#writer and student

[lordtocco]

This Japanese bl drama is very erotic.

If a writer of erotic stories hurts his dominant hand, who will be able to write for him? And here Kuzumi, a simple university student, finds himself confronted with the world of erotica and with his own sexual attraction towards the one he listens to every day.

The use of lights and the choice of environments brings me to a sense of nostalgia and timeless place. I really appreciate this choice that allowed me to perceive the feelings of the two in a more direct way.

If there are scenes they are truly erotic.

It is worth it.

The ending is suspended, everything can either end there, or reopen for a continuation.

[a-lady-and-her-quill]

[malusokay]

What's the point of a diary if you're not lying in it?

On Anaïs Nin, literary self-mythologizing, and why personal writing should always be slightly dishonest. (from my substack)

If you’re not lying in your diary, you’re just journaling, and journaling is for people who don’t know how to edit.

A diary is not a record of events; it is an act of creation. The best diarists know this instinctively. Anaïs Nin knew it better than anyone. Her diaries were not mere confessions but performances, half-lit mirrors where the truth shimmered, distorted but no less real.

Nin understood that life is not lived in a single register. Her diaries are a study in contradiction—one moment, she is in love; the next, repulsed. She is independent yet wholly consumed by those around her. But contradiction isn’t falsehood; it’s literature. She rewrote and edited her diaries, sculpting herself into the character she wanted to be. And is that really so dishonest?

People love to be outraged by the idea of a diary that is not entirely factual. But fact is not the same as truth. Diaries, at their best, are emotional truths, shaped by mood, by desire, by the need to impose a narrative on the chaos of daily life. Nin was not interested in being objective—she was interested in being immortal. She once wrote, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” But why stop at tasting? Why not rewrite, reshape, embellish? If we can curate the lives we present to others, why should we not do the same for the versions of ourselves we leave behind?

Nin herself was a master of this. She edited her diaries before publication, removing, refining, turning herself into a protagonist. She blurred lines, shifted timelines, made herself more alluring. She called it shaping reality. Others call it lying. The truth, of course, is that all personal writing is selective. Even in confession, there is curation.

The danger, of course, is that history will take the performance at face value. That the diary, once private, will harden into biography. But this, too, is a kind of truth. A diary is not a static object. It lives, it breathes, it deceives, but always in service of something larger than the mundane details of existence.

[evadneares]

[dionyrtal]

september 6, 2024 — brainstorming my new novel, reading articles about women's bodily autonomy and hysteria, re-reading the yellow wallpaper, and sipping my hibiscus tea in the calm hours of the day. the weather finally feels like fall.

[do not repost without credit]

[nikonuee]

Shang Qinghua should make the Xianxia version of Redbull.

Maybe he can't get Coffee in this world (Why Oh Why did he not write in coffee-) But He'll eat his own paperwork (And maybe go down for attempted murder-) if he doesn't start getting more caffeine in his system to deal with tax season!

So, some herbs and ill-advised monster parts (The feathers of the 3-headed celestial bull being a key ingredient had him ugly laughing when he figured *that* out-) mixed in with his tea later and viola! DIY energy supplements! Yippee!

He is defs going to use this responsibly!

(Spoiler: he doesn't and when he eventually crashes and gets brought to Mu Qingfan. He gets the reaming of his life about untested medicines and then bullied into allowing MQF into helping refine it because like HELL the doctor is giving up those stimulants!)

[transboyswitchytales]

A Proposition

This is Part 2

Wanda Maximoff Professor X Student Reader

Part 1,3,4

After a night together, reader is suprised to go to class the next day to see a certain one night stand or rather her professor? Will she be just a one-night stand?

Now how will they move on from that?

( Mommy kink, 18+ Will block you if under 18)

My Masterlist

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.” 

“Professor,” you say again, and the name falls flat, and it only amuses Wanda now. But she looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. You are both walking and you turn to see if you will be overheard.

“Yes, Darling?”  She says, amused at your paranoia. 

“This is inappropriate.” You whisper loudly. 

“No, what’s inappropriate is if I fucked you on my desk really slow with the strap on from the other night. What would be really, really inappropriate is if I made the class watch. Especially that boy who stares at you all class long, Steve Rogers. That would be sweet revenge. Yeah, that, now that would be inappropriate. You and I met and were two consenting adults, and we still are.” She says with a shrug as if it’s nothing. Your eyes are fucking wide as she says such dirty things. You catch up to the last bit in shock.

“Still are?”

“I don’t know about you, though I have an inkling. But that was the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s also the most chemistry I’ve had, maybe ever. It was never gonna be a one-and-done. At least that wasn’t my plan. I knew at the bar I wanted more than one night with you.” She says, and the blush is now definitely all over your body. 

“Professor-“

“Wan-da.” She sounds out and stops to open a door that is her private office. Unlocking it with her keys. She opens the door and waves her hand for you to enter. You hesitate, and she lifts an eyebrow. You roll your eyes and walk in as she flips the light on. It’s a cute office, her blinds are drawn. But there are plants everywhere, a little mini fridge with stickers from national parks all over it, and it's wall-to-wall shelves that are covered in books. You can’t help yourself; you get distracted and walk over to trace your hands over the spines.

Wanda seems to like this as she shuts the door behind her and locks it. You don’t feel even a little worried, like you know you should. You bend down and pick up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Its leather spine draws you in, and you love the story so much. You open it and look for a publication date. 

“It’s about 80 years old,” Wanda says, pulling off her glasses and leaning against the desk. She threw her bag and keys onto it. Then she lets her hands hold her weight behind her. 

“Fuck.” You say, and suddenly feel bad about picking it up. Wanda seems to take that as you have been scolded by people too much before. But she saves that thought away. 

“You can touch it, honey. It’s ok.” She says, seeing your panic. You ignore her and put it back. Standing back up, you see Wanda looking at you like she was enjoying you on the floor. You chastise yourself to stop imagining her naked. 

“I-“

“I’d like to take you out tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, well, right now actually. No time like the present,” she says, smiling at you for the hundredth time today. She likes how much she smiles because of you, she hasn’t done that in a very long time. 

“Shouldn’t I play harder to get?” You tease at the lack of dating etiquette she’s showing. She shakes her head 

“Why would you do that? I’ve already tasted you and I want more, I don’t want to play games. And before you ask no I’ve never fucked a student before. I never planned on it before you.”

“But-“

“Our age gap isn’t that wide, Darling. Even if I make you call me Mommy. Don’t look so scandalized. We aren’t breaking any district or college rules. I like you a lot. And I’m not the kind of woman who likes things and then takes no for an answer.”

“You do this with all your one-night stands, then?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, but it sounds desperate, and you hate it.

“You would be the first person I’ve ever taken home from a bar. I wasn’t going to say anything this soon, but I was married …to a man… for too long....”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a few years. I have tried to date but… no one’s caught my attention.”

