#go rate/review it if you want

[phantomarine]

OH SHIT IT'S ON GOODREADS NOW!

[variousqueerthings]

very funny when people on letterboxd describe a movie as "didn't reinvent the wheel" and it's like. lisa frankenstein. cocaine bear. i just don't think that was their intent as movies youknow. i think it was to have a fun time.

[northern-passage]

;-; I was on my way to replay faith for like the 34895487 time and it's gone ;;;;;;-;;;;;;

it was one of the best pieces of the jam

are u ok?

thank you this is very sweet :-)

i did take faith down... the short of it is just that faith got a really weird reception and it made me feel really weird and just overall, while i don't regret the experience, i think i had different expectations going into a jam and because of that i just didn't feel good about it in the end. i think i have just learned that game jams are not for me hahaha

this isn't me trying to discourage people from participating or anything (it was still fun making something like that) but it's just my personal experience. if you want to join any jams you should try it for yourself and see, i know a lot of people had fun with this jam so i'm not generalizing at all & you may have a different experience than me. and it was still really cool to see all the different stories that came out of it :-)

[stardustedknuckles]

Absolutely fucking hate the perfectionism required for citations for a paper. As a tutor, I get kids all the time being like "I need review of this, this, and this, and also my citations" and I have to be strategic about like. Listen. I used bibme.org all through college and I still think citations are THE dumbest shit academia ever pulled. I get that having a standardized way to cite sources is useful. What I don't get is why I am expected to memorize so much technically useless shit for every possible form of media I could be citing and that I could lose points on a perfectly great paper if I get anything wrong, which means I will already be double checking my citations, so why would I NOT just generate them automatically? Not only am I expected to memorize where the commas, italics, and periods go for print, media, interview, article, and etc. for MLA, but then it all changes for APA and such? Fuck that. At this point, when I get papers that ask me to check citations, I go through and address everything else (you know, the stuff a student can't actually look up themselves) and then say "the general format of the references page looks correct and the in-text citations are fine, but citations are the one part of an essay that can be double checked without me and therefore I focused my efforts on the content of the paper." Like I DO make sure the citations at least LOOK correct, but I'm not about to start counting author names and checking period vs comma and all that.

[davemustaine]

hate etsy so much rn

[hanaasbananas]

people who leave 5 star reviews without saying anything are so interesting to me

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪  lover !!

ᝰ.ᐟ even if he doesn't exude this energy to outsiders, you're happy to know that your boyfriend is the biggest simp around when it comes to you. or: the cute things he'll do for you.  (fem!reader)

featuring yoichi isagi, seishiro nagi, reo mikage, rin itoshi, rensuke kunigami content contains hotel bathroom sinks designed by a man, slight jealousy (reo is the jealous boyfriend), height differences (nagi + kunigami + rin are described as taller), wearing his clothes + clothes is described to be oversized on you (nagi), called a simp by his teammates (kunigami), clingy bf (yoichi <3) author's notes hq version coming soon!!! i just wanted to write something soft n fluffy for once <3

౨ৎ YOICHI ISAGI — goes viral on tiktok when the two of you go on vacation to celebrate your second year anniversary. you're recording yourself from the bathroom of the private villa he rented out for the two of you, and you originally wanted to record what an absolute joke the sink is. there is literally no counter space. nowhere to place any of your makeup or skincare products. yoichi interupts the video unknowingly, knocking softly and asking if he can come in. he doesn't realize you're filming, and it's entirely genuine when he asks, "is everything okay? you sounded frustrated? did you need help opening something?" you laugh before explaining the situation, and he's silent for all but one second before he goes, "oh! i'll just hold your makeup bag, and i'll hand you the stuff when you need it." (poor yoichi means well, but he's standing there for over an hour as you laugh at him when he can't tell the difference between a tube of lipgloss and liquid blush. the look of concentration on his face as he nods intently while you explain what each product is for is absolutely adorable; it's the same concentrated look he gets when he's reviewing game footage, meaning he's taking this seriously for you.) he's also the type that loves to follow you around. it's a common joke for his fans to comment "walk him like a dog, sis!" on any candid photos of you + yoichi because he is almost always holding your hand while trailing behind you. he's like your shadow as he follows you around different stores in the mall, and even when you tell him he can just sit down with the other boyfriends while you just try on some clothes, he refuses to leave your side. tries to follow you to the dressing room, and gets all pouty when he realizes he's not allowed in. makes you walk outside the dressing room with the new outfits on so he can rate them (he is incredibly biased and believes everything looks good on you and forces you to bring everything to the cashier so he can swipe his card to get it for you <3)

౨ৎ REO MIKAGE — cannot handle anyone else taking up large chunks of your time, especially when he rarely gets to see you during game season. makes a face anytime he realizes that the server at the restaurant is a guy. the server will smile at you and tell you that he'll get started on that meal for you right away, and reo leans forward once he's gone and goes, "i can't believe he was flirting with you right in front of me! disgusting!" he's actually convinced that every man in the world wants you for themselves, and if you tease him by threatening to run off with any of these men, he'll instantly frown and start telling you to take that back right now! however, he is entirely convinced that you are the greatest thing to ever grace this earth, and he feels so proud whenever you two are out in public and a fan or an employee compliments you. they could say anything postive about you, and he'll beam with pride, going "i know, right? i tell her this all the time!" it's almost common knowledge that the easiest way to get on reo's good side is to treat you well. he also loves listening to you gossip, and is the type of boyfriend who loves all your friends (even if he can't quite remember their names; it's only important that they treat you kindly and loyally), and hates everyone that you hate. he's also less forgiving than you; if someone backstabs you but you forgive them and grant them a second chance, just know that reo still hates their guts and he'll make it incredibly obvious.

౨ৎ SEISHIRO NAGI — can’t help but make video game versions of the two of you any chance he gets. he’ll pretend to not notice the way your eyes light up when you pass by any claw machine containing plushies of your favorite anime characters, but somehow he’ll manage to find himself at the machine, casually winning you your favorite as if the game isn’t designed to make everyone lose. (he’s just that good.) even if you’re not as big of a gamer as him, he’ll watch you play sims 4 (and subsequently watch you spend 3 hours on the create-a-sim section because you’re trying to create a perfect carbon copy of the two of you.) looks for his favorite hoodie only to glance over at your still-sleeping form on his bed and realizes that you’re wearing it. you look adorable in it; he’s taller than you, bigger in every aspect, so the material swallows you up. (he doesn’t wake you up nor does he ask for it back.) despite the fact that he’s taller than you, nagi is definitely a big baby, and is constantly the little spoon. he loves to come home and bury his face in your neck, loves the way you gently run your fingers through his hair (it’s the easiest way for him to fall asleep), and he’ll constantly try to find ways for you to hold him.

౨ৎ RIN ITOSHI — grants you “scary dog privilege.” literally will mean mug every man in the street as the two of you are walking together. everyone thinks that rin would be a selfish lover from his outside appearance, but he surprisingly puts up with a lot of your antics because he loves you so much. you don’t bother buying a step stool because you count on rin to get you anything you need from the tall shelves (and when you’re mad at him, he’ll purposely find ways to get all your most-used items on a hard-to-reach area so you have to sulkily seek him out and ask for his help. there’s no way in hell you put your face wash on top of the fridge, and rin looks all too happy to grab it for you.) he has a very bare social media account and most of the time, he just posts whatever his publicists draft up for him. the only post he has personally created and shared himself is the one of you on your birthday; in a sea of promotional posters and professionally taken game highlights, the smiling faces of you and rin stand out. (it’s the happiest any of his fans have ever seen him look.)

