#'well you don't live in that world and you don't know those people' as a way to say that we can treat someone as guilty without evidence

[amynchan]

"Another one."

The file is slapped on my desk, courtesy of Jack's hand. I do my best not to sigh, but some endeavors are honestly just doomed to fail.

"New recruit or job transfer?" I know I'll see the answer in the file, but if Jack's gonna be like that, then I can be like this. I don't even open the file.

"New recruit, asshole." Wow. Someone's in a bad mood. Wonder what crawled up his ass. Okay, fine, I open up the file this time.

Oh.

Oh...

You know, years and years ago, this might have been considered a conflict of interest. When there were enough people around, working jobs, that the work could be moved from an involved or easily affected party to an uninvolved one.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

"Hey, if you need to take a lunch break—"

"Don't. Just— just don't."

Well... what else can I do? I swallow up my words, nod, and look at the beaming face of Jack's niece again. Seventeen. Sweet girl. Her grades, like everyone else's, meet standards that might have been actually necessary so many years ago. Technology's moved forward. Life has moved forward. Humanity, as a whole, has evolved out of needing so many jobs that most of today's problems are manufactured. Enough to make people think about them but not enough to cause lasting damage to... well, anything if they aren't taken care of. And the people who skim the jobs we've given them? Nothing really happens. We make the fake problems go away one way or another, and nobody and nothing gets hurt in the process. No real loss.

It's busywork is all I'm saying. People like Sarah get to do busywork. The really exceptional people get hired here. Doing this. Keeping the world running on one side and keeping the population controlled on the other.

"All she wants to do is make a difference in the world." Jack doesn't have anyone else who can do this job for him. I don't think he'd want to, either. Once you know about how the world works, there's not really a way to unknow.

Well...

No need to tempt fate with thoughts like those. I go through Sarah's file.

"There's gotta be something else she likes." And there's lots in here. She's got friends. A robust social life. There are a few ambitions, but we can make some scenarios to fit and satisfy those.

But that's not the problem, and Jack knows it. I know it.

"How am I supposed to face her?" he asks. "She's going to come to family dinners, all smiles, talking about how much better the world is because of her and her coworkers and her friends. How much good she's doing for the world. How she's going to make it better for the rest of us, just wait and see. She's going to barrel headfirst into making humanity a utopia again!"

I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Jack and I both know what utopia can do to people.

When Jack yells, I'm not surprised. His brother was never like Sarah. His sister in law was never like Sarah. As far as I know, nobody in his family has been like Sarah. Sweet. Determined. Good-hearted.

All determination and heart. None of the skill sets or natural talents we need in order to make her fantasy come true.

It would make a lot of sense to make Sarah a politician. Protected. Safe. Somewhere her ambitions can at least feel fed and her dreams feel real, at least.

Enough to make her feel proud. Worthy. Dignified. In this world where corruption is nipped in the bud and no one ever gets shot or goes hungry, a politician's job is easy, and the problems they deal with are minor.

But I know it would also be also enough to drive Jack insane. Meeting with his niece throughout the years, watching her be so proud of achievements that are real to her and hollow to everyone who knows. Hollow to him. It's a special kind of hell we live in.

One hell of a utopia.

In the end, Sarah will become a small business owner. We'll lay down the trail for her to run something that runs along the lines of 20th century ethical practices. She'll have her pick of products, and she'll run the operation in the best way she knows how. We can lay down breadcrumbs of opportunities and support the infrastructure and the product line from where we sit. She'll live a perfectly respectable life in her ethical and lovely shop for as long as she wants until she wants a transfer.

Maybe she'll be a politician then. Who the hell knows.

Not me, and not Jack, by the look of it. I look at him, and he glares back.

Yeah. Okay.

Jack slaps another file on my desk. This time, I just take it. There are some days where turnabout just isn't fair play.

In the near future, 85% of all jobs have been automated, and everyone's basic needs are met for free. You work for a secret organization that creates fake busywork jobs for the majority who aren't qualified for the few real jobs left, but need perceived meaningful labor to stay sane.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

0v0 Leona brainrot may I request a thing on Leona x reader where reader is mute from family trauma 0v0 (note love your stuff you feed my brain rot everyday also if you) also can you make it that in the story we have Reader think Grim is now our Son/or we see little brother and we talk to only him but then as per Leona x reader we talk to Leona at some point

Arm still hurts, but I put on a brace, so LET'S GO (don't follow my example)

Thank you for the Request! Leona has consumed my thoughts as well.

Synopsis: Reader with selective mutism slowly grows fond of the cold lion.

TW: mentions of reader having a bad family life; reader has selective mutism; reader is initially scared of Leona

Selective mutism can be caused by a variety of factors such as an anxiety disorder, self-esteem issues, speech problems, and etc.. Yours stemmed from. . . poor family relationships, to put it delicately.

Coming to Twisted Wonderland was like both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because you made it out

A curse because, well, YOU WERE TOSSED INTO ANOTHER WORLD WITH NO TIME TO PROCESS. So, of course, your anxiety levels spiked.

It took you a bit to figure out how to explain to Crowley that you struggled with selective mutism, and even when you did, he took it as you trying to say you were entirely mute. You supposed you could live with that. It would definitely help quell the intrusive questions and ignorant statement if not just by a bit.

It took a while, but you managed to get comfortable enough around Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts to talk. You had grown to see them as the family you never had. A family you chose.

You weren't sure whether to classify Grim as a younger brother or a son, but you figured that wasn't all that important of a distinction for you to make. He's your family and that's what counts.

When you did finally talk for the first time around this little group they were certainly shocked, Grim more so than the ghosts. However, they were patient and allowed you the time and space to explain (even if that was because the ghosts held Grim's mouth shut).

In the end, you all decided it was probably best that you keep the reality of your muteness a secret as people knowing could cause problems (and just be annoying for those too ignorant to understand or too curious to understand personal space).

When you first met Leona, it was when you stepped on his tail in the botanical garden. You bowed profusely as a way of saying sorry, but he either didn't get it or didn't care.

"D*mn Herbivore." He growled. "You think you can just step on my tail and get away with it? Not even gonna properly apologize for waking me with your foot digging into my tail?"

Clearly, he had not been paying attention at orientation. You were never too great with confrontation, quite frankly, it scared you, so you ran. You could hear his angry shouts from behind you as you booked it out of there, but you paid no mind to his words (not that you could even hear them with the blood pumping so violently in your ears from the adrenaline).

The next time you met him, like truly met and talked to him, was after the spelldrive game when you got nailed in the head with the disk.

When the unusual group of Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, Leona, and Grim came into the infirmary you were understandably wary. Afterall, Leona hadn't exactly made a stellar first impression.

However, your opinion shifted a bit when a little ball of energy and pure joy came bursting into the room to meet Leona. You had felt some sympathy for him after seeing his dream, you didn't have the best family life either, but you also weren't a massive jerk. A hint of worry grew in your stomach when you saw the small lion jump on Leona's bed and bounce on his stomach, but you froze when you saw the man's reaction.

He may have seemed harsh to most with the way he treated and talked to the child, but you could tell he was anything but. The way his eyes softened ever so slightly and his muscles relaxed. And, if you didn't know any better, you would've sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards just a bit.

The way someone treats their family can tell you a lot. The way Leona treated Cheka told you a lot.

You turned your attention away from Leona to sign something to Deuce (he learned a bit of sign language from his mom).

Leona would have cursed had Cheka not been right there. Great. Now he felt like an *ss.

Perhaps that guilt is what led him to so easily letting you stay in Savanaclaw during book 3.

He led you up to his room and told you how to fold out the couch (it was a futon). However, other than that, he didn't say much.

The only word you heard him speak the first night was a brief "sorry". He didn't elaborate on it, but you were fairly sure you knew what he was apologizing for.

At some point, you had made a habit of lightly tugging on your friends' sleeve when you needed their attention. Out of habit, you accidentally did this to Leona once. You didn't even notice until you saw the other Savanaclaw students' horrified faces. You whipped around to apologize to Leona, but he looked entirely unbothered.

"What'd ya need?"

On the last night when you needed to get Leona's help, you didn't exactly have the option of yelling, and banging pots and pans didn't exactly cross your mind. At that moment, you were just so tired and so stressed that all you did was silently tear up.

When he noticed your crying he momentarily froze. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he just stared at you.

You really had a knack for making Leona feel scummy.

Before he knew it, he was getting up and trudging across the room.

You flinched.

Leona mentally bashed his head into a wall repeatedly.

"I'll help. . .just. . .cut it out with the water works." He handed you a tissue box and that was that.

You grew steadily closer over time, but he didn't hear your voice until around the end of book 6.

You had gotten back from STYX and your dorm was still in shambles, so you were left to stay at Savanaclaw. Other dorms were going to offer, but before they could even open their mouths, Leona sighed dramatically loud and announced that he guessed you'd have to stay at Savanaclaw sing you had absolutely no other options.

You trudged into his room together and watched as Grim immediately conked out on a plush chair next to the couch.

Leona was about to collapse on the bed (he was too tired to shower or even change clothes) when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso and a wet spot forming on his chest as your tears soaked through his shirt.

He was not cut out for these kinds of situations.

Despite this thought, he soon sighed and wrapped his arms around your back as well. The two of you stood there like that for what felt like an eternity before the silence was finally broken.

