#you can take me out of academia but not the academic out of me

[squeakygeeky]

Calling all BL academics! You should check out Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and the Pacific Issue 49, June 2023. It's devoted to Thai BL and it's Thai scholars, publishing in English, and available free. So basically everything I ever wanted.

Thai Boys Love (BL)/Y(aoi) in Literary and Media Industries: Political and Transnational Practices - This is the introductory article. One interesting takeaway is that there's a market for western M/M romance in Thailand and I'm dying to know what sort of titles have gotten Thai releases.

Chinese Historical BL by Thai Writers: The Thai BL Polysystem in the Age of Media Convergence - I didn't read this one. It's about the phenomenon of Thai writers writing danmei set in ancient China.

Authorial Revisions of Boys Love/Y Novels: The Dialogue between Activism and the Literary Industry in Thailand - This one was super intersting. It was about how the backlash to certain problematic tropes affected both revisions to Y novels and their tv adaptations. It uses Jittirain as a case study and includes passages from 2gether that were rewritten.

Boys Love (Yaoi) Fandom and Political Activism in Thailand - This article has a lot about Not Me, both about the backlash to the novle due to it being originally a GOT7 fanfic (allegedly) and the political context for the series. It also discusses a few other series related to the youth movement and marriage equality.

Heterosexual Reading vs. Queering Thai Boys' Love Dramas among Chinese and Filipino Audiences -This really only covers up to 2019 and as we all know everything is changing fast. I'll be interested in future scholarship that covers the current period. Basically expands on some of Baudinette's work.

Provincialising Thai Boys Love: Queer Desire and the Aesthetics of Rural Cosmopolitanism -I just skimmed this since I'm not familiar with either series mentioned or the rural culture of Isan.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

[doumadono]

Hii douma! May I request Shoto just in love? Just him being in love for the very first time and the concept of love just so foreign to him? Have a great day/night!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

The cold spring air of U.A. High School's training grounds swept across Shoto Todoroki's face, his distinctive heterochromatic eyes glancing stoically at the horizon. As he approached the courtyard, the brisk wind tousled his dual-toned hair, and for the first time, a peculiar sensation stirred within him. It was an emotion he hadn't experienced before, a feeling that seemed to thaw the icy demeanor that usually defined him, yet he couldn't put a finger on what was it.

As the son of Endeavor, emotions had never been a territory he explored willingly. However, this day would mark a shift, an unexpected twist in the stoic narrative of Todoroki's life.

Shoto was no stranger to intense emotions. Anger, resentment, and the relentless pursuit of self-discovery had been his companions for as long as he could remember. But this was different – a foreign concept that had invaded the carefully constructed fortress around his heart.

As he walked past the cherry blossom trees, their delicate petals swirling in the air, his gaze landed on a figure standing by the fountain.

It was you, a fellow classmate whose presence had recently begun to captivate him. You were a presence in his life that had begun to defy categorization. You were just a person — a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the mold he'd grown accustomed to. He admired you from afar, appreciating your strength and determination in both academics and combat.

It began innocently, Shoto noticed. A shared glance across the classroom, a casual comment during training, and the casual camaraderie of shared laughter. But as days unfolded, the puzzle piece shifted, creating a mosaic he hadn't anticipated. He was no stranger to intensity; after all, his own quirk bore the duality of fire and ice. Yet, this newfound sentiment was a flame of a different kind, uncharted and unsettling.

"Hey," he called out, his voice surprisingly steady despite the internal turmoil.

You turned towards him, a quizzical smile gracing your lips. "Todoroki, hey. Is everything okay?"

Shoto hesitated, his usual calm exterior cracking just a bit. "I… I wanted to talk."

Curiosity sparked in your eyes as you nodded, inviting him to continue.

"I've been thinking," Shoto began, his usually concise words replaced by a rare vulnerability. "About feelings. Emotions. And there's something I can't quite comprehend."

You listened intently, sensing the gravity of Shoto's words. "What is it?"

"I've always been driven by my goals, my desire to surpass my limits, and the need to prove my father wrong," he continued, "but lately, I find myself caught in a different struggle. It's like a flame inside me, burning with an intensity I can't control."

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Oh?"

Shoto nodded, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that surprised even himself. "It's a distraction, an enigma that I can't unravel. It's like standing at the edge of a precipice, uncertain of the fall," he admitted, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

Your lips curled into a gentle smile. "Love, Todoroki. It sounds like you're in love."

Todoroki's brows furrowed, the word foreign on his tongue. Love. A concept he'd analyzed in textbooks but never expected to encounter firsthand.

You smiled gently, understanding the conflict within him. "Love is complex, Shoto. It's not something you can control or quantify. It's a force that binds us together, that makes us vulnerable and strong at the same time."

Shoto absorbed your words, his internal battle slowly subsiding. "I don't know how to navigate this unfamiliar territory."

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay not to have all the answers. Love is a journey, not a destination. Take your time, Todoroki."

"I think… I might be in love with you," he confessed, the admission hanging in the air like the delicate petals of cherry blossoms.

Your eyes widened, a subtle blush adorning your features. "Todoroki, that's…" you began, but he silenced you with a tender touch as he placed his hand to your rosy cheek.

"Let me finish," he whispered, his breath mingling with the soft evening breeze. "I might not fully understand it, but I know that being around you feels just right. I love spending my time with you, it doesn't matter if we just chat or study together."

A heartbeat passed between you, the air charged with unspoken emotions. And then, in a moment both tender and profound, Shoto leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was a sweet, hesitant kiss, a step into the uncharted territory of love.

As he looked at you, the world around seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in the quiet embrace newfound feelings. Shoto's stoic facade melted away, revealing a vulnerability.

A quiet moment passed before you chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, that's unexpected. I never thought I'd be the one to thaw Todoroki's icy heart."

A small, hesitant smile tugged at Todoroki's lips. Embracing the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show, Shoto took a deep breath. "Would you mind if I… explore this feeling with you?"

