#no more defeatist tones

[jahanmp4]

Things non-French speaking QSMP watchers might not know about q!Etoiles :

• He's very great at behavioural analysis, and will immediately notice if someone is acting oddly

• He's an incredibly patient person, especially when it comes to his friends and Pomme. He may act otherwise but his patience knows no bounds if it means everything turning out for the better. Just look at the q!BBH amnesia arc, he was willing to repeat himself indefinitely as long as it would help q!Bad

• Being aroace, flirting is his love language, as in he could say as much sexual stuff as he wants, for him it will never go as deep as banter, but he knows people do it all the time and he does it for fun/because he knows it will make people laugh and get their attention

• He has a mood compass that goes from incredibly dark and moody to cheerful and light-hearted in the blink of an eye simply when he decides that it's enough brooding for the day. He's great at compartmentalizing his emotions, especially with Pomme around

• He never does something half-heartedly and he actually enjoys building and decorating with Pomme and Richas. He's always suggesting blocks to decorate and is receptive to any of their criticism, and never gets tired of it, he can do it for hours. His love language relies strongly on quality time and acts of service. On every dungeon trip, he will make sure to bring back cute blocks and plants for his daughter, even on the brink of death

• Being a defeatist when it comes to other people is just not in his system. He will always believe that there will be a way to fix any situation and will always see the glass half full, not in a positive way, but rather in a "there will always be a solution available" way. There's not bad or good outcome, only better and worse ones for him

• In every home he ever created with a homey intention, it was always an underground one, nothing is built above it. He's quite the cave dweller and prefers cozy lighting over bright ones. He's a dark, brooding emo who is so fond of colours, he will point it out anytime he sees one he likes (he loves a good jewel tone)

• He is diabetic and has an automatic insulin pump. Not just the streamer, but the cubito as well !

• He cares about his appearance quite a bit, always changing outfits depending on occasions and he's very purposeful about what he puts on and shows on his cubito. He always goes for the cool™ looking stuff and likes to show it off too

EDIT :

• I just remembered this but q!Etoiles has observed that the French speakers trust him MORE when he speaks in French rather than English, especially q!Baghera and q!Aypierre. They are more suspicious when he uses English, and q!Antoine overall doesn't trust him because he trusts NO-ONE aside from Pomme

[usedpidemo]

More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom. 

She absolutely loathes hearing it. 

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons. 

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout. 

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing. 

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence. 

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk. 

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move. 

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning. 

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place. 

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way. 

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening. 

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall.  It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes. 

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.  

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.” 

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.” 

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather  “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you. 

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more. 

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself. 

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal. 

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth. 

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you. 

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air. 

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite. 

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go. 

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants. 

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin. 

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths. 

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself. 

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes, 

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.” 

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled  in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection. 

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point. 

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.” 

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense. 

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?” 

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.” 

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead. 

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.” 

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly. 

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels. 

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her. 

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer. 

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits. 

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building. 

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you. 

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped. 

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor. 

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.” 

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

[kkongdakz]

“ TOO PERFECT. ” ft. sung hanbin

hanbin x gn!reader, genre : fluff, warning : mostly fluff & comfort, warnings : a little angsty, reader is head over heels for hanbin, wc : 3k>

it was pitch-dark when hanbin walked through the door of your apartment, shedding his shoes with lightning speed before camouflaging himself in your arms. his face plunged into your neck, while your hand instantly found the nape of his neck, undertaking to caress his skin delicately. your second hand reached up to his back, moving up and down in a comforting gesture — and him seemed to relax somewhat under your fingertips. a long sigh left his lips and a shiver ran down your spine as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your collarbones. hoping he hadn't noticed, you laid your cheek against his head, whispering not far from his ear, « let's make ourselves comfortable on the couch, okay? »

hanbin nodded and moved slightly away from you, but never letting you see his face. he looked so desperate — so you slipped your hand into his, your fingertips simply holding his while guiding him into your living room. settling yourself on the sofa, you guided your best friend to slide against you, between your legs, his chest pressed against yours. little do you know, he put his ear to your chest to be able to hear your heartbeat. his arms slipped around you, while one of your hands was lost in his brown locks. « so.. what happened? » you finally ask, a little curious to see him so dejected after a date that seemed very important to him in the first place.

let's get this story started : you've known hanbin for as long as you can remember, and you've never been apart since. only small downside : you fell deeply in love with him in high school, while he stayed in the friend side. you don't really know if he's ever seen you as a potential future love interest, but if he had, he'd always hidden it extremely well. deep down, a little piece of your heart was broken to see him trying dating someone other than you, but you felt lucky to have a boy like him always by your side. he was such a caring, well-mannered, helpful, adorable, gallant, attentive boy.. it was hard not to get butterflies in your stomach when you rubbed shoulders with such a living green flag. then yes, your feelings for him hadn't changed a bit, but you'd much rather keep him around as a friend than not have him at all.

so today, lying in your living room's sofa with him glued to you, you were ready to listen and learn why this date seemed to have gone so badly. « in the beginning, everything was fine, » he started, but you couldn't help drowning in his honeyed voice, « i took her to that restaurant i told you about, then we went for a walk in a pretty park where there was some good music, everything was going really well, i hold her hand and we talked about everything for a long time. »

how you wished you were in that girl's shoes — of course, you had already spent similar evenings with hanbin, but she had something you didn't : hanbin's love interest in her. nodding even though you knew he couldn't see you, your second hand reached up to the curve of his jaw, tracing it with the tip of your index finger. then hanbin resumed his story, « but suddenly, she wanted us to sit on a bench and have a serious conversation. »

« i was a little worried but kind of happy because i told myself she wanted us to put a word in about our relationship.. » his voice seemed to change completely, shifting from his naturally warm voice to a more defeatist tone — and you didn't like it. « what did she tell you? » you asked, frowning. your hand tenderly stroked his cheek, tilting your head to the side to try and catch a glimpse of hanbin's face. but the only thing you could see was the tip of his slightly reddened nose.

« she said she was sorry, » he declared with an umpteenth sigh, his words choking on his breath, « but that she didn't think we could go on together. »

you could feel his grip around you tighten, and his fingers mechanically grasp the sweatshirt you were wearing (which was his, by the way). and before you can retort, he continued his story with words you never thought you'd hear in your life, « because she thought i was too perfect. »

you felt like you'd just tumbled down the stairs of a 7-storey building. too perfect? that was the dumbest excuse you've ever heard. you thought you were dreaming, that it was just a bad joke on his part, but the silence that followed proved that this was the unvarnished truth. a nervous laugh left your lips, still stunned by such a senseless revelation — « you must be kidding me, right? » you finally say, your hand ceasing all movement in his hair and the tone of your voice slightly more annoyed than expected.

but hanbin nodded negatively, rising higher above you to hide his face in the hollow of your neck. his lips resting innocently on your skin sent another uncontrollable shiver through your body, and you prayed inwardly that he wouldn't feel the crescendo rhythm of your heartbeat. biting your lip to stop you swearing at that stupid girl, hanbin's voice again invaded your personal space, stoking the rage boiling in your blood.

