to watch without being watched.

His arm draped loosely over the back of the seat, and when the server stopped by, Joe kept it simple.

“Gin and tonic,” he said, then glanced at you. “And whatever she’s having.”

“I’m doing shots with the girls,” you grinned, your hand resting on his thigh for a second. “Don’t wait up.”

Joe’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched as you weaved through the crowd toward the bar, easily finding your friends. The way you laughed, tossing your hair back as you all clinked your shot glasses together, made something warm settle in his chest. You were in your element—carefree, glowing and just having a good time.

You caught his eye from across the room, your smile lingering when you found him watching. Joe nodded with a side smirk as a silent ‘I see you’. Your grin widened before you turned back to your friends, vanishing into the crowd.

Joe leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. He trusted you with every fiber of his being and wasn’t worried in the slightest about your safety in public settings because he knew that you’d take care of yourself. That confidence that you could handle things on your own and your own self assurance was one of the things he loved most about you. But still, whenever you were out, Joe couldn’t help but keep an eye on things because he knew what could happen when guys didn’t take no for an answer.

His gaze followed you out to the dance floor, where you moved effortlessly with your friends. The lights flickered across your face, and Joe couldn’t help but smirk to himself. You looked good —too good—and judging by the attention you were getting, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

But what Joe cared about most was the way you kept sneaking glances back at him—not for reassurance or for permission, but just to check in. A quiet confirmation that he was still there, still watching out for you in that calm, steady way you appreciated.

He takes his glasses off while looking at you, just enough for you to notice and he puts them back on. You smiled softly, your expression saying ‘I know you’ve got me’.

And of course he did. He always did.

Joe’s fingers tap idly against the side of his glass, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. Outwardly, he’s the picture of calm —shoulders relaxed, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. But beneath that stillness, his patience is wearing thin.

The guy’s been circling for a while now—too long. Joe’s watched him linger near your group, pretending to bump into you once, then again. Each time, your smile tightens a little more, your body language shifting from relaxed to guarded. You’re handling it. Joe can see that. But the guy’s persistence is starting to cross a line.

Joe exhales slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. He leans over to Zacciah, voice low and steady.

“Hold this for me,” Joe says, sliding his glass toward him.

Zacciah barely reacts, just takes the drink with a small nod—like this isn’t the first time he’s seen Joe move like this. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

Joe rises from his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand before weaving through the crowd. He doesn’t move quickly— no chest-puffing or bravado—just slow, purposeful strides. He’s not here to start a scene; he’s here to end one.

Your friends were still on the dance floor, their laughter and cheers echoing across the room.

“You look like you could use another one,” a voice said beside her.

You turned your head and found a guy standing there—possibly late twenties or early thirties, well-dressed, with a confident smile that leaned a little too far into cocky.

“I’m Xavier,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around tonight. Just had to say…” His eyes dragged down and back up again. “You look amazing.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking his hand briefly before tucking yours back around your clutch. “Thanks,” you said. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning closer like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Oh,” you said with an awkward laugh. “That’s sweet, but I’m actually here with my boyfriend, so I’m gonna pass.”

Xavier’s smile barely faltered. “Boyfriend?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd. “Haven’t seen you with any guys tonight, just your friends.”

“He’s here,” you said, your voice still friendly but firmer this time. “I promise.”

Xavier chuckled under his breath like you’d made a joke. “C’mon,” he said with a grin, motioning toward the bartender. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“I’m good,” you repeated, shifting slightly to put a little more space between the two of you. “But thanks.”

The bartender set your drink down on the counter, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping the conversation was over. But Xavier stayed put, his smile lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he added with a lazy shrug, “if he’s letting you stand here alone, maybe he’s not paying enough attention.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass, frustration flaring in your chest. “Trust me,” you said, meeting his eyes directly, your patience thinning. “He’s paying plenty of attention.”

A shadow shifted behind Xavier, solid and unmistakable and suddenly the air felt heavier.

Joe was there now, standing just behind him. Close enough that Xavier could probably feel the shift in space before he even turned around.

Xavier paused, some instinct telling him something was off. Then he turned and stopped cold.

Joe didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there—calm, unmoving, looking profoundly unimpressed. His sunglasses were still on, but the message was crystal clear: You know exactly what you’re doing, and you need to stop.

“Whoa…” Xavier blurted, half-laughing. “No way, you’re Joe Burrow!” He grinned like he’d just bumped into his favorite celebrity at a steakhouse, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Joe. “Man, I’m a huge fan! Bro, this is crazy! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Joe didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just turned to the bartender and said, “Two waters.” His voice was calm—too calm—and he stayed exactly where he was, comfortably crowding Xavier’s space.

“So… what were we talking about?” Xavier asked, turning back to you with a grin like he’d just won some imaginary game of charm.

You stifled a laugh. “Um—oh you were saying something about how my boyfriend isn’t paying enough attention?”

Xavier snapped his fingers, clearly feeling bold again. “Yeah! I don’t know where ol’ dude is or if he’s even real, but he’s messing up right now. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Or, you know… someone better to spend your time with?”

Joe’s eyebrows lifted behind his sunglasses, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Someone better, huh?” His voice was mild, almost amused. “Yeah…wonder where she could find that.”

It took a second for Xavier to connect the dots. His face dropped like a cartoon character realizing they’re halfway off a cliff.

“Oh…shit,” he muttered, suddenly a lot less confident. “Listen, man, I didn’t know she was with you. No hard feelings, right?”

Joe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter who she’s with,” he said quietly, the steady calm in his tone somehow more unsettling than if he’d been angry. “If a woman says no, you leave her alone. Whether her boyfriend’s a pro athlete or not.”

Xavier’s smile flickered and died. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he stammered, already backing away. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My bad, man.”

Joe watched him disappear into the crowd like he was making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Only once Xavier was out of sight did he turn back to you, sunglasses sliding down just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tension draining from your shoulders. “He was just…persistent.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Persistent gets people embarrassed.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into his side. “You know, you’re kinda scary when you’re calm.”

Joe shrugged, completely unaffected. “It’s efficient.”

You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist. “And hot. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Always,” Joe said simply. Then he grabbed the two waters from the bar, handing one to you. “Now drink this,” he added, “I know you’re not ready to head out yet so I need you to hydrate.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” You respond, taking a sip and leaning into him.

