#so much for academic integrity

[phenakistoskope]

i've been reading alice echols' cultural feminism: feminist capitalism and the anti-pornography movement, an essay linked in this post and contemplating the ground that movements ostensibly directed towards liberation inevitably cede to oppressive structures, in this case capitalism, but what interests me more is an essay cited by echols, namely the personal is not political enough by one elizabeth fox-genovese. now this is a piece i'm going to have to track down at some point, because it touches upon a phrase that has been rendered utterly meaningless by contemporary cultural feminism (i've clearly imbibed a bit of that essay into my vocabulary). besides that i'm quite curious as to why race isn't mentioned even in passing in echols' essay.

[welcometoteyvat]

love your thoughts on character’s ages. looking forward to fontaine & sumeru :) i think you described it really well. ages for my are like… they exist but they don’t at the same time.

edit: OH MY GOD TUMBLRS EDITOR FORMATTING SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!! if you see random parts of words bolded PLEASE ignore i dont know why it keeps happening

if you're the same anon as the og ask i am so so so sorry about the delay T_T T_T i was drafting my answer and then boom life happened ..... anyways. thank you for enjoying my thoughts wah <3333333 "they exist but they don't" SAME SAME frfr. like the most on-point (internet) discussion I've read on ages is that the stage of life you're in is often the only factor that matters, and that can vary a lot based on like your past experiences and stuff. and from my own perspective this holds true—similarly, in genshin where all the playable characters have jobs it's hard to kind of quantify them into really distinct age ranges tbh. sometimes it's just vibes (unfortunately vibes often includes height bc it's a game w not very diverse model types). anyways! character hcs:

sumeru (sans scaramouche): collei, cyno, tighnari, faruzan, layla, nilou

i think collei has an actual canon age right? unless I'm tripping and fanon has solidified so much in everyone's minds. I still haven't read the manhua <3 but iirc people think she's 12-13 there right. maybe she's like 17 rn, i can see anywhere from 14-16 though. idk anything abt her timeline so these are quite literally guesstimates from vibes and they're likely to be wrong. Layla is such a college girlie, she's like 19-20 and sleep deprived (same fr); begging for her to catch a break on behalf of uni students everywhere. I don't have a set age for Faruzan, I can see her anywhere from 30-40, 26 years old minimum (the redesigns people give her where she looks visibly older are so cool <3). Given she was a pretty well known researcher back in her day and since academia is a long and arduous career choice, I think it makes sense; also if she's like way older than Kaveh appearance wise (≥ 10 years) , even if she hadn't gotten trapped for a century, that would be sick af (their dynamic is impeccable and I think a larger age difference makes it better, sweeter, and funnier). Nilou also feels 19-20 years old to me; no real explanation, she just has a young adult vibe, like someone just out of her teenage years but quite capable at managing her life, although still testing out responsibility for major decisions and stuff like that (age solidarity w yun jin)

iirc cyno was already mahamatra or something WHILE tighnari was still in school; thus this makes cynonari EXTREMELY funny if you're a moral purist who ships it and thinks they fell in love in their akademiya days LOL. jkjk it's also a reasonable interpretation that Cyno became mahamatra at an insanely young age, since uhhh fucked up temple of silence background smth smth and honestly it feels in character for him to go buck wild at a young age like that (person most suited for young collei fr). HOWEVER. personally I think being mahamatra at like 19 is insane—thus I think tighnari's probably 23, cyno might be 27? I don't know if that makes it """""""better""""""" from an age gap standpoint but I also don't really care. Cyno being older but more joking around friends, while Tighnari is the younger kohai but serious and no-nonsense is pretty funny to me and when they're both serious you know you're fucked

fontaine: lyney, lynette, freminet (are those the only medium youth models so far lol. damn)

anyways lyney and lynette are confirmed to be at least 10 from Lyney's story quest. such helpful information I know lol. I'd think they're probably around 19-20? 18 minimum—I personally wouldn't watch 18 year olds do gravity defying magic tricks at the nation's biggest opera house—being like 1 year older doesn't make it any better ofc lol, but I think they're above the teenage threshold bc of that. Kinda fucked up to think about the timeline and house of hearth stuff though with this in mind

Freminet I'd say is around 16; 14 minimum. No thoughts for this just vibes. mmmmm idk when he was adopted into the house, if he's around 4-5 years younger than L+L, and let's say they entered the House when they were maybe 6-9 (my headcanons, is it now possible to piece together an accurate timeline of this from in-game lore??), and that was maybe 3-4 years after freminet entered, he probably was like 5-7 when he entered... wah frem............. poor child I'm giving him a hug (knowing that he's also a killing machine)

[oflgtfol]

i am still kinda deeply sorrowful over how i spent so long expecting to get a phd in astronomy and be a professional scientist living out my dreams being an astrophysicist and its always going to be something i mourn i think but on the other hand i am truly so fucking done with math, and physics, and school, and life in general, that its kinda like god. good riddance. get me out of here. maybe its the mental illness talking and i'll regret it when i recover but also having been in astronomy in the professional academic environment now i truly do think i would spend the rest of my life miserable if i did ever go further, and it really was something i had to get this close to to realize that, because yknow being a 12 year old in middle school watching space documentaries on tv doesn't reveal much about the blood sweat and tears that goes into academia, so i cant really get mad at myself for only cutting my losses this far into it, because i had to get this far into it to realize it wasnt for me anyway. but now i have no idea what im doing wtih my life because i straight up spent my entire life since i was 12 adamant i was going to be an astrophysicist for realsies and now i have nothing else going for me. ✌️

[skaldish]

If I may, I must make the gentle request that people consult Wikipedia for basic information about anything.

I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but more and more people coming to me saying they can’t find info about [noun], when googling it yields its Wikipedia entry on the first page.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll gladly say it again: You can trust Wikipedia for general information. The reason why it’s unreliable for academic citations is because it’s a living, changing document. It’s also written by anonymous authors, and author reputation is critical for research paper integrity.

But for learning the basics of what something is? Wikipedia is your friend. I love Wikipedia. I use it all the time for literally anything and everything, and it’s a huge reason why I know so much about things and stuff.

Please try going there first, and then come to me with questions it doesn’t answer for you.

[ceilidhtransing]

I've cropped out the username because I have absolutely no desire to start drama or make a personal “callout” or have people go harass someone or anything like that (and if you take this kind of thing as an opportunity to go and be horrible to another Tumblr user then that is terrible and you should stop), but wow, I have never seen such a clanging example of amatonormativity. I don't think OP necessarily meant it this way, I don't think they meant any harm, I don't think they're consciously arophobic or something - it's far more likely that they're simply unfamiliar with aspec issues, and I always prefer to assume good faith - but I want to talk about this post anyway because it provides a really good and explicit example of the way society just sort of... asserts the centrality of romantic attraction and entirely forgets aromantic people exist.

I do want to first say that I actually agree with the initial point this post is making. Romance as a genre is unfairly derided as some kind of “lesser” form of art, and this derision very frequently comes with generous helpings of misogyny. I totally agree that romance is not at all an unintellectual or superficial thing to write about, and it's bad that it gets treated that way and that readers and writers of romance get so often mocked and condemned. Romance is a totally valid genre and enjoying it doesn't make you vain or stupid or superficial.

HOWEVER. As an aromantic person I find the rest of the post just... I don't know, it's just so perfect as a probably unwitting expression of baked-in cultural amatonormativity. It's brilliant. It's so funny to me. I can almost do a line-by-line breakdown of the way it so completely forgets the existence of aromantic people. In fact, let's do that.

It is so fundamental to us. The issue here should be pretty obvious. The assumption that romance is some integral part of The Human Experience and that it's fundamental to All People is pretty much amatonormativity 101. It reinforces the idea that people who don't experience romantic attraction are “lacking”, forever sitting apart from The Human Experience, and possibly in some way not quite fully human, since we don't experience the thing that is apparently so fundamental to humans.

To want to love and be loved. The post seems to be incorrectly equating “romance” with “loving and being loved”, when in fact there are many people who don't experience romantic attraction yet absolutely love and want to be loved. (And of course loveless aros, aplatonic people, various folks who don't “want to love and be loved” also exist, and it's important to emphasise that this desire, just like romantic attraction, is also not necessarily integral to all people.) “Love” is not automatically “romantic love”, but this post seems to imply that romance is the only, or default, form in which love can exist.