"I'd like that, Shoto," you replied, reaching your hand out to intertwine your fingers with his.

[moonstruckme]

spencer reid holding hands 4 the first time : ( 've been rewatching cm and i miss my boy sm : (( you're most recent peter fic is so sweet btw im absolutely obssessed!!!!! love you bunches

Thank you sweetheart <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 665 words

You and Spencer have had a very…tentative beginning to your relationship. Normally, when you think of a first date, you’re worried about how much the other person expects. (Will they want to kiss you? Will they want more? What if you don’t want to? How do you say no without making it awkward?) With Spencer, there’s been none of that. You’re on date three, and he’s kept completely to himself the entire time. When you met up earlier in the week he’d let a hand hover near your elbow when you nearly tripped over a curb, but you’d barely felt the whisper of his skin against yours before he was putting it back in his pocket, the danger having passed. 

You’ve always thought that you’d prefer to take things slow, and Spencer seems that way too, but now you’re itching for something more. Just something tangible to show that you like him, that he likes you too, that you’re not just going on these dates for no reason at all. 

So, bold thing that you are, you let your hand hang in the empty space between you as you walk. An offering. 

The first time Spencer’s knuckles brush across yours, knobby and skimming, he almost stops talking. He’s been saying something about Alexander Pope and Eliza Haywood (and you’re doing your best to follow along, honest), but he falters mid-sentence, his hand stuttering in its movement. 

“And, uh, actually,” Spencer goes on, getting his verbal feet back under him, “it was only in the late twentieth century that her works started surfacing in academia…” 

You nod along but don’t move your hand, letting Spencer’s graze past it again. This time, you lean into the touch, pushing your knuckles into his almost imperceptibly. And this time, Spencer’s hand doesn’t continue along its trajectory. He lets it rest alongside yours, your skin brushing up against each other’s with the movement of your walking. After a few seconds, his pinkie teases yours. 

You bite back a smile, crooking your pinkie so it hooks around his. Spencer moves his hand, and for a second your heart drops, but he’s only bringing it to the inside of yours, interlacing your fingers loosely. 

“Is this okay with you?” he asks, careful and to-the-point. 

“Yeah.” You look up at him sheepishly, wriggling your fingers in his to get them closer. “I’ve been wanting to do this.” 

“Me too,” Spencer says quietly. Your heart balloons until you’re sure it’s about to float off and take you with it. 

His palm is rougher than you’d expected. Spencer comes off as such an academic, sometimes you can forget that he’s in the literal FBI. He handles guns and had to go through training, and you can feel it in the light scratch of his calluses against your palm. Slender fingers stretch over your knuckles, deft and capable. His touch sends a pleasant tingling all the way up from your hand into your buzzing brain. 

“Sorry,” you say softly. 

Spencer looks confused. His thumb runs the length of yours, a thoughtless movement or a soothing touch, it doesn’t matter. If he does it again, you’ll puddle down onto the pavement for sure. 

“What are you sorry for?” he asks. 

“I sort of interrupted you.” 

A little smile teases the dimple in his cheek. “I don’t mind.” 

You give his hand a gentle tug, feeling brazen. It cracks something open in him, and his smile comes out for real, the familiarity between you suddenly so natural. 

“Tell me about Eliza Haywood,” you urge. “Did Pope just hate her because she was a woman?” 

“That was definitely a big part of it,” Spencer allows, and his voice seems to go back into the conversation while his face stays somewhere else. He’s still wearing that smile, eyes squinted just slightly like he’s having some trouble figuring you out and it might be his new favorite game. “But also it had a lot to do with the perception of novels…”

[jstor]

hi jstor, quick question, what do i do with all the regret that's slowly choking me? i'm an academic at heart in a world where i'm no longer in academia, and i'm not thriving one bit 🫠 had to turn down a place in a phd program 2 yrs ago & now it's my biggest regret in life. you've given people such compassionate advice, so maybe you can help? research/writing is my passion & i miss having the space to indulge it & keep learning!

Hi there, thanks for reaching out with such a heartfelt question. It takes a lot to express this sort of sentiment publicly and we appreciate that you trust us enough to ask.

The regret you're feeling is natural, considering so much of your identity and passion lies in your research and writing. Your friendly JSTOR mod has also been struggling with feeling unmoored outside of academia, and I've been wondering myself if I should work my way back somehow or create a structure of my own.

The good news is that you can actually create a structure of your own! Many scholars contribute to their fields independently, so it may be worth considering a personal research project that you can work on at your own pace (which has its advantages). Public libraries often provide access to academic databases like JSTOR, and your alma mater might have resources available to alumni. Communities and forums online are a good way to reach others who are feeling similar and doing similar things.

Your writing also doesn't have to stop! If it's not your only focus it may go quite a bit slower, but many journals accept submissions from independent researchers. In addition, platforms like Medium and Substack may allow you to self-publish some of your work. You could even look into pitching guest posts for relevant publications!

It doesn't have to be a permanent goodbye to academia either. Does your alma mater welcome guest lecturers, or are there any community workshops in your area? These are some ways you could share your passions with others. Plus, academia will always be there–if an opportunity arises for you to return and it aligns with your circumstances, you can.

This is by no means exhaustive, so I do hope that anyone from the community who would like to share insights does so in the replies. Wishing you the best of luck, wherever you may go from here!

[therecordconnection]

Some Thoughts Regarding James Somerton

I know I'm rather late to the conversation and some of these points may have already been talked about in some form elsewhere on the site, but if you don't mind, I have some thoughts of my own regarding the subject of hbomberguy's latest video and I would like to take time to voice. This blog is normally dedicated to music and music writing, not posts about disgraced Youtubers, so I apologize for the detour in regularly scheduled programming.