The night out had been a blast—the club buzzing with energy, the lights flashing in time with the music. But as the group made their way back to the house, you felt the familiar weight of exhaustion and the ache in your head from the drinks. You weren’t too far gone, but you were definitely feeling the effects of a good time.

Joe had kept a watchful eye the entire night, noticing the subtle shift in your mood as the evening wound down. When you all got back to the house, it was clear you were ready to crash. Your energy was starting to dip, and he was already prepared.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said gently, his hand finding your back as they walked toward the stairs. You slipped your arm around his waist, leaning into him just a bit more than usual.

“You’re carrying my shoes? How sweet.” You said, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips.

Joe smirked, his expression cool but with a hint of affection. “Wouldn’t want you to break your ankle on the stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” you teased, though you didn’t fight him when he practically carried you up the last few steps.

Once you reached the top, Joe pushed the door open to your shared room, making sure you were settled before heading to the bathroom.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Joe said, heading downstairs.

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for the journey of getting ready for bed. He returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, handing them to you with a quiet, “take these.”

You took the pills, downing the water quickly, before letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second. “I’m gonna need this for tomorrow…”

“You’re gonna need more than that,” Joe said, grabbing the Gatorade from the nightstand. “Drink some of this too.”

You shot him a half-smile, letting him help you sit up a little more as you sipped the Gatorade. “Thank you for always taking care of me. Not just tonight but…every night.”

“It’s my second job. And it arguably pays better” Joe said, his tone still calm, his voice laced with affection. It was just who he was, always looking out for you.

After you finished the drink, he handed you a soft towel. “Come on, let’s get that makeup off.”

You scooted over, pulling herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Joe stood beside you, a steady presence as he gently started wiping off your mascara. His movements were slow and careful, making sure he wasn’t too rough, his focus entirely on you.

“Okay, now you’re all set,” he said softly, tossing the wipes in the trash before turning toward the closet. “Pajamas. You good with just something comfy?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “I’m on vacation, I need something cute. You’re picking.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at you, a little surprised, but he didn’t argue. He walked to the closet, searching for something cute, but simple enough that you’d be comfortable. He picked out a soft set of matching shorts and a loose, flowy top.

“Here,” he said, holding them up. “This good?”

You made a small sound of approval. “Perfect.”

Joe turned to let you change, standing by the door to give you space but still staying close, like he always did. When you were done, you crawled into bed, and he helped pull the covers up over you.

He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at you. There was something about you —about how you trusted him, how you let him take care of you. His heart softened, but he didn’t show it.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know that?” You said, your voice a little sleepy but filled with sincerity. “You’re gonna be a really good husband one day.”

Joe felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say at first, because in that moment, it hit him harder than ever: he could see it. The future. With you. The ring that sat waiting for him in his desk drawer in Cincinnati wasn’t just a thing he’d bought on a whim. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, and your words just made it that much more real.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion rolling around in his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled up at him sleepily. “You always are.”

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking about how you’d touched parts of his heart and soul he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than anything he could put into words.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, your eyes fluttering closed.

And as he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the blankets, Joe’s thoughts drifted to the future. He didn’t know how he could possibly put how you make him feel into a few meaningful sentences. He didn’t know exactly what day he’d ask you, but he knew he would. And when the time came, he’d be ready.

[aesethewitch]

And you know what, I'd be so bold as to say that a lot of witches need to learn how to advertise ethically and effectively! Even folks whose services are 100% legit and genuine can be (or come off as) extremely shady. It's a problem! You don't have to be an expert or anything, but understanding what makes a good product listing and how to ethically advertise your goods and services is absolutely critical.

Having done marketing and advertising work for a Major Company with Many Advertising Regulations, these are the extremely basic hallmarks I look for in a good advertisement or product/service listing:

Language is clear and concise, focusing on the specific product or service in question *

Language is engaging but not inflammatory **

No typos, misspellings, or grammatical mistakes

All products and services are clearly described, and the consumer knows exactly what they would receive if they were to purchase from you

If applicable or possible, at least one quality photo of the product is provided (more than one from multiple angles is preferred, but one very good photo is sometimes enough)

Provided images appear legitimate (not AI, not stolen from the internet, etc.) and product descriptions appear to have been written by a real person ***

Prices are clearly stated and appear fair when compared to other sellers offering similar products and services, or which are otherwise explained (for example, if prices are unusually high, it may be because the seller only has limited stock or is providing a unique, high-effort service; this should be clearly stated in the listing in a simple, matter-of-fact tone)

The method of delivery is clearly described, including delivery timelines and whether tracking will be provided

If not provided elsewhere, or if it's a long list of available products/services, contact information and instructions are provided somewhere obvious and easy to access for questions and concerns

Disclaimers are clearly marked, and the consumer's rights are clearly explained (for example, if it's a commission for a custom spell, could the consumer publish the spell instructions on their blog, or is it for private use only?)

The refund policy is clearly described either in the listing itself, in the sales terms, or elsewhere on the page (so long as it's easily found)

It isn't explicitly about listings, but one other big thing I look for is whether the seller has a presence other than their shop or marketing space(s). This could be social media, a physical location, or a personal website. Basically, I want to see that they're obviously a real person doing real work in the field they're selling in, not just a grifter cashing in on what's popular.

I wouldn't buy cakes from someone who isn't obviously making cakes. Why the hell would I buy a tarot reading from someone who, as far as I can tell, has never done a tarot reading except in closed DMs when paid to do so?

* If you're advertising a specific product or service, the post, listing, or whatever else should be focused ENTIRELY on that specific product or service. Avoid extolling your virtues in excess.

What I mean is, your listing should not be 65% sucking your own dick about how long you've been doing the thing you're doing and how great you are. It should be about the product or service, not you. The place for that (and it does have a place, imo) is in a masterpost of services, a pinned post about yourself on your blog, and/or in the "about" section on your website/sales page.

