#full faith and dedication.

[classicsmosh]

still hung up on how much Ian talked about smosh being their identity in the spent a day with ep

[kramsingh1959]

[forestmossling]

just imagine rockstar! eddie releasing a new album, where one of the songs is called “a voice from above”. in it, he sings about a heavenly voice coming to him in the hardest, darkest hour of his life, when he was ready to give up and stopped seeing a future for himself, and calling him towards the light, coaxing the best out of him and pulling him up from the pit of despair eddie was slowly drowning in.

and it’s a rock ballad, so it differs quite a bit from cc’s usual style, is more “palatable” to the general public with it’s slower tempo, gentler melody and hauntingly beautiful vocals, with addition of a choir in the climax. and because of that, christians start claiming it (basically what happened with “take me to church”), newspapers and magazines wonder at eddie munson, the man a large part of whose aesthetic was so often referred to as “satanic” by the general public, with seemingly no denial from cc, who seemingly has finally found his way to religion.

and when cc comes to their next interview, the question of whether the great non-conformist eddie munson, who on multiple occasions dragged the christian church through the mud with accusations of hypocrisy and fostering bigotry in its midst in his songs and public speeches, has finally found god, inevitably comes up. the moment cc hear it they burst out laughing. after a while, eddie finally responds.

“this song is full of religious motifs, but not nearly for the same reasons you guys seem to think it is. it’s just that the experience the song is dedicated to was the closest i think i ever came to understanding what makes people come to real, genuine faith, the one that fills you with clarity, love and acceptance for the world around you, makes you feel like a part of something so much larger and greater than a mortal human being can possibly comprehend or reach on their own. that experience being the voice of the man that i came to love reaching me while i was in coma and reminding me of all the reasons life was worth fighting for, and then keeping inspiring me to be the best version of myself throughout my whole life.

and that, folks, is how being incredibly gay can save your life! i also don’t mind christians blasting “a voice from above” on their little church parties: my husband, after all, is definitely an angel on earth and absolutely deserves to be worshipped. but don’t you worry, i’m handling that pretty well on my own” and he winks at the camera.

and that’s how the world finds out that eddie munson is married.

[betterlifeinoverall-rethabilep]

Train Your Mind And Fluency In The Lord!

Like, Shares and Follow Please don’t forget to comment

[raysrays]

Crimson Guardian NSFW

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario : You've recently married into the respected Rengoku family, and while you continue your work as a demon slayer, life starts to get a bit messy. Balancing your duties becomes a real challenge as you navigate the challenges of married life. You find yourself having to make tough choices just to keep your husband happy, all while debating to stay true to yourself and your calling as a demon slayer.

Marriage. Truly one of the most beautiful milestones a couple can achieve. Marrying Kyojuro has undoubtedly been my greatest accomplishment.

I still remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. Surrounded by friends, family, and core members, we pledged our lives to each other. Though it wasn't the most glamorous wedding ever seen, it was enough. Because really, all I've ever wanted was Kyojuro, and now, finally, I have him.

For the first few months, our marriage was nothing short of perfect. I moved into the Rengoku estate with Kyojuro's family, assisting Shenjuro with chores and gradually trying to get closer to Shinjuro. Though I'm not sure how successful I was.

It was only six months in that I realized being a demon slayer and a wife wasn't as easy as I thought.

Before our relationship, I was Kyojuro's Tsuguko. He was simply my mentor, and I trained hard under him to get myself where I am today. It was later down the road that we noticed each other's lingering gazes, the occasional flirting, and all the other subtle hints of wanting to be more.

Kyojuro was strong, and I knew he wanted a family, but I simply wasn't ready to give up training and my duties as a demon slayer just yet.

Every day, after helping out around the estate, I would hike over to HQ and pick up where I had left off the previous day, training until the late hours of the night. I would often come home exhausted, which usually caused Kyojuro to worry. As much as I reassured him, he never seemed fully convinced.

Now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kyo across from me. It was a rare occasion for us to eat alone together like this. We made small talk about our day and training, and then he finally stopped eating and put his silverware down.

"Little Flame, I think it’s time we have a serious discussion about the way things have been as of late,” his usual happy smile seemed almost nervous.

I set my spoon down on my plate, giving him my full attention.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Sunflower, you have been working so hard as of late, and it’s quite admirable. I truly admire your dedication to the demon slayer corps and your training!”

“But…?” I ask, confused.

“But… since our marriage, I’ve found myself in constant worry over you. Every time you go on a mission without me, I have to painfully wait for your return. Not knowing whether or not you'd be injured or even-“

“Dead?” I finish.

I saw his body tense up at the word.

“Yes, my love. Dead. I cannot even bear the thought of you never returning to me. It pains me to my core,” he seemed so sad, so worried about me.

I know Kyojuro, I know he didn’t mean anything bad by what he was saying. However, I felt almost offended. He too was a slayer, a hashira. I also had to deal with the fear of him returning with serious injuries or even never returning at all.

Did he believe me to be incapable of protecting myself? He was the very one who trained me. Even though I knew Kyojuro was strong, much stronger than me, it just felt like he lacked faith in me.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough anymore? Do you think marriage has made me soft?” I realized I might have come off a little too harsh, but my emotions were getting the best of me.

His expression seemed surprised, but I could tell. While he may not have used those words, that was definitely the gist of it.

I watched him get up from his place at the table and walk over to me. He pulled my chair out from under the table, then grabbed my hands and kneeled down in front of me.

His big, bright eyes were now staring up at me.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, my love. I know how capable you are, but please remember…”

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“You are my wife before you are a demon slayer. I cannot risk sending you off only for you to never return.”

I could practically hear the desperation and love in his voice.

Kyojuro wasn’t someone who would usually discourage anyone from pursuing something they're passionate about. So if he was now, I knew that it’s something he’s been internally battling with for a while.

“What about you? Is it not the same? What about my worry? What if you never come home to me?” I could feel my face start to heat up. Everything he was saying seemed to come from genuine care, but it felt so hypocritical.

“I am a Hashira, my little flame. I have a certain responsibility you do not have to burden yourself with. I shall retire soon, in just a few years. So please…”

There’s no way he’d ask me-

“Please retire your sword, Y/N. Please stay home for me. Please allow my heart to rest easy knowing you'll be here waiting for me whenever I shall return,” his voice was pleading.

I felt so conflicted. I’d worked so hard. All of these years of training to hopefully become a high-ranking swordsman myself. However, at the same time, I never stopped to consider my romantic life and how being married would affect things.

We both sat there in silence for a few moments, and I finally rose up from the chair, pulling him up off his knees along with me.

I looked up at him, reaching my hand up to rest on his cheek.

“Kyojuro, you are the only one I would retire my sword for. So please promise me, promise me you will always come home to me. Until the day you yourself retire.”

“I promise you, Sunflower. As long as I know you are safe and waiting for me, there is no demon that could ever keep me away.”

I felt his hand on my lower back and the other holding up my chin.

We both leaned in, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

This kiss started so gently, so lovingly at first. As we pulled away for just a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, we realized how long it had been since we really enjoyed each other’s company.

After that, the kiss only grew hotter and more passionate.

Kyojuro swept me off my feet and carried me straight to our shared room at the back of the estate, the most private spot. It seemed fitting for newlyweds, after all.

As he gently laid me back on the soft futon, I couldn't help but stay focused on him. Kyojuro was simply beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his body, everything about him looked like he was perfectly sculpted.

My admiration was interrupted as I felt him begin to kiss me again. One of his hands traveling to my breasts, gently squeezing it.

The other massaging my thigh.

I feel him pull away from me starting to kiss on my neck traveling all the way down to my chest.

Kyojuro had always known my weak points and how to make me say yes to his every request. He knew my body just as well as I did, and now he was taking full advantage of that knowledge.

I could feel him pressing against me as he moved his hand down my body, lightly touching me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting more.

Then I heard, Kyojuro's soft voice whisper these words, almost as a demand. "Enjoy this little flame, you've kept me waiting far too long.”

As soon as those words left his lips, I felt myself begin to relax. His movements were so gentle, so careful, so loving.

His fingers trailed down my sides, sending chills through my body. His hands went back up and caressed my neck, making me tremble. He kissed me once more, and I melted into him.

It was as if he had cast a spell over me, and all I could do was obey him. He was completely in control of me.

After a moment, I felt him move back down and remove my underwear, revealing my already wet entrance. His hand slid between my thighs, and I couldn't help but let out a moan as his finger slipped inside me. He was gentle at first, just barely grazing me, but it felt incredible.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, his breath hot against my ear.

I nodded but I could tell that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words my love.” He demanded sweetly.

“Yes Kyo, it’s perfect.” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips before pulling back again, smiling at me.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Please," I begged.

He removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock, his tip rubbing against my clit.

"Good girl," he whispered, thrusting into me.

I threw back my head, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. His movements were slow and deep at first and then they became faster and harder, and soon my whole body began to shake. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping my lips, and I couldn't help but beg for more.

When he starts to speed up I know we are both about to reach our limit.

I feel his fingers interlock with mine and his lips pressing against mine again, but this time, he wasn’t just kissing me, he was also letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

He was biting down hard enough to draw blood.

We were both so close and we were both trying to hold back but we couldn’t anymore. We were finally going to let ourselves release.

I was the first one to let myself go, arching my back as I moaned his name.

Then he followed not too far behind.

After he finishes, we just lay there for a bit catching our breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally breathed out, turning his head to look at me.

I turned to face him as well. “I love you, Kyojuro.”

After that, the two of us drifted off in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I awoke, I was still trapped wrapped in Kyojuro's arms.

After a bit of struggling, I managed to maneuver my way out and make it to the kitchen.

There I saw Senjuro, who was already preparing breakfast for everyone.

“Good morning, Sen,” I greeted with a yawn.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N!”

“I'm almost finished with breakfast. Is my brother awake yet?”

“He should be awake soon. We both have to see Master Kagaya today,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

He stopped to turn and look at me.

“Did something bad happen?” he asked nervously.

Poor Senjuro always assumes the absolute worst in every situation. Well, I suppose in this case it’s somewhat understandable.

“No, Sen, nothing's wrong. Kyojuro and I are just going to inform Master Kagaya of my retirement. That’s all.”

He gave a puzzled look.

“Retirement? Why? Haven’t you been training for years to improve your sword skills to move up in the ranks?” he asked.

He was right. I know I shouldn’t go back on my word to Kyojuro, but I really was having second thoughts about my decision.

Senjuro could probably sense my doubt because his next response was:

"If this is something that you're not sure of, then you shouldn't do it. If you have doubts about this decision, then maybe you're not ready for retirement just yet."

His words really struck a chord with me.

Maybe he was right.

Before I could ponder that any further, Kyojuro had made his way into the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are my two favorite people doing?" he said cheerfully.

I smiled.