First, I think it's important to make the distinction that Somerton isn't just a case of "problematic Youtube guy got owned... twice" but rather a genuine case of academic dishonesty, which is several grades above youtuber drama. This isn't something like Tati Westbrook getting angry at James Charles for sucking dick and cock at a birthday dinner. This isn't Ethan Klein and Trisha Paytas or whomever having beef. It's not Charlie Critikal talking about some stupid drama of the day or someone just using Youtube videos to say a bunch of gross and problematic stuff. No. This is a fucking grifter who not only lied, cheated, and stole his way to the top, but also did it by using a vulnerable community that has long had their voices snuffed out and their history completely rewritten or wiped from existence altogether. What history he didn't plagiarize, he twisted and outright lied about. He just made shit up to suit his own gross agenda.

A lot of things about James Somerton left me absolutely livid, and I admit that I didn't even know who he was until hbomberguy's video. I think what makes me the most mad is that I went to undergrad and grad school with a number of jackoffs that were just like him. People that didn't give a shit about the art of writing and research and just treated academia and the pursuit of knowledge and how to critically engage with art and media into a stupid game that only chumps take seriously. Somerton pisses me off because I AM a writer. When I write the Ranting and Raving series of posts on here, that stuff doesn't just fly out of my ass. I have to sit with a song, study it, research it, and make sure I know what I'm talking about so I don't look like a clown. I also have to make sure that I link and credit where I'm getting information from. It's not just important for my own satisfaction, but it's important for anyone who stumbles upon a post on this blog and takes time out of their day to read it and/or reblog it.

I think that's the part that makes me the most mad. That he and Nick Hergott have so little respect for the work that goes into researching and writing about a topic that other people are really passionate about. Spending time with something, studying it, and figuring out an interesting and unique perspective on it is a great feeling. Sharing what you find or how you see something with others and having them either like or reblog your work is an even greater feeling. That's my writing that somebody enjoyed and thought was worth sharing with others. Fuck fuck fuck Somerton for thinking you can take a million little shortcuts to get to that result.

While I'm on the topic, I don't think Hergott gets a pass for Somerton's actions. I've seen some people make the argument that he isn't complicit and there's a chance that he genuinely had no clue that Somerton was doing this... but I don't buy it. There's no way he didn't know and wasn't in on it in some capacity. Even if he wasn't, as Todd in the Shadows pointed out in his video on this situation, Nick is, whether you like it or not, an accomplice to Somerton's lies and he is complicit in the blame, due to his name being included in the "Written By" credit of a lot of those videos with Somerton. The way I see it, I find it hard to believe that he couldn't have known. I imagine part of Hergott's signing on with Somerton was that in the event that shit hits the fan, Hergott would be used as a fall guy to help deflect accusations of plagiarism.

To return to Somerton, in a way, he's almost worse than AI/Chat-GPT because, really, an AI has no morals. It can only do what someone punches in and tells it to do. Somerton is a guy who does have genuinely insidious ambitions and knows fully what he's doing. That shit about "only the boring gays who didn't mess around in the eighties survived the aids crisis" is the wildest and grossest accusation I've seen about gay people in some time. The wild takes about the Nazis (especially all the wrong things he said about fitness relating to Nazis) should also raise a lot of red flags. I'll say this though, I don't blame anybody in the slightest for not fully realizing Somerton was saying shit like that or doing all of what he was doing until hbomberguy and Todd presented it a certain way and made it all very clear. It's easy to not notice it when Somerton buries it by ripping stuff off from other, better writers. So, if you were someone who was a big fan and was genuinely shocked by the things Todd had to fact-check and debunk and worried that you're a bad person for having not caught any of them, trust me, you're not. Nobody should blame you for not catching it. <3

While I'm ranting about this, I want to say that Somerton's patreon grift was really gross to see exposed as well (through Dan Olson's really great thread, which can be read here). I understand the allure of wanting to buy expensive gear and thinking that's somehow needed in order to make Good Content™️, but there's a stark difference between someone saying "I think I need to shell out a little money in order to get something of higher quality" and "I need to have the appearance of looking like my stuff is being made with high quality stuff." As someone who has been experimenting with trying to turn his writing into video, I did some audio tests this weekend and realized that maybe (just maybe) the old Turtle Beach microphone my brother left behind when he moved out isn't going to cut it. If I want to record something I can be happy with, I'm gonna have to bite it and look at getting something decent, but somewhat affordable from a Best Buy or something. You don't need the best tech in order to make something great, but you can't use copper tools forever if you have the means to be able to enjoy using iron ones, you know?

Somerton's grift reminded me of guys like Onision and Spoony. Grifters who looked to Patreon and other creator donation sites for an easy pay day and would bitch and cry and complain that it's your fault when they don't get it. Somerton making poor financial choices ON TOP of it being money that he scammed from a community of people that were looking to invest in a voice that they genuinely thought was speaking for them in a meaningful way, only makes the grift more disgusting and foul. Even if he's just "some Youtuber," Somerton still had a responsibility to his audience to present queer topics in an ACCURATE manner. He didn't and we all have the right to be angry with him about it. This isn't just silly youtuber controversy, this is academic dishonesty in it's purest form and if it gets you expelled from any college program, it should get you expelled from being able to show your face on Youtube as well, which is how Somerton's story will end.

I've been on the internet for many years. I've seen some of the worst, most problematic creators of all time find a way to bounce back from all kinds of controversy and find some kind of success again. I don't think that will happen for Somerton. Not one bit. What he's done is something you can never come back from, no matter how much you try to reform. If two different youtubers can make two completely different videos about why you suck, I don't think there's any recovery. What happened this weekend is a now classic episode of World's Most One Sided Fist Fights Caught on Film.