** I mean inflammatory in the way of pushing the reader into a heightened state of emotion. These listings are purposefully manipulative, intending to take advantage of particular types of people. It's not an uncommon tactic, but it is a pretty scummy one, especially in spiritual circles, which attract non-experts who are desperate for relief, comfort, and results. Consider this example:

A listing for a tarot reading about future love saying, "Discover the future of your love life!" would be generally fine. A listing saying "Your love life DEFINED!! Once in a lifetime LOVE!!! SOULMATE CONNECTION? Is HE the ONE? Don't be fooled by NARCISSIST SOCIOPATHS!!" is inflammatory, intent on targeting a specific type of person who is likely to fall for the urgency and the particular language used here. You see the difference, no?

*** There are always cases of folks who aren't so good at words or taking pictures or who aren't using their first language and so forth, and it's important to take that into consideration. But for the most part, even those cases stand out from the bullshit artists, whose only goal is to take your money and run.

[lvmimis]

cw: power dynamic. noncon (reader is doing it). empress!reader x knight!zoro.

The knight arrives at your bedchambers every nightfall at the exact same strike of the clock with nary a second to spare.

You’d think that he’d become eager over time to meet you, to look forward to this regularly scheduled tryst after weeks of this arrangement (read - irrefutable demand), but you can tell he’s only prompt because he is both a man of his word and more importantly, not a coward in the least. Despite your delusions of grandeur that manage to surpass your very real power, it would be hard pressed for you to even flirt with the idea that this particular foe may have fallen in love with you, even if you are just as beautiful as you are fearsome. 

It does not matter regardless. What his desires are, aside from the will to protect his foolish allies, are of no consequence to you, as long as you get what you want.

An heir to your kingdom. 

The rebel knight Zoro does not face you at all as the guards undress him from head to toe, stripping heavy armor and lighter garments - even those atrocious gold earrings - from his form, and amassing the spoils to take to another room. At first, he would fight off this process, radiating an aura of confrontation, without even moving a muscle or uttering a word, that would have even your best combatants shivering and cautious to approach, but now he offers an air of calm passivity, as if this entire process is routine and inconsequential to him. 

He may be right to treat it this way as the procedure remains unchanged - first, his clothes will be removed, and he will remain standing with shackles binding his wrists behind his back; he will turn 180 degrees to face you once he is instructed by the attendants behind the veil of privacy. Your chambermaid will pull the blindfold from his eyes when you order her to, revealing yourself to him. He will follow your directions to the letter until you are satisfied, and if you scream, everyone he holds dear will be executed at once.

The fact that your physical reveal does not visibly stir something in him night after night has threatened to frustrate you emotionally, but you are the empress of a sprawling nation and do not care what this lowly beast thinks of you.

(You tell yourself this, but your faith seems to waver day by day.)

The chambermaid has left and now kneels behind the curtain both in wait, yet also standing guard in some fashion, a witness to this wretched repetitive union. 

Zoro does not say a word, despite the fact that you no longer bother to gag him (you have many uses for his mouth after all, and he complies with reluctant reliability), but you, however, delight yourself in speaking to him.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” you demand.

In another world, he would have asked you if you had ever considered a hello. Instead, he offers a clear, concise, “You’re beautiful.”

It’s the fact that he doesn’t spit it out with distaste, and his voice neither lowers nor falters, his gaze directed at you not disinterestedly but not with any form of deep investment that has you somewhere between perplexed and intrigued.

What does this peon think of you, you wonder?

Naked, lithe, entrancing, and lethal, like a snake, slithering closer in his direction. 

“Sit.”

He sits on your finest armchair and you maneuver yourself around him, your new, less refined throne. His thighs are thick and strong, a firm seat, and his cock pressed between both your bodies is hot and hard. Smiling - he is not - you spit in your own soft, underworked palm, and reach between you two to cup his testicles, your eyes not leaving his all the while. 

He looks through you somehow and at you at the same time. Powerless but unflinching, even when you give his balls a squeeze.

“You know, I won’t fault you if you allow yourself to feel pleasure. I appreciate the respect, but it makes this all the more fun for both of us if you allow me to know exactly how I make you feel.”

You say this, all the while stroking his cock, thumbing the slit of the head carefully until the few drops of precum that betray him leak out. These taste salty on your tongue and if he were willing to let himself cry, you suspect his tears would be similar.

It’s not as fun when you can’t toy with his emotions, you think.

Your hands shift and press onto his broad chest, dragging themselves along the surface. Roughened patches, coarse hair, scars… really a fighter’s body. You pinch nipples a bit - he’s sensitive there, and he can’t hide the way he bites his lower lip as you twist.

Like the viper you are, you strike - first your teeth sink into that same lower lip, biting down hard as you twist a nipple, then your hips begin to rock as you start to kiss. He doesn’t kiss back but he doesn’t fight either, and then soon he does in defeat, lips moving obediently and diligently. 

You sigh against his open mouth. 

“You always give in a little but not enough.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know he knows what you mean.

The kissing stops abruptly, but with heat rushing up the side of your neck, you’ve decided that you want him inside you.

And you get what you want, slipping and stretching over him with his lips falling open as he gazes at you, but his hands are behind his back, and there is nowhere to run. You pant, and his breath deepens, a straggled groan as you settle down to the hilt of him. This is the time where you’d hope he’d spread out strong hands to support your weight, but he can’t, and you won’t risk it. Not yet.

Your hands grip onto his shoulders tightly as you move yourself, up and down. He’s simply a toy for your amusement, barely audible aside from the quiver of his lower lips that you can tell hold something in that is so much more hungry.

You wonder why he is willing to suffer this humiliation. You know he has a cause he believes in, he fights for something, and even now he is fighting mentally somehow.

You moan, throwing your head back with every slide up and down his shaft, the sounds louder the longer you go - some of it is exaggerated at first, but soon it is very real, and you both cannot pretend you don’t feel the buck of his hips slowly in pace with yours.

Good.

The longer you go, the more you meet in sync, your forehead pressing against his, your arms wrapping around his head as you hold on, the more he takes the reins.

Indulgence shouldn’t be part of his resistance, but every time he comes here, he falters a little bit more. Perhaps in this way you’ve truly broken him, or perhaps - 

Tension built in your belly snaps and you shudder, feeling him writhing inside you. He groans, unable to hold you close as his body trembles through the force of his orgasm but every splash of his seed inside your receptive, greedy core is felt and desired.

Your thighs quiver, but you raise up your hand, holding his chin in your palm.

“If you’re good, I could…” you pause. The look in his eyes unsettles you, the intersection of desire and regret.