౨ৎ RENSUKE KUNIGAMI — his teammates make fun of him because he is notoriously loyal to you. they tricked him and took him out to a strip club, and there’s a viral video of kunigami staring intently at his phone, never looking up once at his surroundings. (he was going through your instagram feed + then ran out of photos to look at, so he started going through his camera roll to look at pictures and videos of you.) is the boyfriend who embodies the phrase ‘wear whatever you want, baby, i can fight.’ there’s a photo of you two that did numbers on pinterest. kunigmai is such a big guy, towers over you, honestly, but he readily gets down on his knees for you. in the photo, you two are dressed up to attend a gala. he’s on his knees, and you have one high-heel clad foot resting on the top of his thigh as he looks down and is adjusting the ankle strap of your heel for you. his friends shared the photo in the team groupchat and called him a simp, but kunigami knows that if they had someone half as great as you, they’d act just the same.

[emeryleewho]

Saw a fun little conversation on Threads but I don't have a Threads account, so I couldn't reply directly, but I sure can talk about it here!

I've been wanting to get into this for awhile, so here we go! First and foremost, I wanna say that "Emmaskies" here is really hitting the nail on the head despite having "no insider info". I don't want this post to be read as me shitting on trad pub editors or authors because that is fundamentally not what's happening.

Second, I want to say that this reply from Aaron Aceves is also spot on:

There are a lot of reviewers who think "I didn't enjoy this" means "no one edited this because if someone edited it, they would have made it something I like". As I talk about nonstop on this account, that is not a legitimate critique. However, as Aaron also mentions, rushed books are a thing that also happens.

As an author with 2 trad pub novels and 2 trad pub anthologies (all with HarperCollins, the 2nd largest trad publisher in the country), let me tell you that if you think books seem less edited lately, you are not making that up! It's true! Obviously, there are still a sizeable number of books that are being edited well, but something I was talking about before is that you can't really know that from picking it up. Unlike where you can generally tell an indie book will be poorly edited if the cover art is unprofessional or there are typoes all over the cover copy, trad is broken up into different departments, so even if editorial was too overworked to get a decent edit letter churned out, that doesn't mean marketing will be weak.

One person said that some publishers put more money into marketing than editorial and that's why this is happening, but I fundamentally disagree because many of these books that are getting rushed out are not getting a whole lot by way of marketing either! And I will say that I think most authors are afraid to admit if their book was rushed out or poorly edited because they don't want to sabotage their books, but guess what? I'm fucking shameless. Café Con Lychee was a rush job! That book was poorly edited! And it shows! Where Meet Cute Diary got 3 drafts from me and my beta readers, another 2 drafts with me and my agent, and then another 2 drafts with me and my editor, Café Con Lychee got a *single* concrete edit round with my editor after I turned in what was essentially a first draft. I had *three weeks* to rewrite the book before we went to copy edits. And the thing is, this wasn't my fault. I knew the book needed more work, but I wasn't allowed more time with it. My editor was so overworked, she was emailing me my edit letter at 1am. The publisher didn't care if the book was good, and then they were upset that its sales weren't as high at MCD's, but bffr. A book that doesn't live up to its potential is not going to sell at the same rate as one that does!

And this may sound like a fluke, but it's not. I'm not naming names because this is a deeply personal thing to share, but I have heard from *many* authors who were not happy with their second books. Not because they didn't love the story but because they felt so rushed either with their initial drafts or their edits that they didn't feel like it lived up to their potential. I also know of authors who demanded extra time because they knew their books weren't there yet only to face big backlash from their publisher or agent.

I literally cannot stress to you enough that publisher's *do not give a fuck* about how good their products are. If they can trick you into buying a poorly edited book with an AI cover that they undercut the author for, that is *better* than wasting time and money paying authors and editors to put together a quality product. And that's before we get into the blatant abuse that happens at these publishers and why there have been mass exoduses from Big 5 publishers lately.

There's also a problem where publishers do not value their experienced staff. They're laying off so many skilled, dedicated, long-term committed editors like their work never meant anything. And as someone who did freelance sensitivity reading for the Big 5, I can tell you that the way they treat freelancers is *also* abysmal. I was almost always given half the time I asked for and paid at less than *half* of my general going rate. Authors publishing out of their own pockets could afford my rate, but apparently multi-billion dollar corporations couldn't. Copy edits and proofreads are often handled by freelancers, meaning these are people who aren't familiar with the author's voice and often give feedback that doesn't account for that, plus they're not people who are gonna be as invested in the book, even before the bad payment and ridiculous timelines.

So, anyway, 1. go easy on authors and editors when you can. Most of us have 0 say in being in this position and authors who are in breech of their contract by refusing to turn in a book on time can face major legal and financial ramifications. 2. Know that this isn't in your head. If you disagree with the choices a book makes, that's probably just a disagreement, but if you feel like it had so much potential but just *didn't reach it*, that's likely because the author didn't have time to revise it or the editor didn't have time to give the sort of thorough edits it needed. 3. READ INDIE!!! Find the indie authors putting in the work the Big 5's won't do and support them! Stop counting on exploitative mega-corporations to do work they have no intention of doing.

Finally, to all my readers who read Café Con Lychee and loved it, thank you. I love y'all, and I appreciate y'all, and I really wish I'd been given the chance to give y'all the book you deserved. I hope I can make it up to you in 2025.

[saetoru]

RATE MY PROFESSOR! — GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day one — threesomes ; find masterlist here

synopsis. you’re professor gojo’s TA—the catch? you both are romantically involved. what do you do when professor geto happens to accidentally walk in on you giving a blowjob? let him fuck you so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t tell a soul, of course

length. 5.1k words (deep, big, heavy sigh)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, college au, teacher-student relationships, prof! satoru + suguru, TA! reader, power imbalance, age gaps (reader is early twenties and satoru + suguru are early thirties), semi public sex (at campus in satoru’s office), suguru walking in on you and satoru, threesomes, fingering + blowjobs + hair pulling + throat fucking + cum swallowing (satoru), male masturbation + edging (suguru), unprotected sex + (one) clit slap + creampie (suguru), pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel, princess, pretty girl, good girl), not proof read—i am a raw dog kinda gal

notes. i would highly discourage having intimate relations with a professor—but….if your professor looks like gojo or geto, i’m blind babe. i ain’t see nothing. i won’t tell a soul

“you guys wanna get lunch?” nobara hums, “we’re all here.”

megumi, as always, looks like he’s about to say no—he probably wants to go home as quickly as possible. but that’s not an option because before he can, yuji has already piped up with an enthusiastic, “yeah! i’m down.”

you fiddle your fingers nervously—how are you supposed to get out of this one? you’d just used the excuse of grading assignments for satoru yesterday, and surely you couldn’t possibly have a fresh pile of them to grade again within twenty-four hours, right? it’d be a suspicious excuse, especially one for nobara, who seems to sniff out a lie a little too easily. 

it’s not that you don’t want to hang out with your friends, you love them. really. but you promised you’d be in satoru’s office in fifteen minutes—and you’re not about to keep him waiting, so lunch will have to wait for another time.

you’re still thinking of a usable excuse when she turns to you herself, unimpressed as she dryly says, “i assume you have some midterm review to help him polish or something,” she grumbles, “gojo is so lazy,” she scoffs.

oh—well, that wasn’t very hard. she’s just made it ten times easier for you. nobara has handed you the perfect excuse right in the palm of your hand, and before you can even play it off casually, yuji cuts in and distracts her. bless yuji, you think to yourself.

“hey, professor gojo is a great guy! we all passed with an A! isn’t that great?”