This post has gone on for a while, so let me wrap it up. I mean this without hyperbole and without exaggeration: James Somerton is a disgrace to both media criticism and the art of video creation. I genuinely hope he remains propped up as a cautionary tale of what can happen when you fully decide you have absolutely no respect for the Humanities and decide that lying, cheating, and stealing your way to the top, all while scamming and being incredibly shitty towards a community that has long suffered and is STILL suffering greatly to this day, is better than any kind of academic honesty. I understand that Somerton is just "some youtube fraud" to some people, but the problem lies more in what Somerton's actions and motivations represent. I really think hbomberguy's video on plagiarism is going to do a lot of good. It's going to help a lot of people avoid doing it as well as help people become more aware of what it really looks like and all the damage it can do.

Thank you for your time.

P.S. It doesn't really need to be said at this point, but make sure you support the queer voices and writers that did the work Somerton thought was good enough to just copy and paste into a video. They're the ones that suffered the most through all of this and my heart goes out to them, from one writer to another. <3

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy. 

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed. 

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged. 

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge. 

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

[centrally-unplanned]

Another big stop in Tokyo for me was Jimbocho Book Town! It is a neighborhood of, depending on who you ask, up to 400 generally-secondhand bookstores flanked by some of the major universities in Tokyo. The local government even prints out maps of the stores to help people find them all:

Which, you will note, is not 400 stores, because the process of becoming an "official" Jimbocho Town Bookstore is an intensely political operation run by local stakeholders with tons of fights over what should qualify and what rights that entails - never change humanity!

"Book Towns" used to actually be quite a common thing, and they peaked during the literary boom of the late 19th century. Figuring out "what books existed" was a hard task, and to do serious research you needed to own the books (you weren't making photocopies), so concentrating specialty bookstores in one area made sense to allow someone to go to one place and ask around to find what they need and discover what exists. It was academia's version of Comiket! Modern digital information & distribution networks slowly killed or at least reduced these districts in places like Paris or London, but Jimbocho is one of the few that still survives.

Why it has is multi-causal for sure - half of this story is that Tokyo is YIMBY paradise and has constantly built new buildings to meet demand so rents have been kept down, allowing low-margin, individually-owned operations to continue where they have struggled in places like the US. These stores don't make much money but they don't have to. But as important is that Japan has a very strong 'book collector' culture, it's the original baseball cards for a lot of people. The "organic" demand for a 1960's shoujo magazine or porcelainware picture book is low, but hobbyists building collections is a whole new source of interest. Book-as-art-collection powered Jimbocho through until the 21st century, where - again like Comiket - the 'spectacle' could give it a lift and allow the area to become a tourist attraction and a mecca for the ~cozy book hoarder aesthetic~ to take over. Now it can exist on its vibes, which go so far as to be government-recognized: In 2001 the "scent wafting from the pages of the secondhand bookstore" was added to Japan's Ministry of Environment's List of 100 Fragrance Landscapes.

Of course this transition has changed what it sells; when it first began in the Meiji area, Jimbocho served the growing universities flanking it, and was a hotpot of academic (and political-polemic) texts. Those stores still exist, but as universities built libraries and then digital collections, the hobby world has taken over. Which comes back to me, baby! If you want Old Anime Books Jimbocho is one of the best places to go - the list of "subculture" stores is expansive.

I'll highlight two here: the first store I went to was Kudan Shobo, a 3rd floor walk-up specializing in shoujo manga. And my guys, the ~vibes~ of this store. It has this little sign outside pointing you up the stairs with the cutest book angel logo:

And the stairs:

Real flex of Japan's low crime status btw. Inside is jam-packed shelves and the owner just sitting there eating dinner, so I didn't take any photos inside, but not only did it have a great collection of fully-complete shoujo magazines going back to the 1970's, it had a ton of "meta" books on shoujo & anime, even a doujinshi collection focusing on 'commentary on the otaku scene' style publications. Every Jimbocho store just has their own unique collection, and you can only discover it by visiting. I picked up two books here (will showcase some of the buys in another post).

The other great ~subculture~ store I went to was Yumeno Shoten - and this is the store I would recommend to any otaku visiting, it was a much broader collection while still having a ton of niche stuff. The vibes continued to be immaculate of course:

And they covered every category you could imagine - Newtype-style news magazine, anime cels, artbooks, off-beat serial manga magazines, 1st edition prints, just everything. They had promotional posters from Mushi Pro-era productions like Cleopatra, nothing was out of reach. I got a ton of books here - it was one of the first stores I visited on my second day in Jimobocho, which made me *heavily* weighed down for the subsequent explorations, a rookie mistake for sure. There are adorable book-themed hotels and hostels in Jimbocho, and I absolutely could see a trip where you just shop here for a week and stay nearby so you can drop off your haul as you go.

We went to other great stores - I was on the lookout for some 90's era photography stuff, particularly by youth punk photographer Hiromix (#FLCL database), and I got very close at fashion/photography store Komiyama Shoten but never quite got what I was looking for. Shinsendo Shoten is a bookstore devoted entirely to the "railway and industrial history of Japan" and an extensive map collection, it was my kind of fetish art. My partner @darktypedreams found two old copies of the fashion magazine Gothic & Lolita Bible, uh, somewhere, we checked like five places and I don't remember which finally had it! And we also visited Aratama Shoten, a store collecting vintage pornography with a gigantic section on old BDSM works that was very much up her alley. It had the porn price premium so we didn't buy anything, but it was delightful to look through works on bondage and non-con from as far back as the 1960's, where honestly the line between "this is just for the fetish" and "this is authentic gender politics" was...sometimes very blurry. No photos of this one for very obvious reasons.

Jimbocho absolutely earned its rep, its an extremely stellar example of how history, culture, and uh land use policy can build something in one place that seems impossible in another operating under a different set of those forces. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

[foolishlovers]

hiii!!! do u have any recs for long AUs??? thank you! :]

of course, i love long good omens AUs, here are some of my favourites:

[you can request more fic recs here.]