And not by him.

"I-I'm so glad you're safe." Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, and your words were hard to decipher as they came out as more of choked sobs.

A million questions ran through Leona's mind at that moment, but none of them left his lips. Instead, he simply replied: "Yeah. . .'m glad you are too."

His questions could wait until tomorrow.

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[marzipanandminutiae]

I genuinely think there were far more trans people in 19th century western history than we're aware of, simply because of the nature of how most LGBTQ people lived their lives back then

namely, though of course this varied WILDLY by time, place, cultlure, race, gender, etc., in relative secrecy

if you go back far enough, legal identifying documents were barely a thing for many people. and even if they existed, circumstances in which they'd be checked were few and far between. surveillance was nowhere near what it is now simply because of technological limitations. and due to those same technological limitation, people were more used to accepting at face value the identities of people with bodies that varied from the norm

Gilbert and Sullivan mention, in their 1885 song "I've Got A Little List," the singer's "auntie with a mustache" (albeit in a negative context). not "well, I don't hold with all this woke DEI nonsense and have we checked Auntie's genitals and what's the marker on this alleged woman's passport?" is it very probable that the auntie was cisgender? yes. there are plenty of reasons for cis women to grow more facial hair than is average, ranging from genetics to PCOS to post-menopausal hormone shifts. before HRT, in a time with few readily accessible safe hair removal techniques (though they tried, and electrolysis had been technically available- at ruinously expensive rates -since the 1870s), you'd be more likely to encounter cis women with facial hair who chose not to try removing it. and you assumed all women were cis. so your set concept of A Woman included, potentially, facial hair, and it was less likely to make you question someone's gender

EDIT: wow okay so that is NOT an original G&S lyric! it's so borderline in terms of Poor Taste that I assumed it must be 19th century. nonetheless, references to old women with whiskers and moustaches abound in Victorian and earlier literature, so the point still stands

besides which, for a very long time, personal questions along the lines of "what's in your trousers/skirt" were considered HIGHLY impertinent

so, while there would be a world of trouble if a trans person was caught or if suspicions began to arise about their gender for some reason- the past was not a trans-friendly utopia by any means -it was often somewhat easier to fly under the radar than it generally is today. the transphobic powers-that-were were less aware of this possibility and therefore not on high alert for it, generally speaking

and since most trans people then and now want to have jobs and social circles and families and do things to which being trans is incidental, while trans, it wasn't likely that they'd call attention to themselves in a time when Closet = Safe. indeed, most trans people from that era that we know about are only publicly known because their death wishes to be buried without autopsy were not respected. I'm thinking of Dr. James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, and earlier the Chevaliere d'Eon [no, that's not a misspelling; it's the feminine form of Chevalier since she was a woman]

(you hear about more transmasc people in the history of this era because it was harder to establish an independent life as a woman, at all, without some kind of support network/establishment of Reputation in the area where you were living. unless you were a sex worker, and while we do know about some transfem sex workers of the era, the specifics of their identities are often obscured behind salacious news reports of Man Disguised As Woman Tricks Other Men Into Doing Icky Gay Things. so figuring out whether they saw themselves as women or crossdressing men can be difficult. Mary Jones comes immediately to mind)

how many similar wishes were respected? how many people slipped through history with their gender variance unremarked-upon? there's literally no way of knowing- which is good in terms of immediate postmortem respect, but leaves historians of queer subjects nowadays with a herculean task

I think, in light of all that's happening right now, I just want to remind everyone that trans people have always existed, will always exist, and are an integral part of humanity's fabric

[bnyf]

baby you're my bunny ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒ bunny boy x female reader

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, slight body horror me thinks? slight horror, perverted yandere, non consensual touching, suggestive, uhhh that's it me thinks :3

╰﹕୨୧﹒ authoress note : so sorry if it's badly written also sorry if it ends weird :/

no survival instinct what's-so-ever. like... none.

but he was not complaining! it was just a mere observation. perhaps you were unaware of your allure, maybe you were not exposed to the cruel world yet, didn't know how sick people and creatures can be.

well for one... your little secret admirer was not one of those adorable bunnies you'd fawn over, nothing even close really. and no, he's not some cute boy with a bunny tail and some bunny ears. he's far from cute, a little scary actually.

humanoid? sure! typical bunny boy hybrid, uhhhh not really lol! he's mixed with human genetics but he's not quit. and for a bunny hybrid, he sure had a lot of predator instincts.

to put simply, he was an abnormality of mother nature. his lower half resembled a bunny whilst his torso and up is that of a man. his claws on his feet or paws or whatever are dangerously long, digging into the dirt whenever he walks, leaving behind a "too small to notice unless your looking for it" trail.

a muscular, lean build, biceps so perfect and manly hands to hold you down if you even ever think of escaping, awe how sweet of him <3

completely pale skin with small patches of equally pale fur in various spots, completely crimson, blood shot eyes and a pair of floppy bunny ears where any normal human's ears would be.

how did he even came to be? you may ask. well he was a normal boy, once upon a time. but one day, he'd gotten into a serious accident, a near death life experience. that day he could've hear the bells of heaven ringing in his ears but he wasn't ready to die, not like this... in his head he begged for more time, asking whatever god above to answer his prayers.

and yeah! his prayers where answered but, as they say, be careful what you wish for...

the moon goddess answered his prayers, but she also cursed him for it is the price he must pay to live longer.

"i grant you more time, as much time as you may need, but for as long as you roam his earth, your soul belongs to me and your purpose, is to server me," her voice rang in his ears like a bittersweet melody before he'd lose consciousness.

when he awake, he found himself in the mountains, he was a monstrosity of a man and dared not step a foot into society. he's to bare this curse and blessing till death.

he became easily bored and clueless as to what to do next, his every day life felt null and everything felt too much to bare. his eternity just began yet he dreads his mistake with every passing day.

"maybe, i should of just accepted my faith and die that day..."

with nothing and no one, he was left to wonder the mountain and serve the goddess by praying to her and tending to her shrine everyday, he's trapped to keep her energy going so she won't become a forgotten god.

(guys i made the lore up on a whim so bare with me even i'm confused right now :0)

anyways! everything drastically changed for our boy here when you and your family decided to move to the village nearby in the rural area, and live a peaceful life and just run a nice little farm hooray! hopefully, you don't get stalked and preyed on by a lonely scarily tall bunny male hybrid who looks like a utterly angelic, celestial eldritch horror, right?

all he could think about was a pretty girl had moved in next door and he just had to watch her from afar. most the villagers were very welcoming of you and your family, it was big talk because such a pretty girl had just moved in the small village and all the villagers wanted their sons or grandsons to get married.

it doesn't have much young people, mostly elders and young children and even less marriageable women. which is why you easily became popular, with everyone always gifting you things, begging you to marry into their family. they even had a town welcome celebration for you and your family!

he watched everything from afar. feeling a slight sting in his chest. jealous? already? of course he is, he wanted you all for himself. for countless nights, he just couldn't sleep at all.

he spent all his time admiring you from afar. the way he'd blush, his heart beat fastening, the gears in his head would just slow down a bit. gosh, he actually felt his heart warm so much it'd burn in his chest.

he wanted you badly.

you were his new source of entertainment, motivation and inspiration all in one and his mind was melting with how needy he started becoming.

"what the f- she's so kind and pretty..."

"i wanna hug her, wanna kiss her, feel her skin on mine, love her, fuck her."

"she can be my little bunny princess~"

"wonder what our babies would look like? i'm getting heated just thinking about it"

it didn't help much when he found out you adored bunnies and would play with them near the spring. fawning over the little fluffy creatures, hugging them and petting them. and when you held them in your arms and give smooches while rubbing your face on their fluffy fur?!?!?

that's where his obsession becomes almost to much to bare, his entire chest area felt so warm watching you treat those bunnies with so much love.

"everything about her is so perfect, i'm starting to crave her like crazy right now."

"wanna whisk her away, take her, lock her up and keep her all to myself."

his mind starts getting clouding with so many dark thoughts of you.

and so, he start pushing boundaries and going outside his comfort zone to appease his little appetite that consist of you. at night, he sneaks in to steal a closer glance at you and probably a few things so he can remember your scent properly.

the whole house was dark, the whole village asleep by the time it was midnight hour. he'd manage to get in somehow somewhere but when he did, he immediately went to your room.

finally. he could smell and touch you as much as he wanted, his mind was actually in ecstasy when he entered your room, your scent gracing his nostrils as soon as he did, and the poor touch starved male couldn't hold back on touching you various parts of your skin.

"how delightful, her skin is so smooth and her hair feels so good, she smells like flowers all over gosh so fucking perfect, i wanna devour her, drink her up, chew her, spit her out and do it all over again" with every slight movement you make and whimper scaping your soft lips, he can't help but hold back his own voice, he wanted to moan just by being around you, it felt so good.

after so long, why wouldn't it feel great?

to be around around someone for once, to feel the heat of another person's body, the sweet scent of someone else other than himself. he'd lay in bed with you, his larger self cuddling your smaller form as smells your hair, trailing his hands all over you.

he was getting ahead of himself.

it takes everything within him to not proceed and do something to you while in your sleep. his morals along with his sanity were drifting away more and more.

time flies by when you're enjoying yourself, before he knew it he had to leave before the sun raises. forcing himself he does but he also takes like 5 things from you.