« unfortunately, no. she was dead serious, » he whispered, his breath escaping over your shoulder, hovering over your left collarbone, « she explained that she was afraid she'd soon tire of me if i was always so helpful and attentive. »

you still couldn't believe your ears. hanbin had all the criteria of the perfect boyfriend, and that's what made him so attractive and irresistible. he was a gentleman, who took care of everything around him, always looking out for everyone but himself. he remembered the smallest details about each person he liked, he knew his friends and family's tastes and colors like the back of his hand, he had that reassuring voice that lulls you to sleep at night and comforts you during the day, he had this warm, protective hand capable of erasing every insecurity. but above all, he had that perfect bright smile that could make anyone happy at a glance.

obviously, you didn't think that way just because he shook your every feeling, every second of your life. but you were simply stating the facts after years of being friend with him. hanbin was everything that was pure, healthy and desired in a relationship. but this girl was too stupid to realize what a gem she'd just let slip through her fingers.

and it pissed you off.

« sung hanbin, look at me. » you say suddenly. when he barely had time to leave the warmth of your neck, your two hands cupped his face, holding his face in place in front of yours. he was so close you could feel his breath brush your lips, but you had to stay focused and find the right words to reassure his lost heart and question-ridden mind.

but how could you stay focused when the love of your life was this close to you, and looked so stunning despite his glassy eyes?

you couldn't speak for a long three minutes, your gaze wandering over every detail of his skin that you had already memorized. every curve, every mole, every feature of his face was flawless. your thumb unconsciously moved across his cheek, causing him to juggle his gaze from one eye to another — thanks to this, you could see the hazel glow of his pupils. « who could refuse anything to such a pretty face..? » you murmured in an inaudible sigh, only to yourself — unaware that your words had reached hanbin's ears innocently. deep down, you sincerely hoped that your words were just a figment of your imagination, without suspecting for a second the gentle warmth that was seeping into the heart of the boy in front of you right after. your heart stopped beating for a microsecond, when your eyes gazed innocently into his, and you lost all sense of time.

it was as if everything had frozen, and the only thing able to move was him and you, and your two beating hearts. you knew he was patiently awaiting your next words, but the latter were stuck in the back of your throat, as if an invisible force were trying to silence you forever. you finally open your mouth, attempting some sort of speech — but suddenly the butterflies in your body lodged themselves in your mind and made you forget all about the lexical field of comfort. all you could think about was him, the perfect curve of his lips and the hazel glint in his pretty doe eyes.

you fought your inner demons to keep the uncontrollable effect he had on you under wraps, not wanting to risk taking a single wrong step. biting your lower lip, you finally decided to try and regain your composure, because despite the mad desire to let your feelings invade space and time, your current role was to comfort your best friend who thought there was something wrong with the perfect person he was.

« don't dare think even a hint of negativity about you, » you began, softly, in a whisper so as not to let the tremor in your voice be heard, « you're the best person i've ever known in this world, and i don't say that because you're the most important person to me, but because it's the only true truth. »

« your parents made you the most perfect being in this universe, there's nothing wrong with your personality. » hanbin seemed immersed in your words, as if they were all that mattered right now, and you could feel his skin warming slightly under your fingers placed delicately on his cheeks. « that random girl don't want to be with you because you're too perfect? it's okay, someone else will love you fully instead. »

« you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you, » your eyes gazed into his, as if you were trying to overcome and fight every bad thought stuck in hanbin's mind right now, « you'll end up finding the person who'll fall in love with you, and won't be afraid to love every green flag that makes up your personality. »

hanbin felt his heart explode in his chest, as he concentrated not only on your every word, but also your heart pounding next to his. he couldn't speak, he didn't know what to say — it was as if you'd invaded his thoughts and stolen his words. he'd forgotten about the crappy date he'd had a few hours earlier, and was trying to convince himself that telling you now that you were everything he wanted, was a bad idea.

but that bright gleam in your eyes made him realize that it was you who ran through his mind every day and night, over and over again. it may have been a cliché, but his heart felt fulfilled only in your presence. you soothed his every woe without realizing it, helping him to always look on the bright side of life, you were synonymous with stability, happiness and reassurance for him.

his grip around your waist tightened, unconsciously, without your noticing. you just let him do as he pleased, your hands still clinging tenderly to his face. you looked deep into his eyes, looking for the slightest sign of any negative thought still present — but he seemed lost in the sincerity of your eyes to think of anything else.

« you are such a perfect little arrangement of atoms. » — he could hear the smile on your lips as the words left your mouth, as his pupils juggled from one eye to the other once again. it was probably the nicest thing he'd heard in a long time, and the simple fact that it came from you filled him with joy. trying as you might to lean a little closer to him, you placed a light kiss on the top of his cheekbone. it was like an angel's kiss, soft and light, but as warm as a ray of sunshine, filled with a cloud of kindness and love beyond compare — hanbin could feel the tips of his ears heating up furiously at the same time his heart began to accelerate in his chest.

« you deserve someone who loves every little things about you. » while you simply tried to reassure him, remaining focused on his perfect face that almost made your head spin, hanbin again seemed lost in thought. you unhooked one of your hands from his cheeks to put the messy strands of his hair back in place, paying no attention to the deviation of his gaze from your attentive beloved eyes, to your rosy lips painted with a smile. hanbin thought he was going crazy, thinking about kissing you at a time like this — but he couldn't help thinking that in the end, disappointment after disappointment, the only person he still had left was you. and everything seemed so obvious suddenly : his feelings, the effect of your hands on his skin, the sound of your laughter that turned his heart upside down, your comforting voice that he wanted to hear every night before going to sleep. all this time, the only person he really loved and wanted was you.

but the constant fear of losing you and spoiling what was already there between you two, crackled unceasingly in his mind. what idiocy, he thought, knowing that despite everything, he couldn't live without you. you were his ride or die, you'd been with him every step of the way, and this was certainly not the end of your beautiful story. that the story continues as a passionate love story to make romance novels green with envy, or as an unconditional friendship that will never fade, you'll end up by his side until your last breath.

as he found your eyes again with his own, he observed them for a long time without saying anything. trying to remain calm despite the distressing perfection of his face close to yours, you let go of the lock of hair caught between your fingers to find his cheek again. but before you could put it back in place, it was captured by the boy's, who slowly interlaced your fingers with his own. you didn't know what to do, you panicked slightly inside : it wasn't the first time he'd held your hand, nor the first time he'd looked at you that way, but it was the first time his gesture had seemed so natural.