"Morning, Kyo. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you, little flame," he walked over to me, giving me a kiss.

I could feel my chest tightening, nervous about what was to come.

The whole time at breakfast, I felt so spaced out. All I could hear was Kyojuro and Senjuro talking and the occasional grunt from Shinjuro drinking away at the table.

“Sunflower? Are you okay?”

I was snapped out of my daze by Kyojuro waving a hand in front of my face. All three of them were staring at me, kind of concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

I shook my head a little and looked down at my plate. I felt bad for Senjuro going through all that trouble to cook, but I simply couldn’t eat right now.

After we finished breakfast, Kyojuro and I headed out.

The thought that this would be the last time wearing my uniform with my sword by my side was so weird and almost uncomfortable to me.

I knew that this day would come eventually, but I always hoped in the back of my mind that Kyojuro would be the one to retire before me.

I had been so focused on training and my duties as a demon slayer that it had never even occurred to me how my marriage would affect everything.

I was now a wife. My first priority should be the estate, and helping Shinjuro while he was in his state of grief, and being there for Senjuro as well.

It wouldn’t be right of me to go against my husband's wishes either. Especially after the intimate moment we shared. Right?

As we made it to HQ waiting to speak with the master I felt my heartbeat racing inside of me.

The room was quiet, I could feel Kyojuro’s eyes lingering on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him right now.

Both mine and Kyojuro’s attention was shifted as we heard the door open and Master Kagaya entered the room.

"Rengoku, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you both," Kagaya said, his face as warm as ever.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Master," I replied.

"So what brings you two here? It seems urgent, judging by the fact that you came in so early."

"It is very urgent," Kyojuro began.

He then proceeded to explain our conversation from the night before, and how I was considering retiring.

"Y/N, this is a big decision, and it's important that you feel comfortable and confident in it. Do you think you can fully retire, knowing you won't be able to assist the demon slayers as you are now?" Kagaya asked.

I looked at the master and then glanced at Kyojuro. He seemed so proud and happy that we were here. I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

But, I could also sense the worry in his expression. He was nervous, scared almost.

I couldn't do that to him.

"Master, I've spent most of my life training for the opportunity to become a hashira. To serve the demon slayer corps and protect those who cannot protect themselves. But...I'm no longer just a demon slayer. I'm also a wife, and as such, I think it's only right that I focus on that," I answered.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"If you truly feel this is the right choice, then we support you, Y/N," Kagaya finally spoke.

"Thank you, Master," I bowed.

"Thank you so much, Master! I will never

forget your kindness!" Kyojuro bowed as well.

The two of us left the room and started to head out.

As we exited, we ran into a few of the other Hashira, who asked us about what we had gone to see Master Kagaya about.

They too seemed surprised and a little concerned when Kyojuro explained to them that I would be retiring so soon.

I could tell some of their reactions to the news annoyed Kyojuro. Shinobu used the word “controlling,” and you could see his smile almost falter.

"Controlling" was never a word I would have used to describe my husband. He just loves me, right? He wants to protect me. There's no way my sweet and kind Kyo would ever do anything to control or manipulate me.

Right?

Part Two

[spider-chris06]

Do you know why Spider-Verse Miles is my favorite Spider-Man?

He, without having a choice, had to do in two days, what took all the other Spider-Sonas in the multiverse weeks, become Spider-Man, all under the unimaginable pressure of being the successor to the previous Spider-Man of his universe, which left the bar too high, having to meet everyone else's expectations, and having to go through a tortuous journey while learning from his mentor.

Even when the spider-gang not only didn't trust him but even seemed to dislike Miles at first (Except, of course, Gwen and Peter B, who are very special cases)

And pressing him to see if he was ready and treating him like just a kid (Even Peni).

All so that he then went to his uncle, who was like a second father to him and someone who truly understood Miles, only to find out that he had always been a hitman, going so far as to almost end with the life of his nephew, until he realizes what he was about to do and... well, tragedy happens.

The death of Uncle Aaron, due to the depth and history behind it, remains the most tragic "death of Uncle Ben" in all of cinema... ever.

Miles stopped being the same since then, and even when a hurricane of emotions possessed him, he learned that no matter what, Spider-Man always gets up and keeps going, at the same time he learned to take his leap of faith. Before becoming Spider-Man he had a normal and happy life, but after being bitten by that spider his whole life fell apart, but of course, Miles is someone truly strong and full of determination thanks to the people close to him.

In two days, he surpassed almost the entire Spider-gang, and in a year and a half he become almost a professional as Spider-Man, even giving lessons to everyone else, and making it clear to Gwen and the others what truly means being Spider-Man, not standing by crossed arms while someone is in danger, but trying to do everything you can to save everyone, doing both things, even when it seems impossible, Spider-Man should always try, because everything it's possible.

At the same time that Miles felt stabbed in the back by the same people to whom he wanted to dedicate his entire future just to see them again since he felt alone and sad inside in the world without them, and, specially, without Gwen.

And let me remind something, Miles actually thinks she doesn't even love him and only sees him as a friend, but he still wants to see her

On the ATSV betrayal, he release all that hurricane of emotions that he had to swallow and accumulate inside during ITSV and during that entire year and a half for not having time for ALL those things said before, leading him to have anxiety and panic attacks (Something confirmed in the synopsis of the short "The Spider Within")

All so that they later reveal to him that he was a mistake, an anomaly, that he should never have been Spider-Man, that he killed the Peter of his universe, causing everything that gave MEANING to his life fell down in just a few minutes, leaving Miles more traumatized, mortified and with more trust issues than he already had before.

He really became one of the most tragic character of all the saga (Along with Peter B and, put it in some way, Miguel O' Hara)

And just because Miles looks with a cool and chill personality doesn't mean he's any less traumatized and mortified on the inside (An example is Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man).

Even though in the comics that nickname is only used because that is what his universe is called, in the movies, on the other hand, even though there are people on the internet who deny the fact that he is currently becoming an unstoppable phenomenon that is marking an entire generation and will mark future generations, Miles Morales proved to be, without a doubt, the Ultimate Spider-Man.

As a bonus, even though she always screwed up with everyone around her, both the living and the dead, Gwen showed that she really loves Miles and that he truly is the love of her life, however, needless to say, she has a lot of work to do in her redemption arc to be able to fix things with Miles, which will be very difficult but not impossible, even more so taking into account all the hate she received for everything that happened in ATSV.

Now she has to PROVE not only to him, but to all of us viewers, that she truly deserves to be with Miles, that they can have a life together by her own merit, and that all the hate towards her after the ATSV release it's truly unfair.

However, I have to be realistic, there are characters like Peni or even Peter B who should not be anything more than simple 'acquaintances' or 'partners' for Miles, since, with what they did, the term "Friend" It's too big for them.

In any case, Miles has the last word.

[revehae]

do you like it, dr. lee?

pairing ↠ haechan, jaemin, jeno × (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, gangbanging, student x professor, reader is early 30s, mentions of infidelity, age gap (18+)

summary ↠ haechan, jaemin, and jeno are some of the brightest, most accomplished students in your class that never fail to make high marks on the exams. but when they approach you one day in your office, your perspective of them changes dramatically.

wc ↠ 5.4k

a/n ↠ part 2/5 of the college-capades series! connected to sexcapade.

don’t like it, don’t read.

it all happened so fast.

one minute, you were chatting with three of your most wonderful students in your office, and the very next, they had you sprawled out on top of your desk.

your heart was speeding. though you attempted to wrestle your way out of their less than gentle embraces, you couldn’t even take one of them, let alone all three. while somebody was keeping your hands still, another was holding you by the legs.

jeno, who had his palm flat over your mouth, only watching your moist, fearfully wide eyes, leaned into your ear and whispered, “scream and we’ll saw your tongue off.”

when he dropped his palm, you sucked in a breath, face tensing with tears as you willed yourself to be compliant. your head was spinning, dizzy with shock. what was happening to you was unfathomable. these boys were some of your favorite students, the ones who never failed to perform magnificently on the exams, and were sparkling in class.

you felt betrayed, in a way. even your worst-performing student wouldn’t stoop this low, and in the midst of your fright, you wondered what you had done to deserve the atrocity that was today. if there was anybody that you could count on to make you feel as if your dedication to this job wasn’t completely useless, it was these boys.

haechan was standing just shy of you, eyes fixed to that knee-length skirt he loved watching you wear. jeno chuckled when he noticed where his friend’s gaze had fallen, because he found himself glancing there too, but usually when you were facing away from your students.

he always thought about getting you naked, seeing your ass without anything to hinder his view. more often than not, jeno fisted himself to the thought of stuffing your ass full of his thick cock, wondering if anybody had ever fucked you there.

snapping out of his imagination, haechan approached you, shoving your long skirt closer to your hips. instinctively, the first thing you did was try to protect yourself, but jaemin grabbed you and ceased all control. you slumped, whimpering defeatedly, “boys, please stop. you know that i have a husband.”

haechan snickered, amused that that was the card you chose to play. “didn’t really look like you cared about your husband when you were fucking my dad,” he retorted.

rather than beat even quicker, it felt as if your heart stilled. “what?”

jeno laughed boisterously. “would you look at that. she thinks you don’t know.”

“that’s right, baby,” haechan replied menacingly, nothing affectionate about his tone, in spite of the pet name. “you run your mouth and we’ll make sure the whole school knows that you can’t stop spreading your legs for my father.”

donning the sweetest tone, jaemin crooned in your ear, “and you wouldn’t want that, right, sweetheart? you wouldn’t want mr. lee to know that his wife isn’t satisfied with just his cock, is she now?”

it felt as if the whole world was crumbling beneath your feet. haechan was johnny’s son, the offspring of the man you had been hooking up with behind your husband’s back, and now he and his friends were threatening to expose your affair if you refused to let them have their way with you.

your lips were trembling. this is all your fault, you chided to yourself. if you could’ve just been a faithful wife, a committed woman, none of this would be happening. they would have nothing against you, nothing that would stop you from reporting to the closest figure of authority. but you had too much at stake.

though you were no stranger to jeno’s short patience, you had never seen it manifest quite like this before, gripping your hair so roughly you whimpered in a blend of pain and shock. he growled, “he asked you a question. i shouldn’t have to tell you that that called for an answer.”

“no,” you replied shakily.

jeno’s grip only tightened and he pressed, “no, what?”

“no, i don’t want him to know…,” you trailed, because it was humiliating to repeat back aloud, but jeno was still gazing at you expectantly. “that i’m not satisfied with just his cock.”