Golden Handcuffs by seekwill (E, 70k) Far from any city, near the Scottish coast, Tadfield College has a celebrated history, an unrivaled academic reputation, and two departments at war. When the Biology and English departments are forced to share a building, Senior Lecturer and botanist Anthony Crowley finds himself drawn into the orbit of the polite but strange English professor, Dr. Aziraphale Fell. As the new term begins, two academics navigate the politics of both their offices and academia, and try to solve the puzzle of one another.

Fifty-Two Blue by bendycello (M, 84k) It would be a gross understatement to say that Crowley simply didn't like Aziraphale. He was posh and stuffy and arrogant, and Crowley couldn't figure out why everyone else in the program liked him so much. It hardly mattered; they were competitors, and Crowley didn't need to make friends to become a surgeon. It takes several unleasant encounters, the excessive use of house plants as a coping mechanism, and getting stuck in an elevator for Crowley to start reconsidering his priorities. Or… Crowley and Aziraphale are surgical interns with competitive streaks a mile wide each, and they really do not like each other at all. Until they do.

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth (E, 87k) “Then you’ll just have to come back with me," Aziraphale said. “You what?” “You’ll have to come and isolate with me, at my cottage.” The thing about messing with people, Crowley thought, was that sometimes, they genuinely surprised you. After both being exposed to coronavirus, total strangers Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to wait out their isolation together. A tale of soft winter romance by the sea.

Slow Show by mia_ugly (E, 95k) In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Car Trouble by summerofspock (E, 102k) Aziraphale's car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car.

on the same page by Chekhov (E, 117k) Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less… appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is… until they have to pretend to be married to each other.

Married at First Sight by Aracloptia (T, 146k) “Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said once they were out of earshot. Without talking about it, they were both heading down the field, towards the lake where the photographer (and likely a few more people from the TV crew) was waiting. “That was a wedding,” Aziraphale replied, surprised at his own annoyance that somebody called a wedding a ‘thing’. “Yeah, obviously, didn’t miss that part,” Crowley said with a shrug, and waved abruptly in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Neither did you, from the looks of it, since you’re dressed like a wedding bride and everything.” “Excuse me, I am a—“ Aziraphale stopped himself, and started over. In which Aziraphale ends up marrying a rude stranger who wears sunglasses.

Old Vines by sevdrag (E, 189k) A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity. Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in. Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds.

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison (E, 213k) The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea…

[elryuse]

Thanks for taking the time to create my request the Jihyo fic and the Karina fic were so wonderful? another request from me?

Yandere mentor Jiheon? Jiheon is your university mentor?

My Obsessive Female Mentor

YANDERE MENTOR JIHEON X MALE READER

Jiheon traced delicate patterns on the lecture notes, her crimson nails clicking a steady rhythm against the smooth paper. Her gaze, usually warm and engaging, held a vacant stillness as she scanned the classroom. Every Tuesday and Thursday, it was the same routine – the hum of fluorescent lights, the murmur of students settling in, and then, there he was – Y/n.

Y/n, her favorite student. He was always early, his eyes sparkling with a genuine thirst for knowledge. He’d participate actively, his answers thoughtful and insightful. He was a beacon of sunshine in the often-dreary world of academia. But today, that sunshine was missing.

A prickle of unease crawled up Jiheon’s spine. Y/n’s absence was a stark anomaly. Dismissing the class early, Jiheon marched straight to the faculty lounge. There, she found Y/n, fidgeting in a corner, a sickly pallor replacing his usual vibrancy. Beside him, a striking woman, Yuna, a new hire in the English department, was talking animatedly, her laughter echoing strangely in the sterile room.

Jiheon felt a cold twist in her gut. Y/n interacted with Yuna, his responses halting and awkward. Yet, there was a hint of something… more, a hesitant connection that sent a tremor of jealousy through Jiheon. Her smile, practiced and perfect for the classroom, remained fixed on her face, but her eyes narrowed to slits.

Later that week, Y/n returned to Jiheon’s class. Relief washed over her, quickly curdling into a chilling unease as Jiheon’s gaze lingered on him a beat too long. After class, Y/n lingered hesitantly, waiting for other students to leave.

“Professor Jiheon,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

Jiheon’s smile widened, genuine this time. “Yes, Y/n? Did you have a question about the lecture?”

He hesitated, fiddling with his backpack strap. “A-actually, it’s more… personal.”

Jiheon’s curiosity piqued. Personal questions from students weren’t unusual, but the tremor in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She ushered him towards her office, a private haven adorned with awards and framed photos – testaments to her academic achievements.

The moment the door clicked shut, Jiheon’s demeanor shifted. The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling intensity. She leaned forward, her voice a low murmur.

“Tell me, Y/n,” she began, her gaze pinning him in place. “How well do you know Professor Yuna?”

Y/n’s eyes widened in alarm. His breaths grew shallow, his gaze darting around the room like a trapped animal seeking escape. The air grew thick, charged with a sudden fear.

Jiheon’s smile returned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was a predator’s grin, devoid of warmth. The realization dawned on Y/n, chilling him to the bone. This wasn’t the gentle mentor he knew. this was someone else entirely.

“I-I don’t know her well,” he stammered, his voice barely audible.

Jiheon leaned in further, her voice a seductive whisper. “But you find her interesting, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps… charming?”

Y/n shook his head vehemently. “No, no, not at all! It’s just… she was helping me with something.”

Panic flickered in his eyes, a stark contrast to the chilling calmness in Jiheon’s. Seeing his terror, a strange pang of… pity? Regret? No, it couldn’t be. A possessive growl rose from the depths of Jiheon’s being. Y/n belonged to her, only her.

“Helping you, you say?” Jiheon’s voice sharpened. “With what exactly?”

Y/N’s voice hitched. “It’s… it’s nothing important, Professor.”

Jiheon’s smile faltered. The room plunged into an unsettling silence, broken only by Y/N’s ragged breaths. He tried to step back, but Jiheon’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist like a vice.