“Until now?” You say, and you try not to sound hopeful.

“Until now.” She says more confident than you’d expect.

You turn and look at the books, and she watches you. 

“I think we have more in common than you realize.” She says slowly, and you snort at her. Looking over your shoulder, you are sarcastic to a fault.

“You mean besides the fetishes we share.” It’s not supposed to make you blush more, but you do at your own sentence. She thinks it’s cute and smiles. 

“It’s not just about sex.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” It’s a bit of a lie, because you want it to be more. But you keep your eyes on the books. So she talks to your back, not seeming bothered by sharing your attention with her library.

“You are getting a BA in English with an emphasis on writing, so did I,” She says, and you look at her like ‘that’s obvious.’ 

“You like old books, and so do I. You are extremely smart. And way funnier than I am.” She says as if she’s already in love, and you aren’t sure how to respond. 

“I don’t know if I’m all that.” You say, and she disagrees with you. Her face shows instantly that she doesn’t like your answer. You turn to her now, fully taking her in. She’s so fucking gorgeous. Her professor's look is sharp as hell. You would happily go back to the floor for her right here, right now. She surprises you, though. 

“You have been hurt by people. That much is clear. So have I. I get that you don’t want to trust me. I’m scared too, but not scared enough to let you walk away without taking my chance.” She says, and her voice dips, and it does things to you. 

“You can tell all that, huh?” You sa,y looking down at your shoes. She walks over and lifts your chin so you are eye to eye. 

“I can see that and much more. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to be with you, will you let me?” 

You nod slowly, and she moves and kisses you. It’s a sweet kiss, it’s slow and tender. Not possessive and demanding like her kisses the other night. She pulls back and grabs her keys. 

“Come with me.” She holds out her hand, and you take it.

————

That’s how it starts. You go to a restaurant thinking it’ll be one and done. And you have an amazing time, and it’s not the last. Not even close. Wanda is on your ass like white on rice. She’s texting you, calling you, FaceTiming you all the time. You are inseparable. And you fucking love it. You won’t let yourself tell her you love her. Afraid of what that will mean. You are at her apartment all the time. She starts buying your coffee creamer and makes the popcorn brand you like for nights when you watch endless hours of sitcoms. It’s so fucking sappy and it’s getting extremely domestic on a Tuesday. 

You are both sitting on a dryer in a laundromat. You got a big gulp of a cherry slushy. You are waiting for your laundry to be done. She asked if she could come, and you laughed at her and told her it would be boring. Wanda said nothing with you could ever be boring. And here you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt. 

“What do you mean you’ve never had a slushie?” You say after you wipe your eyes from tears over laughing. She reaches over and brushes stray tears from your other cheek. 

“I’m from Socovia, baby. We didn’t have slushies.” Wanda reminds you and you hold the cup up like it’s amrosia from the gods and it’s being blessed.

“That simply won’t do.” 

She giggles at your display, and it’s the best sound. You hold it to her, moving the straw so it bends.

“Isn’t it like water and corn syrup?”

“Do not knock the cherry syrup like that.” You say in mock horror. She shakes her head at you. 

“You know, I keep Swedish fish at my place for you now. I read the back of it. That stuff is gonna kill you, devochka.”

You beam at her, knowing she’s calling you baby girl in her language, feels so sweet. So many partners called you baby. This felt so much better. 

“I’ll die happy.” You say not to defend the red food dye.

“Nu uh, no dying, how about that. You stay my girl and be healthy.” She says, and it feels good under your skin. Being her girl. 

“I can do that.” You whisper and kick your legs up against the machine. She seems to like you flushed and embarrassed, and she moves your jaw and kisses you. It’s long and slow, but unlike her offic,e it’s practiced now. Like two lovers who know how to slow dance with each others, understanding one another's body rhythms. You lean your forehead against hers and slowly open your eyes to see her staring at you with love laced in every single inch. 

“Be a good girlfriend and drink my toxic slush.” You whisper, and she laughs now. 

“I’m your girlfriend, huh?” She says, and you panic.

“I mean-“

“No, no, my love, no take backs. You taught me no take backs.” She reminds you, and you curse because you had taught her that. 

“Well…”

“I did want to ask…”

“Yeah?” You say and tuck a hair behind your ear. She watches it and seems in a trance, looking at you. You look at her with a questioning glance. You take a sip of your drink as she finishes. 

“Are we um… what’s the English word? Are we exclusive?” 

You snort the drink and cough, and she looks panicked as she rubs your back. You breathe again after a few seconds. 

“Um.. do you want to be?” You ask, catching your breath. 

“I was hoping we already were.” She says slowly, and you look confused. 

“Why did you think we weren't?”

“My friend Natasha told me it’s a conversation that people have to have?” She says and looks anxious now like she’s fucked up. 

“You told your friends about me?” It’s what you take from the sentence, and she looks slightly miffed that you haven’t answered her question only asked follow up questions. 

“Moya lyubov', you are killing me with the suspense. I’m a little scared now. Are you seeing someone else? Or sleeping with someone else?” Her eyebrows furrow, and you quickly grab her hands 

“Oh god, no, Wanda. I have no interest and no time. When would I have slept with someone else? I’m always either on the phone with you or at your place. You think I sneak off after your apartment and have a gangbang or something?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, and her eyes bulged. 

“Gangbang? What is that? Do you get hurt with that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s an English word you might not have heard before. I’ll tell you later. The point is, I’m all yours, ok?” You say, and she instantly relaxes.

“Ok,” Wanda says, and she seems deep in thought again. Her nose scrunches, and you know she’s in the depths of it.

“So who’s Natasha?”

“Friend from college. You’ll like her, she mostly does S.H.I.E.L.D. agent retaining now.” She looks over and you and you nod, impressed. 

“So she’s like super hot and buff?”

“Hey, you are now in a committed relationship. Very taken and very off the market. There will be no hot buff girls in your future. Only this Socovian Professor who is totally going to spank you tonight for that.” She says and scoffs in outrage. 

“Yes professor.” You smirk and she mumbles in her native;’ you’re that she can’t believe you, and you are such a brat. ‘

“So will Natasha be coming by soon?” You say, and she turns bright red and looks at you. 

“No, actually, I’m not sure you are ever meeting her.”

“Is she straight?” You say not getting that you are making Wanda more jealous. 

“Why does this matter?” Her accent comes out and that’s when you realize she’s anxious. 

“Oh, baby, I’m not into your friend. I’m very taken as I just was told. I’m just curious who your friends are.” You say, and you look down at the time on the machine. But when you look back at her, she’s thinking again. 

“Well, there’s Natasha, Clint, who I’m not super close with. But he hangs around Natasha, so I put up with him. He’s gonna love you.”

“Wh,y because of my breasts?” You tease and you swear you see smoke come out of her ears. 

“Hey! I’m not gonna tell you any more about my friends. I’m going to fuck you in that bathroom instead.” She points to the grungy bathroom. 