If you don't think every great work of literature. philosophy. metaphysics. was ultimately about romance. I don't think you were paying enough attention. OK this is the line that elevated this post from “sigh, more casual amatonormativity to scroll past” to “I just have to respond to this”. Where to even begin with this assertion. This is a level of “assuming romance is central to everything humans ever do and ever create” that I've almost never encountered before. It feels like a manifestation of the tendency for alloromantic people to declare that, because romance is very central for them, it is thus central to Everything. And I'm homing in on “romance” because the post doesn't say “ultimately about love” - which would still be a reach, but less of a reach - it specifically says “ultimately about romance”. As an aromantic person who is an academic at heart and highly educated in the humanities and social sciences, the idea that my ability to understand literature and philosophy and metaphysics is somehow greatly hampered by the fact that I don't experience or relate to romantic attraction is just... what??? This idea is really very funny to me but also genuinely pretty insulting, even though I'm sure it wasn't meant that way. Not only does it feel like the summation of every patronising “oh, you couldn't possibly understand” directed to aromantic adults who are, in fact, entirely capable of understanding, but it also flattens the incredible breadth of human intellectual experience into “being about romance”. I sometimes find myself wishing that alloromantic people would peak outside the bubble of amatonormativity and realise that actually, there is an enormous swathe of human experience and intellect and creativity and expression that has nothing at all to do with romantic attraction and romantic relationships. And no, stating that, I don't know, the Book of Job is not actually about romance has nothing to do with our society's misogynistic denigration of romance as a genre; it has everything to do with the fact that the Book of Job is not actually about romance. (And if you aren't familiar with Job or for some reason don't consider it a “great work of literature”, replace with whatever other example you can think of; there are many.) It's insulting to imply that aro-spec and/or ace-spec people are somehow less able to participate in art and literature and philosophy etc because we might bring a perspective that doesn't include romance or sex at all and we're just not capable of understanding that Actually Romance And/Or Sex Is Central To Everything. It's genuinely absurd to argue that all the pinnacles of human intellectual achievement really, at their core, come back to romance, and it speaks to our very blinkered society's tendency to declare things like “everything is really about sex” or “everything is really about romance” or “everything is really about breakups” or whatever and then look at aro-spec and ace-spec people like we're aliens and go “but like... how do you even live?” Newsflash, there is so much more to life than romance and love and sex. You can live an entire, very fulfilling, very meaningful, very thoughtful life without these things being at all relevant to you. That's not to dismiss those things as minor or unimportant - they are indeed very central to a lot of people's lives, and they're not “dumb” or “shallow” or whatever - but they're not central to everyone's lives, and they're hardly The Only Things In The World.

And if your response is something along the lines of “well OK there's a tiny minority of people who don't engage with romance and/or sex, or relate to it in the same way most people do, but that doesn't mean that romance isn't still at the core of humanity, or that all the most important things don't still have romance at their heart”, imagine telling a woman that “well, you can focus on a career if you want, but what's really fundamental to being a woman is being a wife and mother - in fact, motherhood is the most important thing in the world, it's fundamental to women, it's what all women's literature is about”. Or, hell, telling a person of any gender that “parenthood” is the central pillar of all of humanity and that every great work of art ever produced is ultimately about parenthood and obviously parenthood is fundamental to everyone's being - forgetting that actually some people will never be parents, and implying that their childlessness makes them less able to understand The Human Experience. That might give you some small idea of what it's like to be an aspec person and be repeatedly told that feelings you don't experience and relationships you don't have and attractions you don't relate to and acts you don't engage in are somehow Fundamental To Humanity and are what lie at The Core Of Everything: how excluding that is, how alienating that is, how oppressively stifling that is.

Feeling that love and/or romance and/or sex are very important to your own life is totally valid, but I wish alloromantics and allosexuals could be more capable of opening their minds and imagining and empathising with an existence for which these things aren't central. Our lives aren't lesser, or emptier, or sadder, or shallower for lack of romance or sex. Our experiences are part of The Human Experience. Our perspectives on art and life and relationships and philosophy and humanity and everything else are just as valid. We are just as capable of profundity, of creativity, of insight - because romance and sex aren't “at the core” of any of these things. We are here, and we're tired of being forgotten, ignored, sidelined, dismissed, erased, talked over, talked past. It would be great if society at large actually remembered we exist once in a while, and that our lives are just as beautiful and important as anyone else's.

[atyourmerci]

To think I’d know it all

Therapist!ellie (read pt.1 here)

X

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, power imbalance don’t fuck your therapist, talks of degradation, lots of praise, Ellie watches r! masturbate, thigh riding, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: this is for @catfern if she likes it I die happy. Sorry this took so long I got a little overzealous, yet still it feels rushed so I’m dropping this and disappearing! I promise I’ll be going back to working on reqs now.

X

You think you know yourself, your highs, desires, triggers, your inner most depravities. but you don’t. Maybe it wasn’t your fault- the bliss that came from blatant ignorance so bitter sweet on your tongue. So comfortable in your own escaped reality, why would you try to face it now?

Half of the time you were lying to Dr. Williams. A white lie here, slipping through the cracks of reality by omitting the truth there. It’s not like she couldn’t read you like a book- she knew everything. Things you had never thought of, mysteries to you, solved in seconds by her.

You never gave her much of your true issues, deadbeat mommy leaving you at six for her new boyfriend that could be your brother. Never feeling academically competent, body issues, all the bullshit troubles any girl could dream of beating herself down over.

Thats what you told yourself she knew, the surface, pretty, palpable, easy to swallow, desirable.

But Ellie didn’t want palpable, she craved the chaos of your destruction. She wanted to watch the rage play out, dangerously close to her integrity. She wanted to pull the dirty guts out to feast on. Every last piece of you, torn out, then you would be easy enough to swallow for her.

-

The air only grew thicker. Suffocating your windpipes to choke on, making sure you felt every particle of desperation.

The session after she had cancelled. You thought she’d keep this up, realizing she had taken it too far, falling into her desires you had coaxed her into.

But yet there you were, back in your usual seat, legs crossed, throat dry as it eats at the hot pressure in the air. The buzz of a ring in your ear as you sit there silently. To talk of it, to progress, to regress back into the unknown- the lies, the omissions.

Would she guide you- like she did last time? would she make you do it yourself, pathetic and begging, longing for the validation that she did it for herself, even if only for a little bit.

“How have you been?” A formality, a principle, a greeting. She had to say it- what would she say outside the four walls of this prison?

“Alright,” came out as an unwanted sigh, subconscious as your body tells the truth before you can cut it off at the source.

“No witty comeback? did something happen with the girl?” Ellie furrows her brows at your change of body language. She takes note of how closed off it is, not desiring of visitors. You watch as the veins in her muscles twitch in her tank. rid of the cover of her modest blazer, shoulders now under the impression of your gaze.

“I stopped seeing her, Im seeing an ex,” you didn’t have to say that, could have left it at the end of your farce of a hookup ending. But this time it wasn’t a lie, you truly were fucking that cunt.

“Oh. Anything serious?” Ellie tenses, eager to unpack the dichotomy of the new woman. Why did you start seeing your ex again, what was she tied to, what did you have to gain from anyone but her?

“Just sex.” you shrug off. This was the truth.

“What drove you back to her specifically?” Ellie goes to write it down but once again find herself unable to find the words- lost in the craving the understanding of your mind selfishly.

“Comfortability- is that what you want to hear?” you taunt her, driving your eyes into a squint. What was her motive- what was your own?

“Well something in particular brought you back to her, no?” she pries, not letting you take control of the conversation. If she had to drag it out of you herself she would.

“She knows how I like it,” your attempt at intimidation, confidence in your own pleasure. Nothing but another beautiful farce covered in thorns. A hint of a smirk paints the doctor’s lips, mean and tortured.

‘Oh you think you know yourself so well you beautiful fool’ Ellie thinks to herself. You wouldn’t know satisfaction if it hit you in the face, but she was to help you- that was her job right? “And what is it…that you like?” Shrinking her face into a scowl, head tilted to the side, watching how your body twitches at nothing. How pliable could she diminish you to without touching you- she couldn’t, of course.

“She gets rough with me,” so knowing, as if you were breed for it. A toy of sorts, helpless under the hands of a predator.

“What entails rough?” Ellie probes, getting her scalpel out, ready to dissect your oblivion. Her flesh scorching with fervor as she coaxes more out of you. She had found her vessel.

“I dunno… hitting, tying me up, stuff of that nature.”

“What else?” You’d never know how eager she was, calm in her disposition, from what the eye can make out. Inside she pulses, her mind eating away at itself. To bite is still to touch- Instinctual and destructive. A morbid curiosity to drown herself in, held at the bottom of your mind with the weights of her own scrutiny.

“You wanna know that she calls me a fuckin’ whore?”

“Why do you think you like the degradation?” Ellie shifts forward, getting to the edge of her seat, splaying her forearms onto her thighs. A pissing contest, cruel and depraved.

“Probably my godforsaken mother- what are you get-“ you begin to question before you’re interrupted.

“Good girl.” Ellie coos, shifting her weight back into the seat, her forearms resting on the armrests as her legs are lazily parted. A test she knew she’d win- she knew you best didn’t she? Playing you like a puppet, taking matters into her own hands, unethical as it may be.

So abrupt you’re taken out of a haze. An uncalculated whine coming out of your throat, you attempt to cover it with a halfass cough but the damage was done- you were caught. Ellie just watches as you squirm, skin growing hot as she watches you knowingly, smug and cunning as you tip toe the ledge. “w-what?”

Ellie’s grin only widens, “that was a fair assumption, aware… you’re doing so well already.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, fire blazing in your chest ready to burst into ashes laid out like puzzle pieces neatly for her. A new sensation, uncharted and dense. Immensely ridged to obtain- the feeling of worth, accomplishment at its peak. Would you ever be able to fulfill the demand?

Ignore it, lie, get out of it.

“I like getting when she treats me like shit- gets me off…” you attempt, eyes casted downwards to your sweaty palms soaked from the heat of the air.

“No you don’t.”

“How would you know,” you laugh her off. You’ve built your wall, so high that not even you could see over it.