"promise i'll return your belongings my love, i just need a little souvenir to help myself with."

the poor thing gets sent into an early heat after that little interaction. he's embarrassed a little but he really needs you, like he really does. and he thinks of ways of introducing himself but... he's a monster, you would run from him and be scared. and when that thought comes to mind it makes him... sad.

"if i'd die that day, i'd never meet her, never be able to see her, but now that i'm alive with the help of the moon goddess, i can't even act normal about her. it's like i'm truly doomed."

this realization was tough. it made him sick to think about. and for a while, he was just okay with sneaking in to see you, and holding your unconscious body but he wanted a lot more, and he wanted your acceptance and love. he wanted you to want him the way he wants you.

it hurt even more when he mistakenly glanced in the mirror only to see a 6 feet tall, half human half hybrid bunny with a deadly eerie looking bloody stare, stare right back at him.

the pale moonlight leaking on him, hitting his skin almost making it look silver.

"she'd surely fear me, she'd run."

he's such a beautiful tragedy. would you be able to appreciate that?

[swampgallows]

Transcription:

Wearing a mask was not political, but they made it political, so now wearing a mask is an act of resistance. I don't care how stupid that sounds to you and I'm gonna be very transparent, my goal here is to try to get you to wear a mask. So I need you to take whatever I'm about to say, pick the thing that resonates with you the most, and then have that be what drives you to wear a mask. Trump pulled the U.S. out of the World Health Organization and he instructed the halt of all communications from public health agencies. This includes the CDC, the NIH, the FDA on recalls, so we are even more in the dark than we were before on how bad things are right now. If you've been sick recently, you might know what I'm talking about. Flu A, COVID, Norovirus, all high—high transmission—but now with the halt of communications we are not gonna know what's going on. The CDC already sucked on that—I'll get to that shortly. All across the country, cities have called for and/or enacted bipartisan mask bans. Do you want to know what led to these mask bans? Well, it was anti-genocide protests. They don't want you to be able to hide your face because then you're easier to target. But what is the side effect of this? Going after people who mask to protect their health and the health of those around them. They don't like our calls for a free Palestine. One of these people who called for that was mayor of L.A., Karen Bass, and now that the fires have been raging, of course the city didn't have any stockpile of PPE for all the people who are inhaling ash, and wildfire smoke, and asbestos, and all the other chemicals that are burning with homes in the fires. No, that fell to mutual aid groups, specifically, anti-COVID and clean air groups. In the age of AI under fascist regimes, both Biden but especially Trump, when facial recognition technology can be weaponized against anyone, masking is an act of resistance. And finally, and most importantly, the number one core reason is because COVID still rages on. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when corporations and billionaire CEOs can lobby the government to shorten COVID isolation periods, and then Biden does so. Since the very beginning of the pandemic when they said, "No, it only affects this group of people", and so we said "Okay, yeah, no, that's not me. We don't have to protect them." They tried to get you to not care, further harming disabled and high risk individuals, and lying to your face in the process because we're all high risk. In 2024 we got to see COVID rip through the Olympic Village. What we did not hear so much about is all of the athletes that didn't make it to the Olympics despite their training all of their lives because they were disabled by COVID. A recent study showed that 1 in 4 U.S. Marines that got COVID met the criteria for Long Covid. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when COVID cases persist. When you feel sick all the time and everybody is having brain fog and you wonder why you are so tired, when they didn't bother clearly communicating that COVID is airborne, and that it moves like smoke, and that a lot of spread is asymptomatic or pre-symptomatic, meaning you don't feel sick, you don't know you have it, but you're spreading it.

Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when the World Health Organization told us that 10 to 20% of COVID cases result in Long Covid, and that doesn't account for consecutive infections. When that Long Covid can be mild, like the POTS [Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome] that I got from my COVID infection while being a previously healthy individual, or it can be severely debilitating and leave you bedbound. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when you get sick and they want you back to work and they gut worker protections—in a country that provides no universal healthcare, so you're left either in debt or without options, untreated, in a country that loves its Big Pharma and counts on you getting sick. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when all of this is in the name of capitalism. They do not care if you get sick. They want you betraying your disabled and immunocompromised community members. They do not care that you want to protest for a free Palestine. They do not care that you want to protect your identity from their AI surveillance. They don't care that the general population is sicker than ever. They want you to ignore it, and they want you to attack the people who still wear masks, like myself. They want you to attack the messenger. They do not want you questioning the premature declaration that the pandemic had ended because then they don't have to atone for this: the wastewater data that shows how prevalent COVID still is in our lives. And when you think about how many COVID cases lead to Long Covid, they don't want you thinking about how they allow for the general population to become disabled, because that would mean that it costs them something to prevent it, that would mean that they owe you. By the way, with Trump's halting of communications we can count on this [wastewater data] to go bye-bye because the CDC can't give us that data anymore. Biden gave that "pandemic is over" premature declaration after the Democrats had an internal memo declaring that they would do so because it earns them political points. It would be cheaper to not provide you with what you need and it would score political points by declaring the pandemic a victory on Biden's part. I don't want this video to be too long even though I could go on, but take whatever I just said that resonates with you and have that be what drives you to wear a mask. It is the easiest way to care for your neighbor and simultaneously give Trump the finger. Because we can't do anything if we're all sick, we can't do anything if we're constantly disabling each other. Lock in. [End of transcription.]

"Mask" here refers to a KN95, KF95, or N95 respirator, not a cloth or surgical mask. A cloth or surgical mask is better than nothing, but they are nowhere near as effective at preventing airborne transmission as a well-fitting respirator. The goal is to form an airtight seal against the face so that all incoming and outgoing air you breathe is filtered through the respirator.

If you need access to free or low-cost masks, testing, air purifiers, and more, get in touch with your local mask bloc. Find one near you at CovidActionMap.org.

Listen to her. Please.

[petermorwood]

Once there was a bookshop.

Its name was "Dark They Were And Golden Eyed", the title of a Ray Bradbury short story.

I'd seen it advertised in the back of my "Conan The Barbarian" comics, black-and-white UK reprints of the US originals which came out on the same day - Thursday, I think - as a two-hour first period history lesson (9AM-11AM).

So I bought my weekly Conan on the way to school as a pleasant back-of-the-class distraction from such A-Level delights as "Metternich and the Congress of Vienna" or "Bismarck and the origins of the Franco-Prussian War" or "Causes and Consequences of the French Revolution".

I was getting into fantasy at that time because British publishers were bringing it out like there was no tomorrow - Robert E. Howard "Conan" stories from Sphere, Clark Ashton Smith "Zothique" stories from Panther, and the Michael Moorcock book-of-the-month club from Mayflower.

Dark They Were was a sort of holy grail, because London wasn’t exactly round the corner or even a mere long train ride away as Dublin might have been, and my parents weren't willing to let me make a trip like that all alone. (I also suspect Dad had checked a map and found that Dark They Were was in the heart of Soho, a place with Other Kinds Of Bookshop.)

*****

I finally went to London after getting A-levels good enough for Uni, despite my History result not being what it might have been (no idea how that happened). :-P

Dad was right about the Other Kinds Of Bookshop, a couple of which I duly investigated and found to be educational, although not in the way intended. Even though the places I ate and drank and the books and records I bought on that same trip are long forgotten, I can still remember it.

Despite having at least my usual allowance of critical-faculty-blunting late teen hormones, the shops outweighed it with their air of furtive sleaze, like the carpet in a seedy bar that sticks to your shoes - except this was an all-body experience. They certainly filled me with desire, but that desire was for a long, hot shower.

So much for the main attraction of late-'70s Soho...

*****

Far more attractive was my discovery, just a short walk round the corner from DTW, of 58 Dean Street Records, which specialised in soundtrack albums.

I'd been buying soundtrack LPs for years, so what with DTW and 58, I was well laden on my way home, and none of those purchases needed hidden from the parents, either... :->

Despite that, Forever People in Bristol was an even more important SF bookshop, at least to me. For one thing it was easier to reach, less than an hour away when visiting an old school friend who at that time lived in Cardiff.

For another thing, I'd become a keen fan of fantasy anthologies, which were like samplers or tasting menus for different writers - you could call them selection boxes,and Irish / UK readers will know what I mean by that.

FP was where I found imports like Offutt's "Swords Against Darkness" series and DAW's "Year's Best Fantasy" series. I'd already got the first two in Carter's "Flashing Swords" series as UK imprints...

...so the instant I saw the US-import Number 5 I nabbed it.

A bit later, back in Belfast, I found a novel by one of those writers in Queen’s University Bookshop.

It was set in the same world as the short story and though the cover was, er, a less than accurate summation of the contents, those contents made for a fascinating read.

I met that writer twice, at SF conventions in 1985.

Then at a couple more in 1986.

After that came Boskone in 1987...

And the rest is history.

(Pedantic writer note: this has two typos. There's no apostrophe on Authors' - unless it's short for Authors Have A Wedding and I doubt that - and there's an extra O where I don't need it, a first but far from last instance of having my name misspelled in print...)

Happy soon-to-be-38th Anniversary, loved!