“Not a bad time for me. But I’ll behave. Why would Clint like me? Would Natasha not like me?” 

“No, she’d like you too. She already does. She’s always telling me what I should do with us.”

“Good stuff?” You say feeling weird. 

“I’m not used to dating in the U.S I don’t know the customs of what’s too much too soon.”

You reach over and grab her hand.

“You don’t need advice. You can just talk to me. I’ll tell you.” You say, and Wanda rubs her thumb over your knuckles. She gulps and agrees.

“I know, but you scare easily sometimes, and I don’t want to ruin this or scare you away.” She says it, and it’s so vulnerable and rea,l and you know, just the feeling.

“Wanda Maximoff, you sweet charmer. You got me pretty wrapped up in you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She meets your eyes and grins now. Her mega-watt smile, the one she only gives you. 

“So Clint.” You say, and she goes on.

“While he would love to see you naked, he’s never going to. Because your mine. He’s a jokester, and he will love laughing with you. Because he’s effortlessly funny.” 

“So are you.” You say taking a sip. She furrows her brows.

“I am so not funny.” She says, and you disagree. 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“My brother was funny. He would have adored you.” She says, and it’s only the third time she’s brought him up. You cup her cheek and she lays her hand on top of yours. You know she’s got a lot of trauma. 

“You think so?”

“I know it.” 

“Ok, so your brother, Natasha and Clit like me. Who else is in your life that you are hiding from your girlfriend?” You say, and she chuckles. Her face hurts from smiling this much. Like it has a lot recently because of you. 

“Well, I used to hang out with this guy Stephen. He’s a doctor, well surgeon now, so he’s pretty busy, but we email a lot. Bruce is getting his PHD, so he’s slammed, but he texts me pretty regularly. He’s upset with his boyfriend a lot.”

“Wow, you have smart friends.” You say, and she arches an eyebrow,

“You won’t think that when you meet them. Beside,s I have a way smarter girlfriend.”

“Then a PHD student, a surgeon, and a S.h.i.e.l.d agent?”

“You are waaaay smarter.” She says, and you don’t believe her, but her face proves she believes it. Wanda doesn’t lie to you. Even when she wishes she could because it would be easier in some moment. 

The dryer dings and you hop down. Wanda looks anxious for a moment, not wanting this date to end. You don’t see her worry and you speak. 

“So I’m thinking we grab dinner and then you read my paper, professor.”

Wanda instantly feels relief that the night isn’t over. She hops down and takes your laundry out of the hamper you are putting it in, and starts folding. 

“What are you doing, Maximoff?” You sa,y and she looks momentarily taken aback at you using her last name.

“Folding?”

“I think we have to be married for you to fold my underwear. You can’t just do that, like we haven’t been dating only three months.”

She looks confused at you. She wants to talk more about marriage, but changes her mind. 

“Who do you think folds your laundry at my apartment?”

“Oh my god, you so do. You throw my clothes in with yours, too. Oh my god, you do my laundry.”

“Yeah, I’m also in a lesbian relationship, so I put your bra on the delicate cycle. Not just throwing it in with jeans like an ape.” She says, and your mouth opens. She looks proud as she folds one of your sweatshirts with more precision than you’ve ever folded. She doesn’t stop at your shocked expression, grabbing a pair of your sweats. 

“That…is really hot.”

Wanda throws her head back and her curls bounce as she laughs at you. 

“My love, you’ve never been taken care of, and it shows.” She say,s and it’s light coming from her, but you realize that it’s really true. 

“Maybe, or maybe you just take care of me really well. Like better than anyone ever has.” You say and shut the door. You turn to load another load into the washer and move the wet clothes to the dryer. You pull out quarters and miss Wanda looking at you. Because she has more love for you than she thought she could have for anyone. After breaking her marriage with Vision and the loss of her family, her brother. She felt so lost and alone. But here you were, like a bolt of lightning into her dead heart. And now she felt like she was living, for maybe the first time ever. 

“I’m thinking Thai. But I know you didn’t like the place on 3rd, even though you say you didn’t mind it. You barley ate your drunken noodles. And I know you were hungry cuz we went on that hike. So don’t even say “that place you like.’ Because I know my girlfriend way better than that.” You say, and it’s so easy, and you don’t even think about it. 

Wanda looks at you still. She felt such warmth in her chest. You were now throwing around her new title with ease. Like she’d always owned it. And she realized she’d wanted your lips to say wife. And then she felt herself growing hot. So she coughed, and you looked at her. 

“What? Did you find gum in my clothes? That’s happened here before, and it ruined an awesome sweater that had a Jane Austen quote. It wrecked me.” You say throwing a laundry pod in the wash and cranking it to start. 

“You take really good care of me…too, just so you know,” Wanda says and she stops folding but looks down at your black jeans with new interest. You walk behind her and snake your arms around her waist. 

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“You think I take good care of you?”

“You make my to-go coffee in the morning better than I do now. You cook for me, and you make sure I take my meds at night. You always check in when you know I’m sad. Or reaching out when you know I’ve gone dark and gloomy, so I haven’t texted. You always lift my spirits and make me laugh…I…no one’s ever cared for me like you.” She says, and you kiss her neck. She leans back into you, and you repeat kisses over her shoulder and up her throat. 

“I don’t want anyone else to.”

“To what?”

“To take care of you. I want to do it.” You say, and she turns and wraps her arms around your neck. 

“No other college girls have applied, so you have job security.” She jokes, and you laugh sarcastically. 

“I thought you didn’t date college girls.”

She pretends to think about it and you pinch her ass and she laughs. 

“Only one college girl.”

“Aye, woman.”

“All women.” She says and leans in and kisses you sucking your bottom lip in. You moan, and she pulls bac,k putting her hand over your mouth.

“Those noises are for me, not the laundromat!” She hisses at you. You lightly bite her hand, and she pulls back.

“Oh, please, the only guy in here is drunk. It’s not like we are being live streamed on pornhub.”

“Ok, slow down, American girl. Livestream? Pornhub? Gangbang?”

“Sometimes the language barrier is really funny and other times it’s hilarious.” 

Wanda glares at you but grabs your ass and squeezes. Making it clear she’s won… again.

“Lifestream is when you are giving a live, real-time feed onto the internet.”

She nods, and you continue. That was probably the most innocent explanation and you figured you’d build into the other ones.  

“Pornhub is a website with pornography videos.”

Her eyes zero in on you. 

“Do you watch porn on Pornhub.”

“I have.” You answer, not about to deny it. 

“Do you still?”

You shrug as if it’s nothing. 

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to.” She answers plainly, but her eyes are squinting at you. Her nose scrunched, and you laughed. 

“Are you being a prude? Because you made me squirt before. Hell you’ve tied me up and fucked my mouth with a dildo. Plus, the names you like in bed or call me in bed. I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here.”