“Sure you want to be told what to do. But you also want to be acknowledged for your work. How pretty you look opened up. How good you are for taking more, taken whats asked of you. Don’t you?” Ellie doesn’t skip a beat, like shes rehearsed it, dwelled on your inner most necessities. The doctor asks but you both know it’s not a question, rather an admission of verity.

“Doctor Williams, please-“ the impending doom of your fate- the tip of the iceberg chiseling down each second. A ticking time bomb sure to go off. Your body pulses, heart racing. How much more could you take?

“It’s okay…tell me whats wrong” Ellie coos doe eyed, so forgiving in a breeding ground for destruction. A flower blooming in the midst of a tornado. To talk, to proceed, to regress.

“I cant control myself- listening to you…like that,” fist turning white grappling onto the armrests, breath shaky and wavering. Your hips subconsciously rocking into the thick leather of the doctor’s chair- a taste of salvation at any cost.

“Be a good girl and show me the mess you made on my seat,” a reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. Nonetheless too sweet not to bite, sink her teeth into and rip the flesh.

Shameful, degrading enticement. Shaky hands grasping the button of your jeans. How much time did you have left? What if someone walks in? Both your jeans and panties come off in one fowl swoop- fallen to the warm carpet on her floor. You wince as the naked, seeping flesh of your cunt reaches the leather, “Fuck.”

Ellie just watches, amused, stone faced as she understands the specimen. The way you hips rut without you letting them says more than your words, “Give yourself what you need.”

Your body comes back into consciousness with the approval for more. Give her whats shes asked of you. Nimble fingers beginning to circle the swell of your clit- the reoccurring ache of disappointment- the fate of inadequacy.

“Atta girl- just like that. Does it feel good?” the doctor mutters so sweetly- so proud of her specimen. She knew you needed it- the approval, the praise of accomplishment.

Your breath shortens and you pulse around nothing. Driving aimless circles around the bud as your head cocks back. Your cunt begs of her, pleads to be full of her- if shed ever let you have it. “n-need you, please Ellie.”

The doctor had never heard you speak of her name. Too casual for barriers, too comfortable for the tension. Something in her own mind switches at the words- the way they rolled off your tongue like you had said it many times before. Where had you said it, to whom? If not anyone at all. “I cant help you…but I cant stop you from helping yourself.”

Lust was a sin, but gluttony was a mere punishment. Overzealous in nature, depraved and lawless in practice. A reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. A walk of shame, magnets finding their match. She had made your bed, you were to lie in it.

Ellies hands on her armrest, sure to not budge- to uphold her ethics, principles responsible of her own will. She lets you climb her body, mount yourself up top her lap, positioning your cunt on her thigh.

The air. Thick, all consuming- so close, breathing her air, the breath of someone wiser, more understanding of your own mind. What a dangerous game, everything you need right there, yet taboo to drain every last bit of her. An inch given, a mile lacking. She keeps her eyes trained on you, her subject in testing.

“It’s okay, fuck yourself on me. You’ve been so good.” letting your cunt rake up and down the scratchy fabric of her slacks, hands pinned behind your back on your own accord.

The bubble in your stomach already ready to overflow, choking back whimpers drown in by your teeth. She made it so easy- she didn’t even have to fucking touch you.

“Let go. Let yourself come,” the doctor demands, she knew what you were doing. Ellie didn’t care how pathetic it was.

“I can-t not, not yet,” sweat dripping down your flustered face as your sticky white slick coats her covered thigh. The sight was so vulgar in Ellie’s eyes, watching you panting as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Thoughts of what she’d do in another world without laws.

“Do what you’re told.”

[desert-anne]

.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Do you have a list of good sex ed books to read?

BOY DO I

please bear in mind that some of these books are a little old (10+ years) by research standards now, and that even the newer ones are all flawed in some way. the thing about research on human beings, and especially research on something as nebulous and huge as sex, is that people are Always going to miss something or fail to account for every possible experience, and that's just something that we have to accept in good faith. I think all of these books have something interesting to say, but that doesn't mean any of them are the only book you'll ever need.

related to that: it's been A While since I've read some of these so sorry if anything in them has aged poorly (I don't THINK SO but like, I was not as discerning a reader when I was 19) but I am still including them as books that have been important to my personal journey as a sex educator.

additionally, a caveat that very few of these books are, like, instructional sex ed books in the sense of like "here's how the penis works, here's where the clit is, etc." those books exist and they're great but they're also not very interesting to me; my studies on sex are much more in the social aspect (shout out to my sociology degree) and the way people learn to think about sex and societal factors that shape those trends. these books reflect that. I would genuinely love to have the time to check out some 101 books to see how they fare, but alas - sex ed is not my day job and I don't have the time to dedicate to that, so it happens slowly when it happens at all. I've been meaning to read Dr. Gunter's Vagina Bible since it came out in 2019, for fucks sake.

and finally an acknowledgement that this is a fairly white list, which has as much to do with biases with academia and publishing as my own unchecked biases especially early in my academic career and the limitations of my university library.

ANYWAY here's some books about sex that have been influential/informative to me in one way or another:

The Trouble With Normal: Sex, Politics, and the Ethics of Queer Life (Michael Warner, 1999)

Virginity Lost: An Intimate Portrait of First Sexual Experiences (Laura M. Carpenter, 2005)

Virgin: The Untouched History (Hanne Blank, 2007)

Sex Goes to School: Girls and Sex Education Before the 1960s (Susan K. Freeman, 2008)

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex (Mary Roach, 2008)

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution (Revised Edition) (Susan Stryker, 2008)

The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women (Jessica Valenti, 2009)

Not Under My Roof: Parents, Teens, and the Culture of Sex (Amy T. Schalet, 2011)

Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality (Hanne Blank, 2012)

Rewriting the Rules: An Integrative Guide to Love, Sex and Relationships (Meg-John Barker, 2013)

The Sex Myth: The Gap Between Our Fantasies and Realities (Rachel Hills, 2015)

Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Tranform Your Sex Life (Emily Nagoski, 2015)

Not Gay: Sex Between Straight White Men (Jane Ward, 2015)

Too Hot to Handle: A Global History of Sex Education (Jonathan Zimmerman, 2015)

American Hookup: The New Culture of Sex on Campus (Lisa Wade, 2017)

Histories of the Transgender Child (Jules Gill-Peterson, 2018)

Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Workers' Rights (Juno Mac and Molly Smith, 2018)

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex (Angela Chen, 2020)

Pleasure in the News: African American Readership and Sexuality in the Black Press (Kim Gallon, 2020)

A Curious History of Sex (Kate Lister, 2020)

Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent, and Navigating the New Masculinity (Peggy Orenstein, 2020)

Black Women, Black Love: America's War on Africa American Marriage (Dianne M. Stewart, 2020)

The Tragedy of Heterosexuality (Jane Ward, 2020)

Hurts So Good: The Science and Pleasure of Pain on Purpose (Leigh Cowart, 2021)

Strange Bedfellows: Adventures in the Science, History, and Surprising Secrets of STDs (Ina Park, 2021)

The Right to Sex: Feminist in the Twenty-First Century (Amia Srinivasan, 2021)

Love Your Asian Body: AIDS Activism in Los Angeles (Eric C. Wat, 2021)

Superfreaks: Kink, Pleasure, and the Pursuit of Happiness (Arielle Greenberg, 2023)

[iris-qt]

𝟻 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

✧ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

✧ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 3.1ᴋ

✧ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ @girllblogging777 ꜰᴏʀ ᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ꜰᴀᴠ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛʏ ʙᴏʏ

✧ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ʙᴇᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʜɪᴍ 5 ᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ. ʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.

Day 0

If dying of embarrassment were a thing, Mattheo Riddle would be deceased.

“In Potions, I think I saw you actually drooling over her, mate.”

Enzo chuckles at Theodore’s quip, adding, “I knew it was bad, but not that bad.”

Mattheo groans, hiding his face in his hands as the three boys are sat around a table in the Slytherin common room, the flames of the fire dying out at the later hour, gentle rain tapping the low windows that offer an inky view of the Black Lake.

“She answered a question no one knew the answer to. You have to admit, that’s pretty impressive,” Mattheo says desperately, raising his head from the table, hoping for a glimpse of sympathy from his friends.

All it succeeds in doing, however, is inciting further fits of laughter from them.

“With friends like you guys, who needs enemies,” Mattheo lowly mutters, crossing his arms and glaring.

“No, but since when were you into smart girls, Riddle?” Enzo asks in between laughs.

Mattheo sighs, leaning back in his seat. He gazes over at his faint reflection in the low windows, lost in thought. The truth is, Lorenzo made a good point. Mattheo was always into girls that would give him their undying attention and a few nights of fun. Then, he’d move on. It was a mutual understanding between them. He’d never truly play with their emotions, but he’d make his intentions clear. 

Take it or leave it.

And usually they’d take it. 

But you were truly something else. A genius on the pitch and in the classroom. Academic and athletic weapon, not to mention your biting humor that always seemed to make his heart beat faster.

“Tell you what, Matt. Let us help you,” Theodore leans forward, traces of amusement still evident on his face.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow at Theodore’s offer, waiting for him to continue.

“I propose a deadline. You have 5 days to ask her out before the Hogsmeade trip on Saturday.”

Mattheo sighs, his gaze settling suspiciously on the smiling boys.

“And if I fail?”

“You buy us as many sweets from Honeydukes as we desire,” Enzo grins, “and you know how much I love candy..”