“everyone gets an A in his class, dumbass,” megumi grunts, rolling his eyes, “not getting an A in his class practically means you’re deliberately trying to do poorly.”

on campus, professor gojo is a fan favorite—his rate my professor score is a perfect five stars, and most of the students around campus rave about him. why? because he gives out the letter grade A+ like it’s candy. anyone would love a professor like that. 

he doesn’t ever take attendance or knock your grade down when you skip class, his assignments are always easy to google answers to, and the quizzes have unlimited time and attempts. his tests are straightforward enough that even if you never pay attention, doing the review he uploads is sure to help you cram enough to pass. and what’s better? he always adds a generous curve. not only that, but professor gojo is a friendly guy—he loves talking to his students, loves to ramble away if you stop him in the halls or visit during office hours, loves to listen to your stories and nod along in interest, loves to crack jokes and have a good laugh.

everyone loves professor gojo. and when they leave his class with an A+, they love him even more. 

you had an A+ in physics yourself when you took his class—and you hate physics. you hated it in high school, and you hate it now. but for gojo satoru? you’re almost a physics enthusiast. professor gojo—or rather, satoru, as you call him now, takes a liking to you. a very…strong liking, if you will. 

it all starts on a fateful monday afternoon two semesters ago—it’s one thirty pm, the busiest hour on campus. sometimes, it feels like everyone takes classes at one pm—and as such, getting a table in the university coffee shop is almost impossible. you’re just about to give up and leave with your coffee and sandwich after scanning the place when a wave of a hand catches your attention. 

it’s professor gojo. 

need a seat? he asks you, gesturing at the chair in front of him at his table—it’s a smooth, amused little drawl, the way he talks. it’s almost always a borderline teasing tone, and his voice is low enough that it sounds oddly enticing. you’ve heard enough girls lust over his voice in class to know you’re not the only one who sometimes appreciates the sound. 

you try to insist that you wouldn’t want to intrude, but professor gojo is a nice guy; always looks out for his students and helps them out. so, when he insists that he doesn’t mind you taking the spare seat as he grades a few assignments, well…you decide to sheepishly thank him and sit across from him, finally having somewhere to sit and eat before you’re off to your next class. 

and then it begins.

every now and then, you sit across from your physics professor in the crowded coffee shop on campus as you enjoy a cold brew and a sandwich before your next class. somehow, he always manages to snatch a table, and somehow, you always manage to find him. you like to ramble to him sometimes—how professor nanami is a bit too strict for your liking (he giggles at that), how professor ieri always seems too tired and miserable to be here (he nods and agrees), and how professor geto is nice, but he takes literature pretty seriously (he gives you an amused look at that as he hums.)

somewhere along the line, he asks you to be his TA for the following semester—and somewhere further along that line…well, perhaps the one-on-one talks as you sit together at a table for two felt a little too close to something of a romantic setting because you and professor gojo kiss in his office while he calls you in to explain your TA responsibilities. 

that was never supposed to happen. 

you don’t even remember who leaned in first, or whose arms were the first to wrap around the other, or who tugged who closer, but you both kiss. and then some. and then it happens again, and again, and again—and, well…you’re professor gojo’s, or better yet, satoru’s best kept secret.

you go to his office to grade assignments for him—in between if he steals a few kisses, who’s to know? sometimes, he’s a bit riskier, likes to spread his legs and free his cock and have your hand stroke him as he eyes the door. it’s always a nice view to watch him unbutton a few buttons of his shirt and bite back moans. other days, he likes to slip his hand past your waistband and toy with your clit—the amused glint in his eyes, as he tells you not to get distracted and keep grading when you gasp always, earns him a sharp glare.

it’s like that for the semester, just you and him in his little office where you can break the rules in the safety of secrecy. 

that is, until now. 

admittedly, this isn’t the best time to be doing this—professor geto likes to have lunch with satoru around this time, and you know you’re cutting it close…but he just looks so pretty like this, head fallen back against his chair as his lips part with a soft gasp.

you’re on your knees, looking up as you suck on the tip of his stiff cock before taking him down your throat, bobbing your head up and down. it’s a rewarding position to be in—to have the hot, loved, campus favorite professor that everyone thirsts over falling apart in your mouth, hands gripping the arms of his chair as he pants harshly above you.

he looks pretty—always does, always looks good enough that you can feel the ache between your legs get worse. the messy strands of his hair stick to his damp forehead, and his lips are always so pink and plump when he bites them like that, and who can forget the way his eyes turn just a shade darker of that bright blue?

you hum around him, making him groan as he mumbles, “f-fuck, you’re so good, sweetheart—always know how to make me feel good.”

you press a kiss to his tip, smearing the bead of pre cum leaking from his slit along your lips before licking them clean—he closes his eyes and groans at that. you can’t help but giggle, can’t help but press more kisses along his hardened length until you’re at the base of his cock. 

“pretty little lips,” he hums, reaching to rub his thumb over your bottom lip as you open your mouth, letting him slip into your mouth—he hums approvingly as your tongue swirls around the digit, sucking slowly. “‘s like you were made for taking me, huh?”

“‘course i was,” you grin cheekily—and then you’re back to sucking on his cock, tongue rubbing over that thick vein you love to trace and reaching a hand to play with his balls. he moans—it’s low but still whiny enough that you can’t help but feel so proud at how needy he is, how desperately he always wants you. no matter the risk.

except the risk is probably not the wisest one to test today because just as satoru lets out a particularly loud whine when you swallow around him, the door clicks open and…

oh. 

oh no. 

this…this isn’t good—this is terrible, in fact. this is the worst possible outcome to the worst possible thing you’ve done, and now you’re screwed. entirely destroyed, in fact—the both of you. here goes your admission and your progress on your degree, and here goes satoru’s entire career and everything he’s worked for, and all because you couldn’t help but give him a blowjob in the middle of his office with the door unlocked where his best friend can walk right in and get a full view.

and worse? this best friend of his happens to be another professor on campus who you happen to have had just last semester. you’re sure he knows you; you’re his former student, after all, and he must certainly know his best friend’s TA. 

professor geto blinks—his eyes go back and forth between you and satoru and the still-hard cock between his legs that’s glistening with your spit as you sit on your knees. yeah—there’s no explaining this one.

“well,” he says blankly, “i guess that’s on me for not knocking, huh?”

“suguru,” satoru grumbles, “some of us are busy y’know? can’t you come back later?”

you turn to satoru in shock—how can he be so normal about this? how can he just casually act like this is some random hook-up his friend walked in on instead of a (very illegal and very unprofessional) teacher-student relationship that could get the two of you in more trouble than you can comprehend? 

but professor geto doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned. there’s no look of disgust or panic or even anger at you and satoru for your unprofessional habits. there’s no alarm at the distasteful activities you’re doing in the middle of a university office where anyone could potentially walk in on. and then there’s satoru—he doesn’t even bother making himself decent or pulling you from your knees.

no, instead, he looks at professor geto in slight irritation as the latter stands there. 

“so this is what you’re always busy doing in your office, huh?” professor geto hums, chuckling in amusement, “i have to say, you at least have good taste, satoru. she’s excellent in and outside the classroom, it seems.”

“yeah, she’s a keeper,” satoru hums, cupping your cheek as he grins down at you, “now if you don’t mind, suguru, we’re in the middle of something.”

“and what do you plan on doing if this gets around?” professor geto raises a brow, unimpressed.

you look at him in panic at that—surely…surely he can’t mean that he would be the one to spread this around, right? surely he wouldn’t throw his best friend under the bus, correct? if not for you, then for satoru’s sake, he’d never let this information find another soul. otherwise…otherwise you’ll both lose everything. all the hard work and progress you’ve made, all of satoru’s experience and years building his career, and all the future opportunities you had coming up—all of it will be for nothing if professor geto says one word. 

people wouldn’t have a hard time believing it either, you think. sometimes your own friends like to poke fun at you themselves. 

you’re always with him, are you sure you’re not in love with the guy at this point? nobara always likes to snort at you.

why does professor gojo even keep you around? you’re too lazy—you must give good head, megumi tends to tease as he raises a brow with amused eyes.

with how often you’re in professor gojo’s room, you might as well have a crush on him, yuji sometimes giggles.

surely, with how often you’re seen in the coffee shop with him as he grades papers and how often he likes to tease you when you show up to his classroom sometimes to drop off papers, students would certainly take the rumors and spread them like wildfire if professor geto says even the littlest thing. 

you look at him with wobbly lips as you whisper, “please don’t tell anyone,” you sniffle, “i…maybe there’s something we can do…to keep you from…”

the two of them look at you in shock—they stare at you for a moment, stare at the crystalline tears welling up in your eyes, at the soft little tremor in your lips, at the sweet little sniffles you try to hide. then, as if in sync, their eyes meet each other’s before finding you once more.