“No, I’m not a prude. And plenty of women like being called Mommy in bed. I have no shame for what we do. I just don’t want my girlfriend masturbating to someone else.” She said the last part at a high decibel in her voice, and you realize you’ve hit a new nerve for her. 

“So you are a prude.” You say, and she glares deeper now.

“I don’t think this is a hard ask. I don’t masturbate to porn.”

“Do you masturbate?” You ask genuinely curious now.

“Besides, when I’m on the phone with you, no.” She admits looking over at the man, clearly passed out in the corner. Before looking back at you. 

“Before me?”

“You know I own a vibrator and some dildos,” Wanda says as if this line of questioning makes no sense. 

“I know I just am curious what you cum to.”

“I used to use my imagination. Now I am having so much sex, I don’t have time or the desire to masturbate. Not when it’s so much better when I’m straddling your face. Why would I want to use my vibrator alone?” Wanda says, unsure of why this doesn’t make sense to you. Her arms stay around your neck. 

“Hmm..”

“What?” She says a little too sharply.

“I think we should go to a kink event.”

“What?” She looks shocked at your answer.

“You might like it. Plus it’s always interesting.”

“Will you be clothed?”

“Yes, baby, I won’t let anyone else touch me. But you are a bit of a dominatrix, I think you’d like to see it. And if you don’t like porn then it’s an intresting way to watch.”

“I’m not much of a voyeur.” She says having learned the word from you. 

“You like watching me. But that’s not the point. If you don’t wanna go, we don’t have to. No pressure whatsoever. But I do think it would be interesting. On the conversation of porn, I won’t watch it if it makes you uncomfortable. I haven’t really masturbated much since we started dating. Maybe twice in the shower on my own, but it was all to thoughts of you.”

This seems to make Wanda feel better. 

“Do you mind that I’m…”

“Possessive? Jealous?” You insert the thoughts. 

“Dominant?” Wanda says even though all of those thoughts crossed her mind as well. 

“I like it all. I like that you put your hand on my ass when someone is staring at me at Starbucks. I like that you make me beg and call you Mommy in bed. I like that you ask me what I’m reading because you like picking out books for me.” You say and Wanda’s hands travel to your ass again.

 She likes to touch you. She, for the first time, is allowed to do PDA. Vision didn’t even like holding hands, so it’s a big shift. Wanda craves being able to touch you. So she wouldn’t be able to stop in public if she tried. The hand on your lower back through a crowd gives her a shot of a power high. She knows you are gorgeous, and you chose her. So she doesn’t keep her hands to herself ever. 

“You said you liked my book recommendations.” 

“I do. I even lie and say I haven’t read it just so I can re-read it and talk to you about it.”

“You lie!” She yells now. 

“Only about books. Only because I like it when we talk about them.” You admit, and she softens her gaze on you. 

“You are getting punished for that later.”

“I’m game. After we get pad Thai, cuz your baby needs food.” You break the contact and throw one of your Lacey thongs like a slingshot, and it hits her face. 

“Nice shot, kid.” The drunk man in the corner says, and you smirk at Wanda’s shock. His eyes were closed.

“Thanks, Ernie.” You say, and Wanda looks at you in horror. 

[love--and--venom]

When Fantasy Becomes Reality

Summary: You're stuck in a stupidly tedious class during your final semester. The upside? The TAs are incredibly attractive. What happens when they catch you writing something very interesting during one of their tutoring sessions?

Warnings: SMUT!!!!!!!!! Reader gets manhandled, size difference, humiliation kink if you squint, fingering, oral (f rec), slight dumbification, dom!YunGi, sub!reader, one (1) spank to the thigh, praise/degredation

Pairing: Yunho x Reader x Mingi

Collab with @mingkismain ! Read her part here (it's a direct sequel)

Your final semester was supposed to be as laid-back as possible. You chose classes that you’d be able to ace with minimal effort. All of your core classes were finished at this point, so you had a bunch of free electives to fill up your last credits. For the most part, you succeeded. You could pass three out of your four classes in your sleep. That fourth class, however, proved to be much more tedious than you anticipated. Your friend insisted you take ‘Philosophy of Science Fiction’ with her. You only agreed because you figured the lectures would consist of watching sci-fi movies or reading sci-fi novels.

You were so incredibly wrong. Well, you were right about the lectures including sci-fi movies, tv shows, and novels. The numerous essays about said media were what killed you. In the 15 weeks of the semester, you had written eight essays. EIGHT. It was fun for the first two or three, but now it was just exhausting. There was only one perk to the course: the two very handsome TAs. 

Staring at Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi quickly became your number one pastime during lectures. You often attended their tutoring sessions even with your grades being near the top of the class. Which is what you were doing right now, in fact. They were holding an all-day tutoring session to help your class work on your final essays. You finished your paper on Iron Widow hours ago, but you stayed in the reserved study room and acted like you were adding your final touches. It wasn’t a total lie. You were writing, but it definitely wasn’t classroom appropriate. You were engrossed in perfecting the filthy words on your google doc. So engrossed, that you failed to notice Yunho looking over your shoulder.

“Oh, shit.” You jumped at how close his voice was, whirling around to gape at him. The study room was empty except for you and the two TAs.

“Yunho, it’s not what it looks like, I swear.” He smirked at the flush rising on your cheeks. Before you could attempt to defend yourself further, Yunho snatched your laptop from in front of you. He easily evaded you as you chased him around the table. “Give it back!”

“Mingi, give me a hand.” The other TA snaked his arms around your middle and lifted you off the ground. The height difference left your feet dangling by a few inches.

“Put me down, please! It’s not a big deal,” you pleaded, smacking his forearm repeatedly. You felt his chest vibrate when he laughed.

“Doesn’t seem like it from how hard you’re trying to get your laptop back,” Mingi teased while Yunho scrolled through your story. You wiggled to try and loosen Mingi’s grip on you, but he was definitely stronger.

“Damn, Y/N. You’re into this?” Yunho’s heated gaze fell back on you. He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “Dirty girl.” You froze, digging your nails into Mingi’s arm subconsciously. 

“Dude, are you going to tell me what she’s been writing or not? I think I've waited long enough.” Shit, what did that mean? You narrowed your eyes at your laptop, willing it to explode on the spot. No such explosions occurred, to your horror.

“Elena rolls her hips against Luca’s thigh, desperate for relief after his relentless teasing. He splays a hand across her lower belly to keep her from moving. ‘Patience, sweetheart. Be good for me or I won’t let you cum at all tonight.’ Elena pouts up at her lover, tears welling–”

“Yunho! Shut up, please, shut the fuck up!” You hid your face in your hands. You yelped when Mingi swatted your thigh. 

“It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re speaking,” you shivered at his breath fanning across your neck as he scolded you. “Keep going, Yunho.”