Mattheo stands up, choosing to create an air of confidence around him, although he’s panicking about the prospect of confessing to you. 

“You have yourself a deal, boys.”

Day 1

His plan to confess as soon as possible so as not to feel the desperation of losing time reached a roadblock as Mattheo woke up remembering he had a Quidditch game that morning.

Against your house. (sorry slytherin readers forgive me)

He didn’t want you to be in a bad mood from a loss, but he also didn’t want to seem like a loser in your eyes. He would never be one to lose purposefully, as he knew you’d loathe that, so Mattheo resolved to play fair.

The game progressed onwards as his house took the lead, but he had to admit he wasn’t much help despite his efforts. Seeing your hair flowing in the wind against the lush green hills, your determined face, your shining skin…it was distracting to say the least..

Suddenly, you loop upwards, narrowly avoiding a bludger that zooms past you and heads straight towards Mattheo.

He barely avoids it, the bludger chipping away part of his brand new broomstick.

“Shit..”

“Keep your head in the game, Riddle,” you smirk, flying up next to him.

“Hard when those bludgers are attempting to behead me,” he grins back. Talking to his favorite person was his new favorite hobby, even if you could be intending to insult him..

You ended up catching the snitch and winning your house this integral game, shooting your team to the House Cup Finals. You landed on the grass, smiling gleefully, your face glistening with triumph and sweat despite the quite chilly weather.

Mattheo landed on the ground next to you, grinning at your expression. He wholeheartedly thought you deserved this win. He’d seen you practicing at the crack of dawn and the fall of the moon. He knew how hard you worked as captain. He saw you on his morning walks, and from the towers of Hogwarts when he’d smoke over the rail, watching your figure shooting through the air in the velvet darkness.

Lost in the ecstasy of the atmosphere, Mattheo resolved to let his feelings be known right then and there. What greater chance for you to agree to a date when your spirits were raised so high?

He approached you, broom in hand, and you turned around to look at him with an ecstatic grin on your face; one he couldn’t resist to mirror.

“Good game, Riddle,” you stuck your hand out, slightly sympathetic for the boy’s loss despite his oddly bright expression.

“Good game, y/l/n. I actually wanted to ask you something..” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, nerves were slowly eating away at his windpipe, restricting him from choking out the words he’d desired to tell you.

But he had resolved to do it.

And Mattheo Riddle was many things, but not a coward.

You raised your eyebrow at him, waiting for him to speak further.

“I was wondering if you would go with-”

He was interrupted by your surprised yelp and laugh of joy as your teammates lifted you to their shoulders, yelling and cheering your name. 

You put your hands up in victory, the golden snitch still struggling in your grip.

“We’ll talk later, Mattheo!” you shout at him, waving your hands to get his attention. 

Not that you had to.

You had forever stolen his gaze.

Day 2

So, his original strategy had proved to be a failure. The whole of yesterday, your house wouldn’t leave you alone. When you took a quick trip to the hospital wing to patch up some quick little cuts, your housemates followed you, cheering. When you were walking through the halls, you were surrounded by at least 8 congratulating classmates. In the night, you were at the party celebrating your win. Always busy.

Mattheo never got the chance to just confess as soon as possible, but no matter. This was just day 2, and he still had plenty of time. He had put up with more of his friends’ teasing regarding his harbored crush, but he’d be willing to brave the storm of his friends’ jabs if it meant eventually seeing it die away when he finally had you by his side.

If you’d accept him that is..

He groaned as he walked through the busy halls of Hogwarts during a break period. 

Love was too hard.

He walked into the courtyard to find his friends, but his eyes immediately landed on you. You were quickly skimming a Potion’s textbook, no doubt studying for the sudden test that had been sprung on by Slughorn. He can’t imagine you had much time to study due to the match and celebrations. It was unlike you to look so harried and unprepared. 

He knew this couldn’t be the right time, but he had to test the waters. Perhaps you were still in a good mood?

What he didn’t know was that you’d always be happy to see him. Even if you were having a meltdown, you'd grin at the sight of him.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Mattheo walked up to you, smoothly sliding onto the stone bench beside you. He was immediately met with your smiling face as your attention was diverted from the book.

“Y/N unprepared for a test? Never thought I’d see the day,” he nudged your shoulder playfully with his own as you gave him a mock glare.

“I’m hoping I’ll suddenly procure a photographic memory and just capture the words on this textbook in my brain,” you say, putting the book super close to your eyes as you pretend to absorb all the knowledge.

Mattheo laughs, “I wish I could help but I’m not the best person to ask for, well, any school subjects, to be honest.”

You snickered as you regarded him, eyes alight. 

“Oh yeah, what was it you were trying to ask me on the pitch yesterday?”

Well, he couldn’t back down now.

“I was just wondering if you’d like-”

“Y/N!!!” your best friend comes running through the halls toward you, waving a bundle of parchment with hastily written words. “I just took the Potions test and this is what's on it.”

Your eyes widen in delight as you peer over at her parchment. Your attention being completely drawn away, Mattheo gets up with a sigh and stalks off toward his friends, feeling dejected.

He doesn’t notice the sorry glance you throw his way, upset that his words got interrupted once more.

Day 3

You couldn’t sleep that night and you awoke feeling puffy and down. It seemed as if Mattheo Riddle had been avoiding you the rest of yesterday and you knew it was because he had something to say to you but kept getting interrupted. 

Something important to tell you and something that made him nervous.

That couldn’t mean…

Of course not.

But you’ve had feelings for him for a long time, and the prospect that he could feel the same excited you. Perhaps you should cave first and confess because if that’s what the poor boy had been attempting, after being interrupted twice you doubted he had the guts to do it again. Besides, it’d be a weight lifted from your heart. 

You knew he took early morning walks as he’d often retell his experiences to you when you used to sit next to him in class:

“...and then this bigass bird took a fat shit on McLaggen’s head, and that's when I knew it was going to be a glorious day,” he finished proudly, smiling.

“Now, that’s a good omen if I’ve ever heard of one,” you grinned as you both indulged in quiet laughter, hidden at the back of the History of Magic Classroom.

Who knew such a dull class would quickly become your favorite.

He must’ve not taken a walk today because you couldn’t find him. 

Now, cruel fate had moved him as far away as possible in that classroom with no chance to sneak a quick conversation in. He seemed quite upset today in the one class you’d seen him in, keeping his head low and dozing off a few times. Twice you’d seen him steal a glance at you then look away abruptly.

You found him later that day, walking through the dark hallways after dinner. It was quiet and empty as the rest of the students had made their way to their common rooms or the library. He was looking down and was wiping something from his nose with the back of his hand. It looked like…

Blood.

“Riddle?” you called out softly, and his ebony eyes trained on you in a panic.

He had never intended for you to ever see him like this. Dejected and bleeding.

You stand there, hugging yourself amidst the chills of the vast, stone halls, clinging onto your sweater. 

“A fight?”

He nods, not being able to meet your eyes.

You gently grab his arm, beginning to pull him in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Maybe you could confess in there while he was getting patched up, although that may not be the best time for it. 

Perhaps now to lighten the mood of this awkward walk?

If he rejects you, at least teasing you about it would make him more cheerful.

“Hey, Mattheo…I just wanted to let you know that-”

Before you could get very far, however, a bloodied Gryffindor boy strides toward you guys, calling Riddle’s name in an icy tone. 

You both whirl around, and Riddle grits his teeth, upset to see the boy he had just fought with.

“You thought you could just escape?” the boy stops 7 feet away, balling up his fists

“You were out cold, so yeah, I assumed I could.”

“Rematch, Riddle.”

He looks back at you, something glistening in his eyes.

“Go, y/l/n.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes, “You think I’m just gonna leave you here, bleeding?”

“Go.”

You realize there’s no stopping this fight and, frankly, you didn’t want to see Mattheo beating someone up. You walk straight to the nearest professor’s quarters and alert them of the fight, framing it so it sounds like Mattheo was ambushed and simply fought back as self-defense. After doing so, you slip into your room, lying awake, hoping he’s ok.

Day 4

Mattheo was cutting it close, but this week had been a doozy. He hoped today would be an ordinary day in which he could finally, peacefully confess his vibrant feelings for you.

That morning, Mattheo finds you in the library next to a stack of mythology books. He walks up, a smile already forming on his face at the familiar sight of your gorgeous, focused face.

“I wasn’t aware there was a Mythology class at Hogwarts,” he smiles, leaning against your table. His face was covered in cuts and bruises while his nose seemed haphazardly bandaged.

You look up at him disapprovingly, eyes tracing his injuries.

“It's called reading for fun, Mattheo. You should try it sometimes.”

“No, thank you.”

You shot him a sardonic smile, leaning back in your chair.

“Listen, y/n, I wanted to thank you for shifting the blame off of me for the fight but-”

“No problem, I had to do something,” you shrug.

“But…I could’ve handled it myself. You tainted my reputation and it made me seem like I’m weak and scared of authority.”

You raise an eyebrow, a look of disbelief blossoming on your face.

“You’re seriously annoyed with me for helping you NOT get in trouble?” you stand up from your seat staring him in the eye. “Your stupid pride and reputation is worth more than that?”

He furrows his brows, perplexed by your reaction.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighs. “My reputation is all I have” is what he meant to share, but vulnerability was not his strong point.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” you stand up, grabbing your books, and walk out, not looking back once.