“Don’t be afraid, Y/Nn” Jiheon cooed, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness. “We can talk about this… calmly.”

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a terrifying emptiness. Y/n recoiled, the truth dawning on him in horrifying clarity. But before he could utter a word, Jiheon leaned forward and silenced him with a kiss.

It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but of ownership, a chilling claim that sent a jolt of terror through Y/n. He tried to pull away, but Jiheon’s grip tightened. As Y/n struggled against Jiheon's hold, the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Jiheon had bitten his lip, a cruel smile twisting her features. "Don't worry, Y/n," she whispered, her voice a chilling caress. "You won't need Professor Yuna anymore."

The weight of her words sank in, heavy and suffocating. Yuna... Yuna was gone? A cold dread gripped Y/n's heart. Images of Yuna's vibrant laughter in the faculty lounge morphed into a horrifying picture of her lifeless body. The realization sent a wave of nausea crashing over him.

Jiheon, oblivious to his internal turmoil, continued, her voice laced with a terrifying serenity. "We can have a wonderful life together, you and I. No distractions, no interruptions."

Y/n finally managed to break free, stumbling backward until he hit the bookshelf, sending a cascade of textbooks clattering to the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn't stay here. He had to get away.

"Professor, please," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Let me go. I don't want any trouble."

Jiheon's smile vanished, replaced by a chilling glare. "Trouble? You think this is trouble, Y/N? This is love. A love that transcends boundaries."

She took a menacing step forward, the office suddenly feeling suffocatingly small. Y/n's back hit the bookshelf again, the wood digging into his spine. He darted his eyes around the room, searching for an escape, but the only exit was the door Jiheon stood guard over.

Just as Jiheon closed the distance, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. It wasn't Y/n's. It came from the hallway outside, a chilling high-pitched shriek that sent shivers down both their spines.

Jiheon froze, her head snapping towards the door. A flicker of fear, a genuine flicker of fear, momentarily replaced the obsessive glint in her eyes. Y/n saw his chance.

With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged forward, shoving Jiheon aside. He stumbled past her, his heart hammering like a drum against his ribs. He didn't dare look back, the echo of the scream propelling him forward.

He burst out of the office and into the hallway, his lungs burning. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to put as much distance between him and Jiheon as possible. The deserted hallway stretched before him, the silence broken only by his ragged gasps.

As he rounded a corner, he slammed into a security guard, sending them both sprawling. The guard, a burly man with a gruff demeanor, stared at him in surprise.

Y/n scrambled to his feet, a single word escaping his lips. "Help!"

The guard's expression hardened. He had heard the scream too. "What's going on? Where's that noise coming from?"

Y/n, his voice trembling, pointed back towards Jiheon's office. "Professor Jiheon… she… she's dangerous!"

The guard, his suspicions piqued, followed Y/n's gaze toward the closed door. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. "Professor Jiheon? But she's…"

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he grabbed his walkie-talkie, his voice gruff as he alerted security headquarters to a potential emergency in Professor Jiheon's office.

Y/n leaned against the wall, his legs shaking. He had no idea what he had just walked into, but he knew one thing for sure – Jiheon was far more dangerous than he ever could have imagined. The gentle, encouraging mentor he knew was a carefully crafted facade, hiding a monster beneath the surface.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent shivers down his spine. He turned to see a team of security guards rushing towards Jiheon's office. The door swung open, revealing Jiheon standing calmly in the center of the room, her usual smile back in place.

"Professor Jiheon," the lead guard began, his voice laced with suspicion. "We received a report of a scream coming from your office."

Jiheon tilted her head, her smile widening ever so slightly. "A scream? How odd. I must have been listening to a particularly dramatic opera piece."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Jiheon seemed perfectly composed, the only sign of disarray a single crimson stain marring her pristine white blouse. Yet, the chilling emptiness in her eyes sent a tremor of unease through them.

"Perhaps we should check it out, just to be safe," one of the guards finally said, stepping cautiously towards the room.

Jheon didn't resist. She simply stepped aside, her smile unwavering. As the lead guard entered the office, Y/n held his breath. Fear choked him, a metallic tang lingering on his tongue from Jiheon's earlier bite. He watched, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, as the guard scanned the room.

The silence stretched, broken only by the rasp of the guard's heavy breathing. Then, a strangled gasp escaped the guard's throat. He stumbled back, his face contorting in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

"What is it?" another guard pressed, apprehension edging into his voice.

But the lead guard couldn't speak. He simply pointed a trembling finger towards the corner of the room. Y/n, unable to bear the suspense, peeked past the doorway. His stomach lurched, and a strangled cry clawed its way up his throat.

There, slumped against the bookshelf, lay Professor Yuna. Her eyes were wide open, vacant and lifeless, a grotesque smile frozen on her face. A single crimson rose, its stem dripping with a dark liquid that stained the otherwise pristine floor, lay clutched in her hand.

The sight hit Y/n like a physical blow. He felt a wave of nausea roll over him, the horrifying truth hammering into his skull. Jiheon had eliminated the competition, and the rose – a macabre calling card, a chilling symbol of Jiheon's twisted affection.

The guards reacted with a flurry of activity. Alarms blared, and shouts filled the hallway as they secured the scene and apprehended Jiheon. Her perfect facade crumbled, replaced by a cold fury. Yet, even in the face of arrest, her gaze remained fixed on Y/n, a possessive glint flickering in its depths.

"This isn't over, Y/N," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You are mine."

The words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. He knew this wasn't the end. Escaping Jiheon's twisted love had only just begun. As he was ushered away by a security guard, Y/n glanced back at the scene. Jiheon, her face devoid of emotion, was being led away. But in her eyes, a terrifying promise burned – a promise to claim him, no matter the cost.