[mckitterick]

Destroying America is a good thing for the world

(this novel, Cemetery World by Clifford Simak, is about a return to a war-ravaged Earth 10,000 years after the collapse of civilization. let's not have to do that, okay?)

well, anon, that may feel true in some ways, but those currently dismantling the USA are doing so for reasons of selfish greed and avarice, and are willing to sacrifice every citizen of every country on this planet to possess the most toys in a desperate attempt to make up for not being loved

we're already teetering at the brink of environmental collapse and witnessing a preview of rapid climate change, and those trying to destroy the USA from within only plan to accelerate these biosphere-wrecking trends

implosion of the primary world superpower would only mean devastation for everyone as other power-seeking despots clash to grab everything they can from the ruins and power vacuum (and that's not even considering the hundreds of millions of people living on this continent, most of whom don't support this evil regime)

and don't forget the erratic, emotionally stunted, power-mad billionaires and billionaire-wannabes who currently hold the controls over the world's most powerful military, including a vast collection of nukes. if things start to go sideways, how do you imagine that'll go for everyone else?

so, no, regardless of how much you might hate this nation, I can't agree that the kleptocrat coup we're witnessing is anything but destructive to every decent human on Earth (and the other complex organisms with whom we share this fragile environment)

wouldn't ending this political aberration before such things happen and starting fresh with decent leadership be better than throwing away thousands of years of human development and even millions of years of evolution?

I'm raising a newborn baby who knows nothing of world politics or the desires of evil people. I'd really like him to grow up in a better world. I'd really like him to grow up at all

nihilism might be a suitable personal philosophy for some dealing with a world that doesn't care, but it's no way to run a civilization

[utilitycaster]

while reading sone c3 meta i realized c3 defenders are as incurious about the world as bells hells. not to say read/watch the lore but they could do some research. the biggest thing rightniw is the calamity is a family scabble on exandria but i never see them acknowledging why the gods are fighting. or that the gods always chose each other which is so wrong. calamity is because the gods dont chose each other, they chose mortals. the entire fight is to save mortals and at the end they saved 1/3 of mortals vs the total wipeout that could have happened. im reminded that in a world with living gods bells hells didnt even know their names or what they were like. i can see why this party resonates with the incurios.

So on the one hand I would say that the Prime vs. Betrayer fight is complicated, because the motivations that lead to it are them torn between what they want and their refusal leave or kill each other. The Schism happens because the Betrayers want to leave, but won't leave without the Primes, and the Primes don't want to leave and want to help mortals against the titans. The Calamity happens at least in part because the Betrayers want to kill the mortals, which in turn is at least in part motivated by the fact that they see the mortals as coming between them and the Primes. The Primes meanwhile do want to prevent the Betrayers from killing the mortals, and as we've seen, make an effort to spare noncombatant mortals (an effort which in Divergence largely succeeds, and Downfall fails), but are unwilling to kill the Betrayers and instead seal them both times.

However, the larger point, both that Bells Hells are exceptionally ignorant of religious knowledge and history in Exandria and make little effort to rectify this or even acknowledge that they don't know much, and that many of their loudest fans are incurious as well, is true. The thing that actually strikes me is that, given that of the Predathos options that did not involve either a simple defeat of those trying to unleash it or a simple unleashing and destruction of the gods, both involved the Luxon, there was a profound not just lack of curiosity, but dismissiveness of Ashton learning about the beacon earlier in the campaign by their alleged fans. Whether or not you liked it, the potion of possibility and beacon in their head, more so than the shard, was the culmination of their arc and absolutely plot crucial - and it was not uncommon earlier in the campaign for people to be like "who CARES, fuck Essek, let's go to the Hishari." When, in the end, the shard served more as an interesting mechanical bonus, an opportunity for some of the best roleplay of the game that was then mostly abandoned, and an excuse to go to the Shattered Teeth; the role of the titans was ultimately only something to bring up in fruitless arguments and justify dickish behavior. Even more so than the ignorance of Exandrian lore that I saw with some frequency, that stands out to me: even within the campaign they purported to love, they didn't care about exploring something that might gently brush up against Campaign 2. It's a real cutting off one's nose to spite one's face, and it made them look stupid, and Bells Hells felt similar: they did not want to find out information that might show them to be wrong, or show people whom they disliked to be right.

This incuriosity is still alive and well:

This is probably a vague of this post by me - but that post, I should note, came from me checking something in the transcript:

The fans of Campaign 3 don't even care enough about the campaign and party they are expending so much energy to defend, to engage with the questions the characters thereof are thinking about. They're willing to throw Dorian under the bus in a failed attempt to win an argument. Dorian cares about this, actually, is the thing, and he's mostly brushed off, and even if Bells Hells had said "oh damn you're right", my point is not "why doesn't Bells Hells care" so much as "framing this as the merciful option is again a very self-centered perspective, rather like how donating your impulse purchase fast fashion clothing still often puts it in a landfill, but there's a middleman that lets you pretend you're doing the more eco-conscious option."

And yes, it is similar to how Bells Hells, as the party of Campaign 3, didn't care enough about the people and world they claimed to speak for to learn about it. Recall how many NPCs told Ashton that the titans were dead? I think a fair interpretation is that party didn't want to talk to people because they might have told them something that challenged their limited worldview and required they change, grow, and empathize with others.

There's a line from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: "[My mother] said I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy," with the implication that there is a difference between a lack of knowledge that comes from lack of opportunity, vs. lack of knowledge that comes from not caring. And that's the thing. If a fan doesn't know all the lore, or even gets something wrong in good faith? That's fine! There's a lot, and if people don't know every detail of the history of the Calamity that's not a failure on their part, particularly if they acknowledge that they might be missing some information and are still learning. But if someone looks at the story, and looks at the questions within it - in some cases, questions directly stated by the characters within it - and says "who cares?" that's incuriosity. It's not a lack of knowledge; it's a disinterest in gaining it, and a lot of fans of C3 are not just incurious but openly proud of it.

[curiousorigins]

This is the "Freedom Fries" all over again only more racist.

I heard maybe 3 people actually use it in real life. (and only 1 time a piece.) Yet for a minute there that would be all that the news would talk about. I can't speak as to what/when/who prompted that thing. I do know it was in a Post 9-11 United States. They were also trying to hype the citizens about the War in Iraq/Afghanistan as if we were actually fighting for 'freedom' instead of oil and other stuff.

(And yeah, the U.S. caused literally all of those conditions that we had to 'save' people from. From the first time we played favorites and funded terrorism there and destabilized people. Funny how often we create the terrible conditions and then step in as the 'hero'. Of course it's only a hero on our airways because everyone else in the world aren't delusional.)

I know that people were pushing the 'Freedom Fries" as a weird support the military and all that. We were aggressively nationalist for a minute there. We started pledging the 'pledge of allegiance' in schools at least 1x/week (if not a day) and that was probably something legislated. And suddenly people were freaking out about flag burning and critiquing the U.S. when they were previously people who literally helped burn it last independence day. It was a weird uncomfortable climate for sure. For just a touch of the insanity that was going around, please watch any show from like 2003-2007. There will be a plot line that deals with terrorists or the war in Iraq or injured soldiers or PTSD related to soldiers, or unfortunately refugees from war-torn countries facing racism. It literally doesn't matter the genre, the network or anything other than U.S. made. You will be able to find it, easily. Most U.S. Citizens daily life wasn't about those wars, those conflicts we supported. But our TV sure as hell was. I do think that there was some major funding happening there.

But this was also a time where people were not getting the news from everywhere and we had journalists, if not outright suppressing school shootings (because it was believed that airing them... led to more shootings and it's kind of hard not to agree in the modern era.) then minimizing air time.

And just like the Vietnam War was a huge polarizing cultural change, because citizens were witnessing it semi-regularly, for the first time without having gone to war. (It was aired nightly on the news in those days.). We watched 2 buildings go, kind of in slow motion, as well as another plane hijacking... and no answers for why, for months.

Then of course, we had politicians voting to go to war. And watching people die and get tortured live... just kind of became background noise. As messed up as that is.

It wasn't until that brave soldier, self-immolated to protest the U.S. actions or lack thereof in Gaza, that I realized how many times I saw that same thing during the War in Iraq.

I was young enough... that it was just something that was happening. I remember some things from before... but not enough. And so watching these creepy American Soldiers do horribly dehumanizing things to people. (That was leaked again by a brave veteran who was disgusted by it. And he ended up dead very shortly after.)

They also didn't go into the self-immolation except to say that it was a protest about the war in Iraq. Just thinking back it disturbs me how much people have to do to get the message out about anything that may effect rich people's bottom lines.

Don't worry though, that's how they justified the Patriot Act which has been hardly revised since it passed and allows them to hold ANYONE for an extended amount of time, without trial, for incredibly poorly described.

So yeah, shut down this 'Gulf of America' nonsense. But know to keep an ear out for what this talk is distracting you from. It's a joke. Until it isn't.

if someone tries to correct you by saying its "the Gulf of America" now, tell them you don't let the government control your language

[binomech]

Free Devon 2025 remains tragically relevant

Helly's isolation after coming back is hitting some personal rough spots and the weight it's being given as an act of cruelty towards her is flooring me. She doesn't know she was raped. She doesn't know Helena raped Mark S. The way it doesn't even quite hit for Mark S. until Milchick corners him in the elevator over it before sending him up mid-panic attack...

Mr. Milchick, don't turn to reactionary violence against your comrades when the cognitive dissonance hits you're so sexy aha (but for real. Natalie's silence, Ms. Huang's needling, all of it was just... punch up, dude. Punch up and get the fuck out. You can't reform eugenics inc.)