you could feel his heartbeat beating in unison with yours against your chest, and his thumb, which began to caress your skin, didn't help to calm your desilusory ideas. « i need someone like you. » he said suddenly, with a sigh, like a secret that only you had the right to hear. but it wasn't enough, it wasn't what you wanted to hear : you wanted him to want only you.

then you drew your face to his, slowly, and tenderly, you placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. an innocent kiss, as light as a cloud, so sweet he seemed to dream — but it was real, and now he knew. he knew that only you could love every part of him, every fiber of his body, every feature of his personality. you were the only one who could fulfill him, make him happy, make him in love, hopelessly in love.

so he decided to be bold, and look into your eyes — into the depths of your eyes, and say those words that ricocheted in your little head. « no, » he said more firmly, as if he was one hundred percent sure of what he was about to say, « i need you. just you. you're all i've ever needed. »

a storm erupted inside you, as you contained all the euphoria that had just exploded in your body, invading every muscle in it. everything you ever wanted was in your hands — and the indescribable love you had suddenly seemed reciprocal. but something wasn't right for you : your more mature thoughts whispered to you that it wasn't what you wanted. so you bit your lower lip, almost regretting having a brain at the very moment when everything you'd ever wanted was being handed to you on a silver platter. but you had to be sure of one thing.

« i don't want you to need me, » you replied, a kind, almost sad smile creeping across your lips, « i want you to love me. » — but that's all it took for hanbin react, and realize that he had to prove his words. and his love for you.

so even though his evening had begun with a monumental fiasco of a date he didn't even want in the first place, he decided to end his night by proving to you, in a princely kiss, that all the love crackling in his heart was destined to you.

you couldn't describe how you felt when his lips mingled with yours — it was far too powerful to explain in words. you'd been dreaming for years of being able to try out kissing the person you considered your soulmate, tasting the taste of their love, feel his heart resonate in yours, the warmth of his touch burn your skin with a delicate heat. it was just as you had imagined : as precious as a diamond, as pleasant as a gift, as melting as chocolate, as soft as cotton, accompanied by a powerful love that surpassed all your imagination. your heart could have stopped at any moment, its beat ready to explode in your chest — he had found that one heart that would beat at its side for many years to come. and you'd just found the perfect arrangement of atoms that could invade yours without restraint.

after a few passionate kisses, a few words of love and a few overwhelming proof, you once again found yourself lost in the warm sincerity of hanbin's eyes and the undeniable beauty of his tender smile. in the end, you had finally tasted the exquisite pleasure of winning the benevolent heart of the boy for whom you could give everything — and the reward for your legendary patience was considerable. hanbin was yours, completely yours now.

maybe hanbin was too perfect for her, but for you, he was just the right dose of perfect.

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[isa-ghost]

holding u at gunpoint asking for some of your characterization on q!fitza for amfmn bc so far you've shown them off so well :]

RAAAAHHHHH god this took forever

Ok so like the qpr polycule thing goin on. Fitpac. Yeah so Pac isn't like *officially* part of it but also is at the same time but is ONLY intimate beyond casual friendship with Fit. He has no special involvement with Phil, Missa, or Etoiles. And even tho it's a 98% platonic polycule, Fit still told Pac abt the polycule being a thing and made sure Pac was consenting abt it bc that's just basic healthy poly etiquette. He also disclosed to Pac that him and Phil have done Things(tm) in the past and Pac was like WHAT bc for some reason he didn't expect it like at all. It was very funny, Fit had a blast giving that fofoca to Phil

They'll do anything for each other. They're the go-to for everything. You'd think Phil's go-to would be Missa and Fit's would be Pac, but Missa is so occupied with reaper things that the rare times he's actually around, Phil just wants to spend stress-free time with him. He feels bad that for a while Missa returning finally would result in an information overload and then overwhelmed Missa screaming. And Fit confides in Pac NOW, but before they started dating it was Phil

Besides, the times they're awake and out n about just kinda work out. Two birds one stone or smth like that. Adventures and fofoca.

Also something something 2B2T something something Antarctic Empire. Birds of a feather. Yeah.

I think the above is best explained as like. They get each other in ways that other people wouldn't. Bc some of the stuff they can relate on is ""Unsavory"" to the average person.

On that note, they are unwaveringly loyal to each other and will take each others secrets to the grave

And yet they both keep their deepest secrets from each other still. But goddd they'd have fantastic long and potentially gritty talks about it.

They're each other's safe spaces to speak a bit more,, morally grey, you could say. I wouldn't call Phil very gray but he's by no means pure and Fit is like 10 steps ahead of him on the spectrum so he Gets it and Phil gets him

Fit is very good at rationalizing things and thinking under pressure. Which Phil needs sometimes. Bc Phil is good at assuming the worst and therefore preparing for it, but he has a habit of getting too caught up in the The Worst Is Definitely Gonna Happen and being a defeatist, so he needs someone outside his head (Fit) to break him out of that loop

Ok I'm obligated to mention the flirting. No one's doing it like these two sorry. The back of the gym has seen and heard some Shit

God omg esp when it's just the two of them, no friends or kids, they're the Worst about each other. It's hilarious but good god they can be rated R at each other

Post Fitpac official they toned it down though and godddd they're so good about each other's boundaries punches the floor aaaaa

Also obligatory mention of Fit being observant as fuck. Phil can't hide shit from him, he knows all his tells. If Phil is lying or something is wrong, Fit can tell

These two mfs are the kids in class that always instantly partner with each other when the teacher is like "ok time to buddy up for this activity." The teacher is the Federation.

Their friendship be like "no kids around? bored? ... wanna go blow shit up? hell yeah."

[silversiren1101]

I've been trying to figure out how to word this without sounding arrogant or callous or naive--I wish people talked more about that stage of healing/therapy where you feel like an outcast from some of your social groups.

There's a weird liminal loneliness where it feels like you're out of touch now because so much of what brought/keeps people together is rooted in just being a bit miserable in some way, and you've started to pull yourself out of that funk. Whether it's crippling anxiety, or spitefulness, or being a bit defeatist for any number of things, it becomes so hard to interact in these environments when you can't match that same tone anymore and you don't want to offend someone in that sensitive spot because you have a changed perspective on things so you just... don't speak up anymore and drift further away?

[taetaespeaks]

The Wife / THV part.5

genre : yandere taehyung, failing marriage, mean and cruel protagonists

summery : you five were the nightmares of teachers back in high school, now adults, your cruel and violent temperament doesn’t seem to have change neither does have the obsession taehyung has for you.

warnings : mean protagonists!!!!, smut, s3xual descriptions, strong language, violence, cruelty from the protagonists themselves. here we have an evil y/n. read at your own risk ! this story is hard and violent do not read if you’re sensitive to those topics.

rate : +18 only minors do not interact

<- masterlist ->

You had been watching the soapy water run over the tender flesh of your left shin for almost an hour. The water was cold but you didn't seem to feel it. Everything was cold in this huge house.