“Oh, this is a good line: Elena’s thighs tremble against Luca’s hold. She whimpers and tries to push him away, but he uses the hand not inside her to pin her arm to her side. ‘You wanted to cum, love. So now you’re going to cum as many times as I see fit.’ Elena whines as he licks another thick stripe over her clit,” Yunho paused to share a look with Mingi. His eyes looked darker than normal.

“Is that what you want, pretty girl? You want to be pinned down and forced to cum over and over again?” Mingi’s voice was low next to your ear. You swallowed down the whimper that nearly escaped your throat.

“Looks like it. Her character came three times on the dude’s mouth and fingers, then two more times on his cock,” Yunho confirmed in your silence. He skimmed through the next few paragraphs, grinning wickedly. 

“Any more interesting scenes?” You truly wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You were beyond mortified, especially since they seemed to relish in your humiliation. 

“Mmm, a couple lines here and there,” Yunho glanced up at you, tongue poking against his cheek. “She really likes to mix praise and degradation.” He set your laptop on the table, stalking forward to invade your space. You refused to look him in the eye.

“Does she?” The hand not supporting your weight gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at Yunho. 

“Some of her most used lines to use are full of it.” Yunho ran his hand up the back of your neck to grip your hair. You couldn’t contain your soft moan this time. “You taste so fucking good, sweetheart. You look so pretty taking my cock. Look at you, such a good little slut for me.” 

“I’m- I don’t…” You stumbled over your words, panting from their body heat pressing into you. “Please…”

“Please what, baby?” Yunho teased with an edge of condescension to his voice. His hand trailed up your thigh, fingers brushing under the hem of your skirt.

“Do you want us to stop?” Mingi’s hand released your jaw, only to rest on your neck. “Or do you want us to do all those filthy things to you?” A strangled sound at the back of your throat morphed into a gasp.

“We need an answer. A verbal yes or no, otherwise you’ll get nothing,” Yunho drawled, dragging his hand further up your skirt and pulling your leg to hook over his hip. 

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. You took a shuddering breath, goosebumps rising under his touch. “I- I want it.”

“Not good enough. What do you want, sweetheart?” Mingi insisted, hand slightly tightening on your neck. 

“I want you to do the things I wrote about. God, please do something,” you whined loudly, thankful for the sound dampeners lining the study room walls. Yunho stepped back so Mingi could sit, keeping your back pressed to his chest and holding your legs open over his knees. You’d imagined having Yunho between your thighs, but fuck the real thing was so much better. He shoved your skirt up to bunch around your hips.

“Shit, you’re already so wet and we haven’t even touched you yet,” Yunho smirked and pushed your thighs further apart. “Feel her, Mingi.” The man behind you dropped a hand down to stroke over the wet patch on your panties. Your hips jolted forward as he pressed down on your clit.

“Damn,” Mingi sucked a breath in through his teeth. He lightened the pressure from his fingers, tracing soft circles that offered little relief.

“Y/N, do you know the traffic light system?” Yunho tapped your knee to grab your attention. You nodded, head feeling fuzzy from their teasing. “Tell me.”

“U-um, green means I’m good, an-and to keep going. Yellow, fuck, yellow means slow down or change something. Red is a hard stop,” you stuttered, interrupting yourself with airy whines. 

“Good. Once we start, Mingi and I won’t stop until we think you’ve had enough. ‘No’ and ‘stop’ mean nothing, the only word that matters is ‘red’.” Yunho pulled roughly on your skirt, pulling you closer to him. Mingi lifted your hips so Yunho could drag your panties down your legs. You barely registered him pocketing them. He littered your thighs with open-mouthed kisses, avoiding where you really wanted him. Your hips bucked forward to try to get him to go faster.

“Sit still,” Mingi ordered. You yelped at the warning bite left on your inner thigh. You squirmed again, pulling an irritated huff from Mingi. He pinned your hips against his with one arm. You gasped at the feeling of his half-hard cock against your ass. 

“What do you think she should get, Mingi?” Yunho didn’t wait for an answer to finally run his tongue over your clit. Your hand shot down to his hair, winding your fingers in the soft strands. 

“She’ll take exactly what she wrote, and more.” The hand not holding you still moved under your shirt to cup your tit over your bra. You couldn’t even comprehend what he meant, too lost in the shockwaves of pleasure Yunho’s mouth sent through your core. You cried out when he thrust two fingers into your dripping cunt. You dropped your head onto Mingi’s shoulder, giving him access to suck dark hickeys on your neck and collarbones. 

“Fuck, fuck, Yunho please,” you panted heavily, pushing against the arm holding you in place. 

“You close already, sweetheart?” Yunho’s voice sent vibrations across your sensitive clit. 

“Yes! Please, can I cum?” You whimpered when his fingers curled to drag over the spongy spot you couldn’t reach with your own.

“Ooh, asking permission?” Mingi smirked against your neck. “Good girl, cum for us.” Another harsh suck sent you over the edge, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your scream. Yunho slowed his fingers, but didn’t stop licking your clit until your thighs trembled. He pulled back, mouth and chin shining with your release. 

“It sounded cheesy before, but fuck, you really do taste so fucking good,” he repeated the words you had written just before your laptop was taken. “Look at you, already fucked out before we’ve even fucked you.” He stopped thrusting his fingers, keeping them buried in you to continue curling against your g-spot. You clenched when Mingi circled your clit once before continuing down to prod at your entrance. Your back arched as two of his fingers pushed into you, right next to Yunho’s. 

“God, you’re tight. Can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy,” Mingi groaned, unable to tear his eyes away from where their fingers disappeared in you. The stretch and Mingi’s palm brushing your clit had another orgasm quickly building. 

“Who would have guessed? Ms top-of-the-class is secretly a kinky little slut,” Yunho mocked, grinning when your walls clamped down on them. He sat up higher on his knees to leave his own marks on your neck. He bit into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pulling a pathetic squeak from your throat.

“C-cumming!” Was the only warning they got before you arched in another orgasm, inadvertently grinding down on Mingi’s hard-on. Your skin buzzed and you struggled to catch your breath. They continued to finger-fuck you through your high. 

“Too much, too much, please,” you whined, weakly pushing at their wrists. Yunho’s free hand grabbed your jaw to force eye contact.

“What’s your color?” 

“...green,” you answered after a beat of silence.

“Thought so.” Yunho crashed his lips into yours, immediately licking into your mouth. You tasted yourself lingering on his tongue. You whimpered at the emptiness left when they removed their fingers. Yunho pulled back, still connected to you by a string of saliva. “Mingi’s turn.” Your back hit the table before you could process his words. Your legs were thrown over Mingi’s shoulders as he dove in to lap at your swollen clit.

“Fuck! I can’t- how many more?” Tears gathered on your lash line. Blinking them away, you stared as Yunho palmed himself through his jeans.

“You get stupid when you cum, don’t you? Can’t even remember the scene that you wrote.” Yunho sat in the chair you occupied moments ago. He tilted his head at you sifting through your syrupy thoughts.