Dylan's speech for Irving coming in with the vibes:

I loved my friend. He went away from me. There's nothing more to say. The poem ends, soft as it began: I loved my friend.

Like Mark's private eulogy for Gemma in season 1, like Ms. Casey returning it at the end of this episode, like Dylan's speech, like Irving Bailiff pressing his hand against his paintings like Mark did against the tree that took Gemma: I loved this person, and now they're gone. They were picky and they were strange, wonderful people and the tangling of our lives changed us forever in ways we could not predict. I love you. I miss you. I carry you in who I am after you.

I've been dreading a string-of-fate plotline for outie Irving and Burt and this reveal has been possibly the most meaningful thing to me. It was a kindness that warmed me whole. I think the us down there might have loved each other, mine got sacked a few weeks ago over it, mine got fired as well, (they're dead, we made them and we hoped they'd be happier than us, and now they're dead), come by my place, have dinner with me and my husband. You don't have to do this alone. You are a stranger but I am choosing, deliberately, to offer you a community to lean on. We cared about those versions of us we never even met. They loved each other. They deserve this attempt at connection.

Irving B., even while literally erased from physical record in the office down to the desk and the photos, leaves a message for Dylan, beating himself up for letting the company kill him, for not listening, for not helping. You wanted me to live until I figured out exports, and I got myself killed before that, and I'm sorry. But you can still do this, you still have a place in this office and in the world. You stayed behind. You always do. You can find a way out for all of us.

Mollified by that last shot of Mark. I've mentioned the list of lovable idiosyncrasies as presented by outie facts but it really hit me that... we just don't know who Mark was before the grief for Gemma ate him away. Your outie is going to heal, as he falls apart at the sight of her.

[blubunz]

OBSESSION, INFATUATION, CONFESSION

— leon s. kennedy x gn! reader

Tags: the title says it all actually.

A/N: I'll work on other fics and stuff later I promise! Been busy lately and my period does not help lmao grah omg,, so I only have a short little thing for you guys :(

Leon who views himself as tainted, a hollow shell of a man, a weapon only to serve the government and protecting other tainted people.

He's got no right view of the typical romance he'd read or seen. Those typical rom-coms and books are just fictional to him. Well, in his line of work, he doesn't have the mind to view the world as a silly rom-com.

But, he knows what he wants when he sees you. Just a quick meeting, no deep conversation whatsoever yet somehow you have managed to make Leon think he was in highschool again by how his heart is thumping loud and palms sweaty from nervousness.

He doesn't let it show, obviously. But the moment you were gone, his knees crumbled and he has to lean on a wall nearby to steady himself.

God, he's already past his 20s. He's not that young, certainly doesn't look the part. But you make him feel like a teenager, a boy who only worries about impressing his crush rather than bioterrorism.

Day after day, Leon sees you even more radiant, like an angel. He might as well worship you and kiss the ground you walk on. He has to resist that urge, to fall on his knees, begging you to be with him, to hug you and feel your bright aura as he take the wings off to keep you forever with him.

To him, you are everything. Even if his everything should be his job, typically his life depends on it. But not to how Leon sees it. To him, you're providing him air to breathe when you're near. You're giving him a purpose to live his days even more productive, not just throwing himself carelessly here and there just to get things over with.

To you, however, you're not...that special. And you aren't. You're just like anyone else. You're not some hero in a movie, or some angel sent from heaven. You're you. A human with feelings and thoughts about simple things like what to eat, or just getting annoyed at something during your work.

You're aware you're not that crazy, big, admirable figure that everyone knows. Just a nice person doing their best throughout the days.

Yet, Leon's absolutely infatuated with you.

You never noticed it during your usual meetings, but you grow to realise how big of an impact you have on Leon when he's ticked off by the knowledge that you had troubled at work, caused by someone he doesn't even know. It's normal to you, annoying, but normal, everyone has to have a few bad experiences at work. But Leon's fuming, like it was him experiencing it and not you.

And on some random days, you would receive gifts. It's not consistent, but not entirely rare. Seeing a box by your desk every now and then with his initials written on the box. Each time, it was something different, but what they all have in common is that they're all expensive. You already have enough perfume and jewelries by now, with more than enough clothes that you don't need to go shopping anymore. You're slightly scared of how Leon knows your size and what your preferences are.

Nonetheless, you embrace it, and Leon can't be happier. He's an absolute gentleman, doing everything for you as much as he could and treating you to fancy dinners.

He does all of them so easily, but when he finds the perfect time to properly confess to you, he's shaking like a leaf. Leon wants to slap himself at how similar he is to a schoolboy, with you standing before him with a curious expression, and him sweating bullets with a whole paragraph well-constructed in his mind.

His first few words are heavy and shaky. You're almost concerned he'd just cry and run off, but Leon holds himself still, trying to speak his heart out to you.

He freezes when you smile. Honestly, you've predicted it. No one's just nice enough to give you expensive gifts and treating you out like a royal.

“So, is...is it a yes...?”

“Yes, Leon, it is.”

[taeaura]

The Hewitts are Hypocritical Religious Cowards - Minor Character Study :)

{Literally just these three but y'know - Monty's sleeping as usual with his lazy ass}

I think Luda Mae fears God; Hoyt doesn't..at least not as much. They were both raised the same, by the same people, in the same environment, of the same religion. But Hoyt was - is, a product of sin, in my interpretation. Hoyt was born of sin and will die of sin; Born to commit the sins of his father. Because of his "predestined" behavior, I think Hoyt views what he's doing as either a form of redemption {for himself and his mother} as well as a final 'fuck you' to God. {Inconsistent ahh religious relationship}

its seems almost as if Charlie views himself as someone who's predisposed to hell. "I was born of sin, I'll die of sin - Might as well have some fun." His experiences in the world most likely drove him away from religion and weakened his faith in God overall - Further fueling this mindset.

In some individuals, religion can develop into a form of psychosis.  I don't think Hoyt has that {on the surface}, but Luda definitely does. I doubt God is going to make you burn for fucking up, Jesus didn't care as long as it was genuine mistake. If he did, everyone would be in hell right now. The only reason Eve was punished is because she prioritized herself and her pleasure over the boundaries of God. That's not the same as messing up, people forget that. But in the case of the Hewitts - They chose the same path as Eve - Just more viciously.

The Hewitts {Hoyt more specifically} prioritized family pride over the lives of other people. They'd rather stay on their land than move away. They'd rather be forgotten by society - Kill and consume outsiders, instead of adapting to another town.

Remember the dinner scene in TCM: The Beginning? Just before Bailey dies, as Chrissie's insulting the family. That right there is the perfect example of the family's philosophy.

C: "I have a question for you, it involves the family tree - the lineage, if you will; So I guess this one's for the table: You guys fuck all your cousins or just the ones you find attractive?"

H: "You blasphemous bitch! This is redemption, lady, that's what this is! Oh, you're all gonna pay for your sins, that's right! And especially you."

Hoyt knows what they're doing is wrong - they all do. Yet they reframe it as "cleansing the world of sin." The mindset "we do what we have to in order to survive."

H: "You starve to death, or survive."

Hoyt views what they're doing as means of survival. They were starving to death - which he explicitly says in the 'first supper' scene

H: "Thanks to the good sheriff here, we ain't gonna go hungry tonight. Matter of fact, we ain't never gonna starve again."

____

Dean deserved to die because he failed his country. His fellow soldiers. Morgan, Kemper, Pepper, Andy, Erin, they all deserved to die for their possession of weed and their disrespect towards the family. Chrissie and Eric deserved it for the same reason. Bailey was with those 'disrespectful draft dodgers.' She was a whore, too - Just as sinful in the eyes of the lord.

stfu Hoyt as if you haven't done worse

Erin and Bailey disrespected Thomas - This would set Luda Mae off so bad. SHE LITERALLY SAID "Get her out of my sight" to Thomas in reference to Erin. She's disgusted by them - Disgusted by anyone who insults her, Thomas, {anyone in the family really}, or God.

L: "I know your kind - Nothing but cruelty and ridicule for my boy, all the time he was growing up. Does anybody care about me and my boy? Huh?"

--

E: "What's wrong with you fucking people?"

H: "Nothing wrong with us..?"

L: "Tommy; Thomas Brown Hewitt, you get in here right now! Get her out of my sight."

--

None of them deserved a second chance. As soon as they stepped onto the property, they solidified their fate. The Hewitts view themselves almost as a necessary evil - Angels of Death, if you will. They kill who they do based on how 'sinful' they are. That includes how they treat the family. {Which I doubt is based on 'respect' being one of God's values - I think it's because of how prideful these people are.}

____

Luda fears God. She fears The Rapture. When Jesus walks the Earth to gather his sheep. The day he waltzes into the Hewitt household taking the form of a 'helpless draft-dodger.' When the molded wallpaper and dusty lace tablecloth aren't enough to hide the rotting carnage, seething beneath the decaying floorboards. As he takes his place at the table, looking down at the family -

"This is redemption, lady, that's what this is! Oh, you're all gonna pay for your sins, that's right! And especially you."

You.

The wailing. The begging. The prayers falsely spoken by your forked tongue.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, honey."

Liar.