“oh, that’s precious,” professor geto chuckles, “she really is a keeper, satoru—she even looks pretty when she cries. i’m almost jealous.”

“don’t look for too long, suguru,” satoru grumbles—and then, “listen, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry. suguru’s not gonna—”

“well, if there is something you’d wanna do for me,” professor geto cuts satoru off, his voice a low drawl as he walks closer, hand cupping your jaw as he tilts your face up, “i suppose i can keep my mouth shut.”

“anything,” you nod quickly.

you’re so eager to please, he thinks—so perfect and sweet and pliant, that suguru thinks he might actually really be jealous that somehow, it was satoru who caught your attention. how did this all start? when did it start? how long has it been going on? do you have real feelings for each other? or is it just a pleasurable business kind of deal? do you meet up outside of campus? does he take you to the next town over to freely walk around with you on dates? do you kiss sweetly sometimes instead of with hunger? have you ever spent a night in his bed? do you sleep better beside each other, wrapped in the other’s arms?

there are so many, many questions suguru wants to ask. the potential answers to all of them make him a bit more unhappy than he cares to admit. something in him wonders how things might’ve had to play out in order to land you in his office instead—but…but if you’re offering anything, why not take advantage of the offer?

“anything?” he asks, looking at you amused, “you know, princess, anything is a dangerous offer. what if i asked to join? what if i asked to fuck you here in this office so your secret is safe?”

you blink up at him for a moment at his words—they’re a bit shocking. professor geto…doesn’t think this is wrong? clearly, he doesn’t if he’s willing to take part. but that doesn’t sound half bad. not even in the slightest. 

they’re a popular pair: professor gojo and geto are all people on campus ever talk about. those two professors who happen to be best friends. they’re not much older than you either—can’t be past their early thirties, even if they don’t look a day over twenty. 

did you know they used to go to college together? i heard they’ve known each other since high school. apparently, they applied to work here together and only took the offer up once the other agreed. it’s all people ever gossip about when they mention them both. it’s always about how close they are, how deep their bond is, how there is never one without the other. and then, of course, there are those…the less than appropriate comments you occasionally hear the other girls make. i bet professor gojo gives the best head—he’s always sucking on some lollipop. i’d let professor geto do nasty things to me while i read his literature books out loud to him—he’s too fine. i can take both of them—and i don’t mean their classes. 

it’s…not exactly a bad offer that he gives you, you think to yourself. it’s an enticing one, in fact. you get to have them both—professor geto isn’t any less attractive than satoru and…and well, you’d really like for him to keep this a secret, so it’s a bit of a win-win. plus, you’re sure he wouldn’t risk spilling such delicate information when it would put his career at risk, too—it seems like the perfect leverage.

you look at your old literature professor with a nod as you murmur, “then i’d say you should make sure to lock the door this time—we don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do we?”

his eyes sparkle in amusement at that, a low chuckle falling from his pretty lips as he shakes his head at you—you’re even better than he expected. satoru is so, so lucky he’s got to have you to himself all this time. it’s criminally unfair. 

“hey,” satoru pouts from behind, still sitting in his chair and still painfully hard as his throbbing cock sits between his legs unattended. “you both are forgetting about me,” he whines.

professor geto—or rather, suguru, you suppose, only looks at his best friend in amusement. “now, satoru—what have i always told you about sharing? here—” he walks over and pulls satoru to stand before taking the seat himself and patting his thigh as he looks at you with a sly grin, “why don’t i get to feel your pussy, and satoru can have your mouth like before? then we both get what we want.”

“bossy as ever, suguru,” satoru chuckles, but there’s something in his eyes—something darker and more excited than you’ve ever seen them.

“get her ready for me,” suguru hums, fingers making quick work to unbuckle his belt and free his hardened cock. you can’t help but stare, can’t help but watch as he wraps his fist around his hardened length and runs his thumb through his slit with a low moan. 

he’s not as long, but he’s thicker than satoru—you can easily tell he won’t be any easier to take. you watch attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of his cock with this thumb as he strokes upward, rolling around his tip before stroking down and squeezing at the base. you watch his lips tug between his teeth, a soft moan ripping from his throat as he touches himself in the way he likes best.

you’ll remember what he likes, you think—you can sense this might not be your first and last opportunity to see suguru like this. and next time? well, next time, it’ll be your hand touching his cock and pulling those pretty little sighs and groans from him instead of his own.

“eyes on me, sweetheart,” satoru hums, pulling you to stand before gently guiding your back to fall against his desk, fingers looping into your waistband and pulling your pants down your legs. you can hear the sharp inhale suguru takes as soon as the wetness of your folds is on display, as soon as your puffy clit and dripping pussy are there for him to see so clearly. “watch carefully, suguru,” satoru grins, “she’s pretty when she cums.”

“i can imagine,” suguru muses, “alright then. show me.”

instantly, satoru’s fingers are intruding into your cunt—it’s familiar, the sensation of his digits bullying past your folds and curling against your sweet spot. he’s already knuckles deep, already pressing the tips of his fingers into the back of your walls as far as they’ll go, spreading you open and scissoring you apart. it feels good—it always does, and when his palm rolls across your clit? you can’t help but let out a whiny moan that earns a groan from suguru as he fists his cock tighter. 

“god, she even sounds so pretty,” he pants, watching as satoru’s fingers slip in and out of your pretty cunt, at the way it all but sucks them in itself as it flutters around him. everything about you is perfect—but your face is by far suguru’s favorite. the way it twists with pleasure as satoru slams his fingers against your spot mercilessly with every thrust of his wrist has him fighting off his orgasm—his fist slowing down to a teasing edge as he grunts at the way he lets his pleasure die down for the sake of really feeling you. 

“that feel good, angel?” satoru asks, grinning down at you. 

you nod quickly, head thrown back against the wooden desk as you stutter, “y-yes…s-so good, toru.”

“toru?” suguru asks, “do i get a nickname too? make sure you come up with one for me, yeah?”

it’s almost like you don’t hear him, too busy on the way satoru drags along your walls with every time his fingers sink into you. “toru, toru—s-slow down, ‘m g-gonna…”

“slow down?” satoru gasps—his pace only quickens at that as he gives you a mocking pout, “you want me to slow down, sweetheart? you never ask me to slow down, it’s always faster, toru. faster, please! from you. you don’t wanna give suguru the wrong idea, do you? he’ll think i haven’t taught you how to take it like a good girl.”

suguru snorts at that, slowly dragging his hand up and down his sensitive cock—it’s red at the tip, flushed, and leaky enough that it’s easy to tell he’s aching for release.

“hurry up, satoru,” he grits, biting his lip as he fights back another orgasm and stills his hand, keeping it tightened around the base of his length, “we haven’t got all day.”

“can’t rush making my pretty girl cum, suguru,” satoru gasps, “she deserves the best. look at this pussy—” he gives pulls his fingers out to give your clit attention, rubbing your slick over the sensitive bud as you gasp, writhing over his desk, “—see how perfect it is? you gotta treat it like that too.”

as if from his words alone, as if you get off on the way satoru praises your cunt to his best friend who watches you get stuffed to the brim with his fingers, you whimper before cumming—your pussy fluttering around nothing, walls spasming and dripping with slick as he toys with your clit. 