Face warming, you look away, dismounting quickly despite your shaking legs.

“Take him away,” you call to your chambermaids, and your back turns as you consolidate your emotions and steel your heart anew.

…

Even when the knight leaves you, he doesn’t leave the recesses of your mind. Less than 24 hours remain until you’ll see him again, and your hips are raised on many pillows as you wait.

For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you never needed to take him, or anything by force. 

What it would be like to be loved freely.

To be looked at as something to love and protect.

[libraford]

msbriket You know how they say us autistics see every detail? I just think a lot of people forget what's not important to them personally. What she's really saying is: why won't you let me ignore your wishes like last time so I can forget about them again?

You know, even before I started seeing autistic traits in myself I was confused why autism had such a negative association to it because like:

"takes things literally" is more like... trusting people at their word. Trying to follow instructions accurately. Remembers promises made.

"lacking in certain social tacts" - does their best to speak clearly and concisely. Tries to avoid being misunderstood because they would want the same for themselves.

"doesn't like breaking rules" - rules that are there for our safety are in our best interest to follow!

"has difficulty with changes in routine" - doesn't like being lied to or misguided. Would like instruction to be clear.

Which I have always perceived to be good things. "Concerned about fairness." "Strong moral compass."

Those are good things to have. In fact, you WANT a person like that in most workplaces. A person who tries to follow instructions and remembers things, who tries to speak clearly and truthfully, who understands the rules and asks for confirmations, who tries to make sure things are fair and accessible? Honestly, sounds great.

The problem is that the corporate world is all about lying and placating and bargaining and making false promises and hoping that they'll forget.

And then there's The Gender. Which is another layer of bull. Because the specialist in my field that infodumps during training and lacks tactful criticism techniques in a long unbroken tone is the best in the business, but I get lectured on my tone and body language. He's allowed to talk endlessly on the topic. I'm not allowed to ask questions or request clarification.

That, and some people only really know autism in its forms of nonverbiality, emotional disregulation, and motor control which require assistance and not like... an entire Golden Corral of traits that include those things and more.

Yadda yadda, neurotypicality is a 3 apples 5 apples situation.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Source Integration for Historical Writing

When writing for history courses, it is common to incorporate evidence from primary and secondary sources.

Writers integrate information from these sources into their writing in 3 ways:

Summaries

Writers typically summarize when the information from a source does not have to be provided in detail.

For example, a writer might want to summarize an author’s overall argument for the audience as opposed to explaining every line.

Summaries are particularly useful for describing key historical events or figures.

Writers can use descriptive facts, such as names, dates, and places, to create a summary that provides critical background information for the audience.

Example

In Kris Myers’ (2012, 198) essay, she traces the development of the Alice Paul Institute (API), also known as Paulsdale, a house museum that features historical lessons based on the life of women’s rights activist Alice Paul.

Paraphrases

Paraphrasing works best when writers can state information from a source in a more clear and concise manner without changing the original meaning of the words. Under most circumstances, readers expect to see paraphrased evidence in historical writing. Paraphrasing helps writers balance information from their sources with their own words and voice.

For example, if a writer wants to include an author’s idea to support their argument, but the original text spans an entire paragraph, the writer can paraphrase key details from the original paragraph into one or two sentences to capture the important aspects.

Example

Myers (2012, 198) states the API decided to use Alice Paul’s life as the foundation for a leadership program that teaches young girls skills to become leaders in their community.

Quotations

Quotations suit several purposes in writing.

The most common reasons writers use quotations are when the words serve as concrete evidence to back up a claim, come from an authoritative figure that adds credibility to their argument, are so compelling and original that there is no better way to express the idea, or communicate an idea in order to accurately dispute it.

For historical writing, quotations are used to reference primary and secondary sources as evidence to support an argument. However, writers should keep in mind that quotations from a primary source are often considered stronger forms of evidence than quotations from a secondary source.

Example

Despite the success of Paulsdale, Myers (2012, 207) notes that “[t]he API confronted constant claims that women’s history is not significant to American memory, or that women like Alice Paul represented a radical element” when advocating for the project.

Note: Always refer to assignment instructions for specific information regarding which citation style to use and how many sources or quotations are required.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[kraangdroidz]

Welcome back to a re-written 2012 Donatello analysis!

I have posted a 2012 Donnie analysis here previously discussing his obsessional behaviour, and it was quite well received. However, it is not as put together as I would've liked it to be. Vague ideas were mashed into a post after I ranted about aspects of his character to an online friend.

But, I've had some more time to think - this will be a bit longer, and cover some different scenes and ideas, as well as repeating some of the things in my previous analysis - in general, hopefully a more concise and enjoyable analysis of his character.

: IMPORTANT NOTE : To make it clear, I do not support stalking/obsessive behaviour - whatever the reason behind it may be - and I do not want to make it seem like I am infantilizing Donnie in this analysis.

The whole point of this analysis is that I like to be aware of characters' less-than-ideal traits and discuss what the root cause of them might be. The possible/suggested causes does not excuse this behaviour, rather explains it. And people should still be held accountable if they have made another person upset/uncomfortable.

Without further ado, onto the analysis.

I think Donnie's biggest issue is how he looks.

In the 2012 iteration, we never really see any of the turtles have a strong desire to be human, to change how they already are. Mikey sometimes doesn't understand that humans will be scared of him, (Like when he tries to return a cat to its owner, dismissing his brothers when they warn him the owner would be scared of him) but Mikey never has a big moment and lashes out like, ‘I want to be a human so I can make more friends!��

We also see Mikey wonder what he'd look like as a human in an episode after Donnie creates retro-mutagen, in which Mikey assumes he'd turn into a human instead of a regular turtle if he were to use retro-mutagen on himself. It is played as a joke though, as he is seen smiling in the scene following and doesn't seem to show any true disappointment/distress etc towards being how he already is - a mutant.

Raph openly declares himself as ‘handsome’ in Season 1, Episode 2 - so that rules out Raphael, and I don't remember any scenes with Leo being upset or having a negative view attached to being a mutant but please correct me if I'm wrong.

Interestingly enough, Donatello seems to have the most trouble coming-to-terms with the fact that he's a mutant and can't change that out of his brothers.

Outside of being a mutant, it is implied that Donnie already has a fragile self-image anyway.