A shepherd? No, - Vicious wolves clothed in the skin and cloak of the fallen guardian. Harboring the sheep to their intemperate slaughter - You selfishly feast upon.

Did you feel it?

Do you feel it now?

Whilst the blood spilt from between her legs; Staining your sheets - The same ones Mama's washed over and over for the same selfish reasons.

Rewarding, was it not?

Did the screeches of pain exhort you? - Ravish you. It feels good to take what you deserve.

Except you didn't deserve it; Did you, Charlie.

Not by my teachings - and certainly not by your mother's.

"You poor thing; Sweet mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do - It's already been done."

But she deserved it.

She sinned - Did she not?

And sinners don't deserve patience - Nor do they deserve mercy.

They're vessels possessed by the Devil - You were only doing what's best.

Clearing them out.

And the cowardly - I didn't teach my children to be cowardly, did I? No, I did not. You're not a coward, are you, Charlie? Most certainly not - Not with what you've done to serve your country. No; You're a hero.

Heroes don't rape

Our Hero.

Heroes won't yield

My Hero.

Coward.

And cowards heroes like you deserve a special place in hell Heaven.

____

this is so ass 🙏 #yapville

[fangdokja]

I don't know if anyone else has told you this, but you are a really captivating writer. Maybe it's just me, but when I read your writing I feel genuine fear, it is almost as if I've jumped into the screen and experiencing the story myself.

Hook, line, and sinker, I am reeled in by your words. Thank you for sharing your talent to the world!

WARNING: Semi-formal rambling + Library Recommendations, based on what emotions you want to awaken inside you.

Aww, very wholesome message, Anon :)). That’s very nice of you. I’m honored you think of me as a captivating writer, your genuine support and honesty it’s appreciated. Thanks for taking the time out of your day to leave such and encouraging message here with me, thank you.

Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one. I’ve gotten comments even from those who have read horror and yandere content for years, and don’t react or feel much, even personality-wise. They did say that they felt genuinely afraid or immersed in the story.

And now you too. That honestly makes me so happy :)). I always aim to create extremely immersive stories, characters, and worlds after all. Especially grounded in some form of moral grounds and logical world building, even if it takes place in a fantasy setting.

One of my musts as a write is that I always want my Readers to actually live in the role, to feel that they’re actually in the stories. Fully immersed and not simply reading it passively, or as a third person with a safety net. Especially when it comes to horror yandere content.

Whenever I write, I always aim to awaken and touch the emotions of people. Whatever emotion I’m aiming like for Yandere! Valentines! Special:

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella : Red Roses, Black Hearts

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

Yandere! Yan-Apocalypse

Drabbles

The perfect Valentine’s present: something personal, thoughtful, and won’t scream anymore.

And Yandere! Otome Game, it’s full of dark humor and comedy.

Yandere! Otome Game

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Crown Prince, Archduke, Supreme Mage, Demon King, War Hero, Master Thief, Enemy Spy, Demon Assassin

Drabbles

How do you escape a yandere harem? Asking for a very distressed friend (me).

How to Turn ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ Into a Very Literal Situation.

"Romance is a garbage genre, but if I have to play, I might as well do it on easy mode."

The love interests were bad. The backup plans are worse.

One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

Headcanons 1 : How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) (General)

I hate it here.

System: “Would you like to resume the main storyline?” You click ‘No.’ They click ‘Yes.’

Imagine hating me so much that you chase me across lifetimes. Imagine being that obsessed.

It’s made to make people laugh and enjoy lighthearted feels. Dark humor is my lightest yandere content, and people love it. They laugh, enjoy, comment, etc. I consider it a huge success already for me if you found it funny or amusing.

Other times, I aim for fear, dread, panic, feelings meant to be inspired in horror. The best Yanderes for this would be my personal “Unhinged Yandere Collection”.

Other people already freaked out a bit in Yandere! Alpha! Hybrid Wolf.

Yandere! Alpha! Wolf Hybrid & Little Omega

Drabbles

“You look prettier when you cry.”

“Do you know what I love most about you?”

“You don’t get to decide anymore,”

“And treasures don’t get to escape.”

“You’re waiting for someone to come for you, aren’t you?”

“Cry for me,”

“But don’t worry, darling. I’ll fill it with something better. Me.”

“You’ll only ever have one choice with me,”

Novelette 1 : Marked and Mated

🔞Run all you want, little omega—I love the chase.

But the truly unhinged Yanderes I have? We currently have three who are part of this collection: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss...

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

And, Yandere! Author.

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

There’s a third one, but those are major spoilers lol.

Or how about sadness, despair, and pain? Yandere! College! Bully did really well in this, which was what I was aiming for.

Yandere! College! Bully & Loser

Oneshots

The worst part? You’ve stopped trying to fight it.

Novella 1 : Torn Between Us

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

Or maybe bittersweet and wholesome? Comforting, realistic, yet warmly wholesome. Ironic considering the character I wrote it for. Yandere! Light Yagami.

Light Yagami

Novella 1 : In the Name of Love

Two hearts, one unspoken promise—forever best friends.

The sweetest kisses are often the most dangerous.

And of course, we have the gaslighters who make you question reality, full on gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Scaramouche / Wanderer / Kunikuzushi

Novella 1 : Lover or Captor?

Your body is chained, but your mind? Still free. Or is it?

Mixed Character Stories

You tried to break up with him… but did you ever really want to? (Chrollo Lucilfer, Johan Liebert, Geto Suguru)

I’m genuinely curious on what your favorite story is or who your favorite characters are, Anon. This is just me usually being curious on my Readers’ personal takes and perspectives. Plain curiosity. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable or the like. Just have fun and relax, you’ve already done a lot just with leaving me this wholesome message :))

Haha, I liked how your described your feelings. “Hook, line, and sinker, I am reeled in by your words.” That makes me sound like a fisherman, and also reminds me of the verse, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men (Matthew 4:19).”

And no need to thank me. You’re welcome though. This also goes for all my Readers. The thanks is appreciated, but don’t need to thank me or anything. I enjoy writing, it’s healing for me. It’s not as if it’s a job or anything. I’m genuinely happy writing stories.

And, honestly? I’m genuinely shocked how much people are reading my stories. Engaging and even being genuinely impacted it, makes me really happy. It honestly feels like I’m running my very own social entrepreneurship project. Technical terms, it’s not. But, just the vibes.

Nevertheless, thank you for all the support. From you, Anon, and to the rest of my Readers.

Thank you very much for reading, immersing yourselves in my stories, having fun and relaxing, commenting, reblogging, and sharing your thoughts with me.

Actually all of you Readers have varying personalities. Most of you are lurkers, but it’s interesting to see this growing diversity in community.

∘₊✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒 ✧₊∘

❝ 𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥 & 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘦. ❞ (✦ 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚂 ✦)

I’m well aware it’s not really a social hub, which is why I’m genuinely shocked with the influx of inbox messages. Though, even then, it’s a generally quiet community. And that’s alright. I don’t want any of you to feel pressured to engage beyond just reading if it makes you uncomfortable. All I want for each of you is to just relax and enjoy the stories here. It’s your digression if you want to do more or less. No worries. And no need to feel pressured with outside factors and people.

Life is already difficult enough as it is, so think of it as a breather in a life that’s always moving, always asking for more. In a way, it’s about appreciating the moment and present, the blessings you have. And slowing down to think, ponder, and relax in immersion.

Hope that’s understandable.

But if you want the short answer?

Please do continue to have fun and relax in The Library Of Forbidden Texts.

We welcome you all here. Whether you crave our dark humor cafe snacks, or the sophisticated erotic horror dining, we have it all here for you to enjoy.

All you have to do is read and relax. :))

[drippingghoneyy]

My Oh My -Viktor x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were invited to go to a bar in the Undercity with your friends. Viktor followed without your knowledge to ensure your safety and discovered you were not the sweet, shy assistant he thought you were.

Genre/ Pairing: m/f, Viktor x fem!Reader, (Written in Viktor’s POV)

WARNINGS: mdni! nsfw, diet smut, pwp, alcohol consumption, biology, tension, teasing, grinding (on m and f), jealousy, possessive!Viktor, dom!Viktor, sub! fem!Reader, lap sex (mentioned), dom/sub dynamics, brat, piv, oral sex ( f receiving), missionary, big dick Viktor, pet names, begging, friends-to-lovers, voice kink, obedience kink, nipple play, degradation, "whore” (once) slut (once).. (lmk if I missed any!)

Word Count: 5.7k.

**This story is based on Camila Cabello's My Oh My (feat. DaBaby)

Notes: This is my first time writing something involving music so please, don’t be too harsh. I appreciate the feedback! where could I do better? 

If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. Grammarly don’t fail me now 🙂 If you don't like nsfw content, please don't read it!

**This story is based on Camila Cabello's My Oh My (feat. DaBaby)

**lyrics are Italicized

"Viktor," you said, your voice filled with excitement as you turned to me, "my friend will be here any minute"

I forced a smile, trying to hide the concern that was creeping into the corners of my eyes. You, my sweet, naive biology professor, had no idea what you were asking. The Undercity was no place for someone as delicate as you. I knew it all too well, the dark alleys and the dangerous games people played there. But you were eager, and I didn't have the heart to say no. Instead, I nodded, my mind racing with the implications of your words.