The freedom you had dreamed of away from your former husband seemed bitter. Since your arrival, you had hardly seen the sunlight.

Taehyung was always working, your mother never answered the phone, Jimin was always busy, you had no choice but to make conversation with that poor boy Hoseok, your bodyguard. Why would you need a bodyguard? And more importantly, did he really need to watch you take a bath?

"Tell me, Hoseok." Slowly, you turned onto your side, revealing more nudity than necessary to observe the young man, leaning your arms against the icy marble walls of the bathtub and resting your chin on them, tilting your head slightly with perfectly masked false curiosity, but the young man's watchful eyes were not fooled by your fake looks. "Is it really necessary for you to watch me shave my legs or just a little kink you have?"

Hoseok laughed, his usual loud laugh that made you wrinkle your nose slightly, the noise, you were not used to it.

"I am obeying Mr. Kim's orders, ma'am."

Resuming your original position, you let yourself sink a little more into the almost icy water as you watched the black, cold ceiling inaccelebrate with a loud sigh, the lapping of the water making no effort to hide your annoyance.

"How is Jeongguk?"

A silence. Too long. Hoseok never answered you, instead he suddenly stood up.

"Sir."

Taehyung was all dressed up in a new and even more expensive suit, his hair perfectly combed back, his eyes scanning your naked body in the water but you didn't stared at him any longer than necessary.

You were miserable, in that big, cold house where Taehyung kept you as a trophy. Wasn't this what you had always wanted? To depend on a rich man and spend your days with nothing to do but look at yourself in a high wall mirror? What had you really wanted?

"You'll catch a cold."

"I hope so, maybe this way I can get out of this place."

Taehyung laughed, ignoring your defeatist tone and with a nod, ordered Hoseok to leave not even bothering to look at him.

"Don't be grumpy. You don't have to go out, you have everything you want here."

"I want to go out."

Taehyung's jaw tensed slightly before another cute smile lit up his childish face, childish, particularly when he wore that expression.

"No, you don't."

You did not contradict him, what would have been the point?

"I have a meeting tonight, again, make yourself at home." He joked, kissing your cold forehead and as if in a breath, he was gone again but this time you wasted no time.

Dressed only in a towel, and delighted to see that for once Hoseok wasn't waiting for you at the door, you ran to the second office, closing the door and pulling the white towel tighter around your trembling body, you tributary to the nearest landline phone. Jeongguk's number seemed so natural to type on the overly expensive object, cold, like everything here.

"Jeongguk?" You exclaimed, a slight smile appearing on your face so suddenly angelic but on the other end of the line only silence reigned.

"Gukkie, it's me, y/n. Are you okay? Can you help me?"

Nothing.

"Fuck, Jeongguk!"

Nothing.

A cry of frustration escaped you as in a fit of rage you threw the phone on the black tile and watched it furiously explode into a few small pieces.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Your frozen hands grabbed the pile of leaves waiting to be sorted on the right corner of the oak cabinet before you sent them flying across the room.

As you watched them fall, your actions suddenly seemed so pointless, for the first time, you were not in control. Had you ever had it?

"Stop."

Jimin stood in the doorway, surprisingly unsurprised and even less alarmed by your distressed state.

With great hurried steps, he walked over to you and to your astonishment abruptly hugged you, ignoring your wet body staining his clothes with water droplets.

"Stop. He can't know." He whispered in the hollow of your ear.

"What the fuck are you talking about!" Pushing him away abruptly, you pulled away from your best friend giving him a look close to madness. "What the fuck are you all talking about? What's your fucking problem?"

Jimin shook his head from left to right, looking sorry.

"y/n, stop it. We're fucked."

"Is there a problem?" Hoseok appeared in turn, his usual warm smile and relaxed air contrasting with the tense and absurd scene before him.

"No-" Jimin began, with an air of urgency.

"Oh, yes, there's a problem. I want to see my mother, I want to see my ex-husband, and I want to get out of this shitty place! So, fuck your boss, Hoseok, you're going to do your job and obey me and give me what I want!" You were now standing in front of him and although he was taller, it had never been something that scared you. "Now, asshole."

Something changed in the guard's gaze and before you could repeat your request, a burning pain caught you on the cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin take a step forward and then change his mind just as suddenly. Hoseok had just hit you. Hoseok had just hit you.

Slowly you looked up at the young man. He was still smiling, like an idiot. It didn't take long for rage to take control of your body, and if it weren't for Jimin's reflexes, who, knowing you, leapt to grab your wrist before your palm hit Hoseok's cheek in return.

"Let go of me, Jimin. LET GO OF ME!" He did not obey. No one was obeying you.

Hoseok smiled even more, then leaning toward you, he whispered.

"Madam should learn to control her emotions." Your eyes locked with his, your pupils wide as if watching a demon from the underworld. Jimin let go of your wrist, which fell limply down your body. "I'll walk you back to your room now, love.”

As he started to turn around, your suddenly hot hand tightened around his bicep, stopping him in his tracks. The dark-haired man slowly turned back to you, raising his eyebrows curiously as a demented grin grew on your face under Jimin's terrified gaze as he instinctively stepped back.

"No men. No man. Has ever laid a hand on me. I will kill you for this."

Hoseok's gaze darkened but he didn't answer, dropping his arm, you left the two men behind, heading for "your room."

"You." Jimin looked up slightly. "I want to see Sa ra. Now." He nodded hesitantly.

You would ruin them all if you had to, but you would win. Always.

•••

"She tried to call him."

"I see."

Taehyung calmly looked at the ring he planned to put around your finger incessantly soon, with attention, back turned to Hoseok, whose attention seemed to be elsewhere.

"Stop looking at him." Hoseok immediately raised his gaze at the command, gaze who used to stare at an unrecognizable and torture-changed Jeongguk, who, breathing hard, was trying to get up from the bloody floor, his own blood on his scratched palms causing him to slip and fall back onto the floor of the Kim Association's boss's office.

"I see." Taehyung repeated, smiling strangely, almost creepily, closing his palm on the ring, he swiveled his seat to observe Hoseok.

"She probably threatened to kill you, am I wrong?"

"No, sir." Hoseok smiled, amused. "She did."

It was Taehyung's turn to laugh, a laugh devoid of humor. "Then she will." Hoseok's smile turned into a grimace and then disappeared. "Oh yes, my love, she is like that, she will."

On the other side of the door, Sa ra swallowed her saliva with difficulty. Terrified and stunned by the sight of the now motionless body of her former high school friend that she could see through the keyhole.