Remember the episode Turtle Temper? I think it's the third episode of the first season. But at one point, the other turtles are instructed to shoot arrows at Raphael while he has to try and avoid them - Splinter makes it clear, however - that the others are allowed to insult Raphael.

I've seen a content creator say that the insults they throw at Raphael could be more internalised opinions they have on themselves rather than genuinely thinking these crude things about their own brother - think of it like bullying, in the sense that you're often told ‘bullies like to make fun of others because they're insecure themselves’.

People often take out their anger about their insecurities and place them onto other people if given the chance.

Leo says, ‘And you're always whining, poor me, nobody understands me.’ While this is easily applicable to Raph as an insult from Leo, Leo has also had his own fair share of moments where he has gone to Splinter complaining that the others aren't respecting or listening to him, that they don't understand the burden he holds as leader.

Mikey tells Raph he moves like a bloated buffalo. In other words, you're slow. You can't keep up.

And Donnie says, ‘Oh! You can't keep your back straight during Omote Kote Gyaku! And you're ugly!’ I think the first part of this insult is what really hints this is more so them projecting views of themselves than genuinely insulting Raphael. Donnie, out of all of them, is most likely to feel insecure about his height, a lot of teenagers can feel awkward or uncomfortable as a result of their growth spurts, tall individuals are also more prone to slouching.

Donnie also probably spends quite a lot of time hunched at his lab desk, which could also contribute to his posture. I'm pretty sure he is also called ‘scrawny’ in an episode by Karai, but if not Karai, some other character, and Donnie responds, ‘And I'm not scrawny! I'm svelte!’

Raph has also insulted Donnie's looks before, and, although it is unclear if it's a common occurrence, knowing Raph's character it has most likely happened on more than one occasion.

Donnie : And why do you keep grabbing me by the face? What is wrong with my face?!

Raph : Do you want me to list the reasons alphabetically or in descending order of grossness?

So regardless of being mutated or not, it seems like Donnie just has a generalised lack of confidence and some issues surrounding how tall he is.

But onto his issues regarding being mutated.

Donnie might’ve previously not had any issues with being a mutant. Before, it might’ve been just a general lack of confidence, as I have already said. Before April, his brothers would've been the only thing to compare himself to. He lived in a home with only mutants for fifteen years of his life - so had normal teenage issues of going through puberty and insecurities. Tons of people dislike their growth spurts, which is why Donnie's issues at first might seem like normal things for a teenager to worry about. Donnies biggest issue was how scrawny and lanky he saw himself.

But when they meet April, there is a glaring difference.

Suddenly, there is somebody in his life who isn't a mutant like him. It becomes abundantly clear to Donnie that from somebody else's viewpoint, their biggest issue with him wouldn't be his tooth gap or his height, but the plain fact that he's so different. Inhuman. Out of the ordinary. A mutant.

In ‘Mutagen Man Unleashed!’ Donnie says, ‘I'm worse than a nerd - I'm a freak! We're all total and complete freaks-’ This shows that Donnie went from having individual and relatable insecurities to believing that simply being a mutant inherently means you are ugly.

Especially when you consider the fact that, individual-traits-wise, Donnie and Casey both share the same traits, they both have issues with their teeth, and they’re both scrawny and fairly tall - realistically Donnie should believe they're on somewhat equal grounds of ‘unattractive’ qualities, but Donnie seems to believe Casey is naturally at an unfair advantage because he’s human.

As I said, Donnie has begun to associate his very being with ugliness, and so sees Casey as a threat thinking April will lean more towards Casey for the sole fact he's human. Donnie doesn't think that perhaps Casey's behaviour or the way he treats April is what might potentially win her over - when Donnie is ranting to Mutagen Man about why April might be hanging out with some punk kid (Casey) the conclusion he comes to is ‘because he's human, that's why.’

With a smile on his face and a look of anger in his eyes, the way he phrases it and his expression almost comes across as, ‘I knew it.’ It's like he's self-validating his presumptions at this moment.

Donnie tends to get scarily territorial over April, even going as far to try and forcibly push the two apart when April and Casey hug at the beginning of ‘A China-Town Ghost Story’, seemingly oblivious to the fact he could also possibly harm April in his shoving.

If he genuinely loved and cared about April as a person, he'd be more concerned about the fact he could hurt her - instead his eyes are on Casey this whole scene - his competition, the threat, the thing that might make his fears a reality.

Looks are a very important part of gaining a partner in society, Donnie might not love April as a person. Rather, he sees her as a piece of evidence that could potentially soothe his insecurities. If he wins her like some prize, it'd be like saying, ‘Look! I'm not ugly after all because someone wanted to be my girlfriend!’

If he loses April to Casey, it’d be confirming his idea that mutants, as a whole, are ugly.

This whole root cause of his obsessive and almost protective nature over April and wanting to keep her away from Casey really comes to light in the Season 2 episode, ‘Fungus Humungous’ where mutated fungi spreading across the sewers make our heroes hallucinate their worst fears.

Donnie has two scenes displaying his fears. The first is one of April, with sharp teeth and white eyes, and is a lot bigger than him. Which creates a feeling of inferiority, ‘Levels’ is a technique used in theatre. It refers to the use of different heights and positions to convey certain messages. It's often used to indicate status or communicate character relationships.

Here, it's a perceived relationship that Donnie has between himself and April. Donnie doesn't think mutants and humans are equal, Donnie truly believes that mutants are smaller or not as important as humans and his fear represents that visually by the way his vision of April quite literally looms over him.

Donnie doesn't think mutants are good enough. It's like the nerd not being good enough to hook up with the pretty, popular girl - reflecting back on what Donnie said earlier - ‘I'm worse than a nerd, I'm a freak.’ If we think of it on a ladder of ‘not being good enough’ he thinks being nerdy puts him below on that ladder, but right at the bottom, worse than being a nerd, is being a mutant. And that's why his vision of April is so ginormous. She's right at the top of that perceived hierarchy that Donnie has built up.

This vision of April calls Donnie an ‘ugly mutant freak’ it's unlikely April actually thinks this, but it's what Donnie thinks she does.

The next scene we see is a vision of a bunch of tiny April's kissing Casey.