“see, that wasn’t so hard. don’t be a little bitch and make things more complicated than they have to be,” jeno said, releasing his hold on your hair. you would’ve fallen back had not jaemin been there to catch you, only to then grab the little buttons on your blouse. “we’re doing you a favor, really. it’s a three for one deal. a little whore like you should be excited.”

but you didn’t want them, you didn’t even want your husband. you wanted johnny. it made you wonder how they knew of the affair, because haechan seemed oblivious only a couple of weeks ago. he referred to you as some fucking nurse johnny had flirted with, not his molecular biology professor.

for fuck’s sake, you were a solid decade older than them. granted, johnny was at least a decade older than you, though there was a discernible difference between the age gap between the two of you and the gap between you and your undergraduate students. 

your button-up blouse finally came undone and jaemin didn’t waste a breath before he snatched off your bra, eager to suck your breasts into his mouth. you gasped out when he did, his tongue darting around your nipples. in the same way, haechan yanked your panties off, cupping between your legs without a second thought.

never in your life had you felt more defenseless, powerless. stripped of all autonomy and forced to let other people have their wicked ways with you. you felt nothing short of violated and it made you sick to your stomach, gut tossing and churning with reproach.

through your stinging eyes, blurry with hot tears, you watched haechan sink to his knees in front of your desk. you weren’t particularly enthusiastic about how exposed you were, your breasts out and your skirt bunched just above your thighs. it felt like the closest thing to walking around the plaza half-naked.

obviously, you felt more watched than you would’ve had it just been one of them, but you were at the mercy of three guys that were paying a godawful amount of attention to your bare figure. jaemin was fixed to your perky chest and jeno was watching haechan situate himself between your legs, holding them open for his friend in case you wanted to be defiant.

“haechan, i don’t want this,” you whined, wiping your face with the back of your hand. 

“that’s too bad, baby.” haechan wasn’t even looking at you, gaze locked on your pussy, like that was what you were reduced to. “don’t worry, it’ll feel good.”

you sucked in another gasp when his mouth angled towards your pussy without affording you a notice in advance, your body’s natural instinct being to shut your legs, but jeno was still holding them in place and he was infinitely stronger than you. with the vigorous training that it took to be a member of the campus’ athletic teams, it came to you as no shock, but you were heavily disappointed.

haechan’s tongue singled out your clit while he lapped at you, ravenous. the second he saw you on the first day of class, he knew that he had to have you. so when he found out that you were sleeping with his father, cheating on your husband with haechan’s dad of all people, he became furious. 

neither you or johnny were as good at keeping secrets as you thought yourselves to be. on more than one occasion, haechan saw you leaving their house. every now and then, he would see your name on his father’s phone. and it wasn’t fair. if anybody could please you, if anybody could bring you to heaven and back, it was the boy with his head buried between your legs.

as if matters couldn’t get any worse, haechan actually seemed to know what he was doing. though you would never admit it to his face, the way he was sucking at your bundle of nerves had you throbbing, pulsing involuntarily around nothing. you whimpered and whined, but chewed on your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

jaemin chuckled so quietly it was barely audible, but said nothing as of right now, cupping your tits in his palms and squeezing. his patience was much less limited than jeno’s, who was currently shifting out of his boxers, freeing his raging hard cock. you saw him in the corner of your misty eyes, noticing how rigid and thick his cock was, but said nothing.

what you didn’t expect, though probably should have seen coming, was for him to start jacking himself to the sight of you being mishandled. haechan wasn’t the only one that couldn’t stop thinking about from the moment you locked eyes. matter of fact, that mutual pining was the common denominator of this little team.

all three of them were sick in the head, out of their minds obsessed with you. you would have expected some lethal kind of rivalry to develop out of that, but instead, they were much more menacing about it. they were helping each other get what they wanted.

you were a little overwhelmed from all the attention and jeno wasn’t even touching you, but just knowing that he was stroking his cock for you was more than a little unnerving. jaemin’s hands were so strangely gentle, setting a pattern as he groped you, all the while haechan was eating you out vigorously.

“pretty, pretty. so pretty when you cry,” jaemin sang in a way that could’ve been kind, if you ignored the nature of what was happening to you. then, like he knew your secret and was implying that he wouldn’t tell, he whispered for only your ears, “pretty when you lie, too.”

it wasn’t fair. you didn’t want to like this, just like how you didn’t want to be aroused. but when haechan pushed a pair of fingers inside of your pussy you gushed and tightened around his digits. you were so unstill, it drove him mad, prompting him to go harder.

your brain was empty but racing all the while, thinking, this is so fucking wrong. you were fucking his father, for crying out loud, and even that was wrong. you didn’t care then, so according to their logic, it shouldn’t have made a difference now.

haechan and jeno’s grunts blended into one giant cacophony of sound, haechan moaning with a mouthful of pussy because he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted and your pussy was spasming around his digits, whereas jeno was grunting because he thought you were most right now when you were deprived of all control.

blood was pumping quicker than ever through your veins, your heart screaming for survival. you weren’t even remotely in control of your own body anymore, seized not only by your three reckless students, but the pleasure burning through you like wildfire.

your office, that was typically admirably ventilated, seemed to hot to breathe in. but your breaths became quicker and shorter, as if there was no space in your lungs, and you started to feel the sweat cooling down your back, reminding you of how naked you were.

haechan was so hard, stiffening in his pants the longer he watched you start to unravel, and he could’ve probably gotten off just from making you cum. you were grinding your hips against his mouth, and his long, slender fingers that were surely getting you there. you might not have wanted to confess the truth, but your body couldn’t lie.

“she’s so close,” jeno commented with a chuckle, addressing you as if you weren’t even there. “fuck, i am too.”

a hole of negative emotions opened then and there and swallowed you whole, namely guilt and humiliation. you didn’t want haechan to make you cum, you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of bringing you pleasure, but that ship had already sailed. 

nonetheless, you parted your lips and begged in between shaky moans, “haechan, stop. please, i’m begging you!”

“he’s not going to stop, sweetheart,” jaemin crooned, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “don’t you see? he can’t get enough of your pretty pussy. you should feel so good about yourself.”

few things in life had ever made you feel this conflicted. on the one hand, this was degrading on way too many levels and you felt forcibly stripped of all of your dignity. but on the other, deep down inside, the sight of haechan with his head between your thighs as he licked and sucked at your cunt was inexplicably arousing.

and that did it for you. you tried to fight it, you really did, but your orgasm completely blindsided you, taking you by the reins and going to town. your lips parted in a cry of haechan’s name, your thighs trembling and heat striking through you like lightning as you gripped onto jaemin for dear life.

haechan continued to go down on you after you orgasmed, just until you finished more or less riding his face, going limp against your desk with only jaemin to keep you upright. you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. all the blood was rushing to your head and your heart was thumping in your ears.

haechan finally pulled back, licking your arousal off of his lips and the corners of his mouth in a way that made your core throb emptily, then asked, “did you like it, dr. lee?”

your ears burned and you said nothing, because there was nothing that needed to be said. your answer was in the way your chest heaved like unstill waters, your fingers still holding onto jaemin’s shirt. like you thought you would collapse if you had nothing to anchor yourself.

jaemin took one glance at you and scoffed, “i think she loved it, man.”

there was something so smug in haechan’s stare, like he just knew that he had you.

when haechan moved, jeno came between your spread legs, still holding his cock while he stroked himself to climax in front of you. like it would never be satisfied, your pussy continued to throb at the sounds you were indirectly plucking out of him, culminating in one deep, guttural growl when he came, shooting his load on your cunt.

though you were (thank god) on birth control, him orgasming there still made you feel iffy. you could feel it trickling down into your hole and hated how eager it seemed to be filled. for half a second, you were convinced that was the worst that could happen.

imagine your shock when jaemin abandoned your boobs, soft and supple as they were, and shifted between your thighs next. you didn’t know what to expect when you noticed him move, they enjoyed keeping you guessing, but it definitely wasn’t for jaemin to lick at your release-stained pussy.

you gasped, “jaemin!”

the sound of him sucking and licking at your clit was lewd, and there were long, damp lines being made with his flattened tongue. while you were appalled, the other watched in amusement how jaemin unabashedly more or less ate jeno’s cum from your hole in a disturbing licking pattern. because where it was a nightmare for you, it was just one giant game to them.

to say nothing of the fact that you had only just orgasmed, sensitive. your thighs couldn’t handle the stimulation and you let out a breath of relief when his mouth separated from you, only for him to stand and force his lips against yours. you resisted, jolting away from him, but your attempts to evade him were in vain.

jaemin didn’t even need to grab your face to keep you still, because there was nowhere for you to hide. it was a disgusting, messy kiss, given that you were adamant on pushing him off. only so much of it was your fault though. jaemin liked it messy, liked how repulsed you were. he liked the grimace you were sporting and the blend of jeno’s cum and saliva dribbling down your chin. the damp spots of his saliva on your cheek from your attempts to dodge him and where his tongue pressed against you instead.

it was nauseating to you. you could taste jeno’s cum on your tongue, even though his cock hadn’t been anywhere near your mouth. and the the taste just wouldn’t go away.

jaemin, at last, pulled back, though only to laugh at the look on your face. “aw, don’t make that face. you liked it, right?”

you parted your lips to say deny him, but jaemin saw it coming and just kissed you again, not one to take no for an answer.

“okay, move your ass,” haechan said after a minute of watching you squirm. you never realized how strong jaemin was.

jaemin frowned, but moved out of the way. not because haechan told him to, but because he had something equally devious running through his brain.

you were baffled when you noticed haechan returning between your thighs, because he should’ve already had his fill. then, you noticed that he had freed his cock from his boxers in the time jaemin spent sucking on your tongue, and swallowed the lump in your throat.

you let out a cry of shock when they spread you over your desk the long way, carelessly toppling over your belongings, and yanked your skirt off your body completely. you were utterly naked, and there was no bit of you they hadn’t seen.

haechan positioned himself behind you, lining himself up at your entrance. there was so much terror in your body at the moment, scared not only for what was to come, but of liking it too.

“please,” you begged, trying to negotiate once more. “you boys should fool around with someone your own age.”

haechan snickered, as if that was funny. he probably thinks it is. “maybe, but where’s the fun in that?”

your jaw slacked when his first thrust drew a pitched cry from the back of your throat. he wasn’t even half as patient as his father would be to sheathe himself completely. johnny would take his time, wallowing in your wetness just before slowly but steadily filling you, inch by fucking inch. haechan, on the other hand, went straight for the kill.

but to your horror, you were soaked enough for him to slip right in smoothly, to say nothing of jeno’s leftover cum facilitating the process. haechan was girthy like johnny too, in spite of all of their stark differences, and you hated that it was so familiar how he was stretching you out.

“wait,” you whimpered, fingers clamping aggressively against the edges of your desk. “haechan, please. you don’t need to do this.”

irritated, jeno nudged jaemin, groaning, “will you shut her up already?”