"Holy shit, y/n, what did you do?"

<tag list : @gethatcake @multifandombishthatlovekth @kimlineownsme @darkuni63 >

[shebeafancyflapjack]

John, sighing: We're doomed.

Dutch: I don't wanna hear that defeatist, negative tone!

Sean, joyfully: WE'RE DOOMED!

Dutch: Now that's more like it!

[xxxbloodskiesdarkwaterxxx]

LOOK. Abe is not a douchebag. He's nice, he cares about people, he's generally not an asshole. The depiction of Abe in S2 of CH is WRONG. He would, in fact, not want to hurt people's feelings and if you told him saying something was 'gay' when he meant 'bad/shitty/weird' and using the r-slur was offensive - he would stop!!! He would be really upset if he hurt someone!!! It could honestly be used to the advantage they were going for in terms of tone and comedy: Abe gets lectured about it, and feels SO GUILTY he literally causes MORE GRIEF by apologizing and trying to punish himself. That could've happened but nooo. Instead we get a shit message about cancel culture because the writers are jack-offs that don't understand what it actually means.

Like Abe genuinely is a kind and naive person. My other issue is that this naivete is completely ignored. He's not purposely missing Joan's passes; he is a giant idiot baby that is like "awww, friendship (:" even if she's throwing herself at him because he's too innocent and self-defeatist to take it as a move to date. The whole attitude of 'Abe gets what's coming to him for ignoring our queen ):<' (which. Joan's treatment during S2 is. not great, it made her very directly unlikeable in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WAY than she in S1 but I'll get to that) misses the Entire Point.

Joan is unlikeable in S1 because she's kind of a self-centered jerk, but in the same way a teenager would be expected to be. I was waiting for her character to evolve and to see how her relationship with Abe would change but. nope! she's rendered very... bland in S2. A lot of our supporting cast is - it's as if the writers are afraid to give them more personality. We see them really hammer in ONE (1) character as 'unlikeable'... except he's not.

Topher's a little shit but he's SIXTEEN. All of these characters are. It feels like we're supposed to find him getting the short end of the stick funny purely because he's a clone of Columbus, which. DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON HOW ***BOTH*** S1 AND S2 FAIL TO UTILIZE THE FACT THAT THESE ARE -CLONES- TO THEIR FULL POTENTIAL AUUUUUUUUIUGGHHGGGHHHHHHH. Like. WHERE are my philosophical debates about personhood??? Souls??? Reincarnation? Who are they, really??? What does it mean to be a clone of someone - give me SOMETHING about this!!!

I fully understand this is meant to be a trope-y highschool drama but like. you literally have the concept Right There, they Tread The Line of discussing it, but never do??? Can I just take this from the writers, let me fix it shhh.

Also every night I cry about Gandhi (GandAbe for the WIN).

[awakefor48hours]

After revisiting Gravity Falls, I'm probably the most angry about The Owl House's cancellation than ever before.

Gravity Falls was able to develop the plot and conflicts but also have time for silly episodes. On the other hand, past the first half of Thanks to Them, The Owl House practically becomes fully no-nonsense. We don't get see the new relationships in the show change, dive into characters' backstories, or have time for silly side plots (like that beach episode that was stolen from us).

Then my anger grows even further the more I think about Weirdmageddon. The Weirdmageddon episodes were able to be spread out through four episodes while the entirety of season three for The Owl House only got three episodes. To really put that into perspective, the episodes dedicated to Weirdmageddon was 100 minutes while the entirety of season three for The Owl House only got 150 minutes (that's not even three hours). The time difference between just the Weirdmageddon episodes and The Owl House's third season isn't even a full hour.

Let's keep in mind everything that happened in season 2 of Gravity Falls: Dipper found out that the journals had extra notes written in invisible ink, Mabel and Pacifica had their golf war, Dipper was possessed by Bill, Dipper and Mabel participated in Globnar, the gang found out about the Society of the Blind Eye, Stan brought Ford back to Earth (in a two-part episode might I add), Stan ran for mayor, Mabel and the rest of the girls fought a unicorn.

Now imagine trying to condense all of that into just the Weirdmageddon episodes. I didn't include everything that happened in season two of Gravity Falls but all these plot points mentioned would be cut short or wouldn't even have existed to begin with had it been cancelled. Yet this happened to The Owl House. The Owl House had to cram so much of the show into 150 minutes (the crew even needed to add The Collector last minute just so the show could end).

Keep in mind, I really love the finale for The Owl House. It's one of my favorite finales of all time and I wouldn't change a single thing about it. Also, as Dana said, I don't look at season three with a defeatist attitude. Season three was an absolutely amazing season with great sound design, characterization, animation, tone, and so much more.

My anger about the finale is towards Disney and Disney only. Disney nuked their best performing show since Gravity Falls all because they couldn't stand the idea of kids seeing two girls kissing. They try so hard to pride themselves on being inclusive to all types of people yet they cancelled a show that represented a lot of that inclusiveness. Also, don't even try and give me that "🤓☝️Disney actually said they cancelled The Owl House because it was too serialized/dark/didn't fit Disney's brand/etc" BS, not even Dana says this anymore.

[supremechancellorrex]

While I still enjoy the Bad Batch and the limelight it gives clones to an extent, it feels the show really doesn't understand the concepts and implications its grappling with. I get that Omega deserves a childhood, but Hunter is getting really out of line with his condescension and dismissiveness on the clone issue. The fact is, Echo's brothers are enslaved, being abused, experimented on, mind-controlled and being left to die right now, and they have no one so Echo is trying his best to save them.

The exchange in Tipping Point felt really tone deaf.

Hunter: "Echo, you've seen the power you're up against. We can't defeat them."

Echo: "It's not about that. It's about fighting for our brothers."

Hunter: "I understand why you're doing this... When will it be enough?"

Hunter speaks like lives aren't on the line, or at least 'worthwhile' ones. He talks to Echo as if Echo's just a workaholic obsessing over a pointless venture and at some point Echo will have to give up and let his 'reg' brothers be dropped into the fire and start dying as usual. It's obvious Echo will save as many clones lives as he can, because each life is a person and has value like TCW said. You wouldn't tell an activist saving slaves on the underground railway in 1800s America "When will it be enough?" and "We can't defeat the slavemasters" as if it's stupid and completely pointless. That would be morally bankrupt and pathetically defeatist.