I think it's noteworthy that the ‘ugly mutant freak’ part comes before the kissing Casey part. The two scenes are quite literally split into ‘Words’ and ‘Actions’. In the first scene, April has a sharp tongue that is used like a whip, going through Donnie's heart and subsequently breaking it.

‘To have a sharp tongue’ means being critical of someone, speaking in a way that is unkind though often clever. I think this shows that, over anything, it is April's words that break his heart more than her actions like kissing Casey. Mutants being seen as freaks is his actual biggest fear. He just doesn't want those fears to be confirmed - which is why that scene of April kissing Casey comes after.

This fear of humanities' dislike and rejection towards mutants existed before Casey came into the picture, he just became a threat and therefore added to Donnie's worries which is why Casey makes an appearance, but he isn't the main problem.

The first scene is what truly makes Donnie crack, he starts screaming, runs away, and shouts that he ‘doesn't want to hear anymore.’

-

In Season 3, an episode titled, ‘A Foot Too Big’ when Donnie starts to apologise for his behaviour, he says ‘I'm just… a mutant.’ The word ‘just’ implies that being a mutant is all Donnie has boiled himself down to, he doesn't think his other traits are worthwhile, like him being loyal, inventive, and funny because at the end of the day he thinks nobody will be able to see him outside of being a freak and therefore doesn’t care about other aspects of himself.

When April kisses Donnie at the end of this episode, he doesn't even seem to enjoy it like he usually does. Which is odd for Donnie, as he normally gets excited or gloats about being kissed by April to Casey. I know people say he's confused because April has a habit of leading both Donnie and Casey on, but I think the words she says right before she kisses him is what confuses him.

‘You're not just a mutant, Donnie, you're my mutant.’

The whole point of the episode is that Donnie is supposed to get a taste of his own medicine, where Bigfoot is following Donnie around. But Bigfoot is a monster. Donnie’s behaviour is being parallelled in a monster.

When Donnie is told, ‘now you know how April feels’ by Raph, he partly comes to the realisation that April feels like he is clingy and love bombs her with gifts, (Like how Bigfoot follows Donnie around and consistently makes Donnie soup) but Donnie also acknowledges that April is being followed around by something inhuman and that might play a part in making her uncomfortable.

If we, as the audience, are meant to look at Bigfoot as a parallel to Donnie, that should also include Bigfoot's other traits and the way other characters act toward her that prove Donnie feels ugly.

Bigfoot wants to look better and feels ugly. When she believes she is not good enough for Donnie, she asks April to help her give herself a ‘makeover’ before trying to show Donnie affection again.

Other characters, such as Leo and Casey, also make fun of how Bigfoot looks, with Casey asking, ‘You think she's his type?’ As a crude joke. Donnie has had his looks made fun of before, and his brothers seem to share similar sentiments that Donnie doesn't have a shot with April and thinks of his crush to be a waste of time - the other characters react the same way to Bigfoot's crush on Donnie.

And so when Donnie apologises to April, he not only feels the need to acknowledge his overbearing nature, but also to apologise for simply being the way he is, knowing she might feel embarrassed or uncomfortable that a ‘creature’ that has no shot with her is drooling over her and following her around.

After all, Donnie felt embarrassed when Bigfoot kissed him, and all of his peers laughed at him.

When Donnie was kissed in Target: April O’ Neil, it was directly after Donnie was thanked for his actions in saving April, and it made him feel good about himself in general, shouting ‘I looooove being a turtle!’ which is a rare instance of Donnie showing a positive attitude towards being how he is. Being loved in itself and being thanked for something understandable made him feel confident.

Donnie believes April likes Casey for being human, so when April says she likes him because he's mutant - for what he is, not who he is, it confuses him. Donnie thinks April doesn't care about who Casey is either, but Donnie thought he'd never be on equal grounds with Casey in terms of what he is, again, because he thinks mutants are lesser than.

He believes and everyone else around him believes that because he is a mutant he had no chance, at the beginning of the episode Raph said, ‘She's a girl, you're a giant talking turtle.’

Donnie believed who he was didn't matter because he thought what he was would make people dislike him.

And in April's words, who he is still doesn't matter, but she's showing a positive attitude towards him being a mutant. That's what confuses him so much.

April doesn't forgive Donnie’s apology for his obsessive behaviour, she forgives his apology for being different. April doesn’t say something like, ‘But you’re smart, loyal, determined,’ before kissing him, she says, ‘You’re my mutant’ before kissing him.

Donnie has never received positive comments from April about good aspects of his personality, or even comments about enjoying spending time with him - times Donnie has been kissed, hugged, and/or received comments of praise from April has been directly after acts of service where Donnie puts himself in danger for her wants/needs;

(Operation: Breakout, Season 1, in which Donnie goes on a solo mission to rescue April's father) When Donnie works tirelessly to resolve her wants/needs, (Donnie's several attempts to make retro-mutagen for her father) or when Donnie has literally almost died, (waking up after Donnie came close to dying in Dream Beavers, and after coming back post being molecularly scattered in ‘The Power Inside Her’)

This creates an extremely negative correlation in which receiving affection comes after self-sacrificing behaviour, putting her needs over his, or near death experiences, especially when you consider how Donnie's more tame and realistic attempts at affection are met with abandonment, dismissal, or odd looks.

When Donnie tries to offer hugs to April, she looks at him oddly, and Donnie quickly switches to ruffling her hair, and he seems to go stiff and looks anxious/awkward after. When Donnie calls her a nickname she agrees to ignore what was just said. When Donnie makes her a music box at the beginning of ‘A Foot Too Big’ she makes the excuse of needing to train and leaves Donnie by himself instead of addressing the issue if she didn't like the gift.

Hugs, nicknames, and gift-giving are met with negative responses that create negative feelings in himself as well.

Self sacrificing behaviour is met with positive reactions from April, as well as positive reactions from those around him as the action usually resolves some sort of problem (like Donnie rescuing April's father, the creation of Retro-mutagen) and even Splinter telling Donnie to ‘never give up hope’ in regards to pursuing April.

So Donnie now has two things to associate kisses/hugs with:

Self sacrificing behaviour.

Being a mutant.

And he doesn't understand.

-

I honestly think Don Vizioso is a physical manifestation of how Donnie feels. I always thought it to be a bit weird that a villain and a main character shared similar names, as Donnie has also been called ‘Don’ in the series as a nickname before.