I watched as you packed your bag with a carefree attitude, placing a small notebook and a pen at the top. The sight of the notebook, filled with the scribbled notes from our many discussions about the complexities of the living world, brought a warmth to my chest. It was a stark contrast to the cold, hard reality of the under city that awaited you.

The thought of you there, surrounded by the shadows and the unsavory characters, made my palms sweat. But I had to trust that the skills I'd taught you, the street smarts I'd hoped you'd never have to use, would keep you safe.

As you left with a wave and a cheerful "See you later," I couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. The under city was a labyrinth of secrets and danger, a place where the rules were different, and the stakes were higher. I knew the dangers that lurked beneath the gleaming towers of Piltover, the ones you'd never seen in your sheltered academic life.

But you had been born and raised in those very streets before moving up to the university with me. I had to trust that the strength of your spirit and the knowledge you'd gained from your past would guide you through this night.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, I was on the move. I couldn't let you go alone, not without knowing where you were, not without being there to protect you if needed. The Undercity was a part of my past I'd hoped you'd never have to face, but fate had other plans. I quickly donned my hooded jacket, the one that had seen countless battles and kept me hidden in the shadows. It was time to return to the streets that had shaped me.

On my way out, I spotted one of your friends, a young girl with a mischievous glint in her eye. The same one who came to me earlier in the week and explained that they were taking you, but no specifics as it hadn't been further discussed at the time.

She saw me and froze, clearly not expecting me to be there. I approached her, my tone calm but firm. "Where are you taking her?" I asked, not bothering to hide my concern. She bit her lip, looking away guiltily before finally confessing, "The Undercity. We thought it'd be fun, you know, an adventure."

Before I could say more, she blurted out, "Look, she's from there, right? She can handle it. She's fine, I promise" It was clear she'd heard the whispers, the stories of your origins. I nodded, trying to reassure her that I knew what I was doing. "Just tell me where," I said, my eyes never leaving hers. After a moment's hesitation, she revealed the location.

The dive bar was at the other end of the Undercity, tucked away in a corner that was not in the middle of chaos but certainly not known for its safety. The neon lights flickered, casting an eerie glow on the grimy streets. The air was thick with the scent of oil and metal, the distant echo of laughter, and the occasional shout piercing the night. The place was a relic of a time when the Undercity was still a secret, before it became the playground for the reckless and the forgotten.

As I approached, the sound of a live band playing a mournful tune grew louder. The bass resonated through the ground, a pulse that seemed to match the uneasy rhythm of my heart. The bar was called "The Hidden Circuit," a name that held a sinister allure. The metal door was rusted, the paint peeling away like layers of a forgotten history. I pushed it open, hoping the squeal of its hinges wouldn't announce my arrival.

The interior was a cacophony of sights and sounds, a stark contrast to the pristine halls of the university. The air was thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and the haze of cigarette smoke. Neon lights cast an eerie glow over the patrons, highlighting the grime and desperation that clung to the walls. In the corner of my eye, I spotted you, surrounded by a group of your friends.

I tucked myself into the shadows of a dimly lit booth, my eyes never leaving you. I scanned the room, assessing the threats. There was a table of rough-looking individuals playing cards, a couple arguing in a heated whisper, and a bartender who looked like he'd seen it all. You, on the other hand, were sipping a drink with a look of fascination, your eyes wide as they darted around the room, taking in everything.

After about an hour of laughter and conversation, your friends began to sing along to the songs the live band played. The music was a mix of old Piltoverian classics and Undercity party music, a strange blend that somehow worked in this chaotic place.

You leaned over to one of your friends, whispering something in their ear, your cheeks flushed with excitement and a hint of alcohol. The sight of you, lost in the moment, brought a smile to my face, but the knot in my stomach grew tighter. I knew the dangers that lurked here, and the drinks you were consuming could cloud your judgment, making you vulnerable.

As you nodded in agreement to whatever was said, I let out a sigh of relief, thinking maybe my fears were unfounded. Perhaps this was just an innocent night out, a chance for you to reconnect with your roots without the shadow of the academy looming over you. I settled back into the booth, my eyes never leaving you, but my tension slightly eased.

The tight-fitting dark skirt and the top that left little to the imagination had drawn the attention of more than just your friends. You looked stunning under the strobing lights, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin. It was a stark contrast to the lab coats and glasses you usually donned in the safety of the university. The sight of you, looking so alive and carefree, had sparked something in me, something I hadn't felt in a long time.

As you moved through the crowd, the fabric of your clothes dancing with every step, my mind couldn't help but wander to more intimate moments we've shared. The way your skin felt against mine, the warmth of your embrace. I felt a pang of desire, a reminder of the passion that had brought us together. The Undercity was a dangerous place, but at that moment, the most dangerous thing was the way you looked.

The sexual frustration was palpable in the air as I watched you move with a newfound confidence, the neon lights playing across your skin. The tight-fitting skirt you wore hugged your curves, and every step you took seemed to accentuate your allure. It was as if the Undercity had brought out a side of you that I hadn't seen before, a side that was wild and free, untamed by the rigors of academia. The way the fabric clung to your thighs, revealing the muscles that you had developed from walking around the academy's campus for years, made my heart race.

I had always found you attractive, with your sharp intellect and the way you'd bite your lip when you were concentrating on your work. But there was something about this version of you, the one who was letting loose in the place of my past, that made me want you more than ever.

I remembered the first time Professor Heimerdinger brought you to my lab, all those years ago. You were a young, eager student, with a passion for biology and chemistry. An enthusiasm for science that matched mine. I had hoped, then, that you would see me as more than just your mentor's partner.

We had spent countless hours together, working side by side, discussing theories and hypotheses until the early hours of the morning. During those times, I had stolen glances at you, watching the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your latest findings, the way your fingers danced over the pages of your notes with an unbridled passion.

In the safety of the lab, you were comfortable, a place where you could be yourself without the judgments of the outside world. And even though I was supposed to be your mentor, I found myself drawn to you in ways that went beyond professional interest.

The first time Professor Heimerdinger brought you to my lab, I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. You were so young, so full of potential. He had told me that you were his pupil, that he believed you could help us with our research. I had been skeptical at first, but the moment I saw the way you handled the equipment, the precision with which you moved, I knew he was right. Over time, we had become close, sharing laughs and late-night snacks as we worked into the early morning. But the desire I felt for you was something I had pushed aside, hidden behind a wall of friendship and respect.

Our friendship grew stronger as the years went by, and I found myself walking you to your own lab more often than not. We'd discuss our findings, share stories of our pasts, and I'd listen with rapt attention as you spoke little of your life before Piltover. Those moments, the casual touch of your hand on my arm, the way your hair fell over your face as you leaned in to examine a sample under the microscope, they were moments I cherished. I had hoped that one day, you might see me as more than just a mentor, a friend, someone who could share in your adventures and your passions.

But I had kept my feelings hidden, not wanting to risk the friendship we had built. I had watched you grow from a shy intern into a confident professor, your knowledge of biology and chemistry rivaling even my own. I was proud of you, but I also yearned for something more. Something that was more than just a shared love for science and late-night experiments.

As the night went on, you and your friends grew more daring, dancing closer to the edge of the dance floor. Your laughter was like a siren's call, drawing the gaze of many in the bar, including a few that made my hackles rise. But you remained oblivious, lost in the music and the joy of the moment. I watched from my vantage point, my eyes never leaving your side, as I had promised to keep you safe.

The beat grew louder, the lights flashing brighter, and the crowd grew denser. Your friends grabbed your arms and pulled you onto the dance floor, a swirl of limbs and energy that you willingly joined. You moved with an ease that belied your academic upbringing, your hips swaying to the rhythm as you allowed yourself to be drawn into the heart of the party. The tight shorts you wore hugged your curves with every step, revealing the muscles that I knew had been honed from years of carrying heavy textbooks and climbing the steep stairs of the university.

My heart thudded in my chest as I felt the bass of the music, the vibrations traveling through the floor and up into my very soul.

As I watched you dance, the way you moved with such grace and passion, my thoughts began to wander. Your hips swayed in time with the beat, and the way your body responded to the music was like nothing I'd ever seen from you before. It was mesmerizing. The tight skirt you wore had ridden up slightly, revealing the smooth skin of your lower back. I had to clench my fists to keep from reaching out and pulling you into me, taking you home from prying eyes from looking at what should be mine.

The people around you, their hands brushing against your waist, their bodies grinding against yours, it was all I could do to stay hidden in the shadows. A fierce possessiveness roared to life within me, a primal instinct that demanded I claim you as mine.

I knew it was irrational, that you were just having fun with your friends, but the sight of you in the midst of it all, looking so alive, so beautiful, made me feel like I was going to combust.

I watched as you danced with your friends and strangers, their hands dangerously close to you, their hips grinding in a way that made my blood boil. The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of desire, and the music pounded in my ears like the pulse of a predator on the hunt. The vivid images in my mind's eye grew more intense, our previous conversations about the mating rituals of various species seeming almost too close to home.

My thoughts turned to the nights spent together in my apartment, discussing theories and hypotheses until the early hours of the morning. The way you'd lean over the table, your breasts brushing against my arm, your breath hot on my neck as you explained your latest breakthrough. The way your eyes would light up when you talked about your work, the way your fingers would trace the curves of a petri dish as if it were my skin.

The chemistry between us had always been there, a constant undercurrent of desire that neither of us dared to acknowledge. But now, in the heart of the Undercity, it was like someone had turned up the heat.