Mattheo watches you go, feeling as if whatever grip he had on you had lessened. He could feel you falling through his fingers.

Day 5 ₊˚ෆ

Mattheo would’ve accepted his defeat if this was any other bet. Confessing to y/n was a harder task than it seemed. 

The thing is, this wasn’t any other bet, and Mattheo Riddle was as adamant as ever to let you know how he felt about you. Being in your presence was a hot bowl of soup on a sick day. It was a warm glass of spiced butterbeer after playing in the snow. It was a blanket after being warmed by the fire. It was a comfort he never allowed himself to indulge in.

He wanted it in a stronger dose. He needed the comfort of a relationship with you. And today, he intended to get it. 

He awoke early as usual since he couldn’t sleep past six: his thoughts always woke him up far too early. Getting dressed and heading outside, he sees you reading your mythology books under a big oak tree, bundled up in a deep grey trench coat. As he approached with his silent steps and hands in his pockets, he realized it was Norse mythology today. Despite him acting clueless, he also enjoyed reading myths for fun.

He stopped a few feet away from you and you looked up unsurprisingly, as if you knew he was approaching the entire time. With a quick glance at the empty spot next to you, you signal Mattheo to join you in the misty morning air. You couldn’t help but feel as if this replicated the foggy morning scene in one of your favorite movies, Pride and Prejudice.

He settled next to you, shoulders touching.

“I hope a bigass bird shits on your head,” you murmur in a playful tone, recalling his tale, looking at him with a fake gleam of scorn in your eyes. Not entirely fake as you were quite annoyed about yesterday night in the library.

He laughs at that, tilting his head to look at you in all your morning glory.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he whispers, looking at you with utter adoration, although you don’t characterize it as such. “I just…I feel as if my reputation is all I have.”

He looks away at that, across the grounds, embarrassed to admit anything so close to his heart.

You nod understandingly, touching his pinky with your own.

“We’re cool, Riddle.”

He takes a deep breath and keeps barreling on, ready to confess to you and pour out his heart. 

“Listen, y/n. I kept getting interrupted but I-”

“RIDDLE!” Draco is making his way towards them, looking frantic. You and Mattheo both stand up, looking concerned at his expression. He wears cloak with the hood up and looks panicked, striding towards them in a half run until he is standing before them, panting.

“What happened, what's wrong?” Mattheo urges, shaking Draco’s shoulders.

Draco yanks off his hood to reveal his baby pink hair and you and Mattheo stare at him for a moment.

And then burst out laughing.

“Do you know who did this?” Draco is fuming, balling his fists as he glares at the both of you.

“No, mate, but you have yourself a nemesis,” Mattheo says, gasping for breath. Draco grabs his arm beginning to pull him away, muttering something about helping him get revenge. You’re not letting Mattheo get away again, so you grab his other arm, engaging in a game of tug-of-war. Mattheo shakes off Draco and shoos him off with a wave of his hand and a small glare as Draco gives in and walks away, sulking.

“Where were we?”

“You were on a vulnerability rampage,” you smirk, releasing your grip much to his displeasure.

He smiles shyly as he looks off into the distance, finding your gaze a burning sensation. 

“I really, really like you, y/n. And I’ve been trying to let you know for a while now.

You smile as you angle your neck to force Mattheo to look into your eyes. 

Oh, how you loved his ebony doe eyes.

“Well, it’s a good thing I really like you too, Mattheo.”

And Mattheo Riddle grinned as he finally had the girl of his dreams, and they both engaged in an all-out rampage of Honeydukes, paid for by Lorenzo and Theodore, of course.

[armed-with-a-waffle-iron]

Bat Timeline vs Bat Publication Timeline

I kept my receipts and citations here. I felt canon ages are the best tool to track time. Also, I used cover dates.

Neat things I noticed:

Nothing much happened in Gotham until Robin arrived both in continuity and in print history. Sorry but your lone wolf Batman doesn't exist :P

Dick permanently becomes Batman at the same age Bruce was when he became Batman; 25. Kinda poetic if you ask me.

Babs was Oracle longer than she was Batgirl in both continuity and publication history!!

Completely forgot that Dinah was literally her own mother once upon a time. Weird stuff.

There's not enough Jason!Robin stories to fit the 3 years some fans claim he was Robin for. Also the 3 years idea doesn't work if you track Dick's age. My guess is he was originally younger than 15 when he died but DC aged him up so he could be an adult when he returned as Red Hood.

It's pretty clear that Helena's integration into the group began the expansion of this complicated "family unit". She set the precedent for those noirish vigilante work relations.

Tim has to be a vampire if he's meant to be 17 three whole very explicit in-continuity years after he had his 16th birthday.

Stephanie has basically been in this gig as long as Tim! And almost as long as Helena too. Proper seasoned ass-kicker who Damian should look to for pointers.

Also remembered that Cassandra's Batgirl run is the best thing to come out of Gotham in the early 2000s.

I dunno I think the One Year Later timeskip was just unnecessary.

Kate and Renee are almost as new to the vigilante gig as Damian!

Bat-adjacent Rose Wilson was said to be 14 during her first appearance around Year 15 so she's the same age Tim.

Not Bat related but Lian Harper's age works with my timeline so yay! Born early Year 14, she's 5 during Cry for Justice in Year 19.

I have a theory, based off of Batman #416, that Dick graduated high school at 17. He says he was Bruce's partner for 6 years and that after he was fired; he left college after the 1st semester, then moved around the country, had his own adventures, and "eventually" ended up with the Titans. Also, he was 21 during the Titans' 3rd anniversary (New Titans v2 #71) and 19 when he became Nightwing (Tales of the Titans #44) so the Titans (re-)formed when he was 18. This means he probably only turned 18 in the academic year he began college (or has a summer birthday). So he was Bruce's partner from ages 11-17, did his own thing for a while as he did in the 70s, eventually joined the Titans at 18, and became Nightwing at 19. Jason comes into the picture soon after Dick retires the Robin identity.

[fatehbaz]

---

For the Maya, the honey bee is more than an insect. For millennia, the tiny, stingless species Melipona beecheii -- much smaller than Apis mellifera, the European honey bee -- has been revered in the Maya homeland in what is now Central America. Honey made by the animal the Maya call Xunan kab has long been used in a sacred drink, and as medicine to treat a whole host of ailments, from fevers to animal bites. The god of bees appears in relief on the walls of the imposing seacliff fortress of Tulum, the sprawling inland complex of Cobá, and at other ancient sites.

Today, in small, open-sided, thatched-roof structures deep in the tropical forests of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, traditional beekeepers still tend to Xunan kab colonies. The bees emerge from narrow openings in their hollow log homes each morning to forage for pollen and nectar among the lush forest flowers and, increasingly, the cultivated crops beyond the forests’ shrinking borders. And that is where the sacred bee of the Maya gets into trouble.

---

In 2012, the Mexican government granted permission to Monsanto to plant genetically modified soybeans in Campeche and other states on the peninsula without first consulting local communities. The soybeans are engineered to withstand high doses of the controversial weedkiller Roundup; multiple studies have shown exposure to its main ingredient, glyphosate, negatively impacts bees, including by impairing behavior and changing the composition of the animals’ gut microbiome. Though soy is self-pollinating and doesn’t rely on insects, bees do visit the plants while foraging, collecting nectar and pollen as they go. Soon, Maya beekeepers found their bees disoriented and dying in high numbers. And Leydy Pech found her voice.

A traditional Maya beekeeper from the small Campeche city of Hopelchén, Pech had long advocated for sustainable agriculture and the integration of Indigenous knowledge into modern practice. But the new threat to her Xunan kab stirred her to action as never before. She led an assault on the Monsanto program on multiple fronts: legal, academic, and public outrage, including staging protests at ancient Maya sites. The crux of the legal argument by Pech and her allies was that the government had violated its own law by failing to consult with Indigenous communities before granting the permit to Monsanto. In 2015, Mexico’s Supreme Court unanimously agreed. Two years later, the government revoked the permit to plant the crops.

---

As Pech saw it, the fight was not simply about protecting the sacred bee. The campaign was to protect entire ecosystems, the communities that rely on them, and a way of life increasingly threatened by the rise of industrial agriculture, climate change, and deforestation.

“Bees depend on the plants in the forest to produce honey,” she told the public radio program Living on Earth in 2021. “So, less forest means less honey [...]. Struggles like these are long and generational. [...] ”

---

Headline, images, captions, and all text by: Gemma Tarlach. “The Keeper of Sacred Bees Who Took on a Giant.” Atlas Obscura. 23 March 2022. [The first image in this post was not included with Atlas Obscura’s article, but was added by me. Photo by The Goldman Environmental Prize, from “The Ladies of Honey: Protecting Bees and Preserving Tradition,” published online in May 2021. With caption added by me.]

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[screamingfromuz]

Listen. LISTEN, the longer I spend in the academic world, I am more convinced that describing Judaism and Jews as a religion/ethnic grope/ethnoreligion is unhelpful outside of Academic circles.

The best way to explain Judaism is using the tribe model. A lot of times Judaism is a community first and a religion second, i.e., your level of religiousness is rarely a thing that alienate you from the community.

Think of other tribes, like the Sámi, Aboriginal Australians, Māori, Yurok, Inuit ect. Each have their own unique religion, but we do not think of them as a religious group, because the tribal identity is more important, and the religion is considered part of the culture, not the opposite.