“toru—toru, ‘m cumming…cumming—oh,” you babble, thighs quivering as his thumb doesn’t let up from your abused clit, watching as your hand reaches for his wrist weakly to halt his movements. “‘s too much,” you sniffle.

“too much?” suguru gasps, “how will you take me, then, princess? don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”

“nah,” satoru grins, chuckling, “she’s got plenty left in her. she can take it.” with that, he hooks an arm under your waist and helps you sit up, leaning down to kiss you softly as you let out a muffled whine against his lips. “you’re ready for suguru, aren’t you, baby? prepped you nice and good to take him, didn’t i?”

you nod, mumbling a soft, “uh huh,” in agreement.

“that’s my good girl,” he coos, grinning as he presses a wet kiss to your forehead. 

suguru, patient as ever with a stiff, aching cock standing between his muscled thighs, holds an arm out for you as he murmurs, “c’mere then, princess. can’t back out of our deal yet, can you?” you walk over to him on wobbly legs, letting him pull you to sit on his lap, back flush against his chest as his hands guide your hips. he taps the head of his cock against your clit as he lines your entrance up with his length before pulling you to sit, slowly inching you down on him bit by bit as he gasps at the way you squeeze around him instantly. “h-holy—fuck, such a tight fuckin’ pussy. ‘s like i can barely even move,” he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder as he pants.

satoru walks over, staring down at you as you’re seated on suguru’s lap before cupping your cheek and rubbing over the soft skin with his thumb. “you can take both of us, right sweetheart? you’re just too good not to, aren’t ya?”

you nod eagerly, letting the tip of his cock tap against your lip, tongue moving to lick across his slit and make him groan. he’s painfully hard—cock swollen and neglected for so long, you almost forgot that he’s been waiting for your mouth to take him again after being interrupted. your jaw slacks as you let him thrust his hips and fuck his length into you, tip hitting the back of your throat as you choke around him. 

“fuck,” satoru hisses lowly, biting his lip as his hands grab your hair and keep you in place while he ruts into your mouth, “fuck, baby. never get tired of how good this mouth feels—takes me so fuckin’ well. jus’ love feelin’ me down your throat, huh?”

you can’t do anything but let out a muffled cry, feeling the fat tip of suguru’s cock nudge against your sweet spot—it’s just as effortless: the way he finds your most sensitive part. just as effortless as satoru. maybe that’s why they get along so well, maybe they’re connected in that way. 

“oh, princess,” suguru moans, panting against your ear as he lets out a breathy moan, “fuck, that’s good—so, good. can hardly move with the way you’re squeezing me. greedy little pussy, isn’t it?”

you whine as you feel his arm wrap around you, finger rolling over your puffy clit as his hips snap upwards and fuck into you, cock dragging along your walls and stretching you enough that you can hardly think straight. he’s big—it feels like he’s almost splitting you open with his girth as his hips roll up and sink him deeper into your cunt.

“she’s…she’s perfect,” suguru pants, “keepin’ this all to yourself? how selfish of you, satoru.”

“she’s mine,” satoru whines, cock pushing past your lips as he speaks, the way your tongue glides along his vein making his cheeks flush as his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open with a breathless moan. “she’s too good to share with you. you d-don’t deserve her.”

“yeah? and you do?” suguru chuckles—it sounds more like a labored pant, his breath harsh as he groans into your neck when you flutter particularly tightly around him, forehead falling to dig into your shoulder, “she’s suckin’ me in. think she wants me. don’t you, pretty girl? you want me to cum inside you, right? make you mine too?”

“y-yes,” you mewl, popping off satoru’s length as you whimper when suguru chuckles and gives your clit a light slap, back arching against him as he pushes his cock past your folds again, “yes, wan’ it. wan’ it so, so bad—need it.”

“see,” he raises a brow towards satoru, “knew it.”

you can see the way satoru’s cock twitches at that—at the way you fall apart on suguru’s lap as the latter digs his head into your shoulder as he breathes harshly, chasing his release desperately as he ruts into your slick pussy. you can see the way satoru’s tip is flushed a harsh red, leaking with pre cum as he aches to spill cum down your throat, so you let him push past your lips once more—but not before giving his tip a delicate kiss. 

“she’s my girl,” satoru grunts, “mine, mine, mine—knows how to make me cum. kn-knows how to take me so good, right baby?”

and as if to answer him, you suck around his tip, swallowing around his length and making him groan as his hips stutter and cum paints your throat white as it fills your mouth. you try to swallow every drop, try to take what he gives you as he fucks into you desperately and chases the pleasure of his high. thick, hot ropes of cum spill from the corners of your lips as satoru fucks his load into you, panting as his hips sloppily roll and work himself through his orgasm.

“that’s right, sweetheart,” he groans lowly, “take it, yeah? god—fuck, feels so good, baby. ‘m c-cumming.”

you make a sound between a choked whine and sharp gasp as suguru’s thumb rubs harshly against your swollen clit, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he groans, hips just as sloppy as satoru’s in his pace that it tells you he’s close too—and then he twitches into your pussy, cock burying into you once, twice, three more times before he groans too.

“gonna cum, princess? ‘cause ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum—fill you up and make you mine. you want that right? want me to—f-fuck, fuck ‘m close, so close,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, letting out a needy whine into your skin before spilling into you. you can feel hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as his tip nudges back into you and pushes his load as deep as he can.

and you fall apart too, coming undone a second time as your walls hug around him tightly, head falling back as you mewl a high pitched, “s-sugu—c-can’t…’s too much—”

“you can take it, pretty,” he hums, “know you can. you’re too precious not to, right?”

it’s messy—it’s downright filthy, in fact, the way his cum and your slick mix and drip along your inner thighs, making a mess on satoru’s chair. you pant as your pussy pulses around him before coming down from your high, falling slack in his arms against his chest as he chuckles and presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“fuck,” he breathes, “you’re something else. who’d have thought my favorite little student from a previous semester could do all that?”

“isn’t she a dime?” satoru chuckles proudly, reaching for the corner of your mouth with his thumb, collecting a stray drop of cum and pushing it back past your lips and onto your tongue, humming approvingly as you swallow. “precious, isn’t she?”

“of course,” suguru nods, with a grin, leaning to peck your shoulder, “so, tell me. which professor would you take again?”

satoru purses his lips as he glares. “this isn’t rate my professor, suguru. and don’t get used to thi—”

“well,” you hum, interrupting as you bat your lashes sweetly at both of them, “why i can’t just take both of you again?”

guess who’s posting their october first kinktober fic literally 40 mins before it’s october second ?? if it’s not procrastinated, it’s not reached its full potential

[fatliberation]

they have a point though. you wouldn't need everyone to accommodate you if you just lost weight, but you're too lazy to stick to a healthy diet and exercise. it's that simple. I'd like to see you back up your claims, but you have no proof. you have got to stop lying to yourselves and face the facts

Must I go through this again? Fine. FINE. You guys are working my nerves today. You want to talk about facing the facts? Let's face the fucking facts.

In 2022, the US market cap of the weight loss industry was $75 billion [1, 3]. In 2021, the global market cap of the weight loss industry was estimated at $224.27 billion [2]. 

In 2020, the market shrunk by about 25%, but rebounded and then some since then [1, 3] By 2030, the global weight loss industry is expected to be valued at $405.4 billion [2]. If diets really worked, this industry would fall overnight. 