Don Vizioso believed that mutants are freaks of nature that don't belong, a scientific mystery to be studied, which is scarily the same ideas that Donnie has about mutants.

Don Vizioso’s restaurant is the only building we see in the whole series with a ‘No Mutants’ sign. Donnie has a preconceived notion that the whole world is against mutants, in truth, barely anybody knows about them to say that’s true. All that hatred for what mutants are and the belief that mutants shouldn’t be accepted anywhere is all contained within Don Vizioso’s restaurant. Contained in Donnie’s mind.

I find it no coincidence that Donnie is the one to be put into a dehumanising situation and almost be dissected by Don Vizioso.

‘Vizioso’ translated into English, means things like depraved, vicious, immoral, and the next time Donnie has a run in with Vizioso, how is his actions perceived? Immoral. Vicious. He's quite literally going on a killing spree to face his own ideas, to confront Don Vizioso, his own anger and violence.

When Donnie is about to kill off Vizioso, Leo tells him to not lose sight of who he is, which makes Donnie pause.

Donnie believes mutants aren't ever going to be accepted by humans, that they're freaks. And nobody wants to believe that, he wants to erase those violent thoughts toward himself and other mutants by killing Don Vizioso, a manifestation of his own opinions - but if he kills, he is just going to prove what he thinks humans assume mutants are. Vicious monsters.

And that isn't who Donnie is, Leo reminds him of that. Maybe those negative thoughts of him being a freak won't go away, and maybe humans would actually think they're monsters if they ever got exposed - but if Donnie feeds into violent behaviours he's making those thoughts into true statements.

Donnie knows a killer isn't who he is, and in that moment Leo reminds him of that, he comes to terms with his mindset and realises he has the power to change how he thinks in a more healthy way, deciding not to kill Don Vizioso.

If you're part of a minority/marginalised group, you may struggle with things like internalised homophobia, racism, and ableism because of the way the society around you has built negative stereotypes around those groups. You may hate your own thoughts and hate the world for making you think that way.

It can be hard. If you act out in violence, unlike white, or straight, or able-bodied people, you are more likely to have your differences blamed for your violent behaviours. You feed into people’s stereotypes and negative ideas of certain groups unintentionally. If you struggle with internalised ableism, racism, homophobia/transphobia, the first step is coming to terms with your mindset, and finding a healthy way to accept who you are, and know that stereotypes and preconceived notions don't change you.

Never lose sight of who you are.

-

END SUMMARY:

2012 Donatello is a character with a complex and negative perception of who he is, with many things contributing to that fact.

At the end of the day, Donnie doesn’t seem to actively be after love or April as a person, rather simply a feeling of equality and confidence in general.

He wants to prove his thoughts that mutants are ugly wrong by gaining April as a girlfriend, aware that in society looks heavily contribute to having a romantic partner. Donnie seems to be afraid of humans rejecting mutants in general, but because April is the first human he has a personal relationship with, it’s shown through her.

As for equality, in relationships it's expected that you are treated equally and that no one is superior or inferior to the other, you both have equal say. Donnie is shown to feel that mutants are inferior and not good enough for humans, as shown by how much larger April is than him in his hallucination, and may also crave some sort of feeling of equality by getting into a relationship with someone he deems to be superior than him.

Donnie has also claimed April as some sort of thing to own, in the episode, ‘The Gauntlet’ by saying ‘There's a creature out there trying to hurt my April’ but apologetically changes it to just ‘April’ after he notices April's raised eyebrow at the choice of words. However, when April calls him ‘my mutant’ in ‘A Foot Too Big’ she doesn't stick around to see if he even likes it, or still wants to be in a potential relationship with her after the apology, quickly walking away.

And Donnie definitely doesn't seem to like it, being left confused and upset.

LEAVING NOTE : Thank you for reading, and I hope it was a bit more in - depth and well explained than the last analysis! I just want to say this isn't an attack on April’s character either - the writing isn't great in 2012, each character has noteworthy flaws and I don't think one character's behaviour is ultimately worse than another, including April's. Both her and Donnie are flawed, just like other characters, and I love them both.

Donnie while saying 'Because he's human, that's why.'

Donnie, at the end of 'A Foot Too Big.'

[remy-lupin]

Theme: non-sexual Dominance

- Saying, "No," in a stern but caring voice, leaving no room for argument, yet showing that their refusal is grounded in concern for the other person’s well-being.

- Standing tall and making direct eye contact during a conversation, their unwavering gaze silently commanding attention and respect.

- Calmly instructing, "Come here," with just the right balance of authority and gentleness, making it clear that obedience is expected, but not demanded with harshness.

- Speaking with a calm, steady voice that never wavers, effortlessly controlling the tone of the conversation without needing to raise their volume.

- When someone hesitates, saying, "Don’t worry, I’ve got this," with such confidence and assurance that it instantly alleviates doubts and compels others to step back and let them handle the situation.

- Casually placing a hand on someone’s shoulder or back during a discussion, a subtle but clear indication of their influence in the room.

- In a moment of tension, softly but firmly saying, "Look at me," drawing the person’s attention and focus, and grounding them in the dominant person’s steady presence.

- Leaning back in their chair with an air of confidence, effortlessly exuding authority even in moments of stillness, as if the space around them bends to their will.

- Responding to indecision with, "We’re doing it this way," said with unwavering certainty, making it clear that their choice is final, yet leaving others feeling relieved by the decisiveness.

- Offering a firm handshake with a steady grip, leaving a lasting impression of control and confidence from the very first interaction.

- When faced with resistance, calmly stating, "You’ll thank me later," in a way that conveys not arrogance but confidence in their wisdom and the certainty that they know what’s best.

- Listening intently while others speak but offering concise, decisive responses that shift the direction of the conversation to where they want it to go.

- Saying, "Trust me," with a steady, commanding tone that instantly dissolves any lingering doubts, making it impossible for others not to follow their lead.

- Standing at the front of a room during a presentation or meeting, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone present with their mere presence.

- When someone begins to argue, interrupting gently but decisively with, "Enough," their voice firm yet devoid of anger, communicating that the conversation is over without causing resentment.

- Giving a single nod or a slight smile to acknowledge others’ contributions, subtly reinforcing their position as the one in charge without the need for grand gestures.