“gladly,” jaemin chirped, a devilish little smile tugging at his lips.

you lifted your head up when you heard jaemin approaching the side of your desk that you were facing, watching him shuffle out of his pants and boxers, and you quickly started to flail. haechan grabbed your neck, lowered his head, and hissed, “behave, or we’ll have to tell the class that their favorite professor is just a slutty little whore.” 

you stilled, remembering what was at stake. it wasn’t just your career, but johnny’s too. the second it got out that the two of you were involved in an affair, you knew you would both have to answer for your sins.

when jaemin finally got his underwear off, lengthy hard cock standing angrily against his stomach, he positioned himself beside your mouth and crooned, “say ‘ah.’”

“i don’t want to,” you whimpered.

jeno crept over, evidently disgruntled, and there was a resounding smack when his palm landed flat against your cheek. “one more thing from you and your husband’s gonna get a nice surprise in his email,” he warned.

defeated, you silently opened your mouth, letting jaemin push himself to the back of your throat. he let out a pleasant little sigh, eyes fluttering closed, paying no attention to the tears dripping down your cheeks. your mouth was too warm for him to a give damn whether or not you wanted this, to care about what you were feeling.

all the while, haechan’s hands were bruising your hips with the merciless grip he had of them. unlike you, his moans were unrestrained, never shy to reveal the ecstasy making his blood pump and his dick throb. you were so wet, so tight, everything he imagined tenfold. his father didn’t deserve you, not in his opinion. everything johnny could do, haechan was certain that he could do better, even if you didn’t want to confess.

even if he was a lot less caring than his dad would present. you didn’t know johnny, not like you thought. the dark side haechan had didn’t just come out of nowhere. though you would never realize, there was a clear reason why haechan was so sick in the head, especially when it came to you. why he took great delight in forcing you over your desk, stuffing you full of his cock and listening to you cry, struggling to hide that you loved his cock.

“he doesn’t love you, you know,” haechan said none too gently, snickering from between your legs. “i hope you realize you’re just another easy whore. not the first, not the last.”

there was so much going on that you were hoping you could somehow detach yourself from the brutal reality. not only was your body overloaded, but your mind and soul, ripping a hole right through all that you thought to be true.

it was all too fucking much. “your mouth feels so good,” jaemin exhaled, a hand tangled through your hair.

“you should feel her pussy. she’s so fucking wet, dude. and she thinks we’re going to buy that she’s not begging for this,” haechan replied, completely degrading. 

jaemin chuckled breathlessly. you were sucking it out of him, against your will or not. “yeah, i can hear how wet she is.”

jeno said nothing, but you were already too overwhelmed to notice his absence in the conversation. he was engrossed in thought, waiting with staggering patience for his own turn. which wasn’t typical for him at all. he swore, when he was done with you, you weren’t even going to think for weeks. 

between haechan’s twisted smack of his hips against yours and the way jaemin was unabashedly using your mouth to get off, you couldn’t decide which was more brutal. torture was torture, but if it was meant to be so bad, there shouldn’t have been moans slipping from your mouth uncontrollably. there shouldn’t have been a familar weight sitting in the pit of your stomach, waiting to wreck you.

“i know you love this,” haechan said, maybe project just a little, but the body didn’t lie and he could feel you tightening. “i know you love this fucking dick. wish i could hear you say it, baby.”

“that can be arranged,” jaemin quipped, but it took you by surprise when he actually pulled his cock from your mouth. “c’mon, angel. tell haechan how much you love his dick.”

your face flushed with humiliation, but you knew what would happen if you failed to comply. “i...,” you started, hesitant. “i love your dick, haechan.”

haechan smacked your ass, making you stifle a scream. “again.”

you cried out, “i love your dick!”

“i know,” haechan said, sickeningly confident in himself. “i also know that you’re about to cum.”

it was maddening that your husband of ages could hardly even get you off these days but some students in your class were recognizing the signs in record time. you were also ashamed with yourself for being so aroused, for needing to orgasm this badly, but you forfeited control of yourself moments ago.

jaemin had enough and once his dick started to twitch desperately, he shoved his cock back into your mouth, chasing relief for the raging hard-on you’d given him. rather than you sucking him off, it was more of him relentlessly fucking your throat, not stopping when you gagged.

and it wasn’t long before the three of you ultimately came, like a chain of dominoes collapsing after each other. this orgasm was just as powerful as the one that came before, the room reeling as your screams were muffled against jaemin’s stiff cock. your whole body was a thousand degrees hotter. jaemin’s warm cum releasing in your mouth while haechan’s seeped deeply into your pussy.

although you tried to swallow jaemin’s cum, per his request, some of it dripped onto the floor. you were terrified of leaving evidence of this encounter, wishing you would’ve gulped it all back, but then you felt haechan’s cum leaking out of you and your priorities shifted.

“my turn,” jeno said, though that was a given. you were confused when he started to spread haechan’s cum over your asshole, though for the longest you could feel his stare burning through your backside.

baffled, and maybe somewhat startled, you asked, “jeno, what are you doing?”

“shut the fuck up,” jeno snapped belligerently, smacking his palm harshly against your cunt. you cried out in pain, unexpecting. “i’m tired of hearing your voice. just take it.”

but nothing could have prepared you for what was to come. nothing could have prepared you for the merciless way he penetrated your ass, effectively knocking the wind out of you. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if all the air in the sky was stolen and hid in this little box somewhere.

you wanted to scream, you wanted to beg for forgiveness for whatever you had done, but no sound would come from your mouth. there was only instant tears, your hands gripped the rim of your desk for purchase. the makeup you were wearing was ruined ages ago, but it had to have looked despicable now, because you were sobbing harder than ever.

“poor thing.” jaemin frowned, pretending to be compassionate. that was something he was good at, you realized. he had you fooled until you saw how recklessly he fucked your throat, and you came to accept they were all too alike.

“she’ll be, fuck, fine,” jeno groaned, careless. he was the roughest of the bunch, the most antagonistic. “this hole is so fucking tight.”

jeno was pressing you against the desk harder than haechan had, roughly mishandling you. it was obvious that jeno didn’t see you as his equal. when it came to you, all he gave a damn about was passing your class and fucking your ass.

never in your life had anyone ever fucked you there before, and the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. you were so repulsed, choking on your own feelings as they killed you slowly. the pain was unbearable, making it impossible to remain still, but that didn’t matter when jeno had you borderline flattened.

it was almost awe-inducing how he held you down with ease, regardless of how strong you thought you were and how violently you were reacting. it was the closest thing to being split open. pitiful little noises escaped you, but you bit them back, because the last thing you wanted was to get caught. somehow, though, the shock was more agonizing than the pain itself.

your agonized whimpers and jeno’s husky grunts made an awkward cacophony. if there was any of them that got off to your helplessness, you knew it was all of them, but jeno had to wallow in it more than either of them.

haechan and jaemin were stroking their cocks to the sight of you being ravaged to the point of total destruction. there were plenty of times in your life where you felt nothing short of broken, but this was a different variant, a kind from which you knew that you would never recover.

jeno couldn’t believe his thick cock was even fitting into your tight, flexing asshole, though then again, whatever you thought you couldn’t take, jeno would make you do. your body was for his own personal amusement. he leveraged himself deeper and deeper, groaning and laughing, using you to his advantage. because what jeno wanted, he always got. every time without fail. obviously, you were no exception to this pattern, even if it was to your own dismay.

your lip was bleeding from how frequently you were biting. all you wanted was to protect your reputation. you had things to lose, things you knew jeno would steal away from you in a heartbeat, because all he did was take.

“she’s such a damn whore, fuck. she should be grateful i’m fucking her,” jeno hissed, aggressive.

given how much you had heard adjacent statements in the past hour, you were starting to believe them, no matter how disparaging they were. you were accepting the cold truth, that this was your punishment for being unfaithful.

quickening his pace, jeno continued, “i’ve never wanted to fuck that nasty little pussy of hers. not when everybody’s been inside of it. but i can tell she’s never had this ass stretched before.”

his words were hurting more than his cruel movements, and you didn’t understand the science behind that. you whined, “jeno.” please, have mercy, was what you wanted to say, but you knew there was no point.

jeno squeezed your neck, cutting off your ability to inhale, and you felt every nerve in your body start to panic. “for the umpteenth time, shut the fuck up. no one’s fucking talking to you, bitch.”

you quieted, face tensing with delirious pain. 

“pathetic if you ask me,” haechan added, breath shaky. “her husband’s dick isn’t good enough for her, so she fucks my dad, and now that we give her three more, she still has the audacity to complain.”

jaemin snorted. “textbook cockslut.”

you wanted to speak, you were desperate to defend your honor and identity, but you had already said enough and you were lucky that they hadn’t already decided to expose you to the whole planet. you had no defenses against them, nothing in your arsenal. 

“begging us to stop, but she won’t stop fucking cumming. needy little bitch,” jeno chided, though judging from his breathlessness, he was far from disgruntled.

jaemin chortled, his cock still close to your face, and it was making you mildly uncomfortable. “maybe we should send her back to the husband with some tips.”

“oh, i’ve got one,” haechan said, beaming with his usual mischief. “hold her down and use her little holes until you’re done.”

“yeah, looks like she loves that,” jaemin retorted. 

jeno quipped, “we should’ve recorded. maybe showed him a tutorial.”

haechan blew out a contented sigh. “well, there’s always next time.”

your heart was taut with fear at the thought of there being a next time, but the three of your students were grinning with excitement, as if they wholly anticipated reliving this moment in the not so distant future.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” jeno grunted, wanting to go even deeper, but there was nowhere for him to move. 

haechan hummed, reminiscing over how good it felt to cum inside of your throbbing pussy. how you milked the cum out of him, bled him dry. “shame she’s on birth control. i overheard her and my dad talking,” he replied, nonchalant. “imagine if we got her pregnant.”

“man, don’t talk like that,” jeno groaned. 

haechan glanced to jaemin, both of them snickering amongst each other. “dude, i was just kidding. don’t tell me that’s actually getting your dick hard.”

“fuck, i’m gonna…”

the most delicious growl came from the tip of jeno’s tongue when he released inside of your asshole, his brows scrunching together with pleasure. his hips finally grinded to a halt when he met his climax, dumping way too much of his load inside. you could feel his fingertips leaving marks that would indefinitely stain your skin, and you dreaded having to explain them to your husband.

when jeno finally pulled away from you, having had his fill for now, your body went limp against your desk. you could have moved, but you were too exhausted. sweat cooled down your back, chilling you to shudders, but there wasn’t a single thought in your head. all you could do was lie there, used and exploited, hoping that life would return to the way you knew it before they broke you.

because right now, it was bland. the only thing you could feel was the soreness in your legs and the cum dripping from your hole, numbing yourself to everything else.

there was so patronizing about the way jeno turned to you, asking with the slyest grin on his face, “did you like it, dr. lee?”

[foone]

Many people don't understand the difference between a paladin and an inquisitor. I mean, they're both religious warrior guys, right? What's the difference?

I mean, a lot? It's their whole motive and origin story, really.