IMORTANT SIDENOTE: I am aware that many of those tribes, and other tribes have a big chunk of Christians in them, usually more Christians than those who follow the indigenous religion of the tribe. BUT for the sake of discussion, I am equating Judaism to the section that does follow the indigenous religion of the tribe.

So, despite the fact that the religious structures of Judaism is very integral to Judaism, it is partly because of the community based focus of Judaism. The most basic example is the Minyan, the fact that prayer is preferred to be done in a group. Or the fact that the Sader is meant to be a celebrated in a group. and so on.

SO, ethnoreligion is a great academic term, but for outside that world? A tribe is a much better term to explain Judaism.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 12 BIRTHDAY PARTY

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, friendship jealousy?, a very brief mention of some guy hitting on y/n + spiking of drinks but I didn't want to go into too much detail so it's not a very in depth description or anything

NOTES | I so badly wanted to write this chapter better but it just hasn't been working for me, I think I've reached my wits end with this chapter and this is the best I could do which honestly I'm really disappointed with it, but I want to get back to regular posting and I don't think I can rewrite this chapter again after going in circles with it for the past week so I'm sorry if it's not v good

Jaemin's happy, spending his birthday night with the people he cares for most, having a good time. It helps him forget, the struggles the worries, the events of the past week. He forgets it all. And even if just for a moment, jaemin feels free, like nothing could stop him.

It's not a feeling that lasts long, and as the sound of sweet laughter echoes in his ears, despite the blaring music, jaemin reminds himself that he doesn't have the right to feel so happy after what he'd done. Or at least he thinks so.

Y/n's laugh is quiet but he hears every part of it intricately, his head shooting over to the left where she's a few drinks deep into a conversation with Mark and Haechan. His heart thumps in his chest. Jaemin follows Chenle and Renjun's eager eyes, watching the way they navigate through the crowd to join the conversation. His palms are sweaty, clammy even, and the bile almost rises to his throat, resting in that uncomfortable position that made him shift his weight from one foot to the other. The events of the other day seem to play in his head, on loop, on repeat, at every sight of the girl. The bitter feeling causes his hands to shake, almost eating hik alive. How could he have done that?

A lump in his throat, jaemin can't help but remember the days, those days where he knew everything there was to know about the girl across the room. The days where y/n was deeply integrated into the mix of the 6 other rowdy, loud and messy but sweet boys he called his best friends. Those days that were long gone. Relationships that could never be restored taken with it. Those days when nights like these, like today, would be nothing but a distant nightmare.

Y/n was dressed to the nines in a pretty red dress that she'd never have worn before, with features so different, a sign of the time that had passed, Jaemin swore he barely knew the girl he saw in front of him.

But for a flash of a second Jaemin does see someone he recognises. He sees y/n. His y/n.

The y/n with slightly shorter hair, softer features, happier eyes and a brighter smile. The carefree y/n, the y/n who fit to a T the memories he stored in his mind. The y/n who would never have done what she had to him.

He had given his best shot to forgetting those exact memories but they were vivid recollections that would never escape his mind no matter how hard he tried. Today for the first time in 3 years Jaemin had let himself look back fondly on what they had once been. He wondered where it all went wrong, what he had done wrong back then for it to end like this.

Jaemin sighs, pulling his hand back from the open bar and taking just a few steps back to observe. Haechan seems to have cracked a joke. From afar it seems like one of those things that gets funnier as each person adds, and soon he notices the four of his friends doubled over in laughter, grasping each other for support and laughing to their hearts content. Something about that site in front of him makes it feel as though time hadn't changed a thing, their bond still as unbreakable and robust as before, a bond that ran beyond verbal description and light sentiment, it was a deep rooted bonding of their souls.

He felt jealous.

Jaemin, for as long as he let his eyes play the scene in front of him, felt sickeningly jealous.

He wanted nothing more than to have his friendship with her to be untouched, the bond he had with his best friend, that had been stronger than any other, he wanted it back as though nothing had hapenned and nothing had gone wrong in the first place.

His stomach churns with nausea, and jaemin subconsciously steps further away from the makeshift bar, watching Y/n closely.

Her mannerisms had changed, no longer that same rough reflection of his own habits, but a distinct and sharp contrast. There's no scrunch of her nose or reeling back when she tips back a shot, no hesitance to get herself another drink without tugging someone along with her

No sign of the girl he once knew inside out, other than a few vaguely familiar facial features.

Jaemin's too occupied in his thoughts to notice how his friends now begin to pile into the other room, setting up for beer pong, hell jaemin barely notices when Jeno invites him over to play, with a pat on his back and a smile on his face.

His eyes instead find themselves glued to the captain across the room. Where she was stood at least, because once Jaemin shakes himself from his thoughts and his blank stare grows fuller, he realises that y/n isn't anywhere to be seen.

He knows for a fact that she wasn't in the other room, crowding around the table and cheering for whoever she decided she'd be supporting. Instead, his eyes shoot over to the kitchen, and his legs follow. A concerned Isa scurrying out of the kitchen, only giving him reason to trust his gut.

The sound of slurred conversation fills his ears and suddenly he finds himself walking a little quicker. Intuition was always his strong suit and the churning in the pit of his stomach made him gulp.

"I'm really not interested" he hears y/n's voice, slightly muffled as he enters the kitchen, stood in the doorway to see some guy, he's not really sure who, stood towering in front of her

"oh come on, I make the best drinks" he says, holding out a red solo cup in front of her.

Y/n rolls her eyes. Nobody presses for a drink that much unless they're up to something. She knows that despite being a few too many shots into the night. And she certainly knows better than to accept a drink off a stranger.

In moments like this, she assumes violence isn't the answer — she knew she lacked the coordination to even walk in a straight line right now. So she gladly accepts the drink, taking it in her hands and swirling it about in the cup. Although the urge to splash it in his face was strong, Y/n knew getting out of the situation wasn't that simple. But she didn't exactly have many ideas now either.

"So what's in this mystery drink of yours?" she asks with a sickeningly sweet tone, trying to buy herself time. There was no way she was drinking this, especially not considering this guy had been hitting on her for the past 5 minutes

Her eyes dart across the room, searching for any sign of a way out of the situation, her eyes finally landing on the doorway. Y/n had never felt so relieved at the sight of Jaemin, certainly not in recent times.

It took less than a second before he was already taking a stride towards her

"Hey y/n" he smiles, walking over and placing his arm over her shoulder. Jaemin feels her body tense under his hold, his faux smile almost dropping at the realisation.

But he has no time to take offence, grabbing the cup from her hands "I could use a drink." he says despite the fact that right now, even the mention of alcohol had his stomach churning. Paired with the blaring music and the crowd of people, the nausea was overpowering.

But the second his eyes land on her, he feels a sense of ease, just like the old times. And for the second time that night jaemin can't help but think where it had all gone wrong, where they had gone wrong.

He wants to stand and ponder whether this grudge he'd been holding against her for years was really worth the loss of the most treasured relationship he knew. But the amused stare of the creep opposite him gives jaemin no room to think, in fact he barely has the room to breathe with how close he is.

That sick smirk on his face, jaemin wants nothing more than to knock his jaw in and his teeth out. If it weren't for y/n beside him, jaemin probably would.

But the brunette only gets a quick glare from jaemin before he guides Y/n out of the kitchen with him. His arm only falling back down to his side when they were in the hallway.

"Thanks" she mutters out, and it's clear to jaemin that she's far from sober, even clearer when she takes a shaky step forwards.

"Woah" it's instinctive the way he reaches for her arm, steadying her in his hold. "Let me help you"

But she pulls her arm back.

"You really don't need to be nice to me because of what hapenned the other day" she sighs, leaning against the wall behind her. "I'm over it, honestly" she says, her hands held up either side of her head. But her eyes remain latched ontot he floor.

"That's not why I'm‐" his words are cut off again, this time by his own thoughts. His muscles tensed and jaemin had no idea why, but her words didn't seem to sit right with him.

"Look I appreciate it" she pauses, "but it feels awkward, you're not supposed to help me, it's just not what you do" she says, shrugging

The feeling inside him grows as each word passes her lips. His throat tightening.

Jaemin feels a sudden sense of urgency overcome him, the need to defend himself profound.

"Come on peach, I wouldn't let some creep get away with that no matter what, especially not with you"

His voice comes as a soft whisper, rushed, but gentle.

Jaemin for the first time had spoken before he could think, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, barely able to process his own words. He wants to say more, but he can't, like his tongue is tied as he waits for a response.

He searches for any sign of belief in her face, any sign of trust, anything he could work with, he'd take.

"I'm sorry" he musters up the courage to say, though he's not sure what it is he apologises for. All he hopes is that he'll see something, anything.

But the blank expression that laid across her features was far from what he was looking for.

Her lips lay flat in a straight line, her eyes latched onto the floor, expression stoic. He wanted her to scream, shout, kick, do anything. Jaemin as ever before, just wanted to get a reaction out of the girl, the slip of the once endearing nickname from his lips no mistake.

"Say something" he bends down ever so slightly, now eye level with her slouched figure "please" his speech is breathy, desperate almost. He doesn't care.

For the first time, jaemin knows what he wants. And though he's too scared to say it, jaemin finally admits to himself just how much y/n means to him. It seems a lot easier to do when she's by his side, like all things had when she was around. And the question arises once again, where had everything gone wrong? and perhaps more importantly, why had he let go of everything so easily?