“T-three on your fingers and tongues, two o-on your,” a high-pitched moan cut into your sentence. “Fuck, oh my god. Two on your cocks.” Another rush of arousal shot up your spine when you realized that both of them were going to fuck you. 

“Atta girl,” the slight praise went straight to your head. Mingi stole your attention back by blowing cool air over your clit. Your hips jerked, overly sensitive from cumming twice already. He watched your face contort with pleasure, pupils blown wide. Three of his fingers pushed back into your cunt, walls fluttering around him. In the back of your mind, you realized that they were prepping you to take their cocks.

“You’re right, Yunho. She does taste good.” Mingi’s eyes flickered to his friend for a moment before returning his focus to your pussy. “She makes such pretty noises when we stuff her full of our fingers.”

“I bet she’ll sound downright sinful when she’s stuffed full of our dicks.” The way they spoke about you like you weren’t in the room made you dizzy. Your head floated in a cloudy haze. Mingi moved back to your clit, sucking hard.

“Fuck!” Your third orgasm hit like lightning, only lasting a few seconds but leaving you breathless and flushed. You nearly sobbed, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. You barely felt it when Mingi stood from his place between your legs. When you finally managed to open your eyes, they loomed over you, eyeing you up with a predatory glint in their eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re nowhere near done with you."

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

[elizabugz]

[lordtocco]

When I saw similar dynamics to the first season of the drama, I laughed so much.

And he breaks his arm, this time the right one.

And he has to write a book, this time for real.

And there is a young boy who can write for him, who still shows interest even if he is too innocent to understand what could happen.

Luckily Kuzumi arrives.

And here the story finally tells the truth.

The heaviness and inadequacy towards such strong feelings struck me a lot. I also appreciated this film. And then the chemistry between the two...

I know there is a spin off on the story before Kuzumi, I don't know if I want to see it, probably I would miss Kuzumi too much...

[choccy-milky]

finally drew clora and seb's kids!!🙌🙌

Celeste Sallow: OK THIS IS THE NAME IM SUPER PROUD OF BAHAHA because not only does the name celeste relate to the stars (in typical ravenclaw fashion...clora picked the name) but celeste sallow is also an alliteration. BUT, its an alliteration that begins with a C, which means clora gets to match with celeste in the form of both of their names starting with a C, whereas sebastian gets to match with celeste because both of their names are an alliteration/they're alliteration allies🥹ITS THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS!🥳

Lewis Sallow: as for lewis, if you've read my fic then you know that seb has a vendetta against names that start with an L bahaha, but 'lewis' was actually HIS idea. when celeste was born, seb wanted to find a muggle story to read to her, since clora's favourite story is ALSO a muggle one (sherlock), and he wanted to stick with tradition. so he ended up finding alice in wonderland, which he loved because of how adventurous and clever alice was and of how much she reminded him of clora and celeste (both personality and looks wise). it became his favourite for those reasons, to the point that when they had lewis, sebastian overcame his L-name hatred by naming their son after lewis carroll.

Houses: celeste could have been sorted into either gryffindor or slytherin, but ultimately ends up in slytherin because she wants to be like seb. kinda like how clora also probably could have been in gryffindor, tbh. as for lewis.....him being 10000% in ravenclaw doesnt need any explanation BAHA, just look at him.

Appearance: since clora has a tiny bit of veela blood in her, thats obvs passed down to their kids, too, and so they mostly take after her as a result of it. but there's still little bits of seb that shine through in each of the kids: for lewis its his brown curly hair, and for celeste its her complexion/freckles. and the fact that celeste looks so similar to clora only doubles up sebastian's stress/protective instincts when he watches her BAHAH. he's ofc still proud that she takes after him so closely, but seb also cant deny that he wishes it had been their SON that had taken after him instead, to keep her out of danger.

Celeste & Lewis: for celeste and lewis’ relationship, celeste is a super proud big sister, and treats lewis kinda like how seb treats clora. if there's anything that needs to be done, she offers to do it for him. and although she doesn’t have the patience to read stories herself, she loves playing outside and having lewis read to her in the background, and loves to act out/use his stories to fuel her imagination. and lewis makes sure to pick stories that he KNOWS she’ll like (which mostly involve heroic and daring feats of adventurers or pirates. he's tried to read more classic fairytales and romances to her a few times, but celeste always gets bored). she loves to draw though, so sometimes when lewis reads books that have no pictures, she'll draw them herself.

Celeste & Seb/Clora: celeste is a daddy's girl LOL and always tries to impress seb with the stuff she does, especially after hearing how HE was at her age, and so its half to impress and half because shes competitive that she wants to do the same/be just as good. and seb always gets a kick out of hearing her feats in the crossed wands club, or in defense against the dark arts class, and he also goads her on, telling her she'll have to do better than that if she wants to be as good as HE was. and whenever celeste gets detention, clora always stresses and asks why, whereas seb just tries to keep the smirk off his face. as for celeste and clora, clora also reads to celeste, and bakes and cooks with her, which is something celeste actually likes doing. not only because it keeps her busy and she likes to help and get messy in general, but also because she likes the fact that it results in good food afterwards LOL, and constantly asks when things can be taken out of the oven. also, for as tomboy-y as celeste is, she honestly doesn't mind/likes the clothing that clora puts her in and likes when clora dresses her up, bc it makes her look like one of the princesses from the storybooks, and it just amuses her more than anything else. once she enters hogwarts, though, its mostly trousers. but she still DOES like the occasional girly clothing.

Lewis & Seb/Clora: lewis is a momma's boy LOL and unlike celeste, doesnt care about duelling or of proving himself or anything like that, and is only concerned with stories and his future studies. so ofc clora had to show him sherlock, which he naturally loved. it even inspired lewis to want to write his own stories, so that he could challenge his own skill and see if he could, but also because he wants his mom to read them, and likes the idea of writing his own sherlock-esque story with equations and mysteries to be solved that he can offer her. lewis also wants to write a book for celeste as well, bc although he wont admit it, he basically wants to write a story tailor-made for her and her interests. one that he thinks will have everything she’d love in it. and part of it is genuinely because he WANTS to do it for her, but the other part of it is also for his ego, and to see if he CAN write a compelling story, and write something that would actually get THE hyperactive celeste to sit down and read it in its entirety (not to mention of her own volition). as for with seb, lewis looks up to him more than anyone else, due to how well-rounded he is and how hes so good at practical stuff AND studying, and he kinda sees seb as a main character/protagonist from one of his books, and uses sebastian as inspiration for his own stories. if hes stuck on what he thinks the dashing main character should do next, he'll ask his dad what HE would do, which results in seb getting very weird questions that he nonetheless is always happy to answer. also, when lewis is older and finally learns the full story of what happened with clora and seb and ranrok and rookwood, he writes their story in novel form, except he just changes their names/some of the details, and it becomes a best seller LOL. and i didnt know where to put this, but the four of them all read a story before bed every night, with lewis in the middle and seb and clora on either side of him. though celeste stands at the foot of the bed, basically doing a charade/mime show of what theyre reading, and putting on a little play to go along with it BAHHA.

