Listen. I dislike hazbin hotel and it's creator on sooooo many levels. only watched the pilot a couple of years ago.
but it drives me fucking crazy that this damn thing is supposed to be 1930s drag queen gangster. HOW do you fuck up THAT concept.
SIMON WAS NOT A PROFESSOR. HE WAS A GUEST LECTURER/PHD CANDIDATE. BETTY WAS NOT HIS STUDENT, SHE WAS A PEER.
I am literally so sick at the fact that people keep saying that petrigrof has an unbalanced power dynamic. It is so incredibly common for guest lecturers to be peers in grad school! And it has been WELL established that Simon and Betty were in grad school! Simon was not teaching, he was studying/doing research work to become an antiquarian.
I keep seeing misinformation that implies she was in undergrad. She. Was. Not!!!!!
SHE LITERALLY STATES IN ELEMENTS THAT SHE WAS IN GRAD SCHOOL.
AND SIMON STATES IN “holly jolly secrets” THAT HE WAS STUDYING TO BE AN ANTIQUARIAN
Also! May I just add- aside from this fact- YOU CAN GO TO GRAD SCHOOL AT LITERALLY ANY AGE! AND FUN FACT! MOST! PEOPLE! IN! GRAD! PROGRAMS! HAVE! TAKEN! HIATUSES!
But - since people seem to have trouble conceptualizing this I feel like it is necessary to pull statistics just to reiterate this point since so many people are just blatantly ignoring this.
From Crimson Education,
And Steve Tippins from Beyond/PhD Coaching,
Honestly - I don’t mean to like - be aggressive. But they are both fully consenting adults that are more than likely over the age of 30 around the time that they met! Even if Simon was a professor Betty still would have statistically likely to be over the age of 30. That is a whole ass grown woman.
edit: ALSO I FEEL AS THOUGH IT IS NECESSARY TO MENTION- this does not change the fact that Betty was a fan of Simon’s work and placed him on a high pedestal.
Also - if I have any misinformation on this post regarding grad school, please feel free to inform me!
Sure, Sam’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline once Dean starts losing patience and rifling through Cas’s pockets whenever Cas can’t find something.
But they practically jump off his head and shoot up to the clouds when Dean starts storing his own shit in Cas’s pockets. Receipts, spare change, gloves, pens, knives, other random weapons, pamphlets, folded-up restaurant menus, maps, knickknacks, his own fucking wallet.
[image id: several drawings of Data from Star Trek TNG.
top left panel: Lore hands Data a gift and says, "happy *birthday*, I guess." Data replies, "thank you, broth-" Lore interrupts him: "just take it."
top right panel 1: a front view of a yellow book. Data is holding it in his hands. the text on the cover reads, in all caps, "meow: the book is for your cat only. written in own language."
top right panel 2: Data has now opened the book. the text reads the word "meow" over and over.
bottom right panel: Data from the chest up, reading the book. he says, "quite humorous indeed."
bottom left: Data lying on his side, holding the open book in front of Spot, who is sitting next to him. there are three question marks above her head. Data says, "look Spot. it is written in your language."
/end id]
happy very late birthday, Data!! your drawing killed me!!
Mean!steve during your no nut challenge somehow convincing you to lift your skirt and show him how wet you are and he’s sooo annoying. Cooing at you like he’s clueless why you’re so wet, playing with the ribbons of slick around your thighs, pushing your folds apart and blowing cool air over you, pushing them back together and chuckling when his thumbs slip
KGJDJSHSHALCISHJDUFJAHSHSH
I DONT THINK U CAN JUST SAY THAT TO ME???? ARE U KIDDING??? @stevenose come get ur mean!steve juice i swear this shit is DNFJFJDJDJ
god it would be like he starts getting snarky about how he can’t actually hide when he’s turned on like you can, how of course you get make all your teasing comments about his tented jeans but it’s not an even playing field— so you’re like uh huh. totally. and what can i do about that?
and steve smirks like you’ve walked exactly into his trap and says, wear a skirt so i can check. you burn hotly but can’t think of any proper reason why you shouldn’t that wouldn’t also apply to steve too, considering all you’ve made him do so far— so you do.
it somehow sets you on edge more, more keyed up than usual at the knowledge you’ve granted steve at least one chance in the night to ‘check’ — and god does he bide his time. he winds you up so tantalisingly, so teasingly, keeps brushing his hands up against the edge of your skirt, touching lightly at your thighs, even pulls you onto his lap and bounces his knee subtlety, his big hands pulling your waist down.
and you’re trying to get him back, trying to rock back quietly because you can’t let him get the upper hand— and you’re determined when you push him into one of the bedrooms, so sure you can get back on top— when he leans back on the bed all lax and twirls his finger with a little whistle, eyes on your skirt. i think it’s time for a check he says, his hand dropping to grab his obvious boner and rocking into it lightly. you can see mine, why can’t i see yours?
and fuck, why does it make you so flustered to pull the hem of your skirt up, to make you flush so hotly inside when he grabs your thighs and tugs you closer to the edge of the bed, wasting no time in running his thumb down the centre of your very soaked panties. aw look, he coos, see she’s excited to see me. and then he slides a hand down to grab your calf and hoists it onto the bed, nearly tipping you over in the process at the shift in position. you’re about to make a snarky comment when he puts his thumbs on your panty lines and pulls outward, spreading your folds with a sticky sound.
steve, you mean to chide but it comes out to whiny — and he grins about it, pretending to be clueless as he runs his thumb down the middle of your panties again, watching your hips twitch forward and laughing as they do. his eyes flick up, watching your face as he blows cold air over your cunt, a pleased chuckle coming out at the way you quiver.
isn’t this checked enough? you ask all breathily and steve murmurs, just one more thing and pulls your panties to the side in a quick yank, spreading your folds again and letting his thumb settle over where you’re leaking slick— so he can smirk as it clenches around nothing and he can hear your breath hitch, the beginnings of a moan in your throat — just for him to drop his hands and lean back, a picture of calm, the only thing that gives him away is the bulge in his pants that is definitely bigger than when you started