A paladin is someone who has dedicated their life to a quest, to an oath, and they have done this out of a sense of religious devotion. They have said to their god that they believe this cause is righteous and holy and they will put their life and soul on the line for it, and their god has agreed with them, and given them boons and powers and protection in service of that mission. Paladins are deeply religious people, but you'll never see them praying: for them, their worship is in every swing of the sword, in every innocent protected, in every wrong righted. Their prayer is devotion to their cause.

Inquisitors... Are different. They didn't devote themselves to a cause so strongly it feels like dogma. They didn't take an unbreakable oath to stay on the one path for the rest of their days. They're someone who, at the end of their rope, prayed to the one thing they could still believe in and asked their god to give them a weapon that could destroy everything wrong in the world.

At their lowest moment when everything but their faith had been shattered, they used the last of their strength to ask for something, anything, to renew their purpose in this world. With nothing left to lose, they cried out to the heavens... In response, the clouds parted and glorious light shone down and God handed them a pistol.

A paladin is devoted to a cause, when can be everything from "the lich much be destroyed" to "the city's orphans need protection and food and shelter". Inquisitors are instead people who cried out "beloved god, the world is horrible and broken and full of sin!" and their god said "You're right. Take this sword and go kill the problem."

At the end of the day, a paladin is someone who is defined by an absolutely willingness to do whatever it takes to follow their oath.

An inquisitor is instead someone who has only one singular solution to every problem in the world, and it's kept very sharp.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“The women leaders in our study were considered too young or too old. They were too short or too tall, too pretty or too unattractive or too heavy. They had too much education or not enough or their degrees were not from the “right” schools. They suffered from disrespect and misperceptions due to race, color, or ethnicity. Whether they had children or were childless, the women were expected to work harder than men to prove their worth. Women were held back from leadership opportunities due to being single, married, or divorced. There was no personality trait sweet spot, as introverted women were not seen as leaders and extraverted women were viewed as aggressive. The effect, then, means women leaders are “never quite right.””

Full text under cut

https://www.fastcompany.com/90889985/new-research-reveals-critiques-holding-women-back-from-leadership-that-most-men-will-never-hear

A recent study of the 33 biggest multilateral institutions found that of 382 leaders in their history only 47 have been women. And the percentage of women running Fortune 500 companies has only just recently crested a meager 10%.

As researchers we wondered why institutions consistently fail to promote women to top jobs. Our recent study of 913 women leaders from four female-dominated industries in the U.S. (higher education, faith-based nonprofits, law, and healthcare) sheds light on this pernicious problem. As we found, there’s always a reason why women are “never quite right” for leadership roles.

Women are criticized so often and on so many things that they are acculturated to receiving such disparagement, taking it seriously, and working to make improvements. And any individual woman may take it personally, believing the criticism directed at her to be warranted.

But our research reveals that the problem lies elsewhere. Virtually any characteristic can be leveraged against a woman in a discriminatory fashion. Such criticisms often relate to facets of women’s identity in an overt or subtle way, such as race, age, parental status, attractiveness, and physical ability.

Effectively, the surface-level critique functions as a “red herring,” distracting from the inherent gender bias driving the encounter. This type of treatment is so common that we have called it “we want what you aren’t” discrimination.

More specifically, our research revealed 30 different characteristics and qualities of a woman’s identity that emerged as points of criticism creating barriers to women’s success. The clear message to women is that—whatever they are—they are “never quite right.”

Age was a consistent challenge for women leaders in our study. Some of our respondents reported being considered too young to lead, while others indicated being too old hindered them from advancing.

However, being middle-aged didn’t help women’s career prospects either. A physician shared: “I am middle-aged, and men my age are seen as mature leaders and women my age as old.”

Parental status—having children or being childless—emerged as another point of criticism. A higher-education leader described how people assume she “can’t take on a bigger role ‘because of the kids,’” which made her feel that she needed “to work extra hard” to show that she could be both a dedicated mother and a leader.

On the other hand, a childless physician was expected to “work harder/more, accomplish more” than other female colleagues. Mothers were also bypassed for career opportunities, as happened to a single divorced lawyer who was the mother of preschoolers, “due to a perception by my male bosses that I cannot or should not handle [larger matters].”

Likewise, pregnancy was problematic, particularly for lawyers in our study. There was doubt that women would come back to work after maternity leave. Some were no longer given good assignments, while others were forced to quit private practice or work part time. One lawyer described the loss of confidence from bosses:

“Once you are pregnant or trying to have kids, the way management views you deteriorates. The opposite thing happens for male coworkers. I’ve seen it in so many law firms it’s impossible to argue it was just coincidence or based on merit.”

Simply planning on having kids was enough to invoke bias. A woman in higher education reported being denied promotion because she would need maternity leave for hypothetical future children.

Women of color were targets of subtle bias. An African American faith-based leader described being “invisible” and regularly “talked over” by white men. A Native American higher-education executive described being misperceived as weak, “when in fact we are practicing ‘respect’ for ourselves and others.” And a Filipina physician described facing role incredulity, as people assumed that she was “a nurse, and not a doctor and a division chief at that.”

Even physical ability and health played into the women’s experiences. Physical disabilities led to assumptions of not being capable. One higher-education leader who uses a crutch was questioned by men about the way she walks and has been told “to hide my cane, especially for photographs,” as she said.

Regarding health, there were double standards around the way men and women with illnesses were treated. A physician developed ovarian cancer while serving as an officer in the public health service. She explained, “The plan was to discharge me . . . even though men with prostate cancer didn’t have to go through that.”

The women leaders in our study were considered too young or too old. They were too short or too tall, too pretty or too unattractive or too heavy. They had too much education or not enough or their degrees were not from the “right” schools. They suffered from disrespect and misperceptions due to race, color, or ethnicity. Whether they had children or were childless, the women were expected to work harder than men to prove their worth. Women were held back from leadership opportunities due to being single, married, or divorced. There was no personality trait sweet spot, as introverted women were not seen as leaders and extraverted women were viewed as aggressive. The effect, then, means women leaders are “never quite right.”

Organizations that fail to promote and support women in their top roles miss out on performance gains. Fortunately, there are concrete steps that organizational leaders, allies, and individual women can take to mitigate this “never quite right” bias, aiding women’s workplace advancement.

“Flip it to test it”

Leaders can be particularly effective in thwarting sexist criticisms toward women. It’s not about changing the behavior of women—who are the recipients of the unfair treatment—but it is about changing the behaviors of those who justify their actions as somehow merited. Many criticisms fail the “flip it to test it” method miserably. Ask yourself, would the following statements ever be said about a man?

He needs to smile more.

Men are going to have kids and not want to work.

Since Larry has prostate cancer, he can no longer fulfill his job duties.

The clear answer is no. Leaders can infuse awareness of this simple, yet effective, tool to reduce such bias-laden criticisms. And workplace allies can help stop unfair criticism of women by calling it out.

Constructive career-enhancing feedback

Women are almost one and a half times more likely to receive negative feedback that is subjective rather than constructive and objective feedback. Men are often given a clearer idea of where they excel and opportunities for improvement whereas women are given vague feedback that often focuses on qualities like communication style. Even when using formal performance evaluation rubrics, a disparity remains.

Developmental feedback to women focuses on operational tasks, coping with politics, developing resilience, being cooperative, and building confidence. Developmental feedback to men focuses on setting a vision, leveraging power and politics, being assertive, and displaying confidence. Leaders can reduce the gender-biased framing by encouraging all employees to develop both sets of skills.

Do not take it personally

For individual women, hear us when we say, “It’s not you.” We women are conditioned to accept feedback and internalize it as something to “fix” about ourselves. If you are criticized, consider whether it is objective, constructive, and warranted. Disregard identity-based criticisms that are part of a larger pattern of bias against women.

Our research demonstrates that practically any characteristic can be proclaimed problematic for a woman leader to question her competence and suitability for leadership. It takes deliberate effort, but we can turn the message to women from “We want what you aren’t” into “We want what you are.” Doing so will advance women in the workplace and profit the entire organization.

Amy Diehl, PhD, is chief information officer at Wilson College and a gender equity researcher, speaker, and consultant. She is coauthor of Glass Walls: Shattering the Six Gender Bias Barriers Still Holding Women Back at Work.

Leanne M. Dzubinski, PhD, is acting dean of the Cook School of Intercultural Studies and associate professor of intercultural education at Biola University, and a prominent researcher on women in leadership. She is coauthor of Glass Walls: Shattering the Six Gender Bias Barriers Still Holding Women Back at Work.

Amber L. Stephenson, PhD, is an associate professor of management and director of healthcare management programs in the David D. Reh School of Business at Clarkson University. Her research focuses on how professional identity influences attitudes and behaviors and how women leaders experience gender bias.

[buccini555]

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐨

≡ ℋeadcanons what it would be like to have a long-distance relationship with Shinichiro Sano being a sweet gamer boy who is completely silly for you

⌕ ℱluffy ℋeadcanons!

★ ℱ𝓽. Shinichiro Sano

Shinichiro always sends you messages like: "Good morning my princess.", "I miss your voice, bunny.", "I can't wait to see you again, love.", "How's your day, babygirl?", "How's my pretty girl feeling today?" He always ends up completing himself like a sly kitten, being exactly affectionate and kind at all times, also, calling you cute names all the time.

Even from afar, Shinichiro would commit to being extremely faithful to you, as well, he would be equally affectionate most of the time.

He spends almost all day sending you Instagram reels or TikTok videos, they are usually as random as possible or just cute.

Shinichiro always sends you audios as soon as he wakes up or before going to sleep, besides, he could easily spend hours on a call talking without stopping just to hear your voice.

The boy always sends you gifts, whenever you like something he ends up buying it in a few weeks, one of the ways he found to show his feelings for you was by giving you gifts, for that reason, he always gives you gifts.

Shinichiro lets you watch or hear him while he plays, plus he always invites you to spend time playing video games with him.

During the day, Shinichiro usually sends photos of practically all the bikes he repairs during work and also explains to you about his work even if sometimes you simply don't understand a word.

He definitely makes an effort to come and see you, even if from time to time, Shinichiro never stops visiting you quite often, you usually spend a lot of time together when he ends up coming to your city, Shinichiro really prefers to stay at home, for that reason Reason, when they are finally together, they usually spend it playing games and being very affectionate with each other.

You use matching profile photos, combine playlists and dedicate songs, Shinichiro writes you long texts every week full of heart emojis to at least try to be romantic.

On his cell phone case, as decoration, he uses a polaroid with a photo of himself and a phonestrap with his name next to heart beads, moreover, it is a fact that his wallpaper is definitely a photo of him.

Even from afar, you watch anime together, or just read the same manga while making a call, Shinichiro always prioritizes having some quality time with you, for this reason, he tends to be attentive all the time.