- Offering reassurance with, "I’ll handle this," spoken in such a way that even those who are usually independent find themselves willingly stepping aside, trusting in their leadership.

- Casually but deliberately positioning themselves in the center of a group, naturally becoming the focal point around which conversations and decisions revolve.

- Softly but authoritatively stating, "You’re going to do exactly what I say," in a moment of crisis, their calm yet commanding tone compelling others to follow their instructions without question.

- Using silence effectively in conversations, making others fill the gaps and react to their pauses, which keeps them in control of the dialogue.

- When asked for their opinion, replying with, "This is how it’s going to be," their voice leaving no room for alternative suggestions, yet delivered with enough calm that it feels like guidance, not control.

- Making decisions quickly and confidently, without hesitation, which leaves no room for doubt or challenges to their authority.

- In a tense moment, quietly but firmly saying, "Breathe. I’m here," their words grounding the other person while simultaneously asserting control over the situation with gentle authority.

- Using small, deliberate gestures, like tapping a pen or adjusting their sleeves, to maintain a sense of control in situations where others may feel tense or uncertain.

- During a decision-making process, saying, "Listen to me," in a voice that is neither raised nor harsh, but so full of quiet conviction that everyone immediately falls silent, waiting for their guidance.

- Smiling in a way that’s both reassuring and authoritative, instantly putting others at ease while reinforcing their role as a leader.

- When someone expresses doubt, simply responding with, "Do you trust me?" The way they say it leaves no room for hesitation, making it clear that trusting them is the only logical course of action.

- Guiding the flow of conversation with pointed questions or comments that subtly steer the discussion in their desired direction.

- Saying, "That’s enough," with a tone that is both final and protective, a clear signal that the conversation or situation needs to end, but done with care to ensure everyone feels safe under their watch.

- Taking the lead in physical movement, such as walking ahead or guiding someone through a space, demonstrating a quiet dominance over the environment.

- In a moment of chaos, stating calmly, "Follow me," their voice cutting through the noise and commanding attention, guiding others to fall into step behind them without question.

- Offering calm, decisive solutions in moments of crisis, effortlessly becoming the person others look to for guidance and leadership.

- When someone is overwhelmed, quietly but firmly saying, "I need you to focus," their tone drawing the other person back to the present and re-centering their attention on what needs to be done.

- Maintaining impeccable posture, exuding confidence and control through the way they carry themselves, leaving no doubt as to who holds the authority.

- Responding to conflict with, "Stop. Now." The command is firm, but not aggressive, signaling that they are stepping in to take control and resolve the situation with authority and care.

- Setting the pace of interactions, whether in conversation or in action, dictating the speed at which things move without seeming rushed or pressured.

- When emotions run high, calmly but decisively stating, "You’re going to be okay," their voice full of assurance, grounding others in their certainty and making it clear that they will lead them through the storm.

- Giving instructions with clarity and confidence, their voice leaving no room for misinterpretation or question, naturally taking charge.

- Standing in close proximity to someone while talking, without crossing into discomfort, subtly establishing a sense of presence and control in the space between them.

[lassieposting]

So on the back of my headcanon about the Prototype more or less raising CatNap, I've been watching someone play Project Playtime for the first time, and I'm fucking yelling

If you play as the monster, the Prototype literally teaches you (as Huggy Wuggy) how to hunt. He's the one giving the tutorial instructions.

And honestly? The vibe I got from that "interaction" is that Prototype likes children. More than that: Prototype is good with children.

Project Playtime takes place in the intervening decade between the Hour of Joy massacre and the start of the main game. Based on the fact that Huggy needs the Prototype's guidance, it's probably fairly early in that period - he's not used to hunting for himself yet. So Huggy here is a monster with limited intelligence - he's the most 'animal' experiment we've seen, though he is still able to write - and the soul of a child.

And the Prototype tailors his lessons appropriately. Like, I trained to work with kids, and he uses essentially the same approach I would to teach a young or special needs child a new skill.

Simple Instructions: what Prototype is teaching Huggy here is, at its core, strategy and tactical thinking, and that's a subject he seems to understand well and know a lot about. A more intelligent experiment - like, say, young CatNap - might ask a lot of questions, and Prototype could probably give them long, in-depth explanations of why doing X thing prompts Y response or why Z tactic is useful. But Huggy isn't on that level, so Prototype keeps his instructions and explanations short, concise and easy to understand.

No Guesswork: Huggy, described as having only "sufficient" intelligence post-transformation, likely has limited capacity for complex thought. Where CatNap might be encouraged to think ahead for himself and suggest problems that could arise, Huggy would struggle. So Prototype gives him all the information he needs: here are the ways the humans will try to avoid or harm or mislead you, and here are the ways you can fight back. He even points out little tips that might seem obvious, like listening for the breathing of a hiding worker, because he knows that might not occur independently to Huggy.

Positive Reinforcement: When Huggy successfully incapacitates a human player, Prototype laughs and praises him, treating a potentially upsetting conflict like a fun game. Once Huggy has gotten rid of all the human players and won the match, Prototype tells him he did a good job and that he can rest now.

The Bad News Sandwich: One technique I was taught for dealing with young children is that when you have to give them upsetting or disappointing news, sandwiching it between two good things limits the distress it will cause. And Prototype does this twice with Huggy:

[Praises Huggy for catching a player and putting him in the food chute] [warns Huggy that the other players could try to rescue their friend] [offers a way to stop them doing that]

[Praises Huggy for clearing out the factory] [tells Huggy that more humans will return] [reassures Huggy that for now, he can rest and relax]

Anyway. Prototype taught at least one child-aged experiment to fend for itself and defend the factory: confirmed. And so, scenarios I'm now picturing with Prototype and little CatNap: this

I'm also 👀👀👀 at the fact that like. While it's directly stated that while his main motive for having the experiments attack the Project Playtime workers is to stop them making more creatures, he's got a secondary motive in that he's using the Bigger Bodies mascots *to gather food for the smaller toys*. The larger toys may have become hostile towards the smaller, weaker, "prey" toys, but the Prototype seems to be at least trying to provide for them, albeit in the only fucked-up way available to him.

Anyway I just think that's really interesting considering he's been implied to be the game's ultimate Big Bad. I think there's more to him than we've been told

[astemaker]

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