For all their talk of being clones, the Bad Batch have helped more non-clones than actual clones at this point. What is the justification for such callousness for the clones? I've heard people say the Bad Batch were 'bullied for being different' and that's why they don't really care about clones being tortured, enslaved and left to die, yet that would be bad writing. The concept of them being 'bullied for their differences' was only briefly introduced in the BB show itself and the evidence is mostly one-note clones calling them 'Sad Batch' in the canteen and a food fight, yet at the same time every clone CHARACTER the Bad Batch meet they have a good relationship with, from Cody, Rex, Gregor, Cut and Howzer to Mayday with Crosshair. Plus, none of Cody's team had a seeming issue with Crosshair, nor did Mayday's. Force, just before Hunter talked to Echo on Echo's whole saving people from slavery thing, Echo had just saved Howzer! Howzer, you know, the swell guy who way back warned the Bad Batch about Crosshair's trap and bought them time by putting himself at risk.

If the Bad Batch still care about the bullying at this point, a concept that feels underdeveloped and superficial at this point it makes the Bad Batch sound like petty, dumb kids, maybe they shouldn't be our protagonists in a clone-orientated story about clone rights? Especially since I'm losing confidence that the narrative is going to properly call Hunter and BB out at this point. Furthermore, if the 'regs' as they call them really hated differences, why did they all like Ninety-Nine? Ninety-Nine was very different physically, and they still listened to him and valued him. And why does no one have a problem with Echo looking so 'unreg'? Echo is working with tons of 'regs' and he's doing fine.

The Bad Batch being 'bullied' just feels like it was a cheap way to drum up sympathy for our new protagonists while crapping on the old ones.

---

So, what are the lessons I can take from the Bad Batch? The Bad Batch can tolerate fascism and slavery as long as it doesn't affect their family unit, even when it's obvious that any real parent would see that Omega would never have a good life growing up with the Empire around. Hunter could have easily just talked about Omega needing Echo, and the Bad Batch needing him too, and that it's been difficult him being gone, but instead he chose to trivialise saving people from galaxy-wide slavery, death and torture in a bid to get Echo to hang and sit around on an island and give Omega advice on ship flying or whatever. How unlikeable, and these are our protagonists.

Meanwhile, Katara from A:TLA: "I will never ever turn my back on people who need me!" That's a real good person, a real hero, a real protagonist.

Also Ahsoka from TCW, "In my life, when you find people who need help, you help them no matter what."

Also Fives from TCW, "Wait, this is wrong and we all know it. The general is making a mistake, and he needs to be called upon it. No clone should have to go out this way! We are loyal soldiers. We follow orders, but we are not a bunch of unthinking droids! We are men! We must be trusted to make the right decision, especially when the orders we are given are wrong!"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong. Especially when lives are at stake." You hear that Bad Batch? 'Right decisions'? 'Lives at stake'? 'Help people' no matter what? 'Reg' clones being good men deserving better? I wonder what that means.

[freakingoutthesquares]

Beginner's Fuck Words: Chris Roberts, Photographer: Phil Ward Taken from Melody Maker, 19 March 1994 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

For some, it was dark and grubby. For others, Blakean and euphoric. The loss of virginity is an event (or not) which most recall as imperfect but momentous, or at least crap but interesting.

Bob Mortimer cites an overwhelming sense of "I am about to do it, I am doing it, I have done it." Jo Brand remembers her head banging against the base of the toilet. "She was very into the Bay City Rollers," sighs Terry Hall (though not of Jo Brand), "which put me off a bit. But not enough." Jarvis Cocker didn't tell anyone about it for five years, fearing the secret might lose its magic.

We know all this because Pulp, right now Britain's most stimulating pop group, have made a half-hour film interviewing various surprisingly candid quasi-names (Justine Frischman, John Peel, Pam Hogg, Alison Steadman, etc) about their sexual awakening. The film premiered at the ICA last week and is a funny and touching - as the phrase goes - catalyst for discussion and irreverent nostalgia.

It also ties in (sort of) with Pulp's new single, "Do You Remember The First Time?", which revisits the bravado of "Lipgloss" and "Razzmatazz" and is in every way irresistible. After years of bruised suburban sonatas, Pulp - suddenly hailed across the media as sex gods and glam messiahs - are ready to be defiled by popular acclaim.

Talk about sex? Pulp have already done that more times than the average women's glossy. Yet when you ask Pulp if they sometimes think everything's been done before, guitarist/violinist Russell says, "The ancient Greeks were saying that as well, weren't they?" and mainman Jarvis says, "That would be a very defeatist attitude. Even if every experience in life has been had by someone before, it's not been had by you. Unless you believe in reincarnation, which I'm not that bothered about myself." 

"We tried to make an accessible film," begins bassist Steve. "The tone of it's light, watchable, funny. We've discouraged the tabloids - there are enough quotes to bury everyone on it, taken out of context, so we've been quite careful there."

"As it stands," adds Jarvis, "anyone could watch it, even people who might find our music distasteful. I'm not obsessed with sex, don't get me wrong. It's just that so often it gets written about in an idealised way or a 'Carry On' nudge-nudge way. Then again, I don't think it would be so great if it was more open, like I imagine Norway to be, where they discuss it over the breakfast table."

"There is a lot to be said for English restraint," muses Russell. "The fact that something is forbidden makes it more exciting.

"Ah, but that's when you get your suspenders on and your orange in your mouth," interrupts Jarvis. There is some confusion.

"No, not you personally Russell; I mean that bloke. They only do that cos you have to lock yourself away in private. If it wasn't 'bad' they wouldn't be drawn to that twisted sexuality."

"There's a frisson to the whole thing," continues Russell. "So when you do break it down it seems to mean something and it's not just something you do as a matter of course. I was on a train once with this German girl and she just got changed in front of me, and, well, it didn't turn me on... I felt really insulted by it, to tell you the truth. I thought: I'm a man..."

"Maybe she was trying to tell you something," suggests Jarvis.

"No, well, she wasn't, that was the thing. It was..." Russell tails off.

Was this in England or in Germany?

"It was in the former Yugoslavia."

What comes across repeatedly in the filmed interviews is the sense of relief everyone felt from adolescent peer pressure to have "done it".

"We found quite a difference between men and women," observes Jarvis, "in that men would be more inclined to brag off about it, the thing that 'I've pulled'. Whereas a girl wouldn't run around school going 'I've had a shag'. I'm not saying that's right. I think it probably isn't, but..."

I'm certain it isn't. Women talk in much earthier terms.

"I don't know," considers keyboardist Candida. "I think women want the romantic thing more than men do. But that doesn't mean they get it. I mean, yes, women talking about men can be really... joky."

"Men talk about women on a superficial level," says Steve. "They don't say: but does she love you?"

"There's all this laddishness, which is nonsense," says Russell. "And lads know it's nonsense but it's fun, like talking about cars and football."

Candida tells a story.

"My cousin was showing me round her house last night, and there's a boy living there, and on his wall he had five pictures of cars. I've never seen that before. No pictures of women or anything. Just cars."

"I always know when my girlfriend and her friend are talking about men in the kitchen," says Russell. "You hear the noise of geese cackling."