The thoughts cloud his mind again, his eyes trained on the girl opposite him, her lips between her teeth.

Y/n felt silly, that stupid nickname causing tears to well up in her eyes, that nickname that she had never known to mean so much. Peach. She used to love when he called her that, now she wasn't so sure.

She holds his eyes in her own for a moment, not breaking the silence until a shaky breath falls from her lips.

"I should go" and her eyes return to the floor "Happy birthday jaemin."

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[alyrasturnz]

can you do a professor matt fanfic please

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ TEACHERS PET

❐ summary » when y/n finds herself on the brink of failure, desperation seeps into her every action, driving her to seek assistance with an intensity that borders on frantic.

❐ pairings » professor!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » oral (m receiving), cream pie, overstimulation, age gap

❐ a/n && w/c » jake peralta is so hot 😕 do we want a jake peralta fic • 3.02k

you were the paragon of virtue, the golden child who navigated the treacherous waters of youth with unwavering precision. your report cards gleamed with the brilliance of straight a's, and your name was synonymous with diligence and integrity. teachers sang your praises, and trouble was a distant storm that never touched your shores.

but now, the winds have shifted. the once-clear skies of your academic journey have darkened with ominous clouds. your grades, once as steady as the north star, have begun to waver, dipping and diving like a ship caught in a tempest. the whispers of concern have grown louder, and the familiar path you tread has become fraught with uncertainty.

your once-sterling grades, once the envy of your peers, had begun a slow, inexorable decline, and you found yourself adrift in a sea of confusion, unable to pinpoint the cause of your academic descent. it was this very uncertainty that had prompted your professor, a figure of authority and wisdom, to summon you to his office, seeking to unravel the mystery behind your faltering performance.

he was the professor that every student coveted, the one whose lectures were attended as much for his intellectual prowess as for his undeniable allure. his presence commanded the room, and his striking appearance only added to the magnetic pull he had over his students.

thus, you resolved to seize this moment as the ideal opportunity to weave a spell of seduction around him.

it was a win-win situation. you would have the chance to engage in a clandestine affair with the most desirable professor on campus while simultaneously navigating a path to academic redemption.

your fingers brushed against the cold, unyielding metal of the doorknob, the sensation sending a shiver up your spine. with deliberate slowness, you began to turn it, each millimeter of movement accompanied by the faintest creak, until finally, a soft, almost imperceptible click echoed in the stillness. the door yielded to your touch, swinging open with a quiet sigh.

he was seated at his desk, the soft glow of the laptop illuminating his features. his fingers moved with a practiced grace, dancing across the keyboard with a rhythm that spoke of both familiarity and focus. each keystroke seemed to weave a tapestry of thoughts and ideas, a silent symphony of intellect and intent.

you bit your bottom lip, a mischievous smirk playing on your face as you sauntered in, the air around you charged with a palpable sense of anticipation.

his gaze snapped towards you, eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and intent. “y/n, take a seat," he commanded, his voice a low rumble as he closed his laptop with a decisive click. you closed the door behind you, the soft thud resonating in the room, and with a stealthy twist, you turned the lock. your heels clicked on the hardwood floor, each step echoing the tension that hung in the air.

you gracefully lowered yourself onto the seat in front of his desk, your eyes keenly observing as matt rummaged through his drawers, his movements deliberate and methodical. he eventually extracted a stack of papers, each one seeming to carry the weight of unspoken secrets and untold stories.

"how have you been?" he inquired, placing the papers on his desk with a measured precision before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the polished surface. his gaze locked onto yours, penetrating and earnest. "anything going on at home?"

you shook your head gently, a subtle motion that spoke volumes. "i've been fine," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. he nodded in response, the gesture carrying an unspoken understanding.

"well, y/n, it has come to my attention that your grades have been slipping. any idea why?" he inquired, his eyebrows arching in a display of both concern and curiosity.

you offered a soft shrug, your gaze falling to the floor, a silent admission of uncertainty. he sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken worries.

"look, you're a good student. i know you can do better than this," he said, his fingers threading through his hair, pausing momentarily as if seeking solace in the familiar motion. his hand lingered, then slowly swept back, a gesture that conveyed his deep-seated concern and earnest hope for your improvement.

your voice took on a softer, more alluring tone, each word carefully chosen to convey sincerity. "professor, is there anything i can do to improve my grade?" you asked, your eyes searching his for a glimmer of understanding and guidance.

he furrowed his eyebrows, deep lines etching across his forehead as he tried to decipher your intentions. "what are you implying, y/n?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"well... i have a couple of things in mind," you said, batting your eyelashes with a hint of playful mischief. as you stood up and walked towards him, you twirled a strand of hair around your finger, each step deliberate and filled with subtle allure.

for a moment, it seemed like he might give in, his gaze softening ever so slightly. but then, with a resolute shake of his head, his expression hardened, becoming stern and unyielding. "no, y/n. sit down and let’s discuss this properly before you do something you’ll regret," he commanded, his tone strict and authoritative, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

you sighed and sat down, the weight of his seriousness settling over you. as he began to outline a plan for extra lessons, his voice steady and methodical, you nodded in agreement, all the while your mind was already weaving the threads of your next move, plotting a new course of action.

he had handed you a stack of meticulously prepared worksheets, each one brimming with questions designed to test your understanding and earn you extra credit.

you placed the tip of your pen between your teeth, leaning back in your chair with a thoughtful demeanor. your eyes lingered on your professor, a blend of curiosity and contemplation dancing within them. as you observed him, the gears of your mind visibly turned.

he was diligently grading tests on his laptop, his gaze unwavering and intense. his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, creating deep lines on his forehead, as he meticulously assessed each answer with a discerning eye.

you decided to adopt a different strategy. with a deliberate motion, you unbuttoned your shirt slightly, allowing it to fall open just enough to reveal the delicate lace of your bra, a subtle yet provocative gesture meant to shift the dynamics of the moment.

you “accidentally” let your pen slip from your grasp, and as it clattered to the floor, you stood up with measured grace. bending over slowly to retrieve it, you couldn't help but notice the fleeting flicker in his eyes, a brief betrayal of his struggle to maintain a veneer of professionalism amidst the subtle tension.

"y/n, stop it," he finally uttered, his voice laden with strain. a smirk played on your lips as you sauntered towards him, each step deliberate and charged with intent.

"what am i doing, professor? do you think i'm attempting to seduce you?" you asked, batting your eyelashes with feigned innocence. "perhaps it's you who desires me, and you simply can't bring yourself to admit it," you continued, your voice dripping with a mix of challenge and allure.

his jaw tightened, but he struggled to maintain his composure. "just focus on your work, y/n," he commanded, his voice barely concealing the tension. but you merely smirked, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable.

you could see the conflict in his eyes, a tempest of emotions swirling within as he waged an internal battle against his own desires. each fleeting glance and furrowed brow betrayed the struggle he faced, torn between his sense of duty and the undeniable pull of his longing.

you gracefully settled yourself onto his lap, your hands finding their place upon his shoulders. as your touch connected, he let out a shaky exhale, the breath escaping him like a whisper of surrender.

you leaned in close, your lips a mere breath away from his ear. in a voice as soft as a summer breeze, you whispered, "professor, don't you want to feel alive?" your words hung in the air, a tantalizing promise of forbidden exhilaration.

it was the breaking point. the dam of his self-control shattered, and in that moment, his resolve crumbled. before he knew it, his lips crashed against yours in a fervent and passionate embrace, the culmination of all the suppressed desires that had been simmering beneath the surface.

your fingers became entangled in the silken strands of his hair, while his hands instinctively found their place upon your waist, anchoring you both in a moment of shared intimacy.

he swiftly reached down to unfasten his belt, the sound of the leather hitting the floor echoing in the room. all the while, he kept your lips connected, not breaking the kiss even as he deftly unzipped his jeans.

he reluctantly disconnected your lips, allowing his kisses to trail slowly down your skin, each one a lingering promise. as he descended, he deftly pulled his length free from the confines of his boxers, his movements deliberate and filled with a restrained intensity.

you felt his length make contact with your abdomen, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. the sensation was both unexpected and electrifying, sending a shiver through your entire being.

your eyes fluttered open, drawn downward to the sight of his length. your lips parted involuntarily, a silent expression of the myriad emotions coursing through you.

you felt the cool, almost electrifying touch of his fingertips as they brushed against your thigh, sending a cascade of shivers through your body. his grip tightened momentarily, a silent promise of what was to come.

with a practiced ease, his hand journeyed to your core, deftly sliding your underwear to the side. as his fingers began their slow, deliberate exploration, each movement was a symphony of sensation, resonating through every fiber of your being. your breath hitched, anticipation and desire intertwining in a dance as old as time itself.

a soft moan escaped your lips, intertwining with his guttural groan. "you’re so tight," he grumbled, his voice a rough whisper of desire. with each thrust of his fingers, a rhythm was established, an intimate dance of passion and need. your body responded instinctively, arching towards him, each movement a silent plea for more.

he continued to pump his fingers in and out, each movement more deliberate and intense than the last. your breath quickened, your body trembling with each wave of pleasure that coursed through you. his eyes locked onto yours, a primal hunger evident in his gaze. “so wet f’me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. you could feel the tension building within you, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

he withdrew his fingers, leaving a void where ecstasy once thrived. the intense pleasure that had enveloped you began to wane, replaced by a sense of longing. a soft whine escaped your lips, a testament to the sudden absence of his touch. the air seemed to thicken with the lingering heat of your shared intimacy, a silent plea hanging between you.

he patted your thigh with a firm yet gentle touch, his voice a commanding whisper, "stand up." the words carried an undeniable authority, compelling you to rise. his eyes bore into yours, leaving no room for hesitation.