The university descended into chaos. The news of Professor Yuna's murder and Professor Jiheon's arrest sent shockwaves through the campus. Y/n, traumatized and shaken, found himself under the watchful eye of security and the police. He recounted the chilling events, the predatory glint in Jiheon's eyes, the fear that had choked him in her office.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Jiheon's trial became a media spectacle. The once esteemed professor was revealed to be a meticulous planner, a cunning manipulator who had meticulously concealed her dark side. Though evidence linked her to Yuna's murder, the lack of a clear motive remained a lingering puzzle.

Y/n, though free from Jiheon's physical grasp, remained a prisoner of his terrifying experience. He couldn't escape the haunting image of Professor Yuna, the chilling possessiveness in Jiheon's eyes. He struggled with nightmares, the memory of the metallic tang of blood on his tongue replaying in his mind like a broken record.

One day, as Y/n walked through the bustling campus, sunlight filtering through the leaves of the old oak trees, a crimson rose landed at his feet. Panic welled up within him, his gaze darting around frantically. But there was no sign of Jiheon.

The rose lay there, an unsettling reminder of the darkness he had escaped. It was a chilling message, a promise whispered on the wind. Jiheon might be gone, but her twisted love story wasn't over. The final chapter, Y/n knew with a sickening certainty, was yet to be written.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I restart an argument with a friend?

🌊⚓ <- so I can search for it.

So, a while ago, a friend was over and we talked. She is from South Germany while I am from North Germany, where we are both living (this'll be important in a sec).

I don't really remember why we were talking about the topic, but we started talking about regional dialects and sayings and then she called Low German* a dialect. Which tldr: big no-no. But I don't think she was being malicious, she just didn't know about the topic at all.

So naturally I explained: "You absolutely cannot call Low German a dialect to peoples faces around here. People will take offense to it. I don't really, because I consider the difference between dialect and language is arbitrary to begin with. But you will provoke incredibly unkind reactions from other people."

Her response was "Yeah but like. Doesn't everyone think their own dialect should be a language."

And... Idk why that one hurt but it did. It just felt incredibly dismissive. And I didn't really know how to respond other than "but this is the one case where it is true" which felt weird so I just. Didn't. We kinda moved on to other topics. But in hindsight, I really wish I hadn't?

Because I wish I had explained it in depth to her so she understands why what she said is considered unacceptable. But also for her own sake, because she will piss people off if she says the same thing to other people. And honestly for my sake so I can make peace with the conversation.

So I'm considering either finding a way to restart the argument/ conversation when we are together or go the cowardly route and send her a couple screenshots explaining the topic. But I also feel like restarting a fight we never really had and really doesn't matter is kind of a dick move.

Additionally I tend to be a person that corrects people when they are wrong and starts discussion way too much. Because in my family academic debates are a love language.** So I tend to reaaaaaally overestimate the amount of debating/ arguing people are comfortable with. They tend to perceive me as being upset with them while I am just having fun hashing out a topic from different angles.

So Tumblr. WIBTA?

Footnotes

* Low German is the regional language of North Germany. The definition of North Germany is actually pretty much "wherever they are speaking Low German". There is some controversy if Low German is a dialect or a language. Which like... People often describe it as closer to Dutch and English than Standard German, it's a recognised language in every state it is spoken in, it is recognized as a regional language in the fucking European Union WHY is it still controversial.

It is also very much an endangered language because in the past decades especially it has been looked down on as being "lower class". No that's not where the name comes from, low german is spoken where the terrain is flat/ low and high/ upper german is spoken where the mountains are. This attitude towards Low German is shifting a lot recently but it is entirely possible it's too late to prevent it from dying out.

** I felt like this part needed some clarification too. I can't count how many dinners in my childhood were spent eating while getting into the meat of whatever topic caught our attention. Politics or science or more spiritual stuff. Ask questions about things we were wondering about. Absolutely tear into each other when we had opposing positions, but concede when we were convinced. Oftentimes I'd get up to grab pen and paper, or demonstrate orbital dynamics with the jam container, a bowl and my plate, or use the butter as an impromptu drawing board.

But that doesn't mean we were fighting in the normal sense even if someone got upset occasionally. It was really just communicating with one another. It was connecting. Exercising our debate skills. Play-fighting but make it academia. It was genuinely fun to us and still is. An alternative outlet for sibling rivalry. There is no need to fight over the TV remote when you can just reason it out together.

So yeah. That's how academic debates can be a love language (and simultaneously absolutely destroy your conception of what is considered arguing).

[qqueenofhades]

as a starting history major i wanna ask how do you read/evaluate academic history papers/books? i'm trying to avoid just blindly agreeing with whatever the author is writing because it seems correct. how can you tell what is good scholarship and what is more shaky?

This is a great question for you as a freshman history major to ask (many of my toiling colleagues and I can attest that we wish more of you would!) and shows that you're already taking initiative and investment in your studies and want to be the best prepared you can. So truly -- thank you! Us on the faculty/staff/administrative end of academia can feel as if we are pouring into an empty bucket at times, and it's always gratifying to hear otherwise. We really appreciate it.

As a college freshman and/or underclassman (or so I'm assuming) your first job is learning how to collect basic information from the things you read, collate and cite them accurately, and make them converse intelligently with each other in an entry-level piece of academic writing (such as an essay responding to an assigned prompt). So before you have to worry about understanding complex nuance and granular-level fact-checking, the first step is just getting comfortable with academic forms, styles, and conventions. There's an occasional anti-intellectual strand of thinking that pops up on Tumblr, basically insisting that everyone everywhere should be able to understand everything in fifth-grade words and if not then it's Elitist Gatekeeping, but this is a symptom of TikTok brainrot where people's brains have been literally rewired to only process spoon-fed chunks of incredibly simplistic (and uh, often wrong) information, and literally can't parse anything longer, even if it's written in accessible language. Yes, many academics are not necessarily great writers, but you also have to let go of the mindset that you can speed-read once and understand everything. You will need to slow down, take your time, and make a note of concepts that are confusing or that you want to double-check, words you need to look up, and things that make you say "hmm I should look into that more," whether because you're interested or they seem questionable. I always read academic texts or papers (I prefer hard copy, because I am Fucking Old) with a pen in hand, because if I don't, I often feel like I didn't read it at all.