"A lot of men do think differently to before," reflects Candida. "That comedienne Jo Brand, she's all right, but she can be just too nasty to men sometimes, I think. It's just as bad as some awful big fat boozy men going on about women. Which you don't get any more on telly. But you do get a lot of women on telly being horrible about men."

"It just sets up a 'versus' situation again, doesn't it?" says Jarvis. "You're either on one side or the other. Still. It wouldn't do for us all to be the same, would it?"

"Good God no!" we all chime.

Pulp recently finished recording what they regard as their "first album proper" with producer to the stars Ed Buller.

"For the entirety of the Eighties we had to have a whip-round to spend 15 hours in the back of a cold transit van to play to 12 people", chuckles Russell. "Don't let anyone romanticise it, it's a load of rubbish, best off out of it."

"You'd get up in the morning," remembers drummer Nick, "feeling like you'd been shat out of a horse. Or something."

Jarvis surprises me by claiming The Velvet Underground are a bigger influence on him than Barry White, and he never records while naked.

"It's usually me, but not me as I would go down to the shops. But still me."

Pulp are enjoying their long overdue lift-off.

"It's a bit sad if you get too blasé about things; cynicism cuts down your opportunities. It's the same with sex, of course. I mean you have to have a certain degree of excitement just to... get it on."

Bang a gong. Let's.

[liskantope]

Three not-so-great takes I've heard since the bombshell of Biden dropping the nomination that I want to grumble about here and may as well roll into a single post.

The first one was in the wake of the breaking news on Sunday, within literally the first minute of Cenk Uygur's immediate comments:

I will say this: as the self-appointed leader within the rebel forces of the Democratic party to oust Joe Biden, I declare victory.

Okay, Cenk, I get it: you ran for president in the Democratic primaries (sort of, and you would have had to win some court cases even to be deemed eligible due to your national status) explicitly to get Joe Biden off the ticket. But this isn't about you or your tendency to talk as though your role in the national discourse and political battleground is more central than it is. This is a product mainly of prominent Democrats pressuring Biden to quit and donors pulling out, not your crusade that ended a good while back and barely seemed to garner attention anyway.

(Sorry, but this is the guy who -- to take just one example I recall from 4+ years ago back when I used to watch The Young Turks all the time -- reacted to Bernie Sanders making the old "Republicans believe in small government only until it's something intimate like your own body" point that I'd been hearing since high school with "Oh my God, he must have been listening to our channel, because that's the exact point that I was the one making recently!")

I'm probably being uncharitable toward Uygur, as he may have been speaking a bit tongue-in-cheek. But still, can you think of a far more prominent figure in current politics who loves making himself sound like the center of every new movement or idea, but might be speaking trollishly or tongue-in-cheek?

The second take, which I'm much more bothered by, is one I heard in person a few hours later, by a mother to her 13-year-old son, in a confident tone: "We're still going to lose with Kamala Harris, because there are a lot of racists in this country and a lot of people in this country who think a woman shouldn't be president."

I don't think she was entirely wrong about racism and sexism giving Harris certain disadvantages (although that's ignoring that her race and gender will directly work to her advantage as well among a different set of potential voters, and I'm not sure it won't cancel out). But, casting aside racism for a moment, this whole "America still isn't ready for a woman president" thing I hear from time to time from feminists is really frustrating, and in my opinion it's not the greatest thing to children (especially not to girls, arguably, but not to any children). I find it both defeatist and reductive in a way that doesn't reflect evidence coming from reality. Hillary Clinton basically did win the presidency eight years ago, in that she got several million more votes than her opponent and would have probably won the electoral college if something James Comey announcement something something. In fact, I bet that if Hillary had won the Democratic primary eight years before that, in 2008, she could have beaten John McCain given the circumstances and current unpopularity of neoconservatism, even if she couldn't have won as handily as Obama did. And while I personally suspect that a lot of the anti-Hillary hatred that seeped through too many of the voters has to do with misogynistic biases that warp people's perceptions, there's a difference between acknowledging that and making out like some major portion of the country doesn't believe that women should be presidents (I would explain sexism the latter way to a 6-year-old maybe, but not to a bright 13-year-old).

(Of course, the "America isn't ready for a woman president" thing is an uprightly feminist thing to say until it's said by Bernie Sanders, and then it's obviously sexist.)

As far as I'm concerned, Harris has at least a substantial, if less than 50%, chance of winning, and a lot will be up to chance circumstances that tip things one way or the other over the next three months.

And the final take I want to gripe about this evening is this fairly popular Tumblr post. Note particularly:

If you continue to argue for anyone other than Kamala, you want Trump to win.

My tentative position on the spectrum of ways of dealing with picking our nominee is that I think there should be some sort of actual contest (at least on the level of open debate) but that I think Democrats should have the nominee picked out (who in turn will have a VP pick) by the time of the convention. I definitely not down for decreeing within a couple of days of Biden's dropping out that, okay, there's only one viable candidate, there is because I say so, we must all fall in line with total unity immediately, anyone who disagrees with me is not only declared wrong by my own authority but declared to be in league with the enemy. Why do so many people struggle so much with theory of mind to not understand (or performatively appear not to understand?) that "those people are in favor of X, which is a thing that I believe will lead to undesirable outcome Y" does not imply "those people are in favor of Y"? I'm pretty sure I've ranted about this before, when it came to rhetoric surrounding a much more contentious cluster of issues, but it applies to a very wide variety of struggles.

[predacon-carrion]

“I didn’t mean to put it like that, it just came out- I didn’t… I don’t feel like that anymore. There were times it did, yeah, but you grew! You’ve grown! I was just startled at the time, I- I will still in a bit of shock, but now that I’ve have time to process everything I realized my mistake. And it’s also true that just because one of us feels a certain way, it doesn’t mean we all do. Just putting it out there.”

She made eye contact with him this time, getting back into a more genuine tone.

“I’m not great at talking to people when it’s face to face. I don’t like not having a plan.”

She made nervous hand gestures and paced a bit as she spoke. The words came out before she could process the fact she thought of them.

“This time I made a plan, and I had time to think about what I was going to say. And to be clear, I believe what I said there. You can never go back in time and change something that’s already happened. No matter what’s you’ve done, or who you’ve hurt, time will always pass. But it doesn’t have to be hopeless- it isn’t hopeless! You can change what you do right now, you control your actions and your words! The future isn’t written yet, so grab a pen!! …you get what I’m saying?”

As Glitch goes on, Carrion drops to a knee, leveling himself with the little human beneath his desk. Listening on as you give your explanation. When you finish, he breathes another little sigh. But one of understanding, this time.

I understand. And… I appreciate it. Again, I apologize for my reaction, as well. When things go wrong, my processor tends to make me become a defeatist— i can struggle to realize there’s any other way out. That we can make our own ways out. So… thank you.