[sweetercalypso]

Pearl Rosary || Din Djarin

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession

Notes: part three in my week of horror series! minors dni; public(ish) sex, finger sucking, deepthroating, cock worship, facial, reader is a Mandalorian who takes her helmet off, so much religious imagery

In the Cathedral of Mandalore, there’s only just enough light to make out the back of the wooden pew in front of you. The doors and windows are adorned with an ornate red glass that wash the chapel in a somber crimson gloom, a reminder that only those dedicated to their creedal faith are permitted inside.

The nave is silent beyond the occasional clink of beskar and the solemn bells ringing overhead in hourly intervals. You’d counted three resounding chimes, then four, then five, as the day stretches on outside the walls of the chapel.

In your tightly coiled spiral of pensive rumination, time seems to stand still.

Your eyes snap up as another Mandalorian passes by your aisle in their departure from the confessional. The small curtained booth at the front of the church has a strangely foreboding presence, and you’d been working up the courage to step inside all day.

The front doors close, and you’re left with your guilt once again.

If you admit to the thoughts weighing on your conscience, maybe you’ll have the chance to repent. Or, if the pit of dread in your stomach is any prediction, you’ll be cast out for your inclination towards a life of sin.

Before you can work up the nerve to decide whether to gamble your fate, the head of the church, Din Djarin, steps out of the other side of the confessional, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiff ache of being confined in his narrow compartment.

His armor has grown dull with age and wear, buffed with a flat luster that speaks of its obstinate strength.

Others have said that his appearance makes him seem ordinary, but you’ve always thought that his mannerisms were what set him apart. His imposing stance, his commanding way of speaking, the way his head tilts when he’s deep in thought – he’s beautiful if you know where to look.

When he turns in your direction, your breath catches in your throat.

“You’ve been here for quite a while.” His voice has an unexpected warmth that licks up your spine. “Are you here to speak with me?”

Your eyes flicker warily to the confession booth. “I’m not sure.”

He seems to pause for a moment before making his mind up to join you, floorboards groaning under his heavy boots as he draws near. You shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, squirming under the spotlight of his attention. He stops at the end of your row and rests a hand behind you on the back of the pew.

“We can speak out here if you’d prefer.”

You’re surprised that he’d recognized the source of your unease, though you’re not sure if he realizes why the embrace of the confessional is so distinctly unnerving.

The people of Mandalore are not known for their empathy, especially not those held in high regard by the church. Din Djarin is a fiercely orthodox man, and you doubt he understands the position you’re in.

“I’ve seen you during services,” he comments. “Always so attentive.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought of being recognized in the mass of devoted warriors that frequent his sermons. Is your shame so pronounced that you stand out in a crowd? “I didn’t know you paid attention to the assembly.”

He hums in response. “I care deeply for everyone in my congregation, especially those who are in danger of losing their faith. Tell me, what’s been troubling you?”

You hesitate before answering, skirting around the truth as much as you can, as much as he’ll let you.

“I’ve had… impure thoughts, father.”

“Oh?” His voice is rich with interest. “Indulge me, cyar'ika. What tempts you?”

His smooth, full baritone makes it impossible to deny his entreaty, like he’s wrenching your secrets from the far reaches of your mind.

“I’ve thought about… taking my helmet off in the witness of non-believers. I’ve thought about what you look like underneath your armor.” You pause for breath. “I’ve thought about your image at improper times.”

His chest falls with a heady sigh, though the sound is lost beyond the rasp of his modulator. “I see. And how do you think you should pay for your transgressions?”

The presence of other Mandalorians can be heard from outside the chapel – an admonition of what you have to lose if you are turned away. The air in the room shifts. Your hands flex at your sides.

“I’ll do anything.” You push forward onto the edge of your seat, ardently pleading for your chance at repentance. “Tell me how to make things right.”

He shifts in place, mulling over his options for what feels like an eternity. You swallow the urge to scream as silence rings in your ears.

Finally, he speaks.

“Maybe you’re too curious,” he decides. “Too concerned with things you cannot have.”

Your fingers dig into your palms, awaiting the final blow of his judgement.

“I think you need to experience firsthand the gravity of your desire.”

He leans down like he’s sharing something that no one else can hear, a sentiment too clandestine to be born in a house of worship.

“This is a sacred place,” he explains. “If you’re going to commit an act of sin, let it be here.”

You’re taken aback by the implication of his words. You’d been expecting a show of indignation, maybe even outrage for your betrayal of the Way, but it seems like he’s encouraging your lapse in faith. Surely, you’ve misunderstood.

The hand caressing your shoulder tells you that you haven’t.

“Revealing yourself to anyone a sin, and the public would have you exiled for removing your helmet. But here, in the presence of a higher being, I will make an exception.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his hands are on the underside of your helmet, tipping your head back with the force of his grip. The fabric of his gloves glides against your jaw as he lifts your beskar veil and exposes you under the chapel’s dim, ruddy glow.

You squint at the sudden shift in the light, surprised to discover what your dark-tinted visor had been hiding from you. The red halo cast around him is much more intense without the obstruction of your helmet. His outlined form burns with a fiery sanctitude that makes you shudder.

Your attention is drawn to his hands ghosting over your face, cradling your cheeks with a curious touch. The pad of his thumb presses against your mouth, tugging at the plush of your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?”

You swallow thickly and chance a look up at him, finding your face in the reflection of his visage. Your lips part in fascination at the sight of your own eyes staring back at you.

“That’s it, open up for me.”

His thumb presses further into your mouth and hooks behind your teeth. The taste of the holy chrism melts across your senses, balsam and olive oil and something you can’t name. When your tongue swipes out to meet his digit, he hums low in his chest and pulls his other hand back to curl around his belt.

“Does this make you feel good? Corrupting a man of faith?”

You whimper around his thumb, eyes blown wide with lust. The metal buckle at his waist glints in the low light, seemingly pleading for your touch. You don’t know how far he’ll take this lesson, but you’re hoping it ends in a mutual exchange of sin.

As if persuaded by your thoughts alone, he works open his belt and the fastenings of his pants, revealing a patch of tawny skin that contrasts the muted tones of his beskar.

“You need more than this, though. Don’t you?”

With a low hiss, he pulls his hardening cock from its confines, and your mouth waters at the sight. He’s eager, alive, twitching in his tight grip. The tip of his cock weeps as he bucks into his hand.

The heat simmering in your belly has grown into a blazing flame. When he swaps his thumb for the head of his cock, your thighs clench with the urgent need to consume him in every way.

His warm, salty taste is so human, so unlike the righteous figure he’s made out to be. You can almost picture what the rest of him looks like by the glimpse of what he’s offered you.

Your lips wrap coyly around his length, an earnest appeal for his approval.

The tint of his visor hides his eyes, but you gaze up at him anyway in hopes that he meets you halfway, that he commits the image of your debauched affair to memory.

“C’mon, this is your chance to atone.”

You trace the vein on the underside of his cock, tongue laving over him in search of a reaction, in search of redemption through your greedy act of worship. His hips stutter in response and the head of his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth.

He mumbles something akin to prayer and focuses his efforts, sliding further into your mouth until your nose presses against his pelvis and his cock settles in the back of your throat. You gag at the foreign pressure and try to pull away, but he settles a hand on the nape of your neck to hold you in place.

“That’s it, take it all.”

His thrusts are slow, lazy, careful not to overwhelm you. When he moves, it’s a gentle drag over your tongue, not the heedless intrusion you’d expected from him. He bucks his hips like he wants to know you’re enjoying it too.

“Fuck,” he grunts, chin dropped to his chest. “Your filthy mouth was made for this.”

You wish you could see him without the beskar disguising his reaction. The heave of his chest, the flex of his hands, the jump of his cock when you tongue the right spot – his body is so expressive, you have no doubt that his face would be too.

A few more juts of his hips and he’s pulling out of your mouth and forming a fist around his length, flushed skin glistening with your spit.

He chokes out a broken noise and angles his hips towards you, painting the evidence of your transgressions over your cheeks and your lips.

You touch your fingers to your face when he pulls away, eyeing his handiwork with a sound of approval. This part of yourself, it’s his now. Desecrated for the use of someone more sacred than yourself.

The corners of your mouth stretch into a grin. This is exactly the forgiveness you were looking for.

[kramsingh1959]

[xvxnux]

navigation : paid readings ☆ masterlist

i : "i need you to be strong now, everything that's happening today will somehow serve to bring you to me... your best version. believe in what i'm saying now: we will still have sad feelings about this, it's something that marked us and made us suffer. i need you to dedicate yourself and not give up, make plans. always have a direction! always have dreams and look for things that make you want the best for all eternity. i know things are tough and you're tired of waiting for genuinely good things. there's something difficult for us to deal with besides all of this, you know? something from our inner selves that you refuse to accept happened and refuse to expose and talk about. you're right to preserve yourself, but know that everything you put effort into doing succeeds. our secret will be safe until you want it to be, and can i tell you something? we'll never tell. know that your future will be good, comfortable. you'll have time to feel the cool breeze in your hair and have moments of peace. you may be curious about your career, right? well, listen, you'll be successful. you'll have a stable and admired mind, you can do anything! i'm sorry if i confuse you when i say "you" at some moments and "our" at others. i see us as different people now, who suffer and feel the weight of the present is you, and you will always be proud of your story. i'm in the future, waiting for you to blossom! I'm sorry i can't give you more directions about our future right now, but i'm worried about you. oh, stop apologizing! i hope you'll be alright. with love, your future self."

i see that you might be going through a tough time at the moment. the cards mostly speak about stability. perhaps you're confused about your career, and you might wonder if this reality will change, which can cause you pain.

your future self didn't want to talk about other matters; they are concerned. you'll become even more responsible for yourself and your feelings. i can see that in the future, you may face emotional challenges, and your burden is heavy, but it's alright — you'll manage well and become even more amazing!

ii : "dont worry, your cup will always be full. you will have brilliant moments ahead, so don't lose faith. there's a new version of yourself about to bloom like a black widow flower. this version will be one of the four you'll experience. no, you won't cease to be yourself, but we agree that you need to evolve, right?! in any case, be confident, your next version will teach you cunning and how to handle malicious people, unfavorable situations, and moments of pain. you'll emerge from all the rough situations, knowing how to navigate them unscathed. don't hold onto this current version of yourself; you're feeling sorry for yourself! i apologize for being tough and cold with you; perhaps it's my desperation for having lived your pain and heard your despair without being able to do much. but i believe, you are me, and i once was you! you need to understand that feeling sorry for yourself will make it difficult to leave the past behind, the same lack i felt once and that you still feel: the missing hug, the support that was lacking... the stabs in our backs and the weight on our conscience. i understand it all. when i say not to feel sorry for yourself, i mean you need to detach from this version; it no longer serves you. but if by any chance you don't understand why you feel this way, i can point out a few reasons: you lacked support and didn't receive the value you deserved. always alone, my love? always. you learned through pain to rely on yourself, you supported yourself, wiped your own tears. You embraced your inner child; yes, you are a child. but this child needs to stay, and you need to continue this journey. learn from all of this that you will still be your own support; your inner child knows how to walk and needs to walk alone, take her off your lap. your version will bring you everything you need, and it's written for you. wait to discover that you are one of the most intelligent people someone could meet. know that you will still have the power of communication; know that you will be feared and respected. feared by enemies and respected by friends! you are loving, and you need to continue to be so, you need to find balance. you want to help people in the future, and you will, but to get to me, you need to nurture the love within yourself. you will stop looking at yourself with harsh eyes and discover new spiritual abilities soon. be happy, i'm waiting for you..."