1. LaRosa, J. March 10, 2022. "U.S. Weight Loss Market Shrinks by 25% in 2020 with Pandemic, but Rebounds in 2021." Market Research Blog. 2. Staff. February 09, 2023. "[Latest] Global Weight Loss and Weight Management Market Size/Share Worth." Facts and Factors Research. 3. LaRosa, J. March 27, 2023. "U.S. Weight Loss Market Partially Recovers from the Pandemic." Market Research Blog.

Over 50 years of research conclusively demonstrates that virtually everyone who intentionally loses weight by manipulating their eating and exercise habits will regain the weight they lost within 3-5 years. And 75% will actually regain more weight than they lost [4].

4. Mann, T., Tomiyama, A.J., Westling, E., Lew, A.M., Samuels, B., Chatman, J. (2007). "Medicare’s Search For Effective Obesity Treatments: Diets Are Not The Answer." The American Psychologist, 62, 220-233. U.S. National Library of Medicine, Apr. 2007.

The annual odds of a fat person attaining a so-called “normal” weight and maintaining that for 5 years is approximately 1 in 1000 [5].

5. Fildes, A., Charlton, J., Rudisill, C., Littlejohns, P., Prevost, A.T., & Gulliford, M.C. (2015). “Probability of an Obese Person Attaining Normal Body Weight: Cohort Study Using Electronic Health Records.” American Journal of Public Health, July 16, 2015: e1–e6.

Doctors became so desperate that they resorted to amputating parts of the digestive tract (bariatric surgery) in the hopes that it might finally result in long-term weight-loss. Except that doesn’t work either. [6] And it turns out it causes death [7],  addiction [8], malnutrition [9], and suicide [7].

6. Magro, Daniéla Oliviera, et al. “Long-Term Weight Regain after Gastric Bypass: A 5-Year Prospective Study - Obesity Surgery.” SpringerLink, 8 Apr. 2008. 7. Omalu, Bennet I, et al. “Death Rates and Causes of Death After Bariatric Surgery for Pennsylvania Residents, 1995 to 2004.” Jama Network, 1 Oct. 2007.  8. King, Wendy C., et al. “Prevalence of Alcohol Use Disorders Before and After Bariatric Surgery.” Jama Network, 20 June 2012.  9. Gletsu-Miller, Nana, and Breanne N. Wright. “Mineral Malnutrition Following Bariatric Surgery.” Advances In Nutrition: An International Review Journal, Sept. 2013.

Evidence suggests that repeatedly losing and gaining weight is linked to cardiovascular disease, stroke, diabetes and altered immune function [10].

10. Tomiyama, A Janet, et al. “Long‐term Effects of Dieting: Is Weight Loss Related to Health?” Social and Personality Psychology Compass, 6 July 2017.

Prescribed weight loss is the leading predictor of eating disorders [11].

11. Patton, GC, et al. “Onset of Adolescent Eating Disorders: Population Based Cohort Study over 3 Years.” BMJ (Clinical Research Ed.), 20 Mar. 1999.

The idea that “obesity” is unhealthy and can cause or exacerbate illnesses is a biased misrepresentation of the scientific literature that is informed more by bigotry than credible science [12]. 

12. Medvedyuk, Stella, et al. “Ideology, Obesity and the Social Determinants of Health: A Critical Analysis of the Obesity and Health Relationship” Taylor & Francis Online, 7 June 2017.

“Obesity” has no proven causative role in the onset of any chronic condition [13, 14] and its appearance may be a protective response to the onset of numerous chronic conditions generated from currently unknown causes [15, 16, 17, 18].

13. Kahn, BB, and JS Flier. “Obesity and Insulin Resistance.” The Journal of Clinical Investigation, Aug. 2000. 14. Cofield, Stacey S, et al. “Use of Causal Language in Observational Studies of Obesity and Nutrition.” Obesity Facts, 3 Dec. 2010.  15. Lavie, Carl J, et al. “Obesity and Cardiovascular Disease: Risk Factor, Paradox, and Impact of Weight Loss.” Journal of the American College of Cardiology, 26 May 2009.  16. Uretsky, Seth, et al. “Obesity Paradox in Patients with Hypertension and Coronary Artery Disease.” The American Journal of Medicine, Oct. 2007.  17. Mullen, John T, et al. “The Obesity Paradox: Body Mass Index and Outcomes in Patients Undergoing Nonbariatric General Surgery.” Annals of Surgery, July 2005. 18. Tseng, Chin-Hsiao. “Obesity Paradox: Differential Effects on Cancer and Noncancer Mortality in Patients with Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus.” Atherosclerosis, Jan. 2013.

Fatness was associated with only 1/3 the associated deaths that previous research estimated and being “overweight” conferred no increased risk at all, and may even be a protective factor against all-causes mortality relative to lower weight categories [19].

19. Flegal, Katherine M. “The Obesity Wars and the Education of a Researcher: A Personal Account.” Progress in Cardiovascular Diseases, 15 June 2021.

Studies have observed that about 30% of so-called “normal weight” people are “unhealthy” whereas about 50% of so-called “overweight” people are “healthy”. Thus, using the BMI as an indicator of health results in the misclassification of some 75 million people in the United States alone [20]. 

20. Rey-López, JP, et al. “The Prevalence of Metabolically Healthy Obesity: A Systematic Review and Critical Evaluation of the Definitions Used.” Obesity Reviews : An Official Journal of the International Association for the Study of Obesity, 15 Oct. 2014.

While epidemiologists use BMI to calculate national obesity rates (nearly 35% for adults and 18% for kids), the distinctions can be arbitrary. In 1998, the National Institutes of Health lowered the overweight threshold from 27.8 to 25—branding roughly 29 million Americans as fat overnight—to match international guidelines. But critics noted that those guidelines were drafted in part by the International Obesity Task Force, whose two principal funders were companies making weight loss drugs [21].

21. Butler, Kiera. “Why BMI Is a Big Fat Scam.” Mother Jones, 25 Aug. 2014. 

Body size is largely determined by genetics [22].

22. Wardle, J. Carnell, C. Haworth, R. Plomin. “Evidence for a strong genetic influence on childhood adiposity despite the force of the obesogenic environment” American Journal of Clinical Nutrition Vol. 87, No. 2, Pages 398-404, February 2008.

Healthy lifestyle habits are associated with a significant decrease in mortality regardless of baseline body mass index [23].  

23. Matheson, Eric M, et al. “Healthy Lifestyle Habits and Mortality in Overweight and Obese Individuals.” Journal of the American Board of Family Medicine : JABFM, U.S. National Library of Medicine, 25 Feb. 2012.

Weight stigma itself is deadly. Research shows that weight-based discrimination increases risk of death by 60% [24].

24. Sutin, Angela R., et al. “Weight Discrimination and Risk of Mortality .” Association for Psychological Science, 25 Sept. 2015.

Fat stigma in the medical establishment [25] and society at large arguably [26] kills more fat people than fat does [27, 28, 29].

25. Puhl, Rebecca, and Kelly D. Bronwell. “Bias, Discrimination, and Obesity.” Obesity Research, 6 Sept. 2012. 26. Engber, Daniel. “Glutton Intolerance: What If a War on Obesity Only Makes the Problem Worse?” Slate, 5 Oct. 2009.  27. Teachman, B. A., Gapinski, K. D., Brownell, K. D., Rawlins, M., & Jeyaram, S. (2003). Demonstrations of implicit anti-fat bias: The impact of providing causal information and evoking empathy. Health Psychology, 22(1), 68–78. 28. Chastain, Ragen. “So My Doctor Tried to Kill Me.” Dances With Fat, 15 Dec. 2009. 29. Sutin, Angelina R, Yannick Stephan, and Antonio Terraciano. “Weight Discrimination and Risk of Mortality.” Psychological Science, 26 Nov. 2015.

There's my "proof." Where is yours?