OK thats all i can think of for now ive yapped enough😩 if youve read all of this ur a real one.... ive also considered giving them a 3rd (and last) child, which would be a boy that looks exactly like seb, and seb would just be praying like please.....let this son take after me🧎‍♂️🙏 BAHHA

[malusokay]

How I Made Loneliness Feel Like a Lifestyle Choice

What it means to live inside pauses, and why I still think solitude is sexier when no one notices it’s deliberate. (from my Substack)

Everything smelled like rain, and I thought that was enough. It reminded me of the garden after someone had hosed it down. I didn't grow up around cities, but they always seemed to tolerate me. I think I liked being somewhere that didn't know my name, but still assumed I belonged.

Striped sweaters, pleated skirts, tangled headphones, clothes that made me feel like I was always en route to class. Or auditioning for a French indie film. Moving through a city of lights that buzzed louder than conversations, a dull, constant hum that never really stopped, even when the streets emptied or the shops pulled down their metal shutters. I moved through it the way you walk through static: alert, but blurred around the edges. Roaming through busy stations, empty cafés, quiet library aisles, the kind of spaces that were public but impersonal, where everyone passed through but no one stayed long enough to be noticed.

I knew the schedule of trains I wasn't taking, the smell of pastries I never bought, the sound of my own shoes across polished floors. I always wondered what it would feel like to walk in and choose something without thinking, to point at a donut, maybe, and eat it right there. Like a normal person. Like someone with blood sugar, zero shame, and no existential beef with breakfast. But I'm very strict with myself. I'd linger just long enough to let the air hit, warm sugar, butter, vanilla rising from trays behind glass—and then I'd keep walking like it hadn't crossed my mind.

I wasn't running out of anything. That's what made the slowness feel indulgent, not dangerous. Being there didn't serve a purpose, and maybe that's why it felt like a secret, like I was getting away with something small and private, a softness no one had to witness.  I came from a world that didn't use public transport. That's probably why I liked it, the quiet subversion of being somewhere unchauffeured. Sitting alone felt earned. Watching the city move without me in it felt like a choice.

I liked places where no one stayed long, where nothing stuck. Where it was normal to be alone, to be quiet, to be looking down at nothing in particular, most of it passed without detail. Just motion. Noise, breath, movement. The lift of a coat sleeve. The scratch of a chair leg on tile.

I wasn't trying to stand out. But I didn't want to vanish into the wallpaper either. I wanted to be the kind of girl you looked at twice, but never remembered why. I wanted to be looked at without having to speak. The kind of presence that makes people wonder but not ask. I think I learned that posture in school, that specific neutrality. Just polished enough to blend in with the ones who mattered, just distant enough to never be mistaken for someone waiting to belong. I walked like I knew where I was going, even when I didn't. That was usually enough. It worked 90% of the time. The other 10%, I accidentally stumbled into a linguistics conference breakroom or a storage unit filled with mannequins missing their hands, with no recollection of how I had ended up there.

No one talks about how loud fluorescent lights are until you've been under them too long. And I was under them a lot. Not because I had anywhere to be, but more because they were always on in the places I ended up. They flickered sometimes, but mostly they just buzzed, high, steady, and inescapable. You don't notice it at first. But then it's all you can hear, like the sound is inside your head, not around it. It doesn't hurt, exactly. It just presses. Constant and low, a hum under everything else. After a while, I stopped noticing until I left the building and felt the sudden quiet of normal air. Even the street seemed softer in comparison.

I think I liked that. The sudden relief. The way silence felt like something you could wear.

I miss subway lights in my eyes, the way they flickered across the windows, breaking my reflection into something softer. Less defined. Easier to look at. Not quite me, but close enough to follow with my eyes as the train moved. There was something comforting in the blur, in the way the glass doubled everything, made it all a little less certain. I could sit across from myself without having to explain anything. No smile. No correction. Just the outline of a girl who looked like she read too much and might start crying if you asked about her favourite movie.

Sometimes I'd stare until my own face went unfamiliar, my mouth wrong, my eyes too far apart, and my hair a bit too dark. It never felt dramatic. Just distant. Like someone I'd borrowed things from.

Loneliness wasn't dramatic then. It didn't lurch or shout or demand anything from me. It just sat next to me like noise, like background static, easy to ignore until everything else went quiet. It lived in the pauses. In the space between songs. In the wait before the train doors closed. I wouldn't have called it sadness. I still don't think I would. It was just a feeling I couldn't shake, one that stayed close but never really touched me. Like a bruise I'd forgotten about until something pressed against it.

That's the part that's stayed with me. Probably always will.

I moved without urgency. There was rarely a reason to be anywhere, and even when there was, I didn't feel like rushing to meet it. Sometimes I rode past my stop on purpose just to see how long I could go before anyone noticed I wasn't where I said I'd be. Sometimes I just forgot to get off. Not in a distracted way, just in that quiet, slow kind of forgetting that happens when the lights blur and the announcements start to sound the same. I always stood in the same place, by the door, leaning against the divider on the side facing forward. I liked the way the movement pressed me into it, like the city was gently holding me in place, even if just by force.

The train kept going, so I did too.

There wasn't much to say about it. Long walks that led nowhere in particular, though they usually ended at water. The kind that gathers without spectacle, canals, harbours, the quiet undersides of bridges. Places where things collect. Leaves. Bottles. Thoughts. I'd stand there for a while, coffee in hand, like I was waiting for something to surface, though I never really expected it to. I always kind of hoped I'd see a seal. Something about their vibe, fat, quiet, mysterious, felt aspirational. I imagined us nodding at each other like two girls who just get it. The coffee would go cold before I finished it, not because I forgot, but just because I didn't like it that much. But it gave me something to hold. And sometimes that was enough. It made me look busy. Like I had somewhere to be, or someone waiting. People don't ask questions when you're holding coffee. It's basically an invisibility cloak for awkward people.

Now I don't even know if I ever liked it, or if I just got used to the taste the way you get used to minor inconveniences, like blisters, or boys who say they hate small talk and then spend forty-five minutes telling you about their crypto portfolio.

Afternoons slid into evenings. Evenings into nights. The kind of hours that don't announce themselves, they just collect. Soft and weightless, but heavy if you stack too many. I stopped keeping track after a while. Someone once asked if I was lost. I wasn't. But I said yes anyway. Just to try on the softness of being helped. Some days blurred at the edges, others vanished completely. I'd look up, and it would already be dark, and I'd have nothing to show for it except a half-drunk coffee and some vague memory of walking somewhere. Sometimes I bought things, like books, mugs, bracelets, or old things. Small enough to fit in a coat pocket. I never needed them, but I always found a way to use them. At one point, I was probably one paperweight away from becoming a hoarder.