for me, it was touching and straightforward. i see that currently, you might be experiencing moments where you doubt yourself and wonder if you will reach your desired destination, but yes, you will. much depends on us and our well-being, on how our mind is doing. i see you as an intelligent person with potential, but you have been neglected and diminished in the past. there may be psychological issues that hold you back and eat away at you from the inside. fear of not finding love? nah, you will find it. even though you may not have that next version yet, i see positive aspects in you that help you get through all the difficulties you have faced. you are strong and can protect yourself from many things, but there are still challenging things. your intuition and life situations will guide you to where you belong. don't swim against the current; if you feel like doing something, just do it.

iii : "luck is on your side now, and you need to know how to be rational and think about the future, so when tough moments come knocking at your door, you don't see everything as bad and against you. the friends you have today, few will remain by your side later, and the things you value now will lose their significance. cherish the present moments and prioritize those who are prioritizing you now, okay?! i need you to wake up and be more responsible about your future, don't waste time and money! the future is bright, and you will have everything you desire, but if you still think money can buy everything... stop. i don't have much more to say for now, have a good night."

[escuellasceramicdollie]

DROWNING IN FRILLS ( arthur morgan x hyper!fem reader )

warnings: use of pet names such as doll and princess tags: dedicated to @lovearthur thank u for ur request <3 ily to death !

mayhem, disarray and havoc were the most excellent three words that appeared to describe the gang in the best manner. yet warmth, devotion & adoration appeared to only follow under one circumstance; if you and arthur were in a five mile radius of eachother .

the love was pure like a faithful preacher to their religion or a christian lady which never had any lustful thought cross her mind . there was no need for extravagant gifts for you to know that arthur deeply treasured & adored you , it was the glimmeringy assuring look in his eyes that with out fail made you week in the knees that consoled you the full truth .

however , just because there was no need to buy your love doesn't mean he couldn't spoil his princess !

"hmm i don't know, the lace is real itchy and makes me look like a stuck up snob !" you complain, scratching away at your neck to cure the irritation caused by the most lavishly detailed pink gown you selected to try on at the saint denis tailor .

"beauty is pain & you must have suffered alot to look that beautiful doll." arthur chuckled , knowing the effect his words have on you & as expected your features faded into a fluster, almost as pink as your dress !

"don't flirt with me mister." you giggled , swaying the skirt to harmlessly strike arthur's side with .

"mister? then you must be my lady!" his northern accent seeped through harsher than usual whilst he hooked his arms around your neck from behind . both of you now glancing at the both of you in the mirror, you begin to speak up "and that i am!" you rotate your head just enough to meet his tender lips , meeting in for a delicate kiss .

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Mavros Arator, Voice of the Ascendant

The demagogues seem everywhere these days, putting their words to the tune of the populace's nebulous worries: this week it's the impiety of the realm's leaders, last week it was the barbarians infringing on the borders, before that it was the decaying morality of the youth. It's the same old song, just with new lyrics to fit with the times. No one's sure just when the crescendo will hit or how, but everyone who's been paying attention know they're going to try to bring the whole house down when it does.

Setup: A charismatic figure has risen to prominence channelling discontent in the wake of an unfavourable war. As a gifted orator and veteran of a conflict remembered for being more "glorious", the words of Mavros Arator carry weight with both the military and common people. He agitates on behalf of those who resent the diplomatic capitulations used to secure peace in a losing war his own rulers started, and argues for a revival of "national spirit" to strengthen the homeland so it does not allow such a disgraceful defeat to happen again.

What separates Mavros from any other blowhard protofascist is the fact that he's looking to summon a demon to purge his homeland of those unsympathetic to his cause. Scoured clean of all those unwilling to fight and die and obey, he and the other true believers will form an unstoppable army that will march out under the banner of conquest to settle at spearpoint every historical grievance in the realm's long history.

It's up to the party to stop this instigator and the hatemob he's made of their neighbours before he enacts his plan and ends up ascending to full dark lord status.

Background: Mavros loved his homeland, as a young man he went to war to defend it, spent decades bleeding for it, and that love endured even after his homeland spat him out with nothing but a soldier's pension and a lifetime of traumas he had no words to explain.

That was the point of course, empires are built on the back of men like Mavros, shaped from their earliest days to believe that their homeland is singularly great and beset by threats on all sides, or that war is the measure by which a son may prove his faith and loyalty rather than an enterprise made to expand the holdings of the powers that be.

The problem for those powers is that Mavros didn't die like he was supposed to, he soldiered on driven by a manic dedication that persisted despite his comrades getting scythed down around him. When he was too old for soldiering he turned to having a family, raising four boys and feeding them one after another into the waiting jaws of his nation.

A man less ardent in his love of home, less firm in his faith might have wavered when they brought the first of his sons' bloody helmets back in lieu of a body. He might have seen how his virtues, his loyalty, had been abused by those above him, made him question the justness of the wars and conquests and pain he had been apart of. instead that loss, made him open to change. Instead Mavros's convictions deepened, and by the time of his third son's death he had become so entrenched in the pit of his beliefs that he had unearthed a new truth: He loved his homeland, it was just being held back by the people who didn't love it enough.

It was deep in that pit where Mavros first heard the whispering of Diridaxx, the fiend known to diabolists as "He who claws from below". In ages past the demon was said to prey upon the weak, wicked, and impious, before clashing with an ancient hero and being struck down with a blow so divinely empowered that it not only buried the fiend deep underground but reduced him to ash along the way, depriving him of the strength required to ever escape. The depths of Mavros's despair and his own desire to see those "less thans" cleared from his home formed a connection between man and demon: first dreams, then visions, then a pact. Influence in exchange for escape, followed by victory in exchange for slaughter. The fact that the hero of the old myth happened to be one of the founders of the realm that handed Mavros's own homeland its recent defeat was just icing on the cake.

Adventure Hooks:

The party is likely to encounter Mavros's influence long before the man himself, as thugs, opportunists, and grifters look to take advantage of the post-war unrest to raise their place in the world and make good on his words. A troop of discontented soldiers may be shaking down travlers on the road as an unofficial "toll" to repay their service , while an enterprising merchant might stoke xenophobia to turn townsfolk against a competitor of forign origin.

It'll take more than speeches and random acts of violence to summon Diridaxx from the pit, it will take sacrifice. (un)Luckily for Mavros, he's been sacrificing all his life, and all that is required is a bit of occult-recontextualization to turn the deaths of his sons into a ritual years in the making. With fiend's magic his follower's resources at his command, it's only a matter of time before he gathers the bones of his three dead sons (and their haplessly dutiful surviving brother,) from their resting place in foreign lands and cremates them, suffusing their pyresmoke with Diridaxx's own noxious essence.

If you want to add another big bad to the mix and given similar themes of would be tyranny and xenophobia, consider checking out my genocidal fallen angel villain: Insiyah who could be very easily be using Mavros as her agent, or working alongside him to bring about his vision.

Also consider checking out my writeup on how d&d tends to mishandle matters of morality in it's game, and the simplistic way it views evil. Writing that inspired me to write a villain who was a very human sort of evil who utilized magic, rather than the all too common magical evil around which most campaigns are based.

Art 1

Art 2

[stellar-skyy]

IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE — Wanderer, Furina x reader.

i. SUMMARY: Moments that changed everything between you. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader has medium length/long hair (long enough to braid) in Wanderer's part, VERY slight spoilers for the 4.2 Archon quest in Furina's part. iii. NOTES: Rivals to lovers & Vahumana!reader in Wanderer's part, lovers to exes to ??? in Furina's part, fluff, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 2.9k words. iv. A/N: This is my gift, for the Favonius Lbrary secret santa, for @heiayen! Merry Christmas Heia, I hope you enjoy! if you don't i will cry! (that is a joke but i do hope you like it :3) Once again, sorry this is late :(

WANDERER

The students that studied at the Akademiya could be divided into several groups.

There were the hard-workers, who weren't particularly intelligent by birth, but fought tooth and nail to drag themselves up in the ranks. That group occasionally overlapped with the truly passionate ones; who were so invested in their pursuit of knowledge that little could stand in their way of it. There were the underachievers, the overachievers, the visionaries and the slackers. In each classroom you were bound to have at least a handful of each.

Then there were the gifted ones. The ones who breezed past every subject with ease, who were pushed as the representatives of the Darshans, to show outsiders how talented and dedicated their students were. The geniuses, the prodigies, the virtuosos. They were the students that treated their intelligence as a prize to be flaunted above the rest, who would lazily fill out their test papers and be returned with perfect grades, who managed to both value their knowledge above all else and take it for granted. Out of all the Akademiya scholars, those were the most arrogant and truly insufferable ones.

Wanderer fell into the latter category.

He joined their class later in the year, and settled in as a permanent thorn in everyone's side. Every addition to their scholarly discussions was gasoline on a dying bonfire, strategically placed to set the class aflame. He'd raise his hand with disinterested corrections to other student's theories, followed by irritating opposition to whatever stance the professor was attempting to take, all sprinkled with a pinch of disdain and the most unpleasant attitude one could possibly have.

The most infuriating part, was that he was never wrong. His logic was sound, every addition was justified. No matter how sarcastic or scornful-sounding his interjections were, they were never without reason. And a week into their class proved him to be one of the most naturally exceptional minds in Vahumana.

Maybe [Name] would admire him if being around him didn’t make them want to throw a book at his head.

That first week in their class had solidified two more things. First, if Wanderer was going to act so cocky, then it was their sworn mission to make sure he was knocked down.

Second—

“The answer is D. All of the above.” Wanderer yawned. “Honestly, you call yourselves scholars—”

“Actually, it’s not.” A voice rang out, clear and steady. “You could argue that it’s all of the above if you were looking at it from a very elementary perspective, but once you actually start to analyse each answer, you’ll see the flaws in them all. All except one, that is. The answer’s C.”

“[Name] is correct. The answer is C.”

He turned, eyes narrowed. They fell on an equally hard gaze. There was something fiery there, as if they were raising a challenge. He met them with a smirk, as if he was accepting it.

—They were not friends. They were rivals.

Precisely why they couldn't work with him.