[headspace-hotel]

data about where carbon emissions are coming from is so frustrating cause there's all kinds of huge, sprawling, just fucking vast breakdowns of What Causes The Most Carbon Emissions Out Of All Everything In The Entire World, but those are aggregations of numerous smaller but still vast aggregations of data, which are processed and polished from various aggregations of crunched numbers, which are patched and pieced together from various studies, estimates and calculations, which are sieved out of numbers crunched from various measurements, estimates and records, which have been collected, estimated or otherwise conceived through an unspeakably huge variety of methodologies with unspeakably huge variety in limitations, reliability and margins of error.

Even if some of the data was very fine-grained at the beginning, it was filtered through some very coarse number-crunching techniques for the sake of the coarse data, so the results are only as good as the wrongest thing you did in any part of this process, but the plans of action are getting thought up from the top down, which makes the whole thing a hot fucking mess.

For example. And I just made this example up. Say you want to know whether apples or potatoes have a worse impact on climate change. So you look at one of these huge ass infographic things. And it says that potatoes are bad, whereas apples are REALLY good, the BEST crop actually. So it's better to eat apples than potatoes, you think to yourself. Actually we should find a way to replace potatoes with apples! We should fund genetic engineering of apples so they have more starch and can replace potatoes. Great idea. Time to get some investors to put $5 billion towards it.

But actually. Where'd they get that conclusion about apples? Well there's this review right here of the carbon footprint of all different fruits, seems legit. Where'd that data come from? Well it's citing this study right here saying that tree-grown crops are better because they sequester carbon, and this study right here about the distance that different fruits get transported, and this study right here where different fertilization systems are compared in terms of their carbon footprint, and this study over here that sampled 300 apple, peach, and orange farmers comparing their irrigation practices and rates of tree mortality, and this study...wow, okay, seems really reliable...

...what's the first study citing? oh, okay, here's a study about mycorrhizal networks in orchards in Oregon, saying that there's a super high density of fungal mycelium in the 16 orchards that they sampled. And here's a study about leaf litter decay rates in Switzerland under different pesticide regimes, and...okay...relationship of tree spacing to below ground vs. aboveground biomass...a review of above and below-ground biomass in semi-intensively managed orchard plots...

...That one cites "Relationship between biomass and CO2 requirements...carbon immobilization in soil of various tree species...mycorrhizal fungi impact on carbon storage...

...wait a second, none of these are talking about apples, they're about boreal forests...and orange trees...and peanut farms! They're just speculating on roughly applying the non-apple data to apples. You have to go backwards...

Yes! "A review of belowground carbon storage in orchard cropping systems!" Seems like overall the studies find potentially high carbon storage in orchard environments! Walnuts...pears...oranges... intercropping walnuts and wheat... intercropping apples and wheat... wait a second, what about orchards with only apples?

Time for you to go back again...

"New method of mulching in apple orchards can lower irrigation and pesticide needs..." okay but if it's new, most farmers aren't doing it. "Orchards with high density interplanted with annual crops show way more mycorrhizal fungus activity..." "Mycorrhizal associations with trees in the genus Malus..."

...And pretty soon you've spent Five Fucking Hours investigating apples and you've got yourself in this tangled web of citations that demonstrate that some orchard crops (not necessarily apples) store a lot of long-lasting biomass in their trunks and roots really well—and some apple orchards (not necessarily typical ones) have high amounts of mycorrhizal fungi—and some techniques of mulching in orchards (not necessarily the ones apple farmers use) experience less erosion—and some apple trees (not necessarily productive agricultural apples) have really deep root systems—

—and some environments with trees, compared with some conventional agricultural fields, store more carbon and experience less erosion, but not apple orchards because that data wasn't collected in apple orchards.

And you figure out eventually that there is no direct evidence anywhere in the inputs that singles out apples as The Best Crop For Fighting Climate Change, or suggests that conventional apple farming has a much smaller carbon footprint than anything else.

The data just spit out "apples" after an unholy writhing mass of Processes that involved 1) observing some tree-grown crops and deciding it applies closely enough to all tree grown crops 2) observing some apple orchards and deciding its applicable enough to all apple orchards 3) observing some tree-including environments and deciding its close enough to all tree-including environments 4) observing some farming methods and deciding it applies closely enough to all farming methods

And any one of these steps individually would be fine and totally unavoidable, but when strung together repeatedly they distort the original data into A Puddle of Goo.

And it wouldn't be that bad even to string them together, if trees didn't vary that much, and farming didn't vary that much, and soil didn't vary that much, and mycorrhizal networks didn't vary that much, and regions that grow apples didn't vary that much, and pre-conversion-to-apple-orchard states of apple orchards didn't vary that much, and economic incentives controlling apple farming didn't vary that much, but all of these things DO vary, a Fuck Ton, and if the full range of variation were taken into account—nay, intentionally optimized—the distinction between apples and potatoes might turn out to be be MEANINGLESS GOO.

anyway big size piles of data about Farming, In General, make me so bitchy

[reasonsforhope]

"A team of researchers at Washington University in St. Louis has developed a real-time air monitor that can detect any of the SARS-CoV-2 virus variants that are present in a room in about 5 minutes.

The proof-of-concept device was created by researchers from the McKelvey School of Engineering and the School of Medicine at Washington University...

The results are contained in a July 10 publication in Nature Communications that provides details about how the technology works.

The device holds promise as a breakthrough that - when commercially available - could be used in hospitals and health care facilities, schools, congregate living quarters, and other public places to help detect not only the SARS-CoV-2 virus, but other respiratory virus aerosol such as influenza and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) as well.

“There is nothing at the moment that tells us how safe a room is,” Cirrito said, in the university’s news release. “If you are in a room with 100 people, you don’t want to find out five days later whether you could be sick or not. The idea with this device is that you can know essentially in real time, or every 5 minutes, if there is a live virus in the air.”

How It Works

The team combined expertise in biosensing with knowhow in designing instruments that measure the toxicity of air. The resulting device is an air sampler that operates based on what’s called “wet cyclone technology.” Air is sucked into the sampler at very high speeds and is then mixed centrifugally with a fluid containing a nanobody that recognizes the spike protein from the SARS-CoV-2 virus. That fluid, which lines the walls of the sampler, creates a surface vortex that traps the virus aerosols. The wet cyclone sampler has a pump that collects the fluid and sends it to the biosensor for detection of the virus using electrochemistry.

The success of the instrument is linked to the extremely high velocity it generates - the monitor has a flow rate of about 1,000 liters per minute - allowing it to sample a much larger volume of air over a 5-minute collection period than what is possible with currently available commercial samplers. It’s also compact - about one foot wide and 10 inches tall - and lights up when a virus is detected, alerting users to increase airflow or circulation in the room.

Testing the Monitor

To test the monitor, the team placed it in the apartments of two Covid-positive patients. The real-time air samples from the bedrooms were then compared with air samples collected from a virus-free control room. The device detected the RNA of the virus in the air samples from the bedrooms but did not detect any in the control air samples.

In laboratory experiments that aerosolized SARS-CoV-2 into a room-sized chamber, the wet cyclone and biosensor were able to detect varying levels of airborne virus concentrations after only a few minutes of sampling, according to the study.

“We are starting with SARS-CoV-2, but there are plans to also measure influenza, RSV, rhinovirus and other top pathogens that routinely infect people,” Cirrito said. “In a hospital setting, the monitor could be used to measure for staph or strep, which cause all kinds of complications for patients. This could really have a major impact on people’s health.”

The Washington University team is now working to commercialize the air quality monitor."

-via Forbes, July 11, 2023

-

Holy shit. I know it's still early in the technology and more testing will inevitably be needed but holy shit.