Basically, this is an interactive process between you and the text, and requires you to develop a different kind of reading mentality than just buzzing through a novel or fanfic for pleasure. You have to expect that it will take time and that if you regularly skive off the readings, you won't be prepared for class, your professors will be annoyed, and you won't be able to write good essays, because you haven't engaged with the material. In your case, it sounds like that will be less of a problem, because you are eager to know how to do it right, but I can tell you from my experience that nothing frustrates us more than students who just won't do the reading (and you know, use ChatGPT to write their essays) because then what are you even DOING here? What do you want to get out of this? Why are you wasting your precious tuition money like this? Yes, you probably have to fill a requirement, but STILL. It's disrespectful to your teacher, who has invested a lot of effort in being here to help you with this and doesn't want you to just quit because it looks hard, and your peers, and to you. So anyway, /Captain Holt voice/ apparently that's a trigger for me. Basically, if you learn nothing else from this ask: please do the reading. Even if it's only to admit you need more help or want to talk about this concept in class or otherwise take advantage of all the structures that are in fact there to help you understand it! Thankee.

Likewise, because you're an underclassman, you have an advantage in that your teacher will select the class readings for you ahead of time. That means you will be receiving things that a professional has already checked, decided are useful and trustworthy, and you don't have to do independent research and vetting yourself (that will come if you decide for some godforsaken reason to pursue graduate and/or doctoral study). So you don't need to spend tons of extra time and effort deciding if the sources given to you in class are reliable on a basic and functional level; your professor has already done the work for you to make sure that they are. Your job is now to read those sources, keep a record of what they say (hence the aforementioned pen or other way to make quick notes) and figure out how to put them together in an essay. For example, if Author A cites Factor A as, say, the main cause of the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and Author B insists that Factor B was in fact more critical, what is your best approach to reconciling that information? You would search in the rest of those texts to see what else they say in support of their position, and you would probably end up with a qualified statement to the effect of, "While Author A argues A, Author B thinks B, representing the lack of consensus and the difficulty in attributing one single cause to an event as complicated as the fall of Rome." (And then because you're smart, you would go on to mention Byzantium and the Eastern Roman Empire and show that you are aware of the further context.) All of which is true! Historians do that all the time! You don't need to select THE RIGHT ANSWER and vigorously discredit all other theories, ever, and we tend to look suspiciously on people who do (cough cough Philippa Langley).

In other words, we are certainly not expecting you as a freshman, and even as a more advanced student, to be able to pick out ONE ANSWER from the material. We just want to see evidence that you have in fact read it, are able to evaluate and place theories side by side and possibly make a judgment as to which one you find more compelling, and also to properly cite where you got that information. We've seen a lot recently about plagiarism and that being the pretext on which Harvard president Claudine Gay was forced to resign (which is a whole other can of worms, but never mind). A lot of professors think that saying "Don't Do Plagiarism" is enough, but then don't explain what it is and the different forms it can take. It's not just a matter of copying verbatim chunks of someone else's work (or you know, ALL OF IT, like certain recently discredited YouTube scumbags) and acting like it's your own. If you are relying substantially on someone else's work, whether in their wording, arguments, conclusions, structure, or anything else, even if you've changed some of the words (yep, still plagiarism!), that needs to be cited appropriately according to the relevant style guide. Direct quotes from anyone need to go in quotation marks or indented blocks and have the author cited immediately afterward. History usually uses Chicago, MLA, or MHRA, and you can find cheat sheets for how to do that online. It's a pretty simple and straightforward style, and your professor will be extra impressed.

If you're expected to do an independent project or a senior research thesis, as some undergraduate history students do, then it will come when you have already had three years of experience in reading, evaluating, and writing historical scholarship, you will probably have a faculty member assigned to you for one-on-one mentoring and personalized feedback sessions, and they will be able to provide suggestions and support for useful sources. So even then, you still don't have to do it entirely on your own. They'll probably also be MORE than happy to debate with you which ones are good and which ones are suspect, because it's all a part of developing your ability to flex that muscle for yourself. (And as noted, faculty members Will Have Strong Opinions.) That likewise doesn't mean you just have to copy whatever they say (at least if you have a good teacher who wants you to think for yourself and not just be a mini-clone of their pet theories), but it means that by the time you reach that stage, you will have been prepared enough to feel confident in taking more steps on your own. I think not enough people realize that studying history (or anything, really) isn't just throwing you out there and being like "tough luck sucker, do it all yourself."

That's why academia is so collaborative, why plenty of historians with doctorates and tenure will still have to say "I don't know, let me get back to you" when someone asks them a question at a conference, and you don't have to fear that if you don't have The One Right Answer, you will be immediately exposed as a fraud and thrown out. History as a discipline is also moving away from the 19th-century German approach that attempted to systematize it as a singular social science with One Right Answer, and to focus more on multiple perspectives and incomplete answers. That's why the goal is not necessarily to know everything (which alas, is impossible), but to make better sense of what we can know and search for ways in which the existing record is flawed and needs to be revised, expanded, or reworked with new perspectives (which have existed all this time, but haven't been privileged by the white male western academy for the obvious reasons). And that work is fun and important! I don't want you to be scared of getting to that point, because someone will be there to support you the whole way and by the time you do, it will make sense to you in a way it probably doesn't right now, just because it's a new skill and like any new skill, it takes a long time to learn and to be able to apply confidently, consistently, and at a high level. And plenty of us who do it as a career still often have to say "I don't know, let me ask Dr. So-and-so who specializes in this," so yeah. It's a process of becoming comfortable with both learning how to answer what we can, and to ask others for help with that, and it never really ends. Which is the fun part. There's so much more to do.

Good luck!