Slowly, he reaches forward, offering you a hand to climb into. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? Start anew. For the both of us.

[campbenji]

Brooklynn: *right before getting caught by Rexy* We're screwed Kenji: Hey, no. I don't wanna hear that defeatist attitude. I wanna hear you upbeat. Brooklynn: *in a more cheerful tone* We're screwed! Kenji: There you go.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

https://thehill.com/opinion/campaign/4709465-liberals-have-lost-their-patriotism/

Liberals have lost their patriotism  

By: David Bernstein

Published: Jun 9, 2024

I came of age in the 1980s and 1990s in a Democratic Party and a social milieu that was unabashedly patriotic. To be sure, political liberals back then could be critical of America’s past and present, but most saw our country as an imperfect nation aspiring toward but often falling short in living up to its own high ideals. The dominant zeitgeist of the political right was dangerously nativist and insufficiently self-reflective.  

President Bill Clinton, on whose campaign I worked in 1992, famously pronounced at his first inaugural speech, “There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.” Young liberals in those days were animated by a form of American exceptionalism that elevated the idea of pluralism. In my twenties I wore a T-shirt broadcasting the American motto e pluribus unum—”out of many, one.” This was liberal patriotism. 

Yet this center-left, glass-half-full narrative of our national experiment has increasingly yielded to a withering appraisal of American life, one that is rapidly becoming a self-fulling prophecy.

Today’s liberals rarely express patriotic sentiment in public, abandoning their civic voice to a far left that holds America in contempt, which in turn generates a politics that is both defeatist in tone and alienating to ordinary Americans. A nation that thinks less of itself will become less of itself. Mainstream liberals badly need to rediscover their patriotic spirit.  

When beloved actress Betty White died at the age of 99, my wife began rewatching old episodes of The Golden Girls, a mid-1980s sitcom about four aging women who lived together and experienced the highs and lows of their golden years. In one episode, the strong-willed Dorothy lectured her Italian-born mother, Sophia, on the meaning of America. 

“When I was a little girl,” Dorothy stated, “you told me how much it meant to you when you came here to America for the first time. Do you remember what you thought of when you first saw the Statue of Liberty holding up her torch of freedom? … Ma, you taught me to love this country. … You were the first one who put an American flag in my hand.” 

I was instantly struck at how quaint this monologue was in today’s cultural context, especially coming from a show that was on the vanguard of such social issues as gay rights and sexual harassment. Sadly, this kind of flagrant patriotic sentiment would be considered cringe in today’s liberal circles. 

A 2023 Gallup poll found that national pride on the left has precipitously declined in the past two decades. In 2003, 65 percent of Americans identifying as Democrats felt “extreme pride” in their country; by 2023 it was 29 percent. Only 18 percent of those aged 18 to 34 indicated that they were “extremely” patriotic, a steep decline from 85 percent in 2013. “Party identification remains the greatest demographic differentiator in expressions of national pride,” stated Gallup, “and Republicans have been consistently more likely than Democrats and independents to express pride in being American.” 

On a recent drive in West Virginia, I noticed American flags outside many homes — even on those in economically depressed coal-mining towns, where people could be forgiven for feeling their country had abandoned them. When we returned to our neighborhood in North Potomac, Md., an economically thriving, politically blue area, I counted one American flag in four blocks, unsurprisingly mounted on the doorway of an Eastern European refugee who fled a repressive Soviet republic.  

So inured had I become to the lack of patriotic sentiment in my neck of the woods that I found it positively inspiring in May of this year when fraternity brothers at UNC Chapel Hill rehoisted the American flag on the campus quad after radical activists had replaced Old Glory with a Palestinian flag. The young men locked arms and refused to budge as protestors reportedly hurled bottles, rocks and insults. 

Why have liberals become less patriotic?  

Some blame an American public that elected Donald Trump and social factors such as persistent economic inequality. Others cite social media echo chambers that extol, for example, a letter from Osama Bin Laden justifying terrorism against the U.S. Others point to the rise of an oppressed-oppressor ideology that sees America as pervasively racist. Indeed, when universities adopt policies that deem such comments as “America is the land of opportunity” and “Everyone can succeed in this society” as “microaggressions,” it should surprise no one that many students adopt negative attitudes toward their own country. 

A few Democrats understand that a politics of self-loathing will never win the day. Maryland Gov. Wes Moore and Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro, both Democrats elected in 2022, successfully ran on liberal policy agendas that emphasized freedom and American exceptionalism. President Biden himself may still represent the old flag-waving sensibility, but the larger progressive political class that accompanied him to power exudes little passion and, judging by the president’s recent demoralizing speech at Morehouse College, has brought the president down with them. 

Come November, we shouldn’t be surprised if many ordinary citizens opt for churlish nativism over a politics devoid of love of country. Liberals desperately need to get it back. 

David Bernstein is the founder of the Jewish Institute for Liberal Values and author of “Woke Antisemitism: How a Progressive Ideology Harms Jews.” 

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It's become fashionable to pretend to hate your own safe, free, liberal country. Among such people, it's also common to find strident opposition to any measures to limit or control immigration. "My country is evil and racist, but you're not allowed to stop people arriving here."

[mable-stitchpunk]

Sounds like the real problem is that there isn't any real solution to story problems/bad ideas and only judging things in retrospect means that everything is and will always be a shot in the dark.

But there IS a solution. Long term planning, set up, and not suddenly changing plans on a whim- because you can tell when a story is suddenly shuffling off somewhere.

Saying 'oh, there's story problems, but we can't fix them now because they're there' is a defeatist attitude. Stories can go through rough patches and yet salvage themselves.

Both series like Bendy and Oddworld decided to shift their story elements or way of telling them in a way to fit the future plot.

Bendy had a lot of 'ambiguous' and 'theory-based lore tempt' methods to its story, and it basically ruined the end of the first game. So, with the second game, they took the straight approach and have set-up the groundwork for a franchise progressing beyond this point.

Oddworld was notoriously tampered with by executive meddling, slowly turning the games from the creator's desires to make them more goofy, kid-friendly, and marketable to a younger audience. Culminating in the third game having most of its story changed and a lot of its tone shifting from the earlier games. So, Oddworld was rebooted and the newest game, Soulstorm, has shifted back to the earlier tones in story that was initially desires. It had to sacrifice the story they were telling to start anew.

The solution to Fnaf's problem doesn't have to be as drastic as Oddworld's, but it should be something akin to Bendy's. The story needs to figure out where it wants to go in the future instead of the instant gratification of focusing on the now. There shouldn't be any alterations to the plot to try and fool the audience, because you land yourself in a worse state.

A story isn't just twist reveals and lore surprises. Without that foundation beneath it, those have no impact at all.