Literally, if it bears out, this could revolutionize medicine. And maybe let immunocompromised people fucking go places again

Also, for those who don't know, Nature Communications is a very prestigious scientific journal that focuses on Pretty Big Deal research. Their review process is incredibly rigorous. This is an absolutely HUGE credibility boost to this research and prototype

[vaxxman]

Could I request Medic having The Mom Grip on Scout’s shoulder after the speedy moron almost let a mercenary secret slip while they weee getting groceries?

Three Europeans and two Americans walk into a grocery store in New Mexico.

I hope this is the right meme.

More silliness below.

This comic is the antithesis of the "wtf is a kilometre" joke.

The faces they make when they can't quite identify the type of brown bread in the bread aisle.

You don't know how [insert nationality here] you are until you go overseas and things are different.

Spy obviously has no problems with pretending to know how much a gallon of milk is, he just peeks into his conversion chart notes, pretending it's his shopping list.

I want to think Heavy is completely fine with having to readjust to a new unit system, he just eyeballs most practical things anyways by holding them up and mumbling about how they approximately weigh like a chicken or his kettle bell etc. He's always been living in practical ignorant bliss.

Medic has a peer reviewed meltdown the first time he realises there's no uniformity in "a cup of ____" because every object has different densities. He's diligent about memorising the conversion rates for ounces, pounds, the most common things etc., and recovers ok. He goes through the same stages of grief rage when he finds out about distances and lengths.

Just remember four inches are 10.16 cm and pray no one asks you to specify anything bigger than inches.

Everyone does a mental victory lap when they manage to guess how much Celsius the weather is because they keep forgetting it's Celsius*5/9+32=Fahrenheit, Engineer reminds them patiently.

The true victories are the correct temperature guesses we've made along the way.

One time, a friend asked me if I actually knew how much a tablespoon of flour was in gramms to convince me that metric users also make use of volume based units without thinking about them. But little did she know a heaped spoonful of 405 flour is about 15g and a level tablespoon is 10g.

They claim Oolong just tastes better when it's boiled to 80°C exactly with a Bunsen burner.

You only asked for one scene but somehow I came up with a bunch of other things. This post was drawn across 2 months so the artstyle is all over the place. Thanks for your ask!

[whatsnewalycat]

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[��my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

------

Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next. 

Channel 11: Nothing. 

Channel 12: Zilch. 

Channel 13: Nada. 

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing. 

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over. 

Got enough for the kids? Over. 

And leftovers. Over. 

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out. 

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in. 

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription. 

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages. 

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board. 

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.” 

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew. 

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.” 

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed. 

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date. 

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight. 

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button. 

“Radio check.” 

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side. 

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks. 

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.” 

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding. 

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.” 

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.” 

“Cloudy. Over.” 

Fuck. 

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues. 

“Anything new with you? Over.” 

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation. 

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.” 

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause. 

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings. 

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business. 

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs. 

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation. 

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert. 

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk. 

Indecision churns in your belly. 

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say. 

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow. 

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over. 

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you. 

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? 

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown. 

The lights are on. 

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room. 

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?” 

“N-nowhere.” 

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.” 

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?” 

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod. 

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback. 

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?” 

“Try again.” 

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?” 

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog. 

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why did you?” 

Your heart thuds against your ribcage. 

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble. 

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.” 

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.” 

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?” 

You respond by rolling your eyes. 

“Answer the question.” 

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.” 

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.” 

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.” 

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek. 

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud. 

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky. 

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.” 

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.” 

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile. 

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you. 

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps. 

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.” 

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question. 

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?” 

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin. 

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong. 

You also understand that you like it. 

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same. 

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you. 

“Wrong answer.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.” 

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?” 

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain. 

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.” 

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.” 

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?” 

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.” 

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.” 

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.” 

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm. 

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room. 

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin. 

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you. 

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?” 

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?” 

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless. 

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do. 

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together. 

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?” 

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack. 

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?” 

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire. 

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good. 

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake. 

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.” 

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you. 

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed. 

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense. 

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?” 

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release. 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach. 

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.” 

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs. 

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth. 

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again. 

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe. 

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do. 

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly. 

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his. 

For years and years, you ached for more. 

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t. 

But this is something. 

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel. 

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?” 

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?” 

“Not tonight.” 

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?” 

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter. 

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?” 

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure. 

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.” 

“He pulled out,” you shrug. 

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.” 

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt. 

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?” 

You shake your head. 

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor. 

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole. 

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there. 

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further. 

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him. 

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“ 

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?” 

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper. 

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.” 

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes. 

“What’s that?” 

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?” 

“That’s none of your business,” he warns. 

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?” 

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?” 

In response, you glare at him. 

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately. 

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?” 

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe. 

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?” 

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.” 

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body. 

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?” 

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away. 

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.” 

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows. 

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?” 

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?” 

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?” 

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch. 

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again. 

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you. 

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed. 

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.” 

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt. 

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say. 

“This stays between us, understand?” 

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead. 

“Good girl.” 

[ NEXT PART ]

[v4guelyv4mpiric]

ITS HALLOWEEN

the time of the year we are able to buy fangs in retail. and i've tried literally every brand of fangs that spirit halloween carries (and more), so this is my review and recommendations.

Scarecrow Fangs

unpopular opinion, but i did not like these. They're way too expensive, imo and the molding solution sucks and is a nightmare to work with. the fangs themselves are alright.

price: 19.99 us

rating: 5/10

Spirit Halloween

It's surprisingly good! i used these until i broke them - they use thermoplastic for molding, which i think should be the standard for fangs. It's far easier to work with. the plastic is cheaper than Scarecrow, but they feel solid and are a more realistic color (at least for me)

price: 4.99 us

rating: 8/10

Monster High

Oh my ghoul, i love these. These fangs are a bit on the smaller size, which is useful if you're going for subtle. and of course, being monster high, i'm all for them. i mean, that case is adorable

again, these use thermoplastic. Though its imortant to note not to put the fangs themselves in hot water while you're molding them- i warped one by accident. regardless, they are so comfortable and resilient. my second favorites.

price: 9.99 us

rating 9/10

Special FX

we've all seen that video of that girl using these in like 2008 and wanted to be her. at least i did... but im sad to report that these fangs dont work on my anatomy. they mold to your back molars with thermoplastic, and when you press on the bar, the fangs come down. these fit simular to a retainer as they just sit above your teeth.

i, however, am missing one of those molars and cannot line it up right to use them. (never beating the kentuckian stereotype)

price: 9.99

rating: 3/10

Now for the ones not sold at Spirit Halloween

Amazon cosplay fangs

You've most likely seen these before. they're nothing special, but they get the job done. i do like the case they come in! very convenient. But the color is far too unrealistic for me. still, they do use thermoplastic! which is always a win. and theres four sizes, again convenient.

price: 7.99 us (give or take)

rating: 4/10

Dracula Fangs

I had never heard of this brand before someone posted about these on tiktok. i bought them immediately (i am not immune to propaganda, and neither are you), and i gotta say... They're my favorite I've tried.

I got the large ones; and let me tell you, they're massive. definitely not for subtle vamp vibes. They're sharp, too! That's a plus for me, not for everyone, i assume. and they mold with thermoplastic! they come with way more than you need (which you can use to make more fangs if you desire)

they do come in smaller sizes as far as I've seen, but i haven't tried those yet.

price: 20.00 us (i know that's rather pricey)

rating 10/10

honorable(ish) mentions

...

vampire condoms. only get them as a bit. a /j fang if you will.

price: 0.99 (i got mine at dave&busters for 25 tokens)

rating: i am wampire/10

Walmart Fangs

i swore there were some in different packaging, but i can't find those now. these suck (not in the fun way). They're made of rubber, and i dont remember them having any molding agents. just skip these, okay?

price: 2.89 us

rating: 0/10