"on your knees," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. without a moment's hesitation, you slid off his lap and sank gracefully onto your knees, your movements a fluid response to his authoritative directive.

he seized your head with a firm grip, guiding you with a forceful urgency. his length thrust into your mouth, each movement deliberate and unyielding, leaving you to adjust to the intensity of his desire.

as he continued, the rhythm grew more insistent, each thrust a testament to his overwhelming need. the room seemed to pulse with the raw energy of the moment, every sensation heightened, every breath a shared experience. your senses were engulfed, the world outside fading into insignificance.

the intensity of the connection left you breathless, every fiber of your being attuned to his movements. the room seemed to blur, the only clarity found in the rhythm you shared. your hands gripped his thighs, grounding yourself in the midst of the overwhelming sensations.

he thrust into your throat with an unrelenting force, causing your eyes to water as you struggled to accommodate his length. the intensity of the moment was palpable, each movement drawing forth a fresh wave of sensation, leaving you on the precipice of surrender.

soon enough, his movements became more urgent, pounding into your mouth with a final series of thrusts. you felt the warm, liquid release stream down your throat as he let out a deep, guttural groan, each sound resonating with the culmination of his desire.

you stood up, and he followed suit, swiftly positioning himself behind you. with a firm hand on your back, he pushed you against his desk, the suddenness of the movement eliciting a gasp from your lips. the unexpected force left you breathless, the cool surface of the desk contrasting sharply with the heat of the moment.

your chest pressed firmly against the cool surface of his desk as he tore your underwear apart with a swift, decisive motion, the fabric ripping audibly before he discarded it onto the desk. the sensation of the sudden exposure sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the tension in the room.

"hey!" you exclaimed, turning your head back to face him, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and indignation.

"i'll get you a new one," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive promise as he ran his tip along your folds. "so wet," he whispered, the words dripping with a mixture of admiration and desire.

a sigh escaped your lips, a soft, involuntary response to the sensation that coursed through you.

and without warning, his hips collided with yours, sending a blinding cascade of stars across your vision.

"fuck!" you cursed, feeling your walls violently pulsate against his girthy length, each throb a testament to the overwhelming intensity coursing through you.

his hand flew to your mouth, stifling any sound as he momentarily withdrew his hips, only to thrust back in with a force that elicited a loud, unrestrained moan from your lips.

"keep quiet. you can do that for me, hm?" he gritted through his teeth, his voice a strained whisper. You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to the command with a silent promise.

"mhm," you moaned out, a soft sound escaping your lips. he smirked, removing his hand from your mouth, and began to rut his hips against yours with a deliberate, primal rhythm.

he picked up the torn garment, forcefully stuffing it into your mouth, effectively silencing you as you let out a muffled moan.

"such a whore, fucking your professor," he tutted, his voice dripping with condescension, as you responded with inaudible moans, your body betraying your struggle for restraint.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, whispering, "i wonder what they'd think if they knew." your moans grew more desperate, each sound a testament to the tangled web of desire and shame enveloping you.

his hand trailed down your body, fingers dancing over your skin, igniting sparks of sensation. "do you like this?" he murmured, his voice a low, taunting whisper. your body responded with a shiver, an involuntary arch of your back, as you let out another muffled moan.

he smirked at your reaction, his eyes darkening with a mix of satisfaction and desire. "i thought so," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. his hand continued its journey, each touch a reminder of the power he held over you, as you struggled to maintain control over your own body.

as his length found that exquisite nexus within you, your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back in sheer ecstasy, while he relentlessly drove into you, each thrust a merciless symphony of pleasure and intensity.

"sir—" you moaned, your voice barely a whisper, lost in the symphony of your shared ecstasy.

“hold it," he commanded, his voice a low growl, even as he continued his relentless, unyielding rhythm, each thrust a testament to his unwavering dominance.

your body quivered under his command, every nerve ending ignited by the intensity of his movements. you struggled to obey, the overwhelming sensation pushing you to the edge.

each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it nearly impossible to comply. your breaths came in ragged gasps, and you clung to the last threads of control, desperate to hold on as he demanded.

your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back as the knot in your stomach coiled tighter, a tempest of sensation threatening to consume you entirely.

each wave of pleasure built upon the last, cascading through your body with an intensity that left you breathless, teetering on the brink of surrender.

tears welled up in your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming flood of sensations that coursed through you, each one amplifying the other in a symphony of overstimulation.

each tear that escaped carried with it the weight of the pleasure and intensity, a silent testament to the depths of your experience, leaving you on the precipice of surrender.

"please," you murmured, your voice a mere whisper, almost lost amidst the symphony of sensations, a desperate plea woven into the very air around you.

he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “give it to me, slut.” finally, with a knowing smile, he granted you release. the tension that had built up within you snapped like a taut string, and the waves of ecstasy crashed over you with an overwhelming force.

your body trembled, each convulsion a testament to the intensity of the moment, leaving you breathless and utterly spent, yet deeply fulfilled.

he thrusted into you, his movements becoming more urgent, and with a final, powerful thrust, his release surged through you, intertwining with your own, creating an intimate blend of shared ecstasy.

[oceansblvds]

You and Coryo being Academic rivals, one day you're arguing in class too much and highbottom kicks you out and tells you to figure it out and come back once the two of you finally get along - however you keep arguing until the tension is too much and you end up making out in halls of the academy. 👀 also imagine highbottom catching you and being so over it like "that's not what i meant when i told you to get along"

perhaps.... had too much fun with this LOL

warning(s): nothing rly. kissing?

you and coriolanus had never been close, you were both convinced that the only thing you had in common was where you two both stood academically. you two were both at the top of the class together, the dean even said it himself, there was no way of distinguishing who was higher than the other because of how close you two were grade wise. both of you always got essays and tests back with one hundred percents, both of you were always the last two people in the library when it was almost midnight (always on opposite sides of the room), and the both of you absolutely hated it. you both hated that you couldn't best each other. the arguing never stopped, the bickering getting on everyones nerves. some people thought that you two would be good friends if you just talked to one another, but no way, not when he was your worst enemy. or so it seemed.

it had gotten so bad that the two of you were even arguing in front of teachers. the most recent time, when everything changed, you two were arguing over something to do with calculus. you were solving complex, two variable integrals and he was committed to telling you how wrong you were about the way that you had solved it on the whiteboard. although the teacher had given the class time to solve problems with your table while she talked with the dean, who had stepped in to have a private word, their talk was interrupted when the dean told you that you two needed to take a breather, and learn how to talk to each other without ripping each other to shreds.

you were fuming, walking out of the classroom before him and stepping into the hallways. you could hear his footsteps behind you, and when you were far enough away, in a hallway that didn't have any classrooms and was instead lined with shelves of past academic pictures, you turned around. "what do you want," you asked him, standing in the middle of the hallway. coriolanus looked almost amused by how pissed off you were. "you know, you ruin everything," you said. "i've never been kicked out of a classroom before until you." your words were venom.

then he began talking. about how you drove him crazy with how smart you were, and how much you liked to rub it in his face. "i just wish that for once you could shut your fucking mouth," coriolanus said to you. he had gotten closer, his breath fanning your face as he towered over you. this close to him and you could smell the faintness of roses, you could see the smile lines on his face, the tiniest bits of freckles dotting his skin. you hated him. you hated how beautiful he was. and so, giving the faintest of a smirk, you stated, "make me."

and although what happened next was a wrong move, on both of your parts who were so keen on keeping appearances and your reputation in toe. put coriolanus grabbed your shoulder and waist, slamming you into the wall of the hallway. you didn't pull away, instead pushing your lips towards his almost as fast as he did the same thing. he muttered something about how he knew how to shut you up against your lips, barely giving you enough time to breath between heated kisses. it was rough, bruising even, like he was trying to consume your soul. his lips were so soft, pissing you off enough at their perfectness that you nipped at them, sucking the bottom one into your teeth and biting. he hissed at the feeling, pulling away for just a moment, panting, and putting his finger to his lip that had a little blood splattered on it. instead of saying something, he kissed you even harsher, tongue pressing into your mouth and slotting between your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

coriolanus' hands were in your hair, pulling it harshly down to gain better access to your lips, his other hand pressing into your hip to keep you against the wall. your hands were on his back and around his neck, fingernails scratching against his pristine skin that gave him goosebumps.

the two of you stayed like that, kissing and basically morphing into one complete enigma for who knows how long. long enough that both of you heard someone clear their throat. it was dean highbottom, looking at the two of you like you were crazy. your cheeks burned, thinking that this was it, you were going to be kicked out of school and you would never have a life ever again. instead, he just looked at the two of you for another moment as coriolanus pulled away, leaving you against the wall. "when i told you to get along . . ." dean highbottom said, turning on his heel to walk away, "that's not what i meant."

you two got detention for a week.

at least afterwards the two of you could continue to get along.