“Please! Can I be paired with anyone else?” They begged, face falling further with every passing moment that their professor remained unfazed. The rest of the class had vacated the lecture hall already—all eagerly chatting about their chosen topics—leaving the two of them alone to talk.

“I have full faith in you, [Name].” The professor said calmly, sitting down at his chair and shuffling papers into an orderly stack. “This is a simple assessment.”

The assignment itself wasn’t the difficult part. A straightforward research project in a subject of their choice, one that related to the topics they’d been learning that semester. It was supposed to help lead the class into their further studies, to gently ease them into researching on their own and prepare them for when they would have to write their final thesis.

It was the easiest of tasks, but the problem wasn’t the task itself. It was who they’d been chosen to work with.

“Group projects are designed to test how well people can work together with others.” He sighed, and leaned back on his chair with a pensive expression. “I don’t like all of the people I have worked with in my studies, but as academics, it is something we all must suffer. And besides; if I regrouped everyone who complained about their partner, I would never stop changing them.”

It wasn’t as if they were trying to be painful. Finishing a group project would be easy, had they been partnered with anyone but him.

“Just try to make the best of it, wont you?” A smile flashed across his face. “Perhaps you might even make a friend.”

Friend was far too hopeful of a thought. Friend was the last word they would use to describe—

“Wanderer.” They hissed under their breath, his name poison on their lips. “Trust me, Professor. I will not.”

The two students arranged to meet in the library. Or, more specifically Wanderer had appeared right as they left the classroom and told them, “If you’re finished complaining about me, come to the library tomorrow at eleven.” before disappearing.

The library was once their solace, where they could study in peace away from any distractions. The sounds of pages turning, faint whispers, and pens scratching against paper provided a comforting ambience to their research.

Now, it was—

“You took long enough.”

“It’s not my fault you’re impatient.”

Something considerably less homely.

“I have several ideas,” They said.

“Of course you do.” Wanderer scoffed. They ignored him.

“We could do it on Ancient Deshrat.” They mused, skimming across their notes. A stray strand of hair fell into their eyeline, and they tucked it behind their ear mindlessly. “We looked at them earlier in the year, a little before you joined the class. They have a lot of interesting traditions we could look at—maybe a comparison back to modern Sumeru, to see how the influences carry over.”

“I don’t care. Just choose one, and tell me what part you’re doing.”

They inhaled slowly, forcing the anger down and running the professor’s words through their mind. It’s one project. Once they were done, they never had to work with him again.

“Fine,” They snapped. “I will work on researching whatever information we need. You will write up an introduction outlining… outlining…” Their words trailed off to make way for a huff. Once again, their hair had fallen into their eyes, and they pushed it out of their face impatiently.

“Just move it out of your face, it’s not that hard.” Wanderer said snippily.

“Oh, thank you, I would never have thought of that.” They retorted.

“Well, I don’t see you doing anything useful, other than swatting at your own forehead.”

“I’m moving it out of my way! We can’t all have a bowl-cut!”

“Then braid it.”

“I—” It wasn’t a bad suggestion, as much as they loathed to admit it. “I can’t. I can’t braid my hair behind my back, and I don’t have anything to tie it up, even if I could.”

They lapsed into silence, Wanderer staring at them like he didn't quite believe them.

“I could braid it for you,” He said suddenly. They looked up at him, blinking.

“You… want to… braid my hair?” They repeat slowly.

He huffed. “Are you seriously that slow? Do you need it written and signed for you to understand?”

“I just find it hard to believe," They said defensively.

“You were complaining about it being in your way." He said, extending each word slowly like they were a child who couldn't quite understand what was going on. "The less you complain, the faster we get this done, and the less time I have to spend working with you.”

"Fine." They say, fighting back a blush.

"Fine?"

"Just do it, already."

His hands were oddly careful against their hair, raking across their scalp to comb through the knots and tangles. The feeling was soothing, almost cathartic. It would be far too easy to close their eyes and sink into the feeling.

They weren't quite sure what they were expecting. Nails that felt more like claws? Rough tugging on the knots in their hair, just enough to be painful? Surely something uncomfortable, to match the animosity between them. Nothing quite as soft as this.

“This is kind of surprising to be honest. You don’t seem to be the type to be good at braiding hair.” Their words sounded a touch too nice, so they were quick to add, “—Especially with that haircut.”

A shiver ran down their spine, as gentle hands ran through their hair. It was freshly brushed, and by then he must have already worked out any knots, yet they ran through it anyway, as if their intent wasn’t just to untangle it.

“I braid my… Aunt’s hair, a lot.” He said suddenly, pulling them from the trance. They make a hum, a quiet signal for him to continue. “She’s the one who showed me how to do it.”

“I didn’t know you had an aunt,” They said, without thinking. The thought comes a moment after: Of course you didn’t, you don’t know a thing about him.

Wanderer didn’t seem fazed. “No, we only became close recently. She… she’s done a lot for me.”

They waited for him to elaborate, but his quota for abruptly sharing information about himself appeared to have been filled. Instead of talking, he fixed his focus on their hair, dividing it into three sections and brushing his fingers through to neaten them. One by one, he twisted them over one another until he reached the end of their hair.

“Do you have anything to tie it up?” He asked. They shake their head, and he scoffed. “Of course."

Still gripping the end of the braid, he used his free hand to rifle through the inside of his bag until he pulled out a loose piece of ribbon. From there, he quickly tied off the end.

"Now stop complaining," He sat back down and leaned back in his hair nonchalantly, as if he was unaware of the static filling their mind. All they could focus on was the phantom feeling of hands—his hands—on their scalp.

It shouldn't have felt pleasant, not when those were the hands of someone they despised.

“Are you going to continue?”

"Right..." They cleared their throat, a strange heat against their cheeks. It was stark, out of place. They ignored it. "Where was I...?"

FURINA

[Name] stared across the ballroom, a drink in their hand. On the opposite side, a woman in a blue dress tipped back her head in a laugh and held her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t her true laugh, the one that sounded like tumbling waves and sweeping currents. It was the specially curated laugh she made for laughing at jokes she didn’t find funny, in front of people she didn’t like.

Furina turned, catching their eye. She smiled, far too casually, and raised a hand in a tiny wave. For the first time in a while, she wasn’t wearing her gloves, leaving the skin of her hand exposed.

They didn’t need to ponder what the feeling of that hand in theirs was like, after holding it countless times, until the weight of it caused phantom pains in their wrist. They didn’t have to wonder about her lips on their cheek, or her arms around their waist, when they were sensations that had been burned into their skin.

They averted their eyes, instead of returning the wave. There wasn’t any point dwelling on the past, or exchanging pleasantries with their ex-lover.

Maybe if they had been informed of her presence ahead of time, they wouldn’t have come. That way, they’d never had the chance to do something as foolish as reminisce on people as painful as Furina. But Navia—sweet, kind, oblivious Navia—had invited them, unaware of their messy break-up.

The split wasn’t either of their faults. ‘Grown apart’, could be used to describe it if you were feeling cliché. Perhaps a more accurate description would be ‘grew too close, until their roots were tangled with each other and their thorns were too deeply buried in each other’s sides, that removing them would hurt more than letting the relationship fester.’ It was a classic tragedy; two flawed people clinging desperately to each others’ side, until the haze of romance cleared and said flaws drove them apart.

The split was mutual, made for both their sakes. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting when their lives—previously entangled and interwoven with each other—were torn into two. Suddenly they were alone, and half of their existence had up and left.

It hurt, the split. But they knew staying would hurt more.

“Excuse me,” The voice was so soft, so excruciatingly familiar that if they kept looking away, they could convince themself it was just a hallucination. “[Name].”

They couldn’t. They couldn’t do it. At least while staring into their drink, they could enjoy the voice as a pleasant dream.

“[Name], please.”

But they never were strong enough to resist her, were they?

Their resolve crumbled like sand. They looked over, and there she was: as breathtaking as she looked the day they first met her.

“Hi,” She whispered. It was one word, and all too much.

“Hey,” They respond, keeping their voice low to seclude the conversation to the corner of the room.

“How have you been?” Furina asked. They tried not to let their face fall at the words. Before they broke up, there wasn’t a need for small talk, or even greetings for that matter. Their conversations would taper off into quietness or end completely, and they would pick right back up the next time they spoke. Questions of how they were, or dull observations about the weather had no room to fill the silence, when that space was filled with a comfortable kind of quiet.

“I’ve been well.” Far too stiff. The old [Name], the one that was Furina’s lover, would never let themself be so formal with her.“And yourself?”

“…Well, as well.”

In an effort to fill the awkward silence, they blurted out “I heard about your…” What was it exactly? Demotion? Abdication? Dismissal? “…I heard what happened. About how you’re not the Hyrdo Archon anymore.”

“Ah, yes, I figured you would have heard about that.” She rolled her eyes, part of her mask slipping. “There isn’t a person here who hasn’t…”

They cringed inwardly at how their choice of conversation made the silence even more uncomfortable. “So… what are you doing over here?”

She grinned in relief at the topic change. “Darling, we’re at a party; there’s one obvious thing we could be doing.”

“What’s that?”

Furina extended her hand, folding the other behind her back. She smiled coyly, a million words dancing on the tip of her tongue, all unsaid. “Well, the reason I came over here, of course. Will you dance with me?”

Letting the conversation lead on this long was dangerously close to letting her back into their life. But what was a little more danger, when the music was so sweet and Furina was offering the chance so freely? It was just a dance, nothing more.

They placed their drink down on a nearby waiter’s tray, and took her hand.

Furina’s lips parted into an O, momentarily surprised by their willingness, but she quickly recovered. She tugged on their hand to bring them further into the centre of the room, taking one of their hands and placing it on her waist, and intertwining her fingers with the other.

She swept them across the floor, twirling and spinning past the rest of the couples. One step forward, a step back. They let go of her waist to spin her in a circle and she let out a giggle, sounding like waves crashing on the shore. The sound made them breathless.

Furina replaced her arms around their waist, stepping so close that they were only a breath away.

Their eyes drifted to the windows, reflecting the ballroom. In it, they could see all of the couples pressed together, while the orchestra played tirelessly off to the side. In the centre was one pair that fell directly under the ballroom’s chandelier lights, a beautiful woman in a blue dress, and… well, them. Beyond that, they could see the night sky in the background: hundreds of shining stars and a full moon staring back at them.

“The sky is so pretty,” They whisper.

“It’s beautiful,” Furina agrees, not taking her eyes off them.

The song ended, fading off in place of a more upbeat tune. Furina didn’t remove her hands from their waist, barely acknowledging the change. It wasn’t quite dancing by then, simple swaying in place with her arms around them. They didn’t care enough to move.

“Would you like to have tea with me, sometime?” Furina asked. The words were more than an invitation; they were the keys left in the lock, letting them through and back into her life if they so pleased. An I don’t think that’s a good idea would be easy. A no would be easier. Instead, all they said was, “I would like that.”

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