I didn't feel bad, exactly. Just delayed, like I was waiting for something to begin, only the beginning kept moving further out of reach. People always talk about time as if it's passing them by. Mine never passed. It hovered. So soft and idle, just out of reach. It felt like holding your breath without realising it until the exhale came in the form of darkness outside the window, the kind that arrives before you're ready, even if you knew it was coming. That's what threaded through. The weightless ache of not moving. Of being still for so long, the air starts to fold around you.

I miss how easy it was to let days slip by without asking for more. To let them spool out behind me like a thread. Nothing dramatic, nothing wasted, just hours layered on hours. Some light enough to forget, some heavy enough to keep. But none of them urgent. I could move through them like scenery, like I was there to notice and not to shape.

And I miss the way that almost felt like enough. Not good. Not exciting. But bearable in a way that made me believe there was something elegant about it. And sometimes, when it's late and everything smells like rain, it still does. The trains, the coffee, the blur in the window, they never really stopped. I still take the long way home. Not out of forgetfulness anymore. My mind knows where to get off. But there's something about delaying arrival that still makes sense to me.

The city feels smaller now. Familiar. I've stopped needing to read the signs. I know where the doors open. I know which step on the stairs creaks. And the buzzing, I don't notice it as much. It's in the walls, it's in the air, it's in the glow of shopfronts at night. It's less intrusive now. Almost gentle. Like background radiation. It's just part of how the world hums.

I think that's the part no one ever talks about—how some patterns don't mean anything until you realise you never left them, how stillness starts to look like stability if you don't call it by its name. It's not that I want to go back. It's just that I never really moved forward. I've stayed exactly where I was. Just quieter now. More fluent in waiting.

In Latin, the imperfect tense describes an action that was ongoing but never finished. I liked that. It felt honest, like naming something without needing to change it.

my insta -> malusokay

[huntermanor]

I've not been writing like at all bc I spend so much time writing documents and reading on my laptop screen I can't find any joy in looking at a document and writing it online I HATE EVERYTHING!!

Guess I'll have to go the ancient way and write it all by hand so I have a beautiful manuscript some random archaeologist can find in like a 100 years

[seahorsepencils]

Thinking about the poorly executed political and social commentary of this most recent episode of Doctor Who, and this is the question I keep asking: how much harder would it have been to tell this story right?

If I had a student write that episode for a class, I would have said, "Hey, I see what you're trying to get at. And I think there are some moments where you're on the right path, but in order to make this message land and tell this story in a more nuanced and ethical way, some big things need to change. So let's brainstorm how you can fix it."

Because there are absolutely moments where it has the right idea. I thought it was a smart choice to have the Doctor essentially verbalize the fact that he feels authorized in an act of violence because his planet was subjected to a form of genocide. That's one of Netanyahu's main propaganda tactics and it's similar to the logic that's being used in the US right now to smear anti-genocide protesters with accusations of antisemitism. I think it's smart and helpful to show a representation of that logic as a reminder that it's a huge red flag and we need to question it whenever we see it. But the episode didn't take time to explain why that logic doesn't make sense. It didn't show someone calling the Doctor out on it. If the writer doesn't thread in that message meaningfully, you risk the viewer missing it altogether, or getting the opposite message.

I also appreciated the episode raising the question "what is the moral liability of the characters who are watching this broadcast?" while airing the episode on the same day as Eurovision. That was kind of a badass move. But, again, they didn't clearly ask that question or deal with it in the narrative in a meaningful way, so by the end of the episode we're just thinking "yay, the viewers didn't die!" There were other good ideas in there, but they were completely lost in the piss-poor and ultimately problematic execution of the story.

Writing TV for social justice and threading in political commentary is hard to do right. Doing it right usually requires collaboration. It requires extensive workshopping, research, sometimes conversations with experts. But DW has the time and money to do that. If TV shows can hire intimacy coordinators and stunt coordinators to ensure the safety of their actors, there's no reason they can't hire sensitivity readers, dramaturgs, and topic experts or consultants to help workshop scripts and make sure the intended social or political commentary is being done right.

It sucks that they didn't do that, because they had a really good opportunity to pull this off and to say something important, and they blew it.

[sparrowlucero]

i enjoy ur bird abode thoughts! I was a genuine enjoyer of the show when it was airing, I’m no die hard fan though and love to see ppls personal takes on the overall story/plot. Im curious if you also would agree or have any thoughts on the impacts The Mouse’s cancellation had on the shows ability to be more than it was? srry im not super eloquent with my words, but basically ur response to that ask got me wondering if part of the reason the show like genuinely wasnt all that ground breaking or unique in the end plot wise (other than the villain faces consequences in the end ig) as far as YA/Teen animation goes, was because of The Mouse’s inability to let the writers flesh out the show before gutting it? i have a negative bias toward The Mouse franchise and obviously dont know anything about how writing a show under the eyes of a franchise that big would work, its just smth that rattles around in my head and wanna know what u think!

Well to an extent, but I think it's much more the effect the studio had on how the owl house started out as rather than it not getting a full season at the end - It didn't escape my noticed that the show was initially announced as being a "horror comedy" when it doesn't really seem like either, especially by the second season, and yeah, the original pitch bible is obviously aiming for that much more than the show proper is as it goes along (and is honestly seems quite a bit more funny, weird, and dark, with an overarching plotline about a giant bug being used to religiously suppress people, eda able to cure her curse by killing luz, and one of the major characters being a teen boy awoken from a sleeping curse who ends up being a weird little bigot because he's from the 13th century, among other things)

(side note, i just noticed they actually specifically describe the thing i assumed the show was gonna be about here. huh.) but ultimately the bulk of the show that was actually made seems very influenced by a writing team that was genuinely interested in making a tropey YA fantasy story rather than just being mandated to. I mean even in what aired you can see the show sort of settle in ways that feel less like studio interference and more like, you know, art students creating their ideal fantasy show, like how King is clearly Eda's roommate who's funny because he looks like and sounds like a little dog despite being an adult man at the beginning but by the end they've made him her adopted sad backstory son who's explicitly a child. While I think a third season would have made the show as it existed better, because they clearly didn't get to finish the plot they wanted to (frankly to the point where some major aspects of the show are a bit confusing, I'm still not sure what a grimwalker is), I don't really fault the show for that but also don't think that hypothetical season (which pretty clearly would have been mostly about the magic school teens going to normal school) would suddenly flip around into something that I personally found interesting and subversive. Nor should it, really; again, it being Queernorm Harry Potter thing is clearly the intended appeal of the show, it's not really a flaw but just not a genre I'm personally interested in when compared to what I initially expected the show to be.

HOWEVER I will say they robbed little weird girls of their representation and that can't be forgiven