I pictured you sitting on my lap, your legs wrapped around me, your back arched as you straddled me. Your sweet, shy demeanor was replaced by a bratty pout, challenging me to tame you. I'd love to see that side of you, the one that craved the thrill of the chase, the one that would make me work for every kiss, every touch.

I wanted to feel your heat, to taste the sweetness of your lips, to hear the breathy moans that I knew you were capable of. The very thought of it made my pulse race, my body responding in ways it hadn't in years.

The tight skirt you were wearing left little to the imagination, and I couldn't help but wonder what you'd look like beneath them. The way your thighs would feel, wrapped around my waist as I took you, the sound of your gasp as I claimed you, the way your nails would dig into my shoulders as you lost yourself in passion. It was a fantasy that had haunted me for years, and now, as I watched you, it was all I could think about.

In my mind, you were no longer the confident professor, but a submissive wet mess, begging for my touch. You'd be sprawled out on my bed, your hair a wild mess around your flushed face. Your legs would be open, inviting me in, begging for me to explore every inch of you. I'd start slow, my fingers tracing the delicate line of your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. You'd shiver at my touch, your body responding to my every move.

My thumb would brush against your nipple, hard and eager, and I'd watch as your eyes rolled back in your head. You'd be wet, so wet for me, your arousal slick on your inner thighs. I'd lean down and taste you, my tongue tracing your folds, delving into your warmth as you moaned my name. You'd be so responsive, your body arching off the bed as I pleasured you, my other hand tangling in your hair, holding you in place.

And when I finally entered you, it would be with a fierce growl, my need for you consuming me. You'd be tight, so tight around me, and the feeling would be exquisite. I'd drive into you, hard and deep, claiming you as mine, making you scream in pleasure. Your nails would dig into my back, your legs wrapped around me, holding on as if your life depended on it. We'd move together, our bodies in perfect sync.

But it was just a fantasy. A dangerous one, perhaps, but a fantasy nonetheless. You were still you, a strong and independent woman who had built a life for herself in the gleaming spires of Piltover. I knew that the under city was a part of you, but it wasn't all of you. And as much as I wanted to claim you, to own every inch of your being, I knew that wasn't what you wanted from me.

Suddenly, a taller man approached you and your friends, his voice loud enough to carry over the music. He was handsome, with a smile that could charm the pants off a statue, and as he talked, your smile grew wider. The sight of him touching your arm, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, was like a punch to the gut.

Jealousy, hot and bitter, flooded my veins. He didn't know you, not the way I did. He didn't know about the nights you'd spent in the lab, the way you'd bite your lip when you were worried about an experiment.

But you were laughing now, nodding along to whatever he was saying, and a part of me felt like I was watching someone else. The way your eyes sparkled, the way your smile grew, it was as if you were a different person in this Undercity playground. And as much as I didn't want to admit it, the sight of you with him was a punch in the gut. Jealousy, raw and unbridled, coursed through my veins.

The music changed abruptly, the bubbly notes giving way to a sharp, almost predatory melody. The singer's laugh, a sound I'd never heard before, echoed through the bar, and your eyes lit up. You turned to the man, a mischievous glint in your eye, and playfully smacked his arm. It was clear you knew this song, a shared memory that didn't include me. My heart sank as I realized you had a past here, one that I had never been a part of.

They say he likes a good time…

The stranger's hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer to him, but not too close. He did know you. As he began to move with you, your body seemed to respond almost instinctively to the rhythm of his movements.

He comes alive at midnight…

Viktor's eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold. You, the shy biology professor, were now a siren in the Undercity's den of iniquity, and this man was your dance partner. The jealousy was a living thing inside him, writhing and pulsing with every beat of the music.

You were lost in the moment, your eyes sparkling with a mischief that was both thrilling and terrifying to behold. Your mouth moved with the words of the song, a smirk playing on your lips as you sang along.

My mama doesn't trust him…

As the music continued, your friends grabbed you, spinning you around, as the stranger's hands remained firmly on your hips. You were the center of the dance floor, your best friend whispering in your ear, her eyes shining with mischief. The same friend who told me where you would be, allowing me to protect you if needed.

The lyrics grew bolder, and you sang along with them, your voice clear and unapologetic.

He's only here for one thing, but so am I…

You sang, your eyes locked onto mine from across the crowded room, smiling? No. Smirking. It was as if you were speaking directly to me, telling me something I hadn't quite grasped before. Was it a challenge or an invitation? The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I realized you were more in tune with this world than I had ever given you credit for.

The beat dropped, and the dance floor grew wilder. Your body moved with an instinctual grace that seemed to be at odds with the woman I knew in the lab, the one who would trip over her own feet if she weren't concentrating on the task at hand. Yet, here you were, a creature of the night, belonging to the Undercity in a way I never could have imagined.

A little bit older, a black leather jacket, a bad reputation, insatiable habits…

The stranger let go of you, allowing you to dance freely with your friends, your movements fluid and uninhibited. I had to fight the instinct to march over and drag you away from the dance floor, to claim you as my own. But I knew that wouldn't be fair to you, not here, not like this. You had come here to explore, to experience your past, and I had promised to support you, even if it meant watching you flirt with danger.

The music grew louder, the bass vibrating through my very bones. I clenched my fists, the possessiveness I felt earlier growing into something more primal. You had always been mine, in the way that a mentor can claim a student, in the way a partner can claim a lover. But watching you here, in this place, it was as if I had never truly seen you before. You were a creature of the Undercity, wild and free, and the thought of someone else laying a hand on you made me want to tear the very walls down.

He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe…

Viktor watched with a mix of fascination and envy as you grabbed your best friend and pulled her body close to yours. The way your hips moved together, the heat of your bodies melding in the frenetic dance, was a sight to behold. It was a dance of friendship, of shared secrets and hidden desires. For a moment, the entire bar seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you, your movements a silent conversation that spoke of a bond that was both fierce and alluring.

I said if you kiss me, I might make it happen…

My gaze lingered on your shirt clinging to your damp skin, revealing the outline of your dark red bra that peeked through, the fabric straining against you. The sight was intoxicating, a potent reminder of the attraction I had kept hidden for so long. The Undercity had peeled away your layers of shyness and restraint, and you were like a flame in the darkness, drawing everyone closer to your warmth.

I swear on my life that I've been a good girl, tonight I don't wanna be hurt…

With those words, you grabbed your friend's hips and pulled her in close before dropping down low and popping back up with the beat of the bass. The room seemed to stop as the lyrics sunk in, and I realized that this was your way of flirting, of teasing, and suddenly the dance floor was too small. Too many eyes were on you, and it took every ounce of self-control not to stride over and steal you.

In such an erotic fashion with your friends' hands on you was almost too much for me to handle. I felt a surge of lust so intense it was painful. The thought of you, my sweet, reserved professor, acting so brazenly was like a drug.

I imagined my hands replacing theirs, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against mine. The possessiveness grew, my mind demanding to be sated. I wanted you to be a whore for me, only for me, to show me the wildness I knew you had buried deep inside.

They say he likes a good time…

Viktor felt like time had stopped as he watched you sing those words directly to him. Your gaze was unwavering, a silent challenge that sent his thoughts spiraling. The smirk on your lips was deliberate, a knowing look that told him you were fully aware of the game you were playing.

At that moment, he realized that this was not just a night out with friends, but a test of his resolve. You had chosen this place, this moment, to reveal a part of yourself to him that was as much a part of the Undercity as the very streets outside.

He comes alive at midnight,…

You were a siren, a creature of the night, and the realization was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Everything in his brain demanded he claim you, show everyone that you were his. But the professor in him, the mentor, the friend, was paralyzed by the weight of your gaze.

My mama doesn't trust him…

I found myself questioning how long you've felt this way, if the desire had been simmering beneath the surface of our academic conversations. Had I missed the signs? Or had you kept this side of you hidden, waiting for the right moment to reveal it? The way your body moved, the confidence in your stride, it was as if you had been waiting for this moment to shed the confines of our professional relationship.

He's only here for one thing, but so am I…

The memories of our past grew brighter in my mind. The countless hours we spent in the lab, the accidental brushes of your hand against mine as we both reached for a sample, the way you'd lean into peer at my notes, your breath hot on my neck. How had I not seen it before? The desire, the tension that had been building between us for years, simmering just beneath the surface of our friendship.

The song played on, nothing more than bass and beats as the last lyrics rang. I found myself wondering if you had ever thought of me in the same way. Had you ever imagined yourself on your knees before me, begging for my touch, my possession? The thought was intoxicating, a heady mix of lust and power.

Do you think of it? In my lab, a stark contrast between your damp, sweaty skin and the cold, gleaming steel surfaces. Panting, your cheeks flushed, as I whispered sweet nothings into your ear, my breath hot and heavy with need. You'd be bound, unable to resist my every whim as I explored your body, claiming you as my own personal experiment.

My thoughts grew darker, my eyes never leaving your body as it moved in a symphony of sin and temptation. The way your breasts bounced with each beat of the music, the way your skirt rode up your thighs as you danced. The crowd around you was a blur, their faces fading into the shadows as all I could focus on was the seductive dance you performed for me.

But the spell was abruptly broken by the firm grip of Jayce's hand on my shoulder.

"Viktor," he shouted over the music, "why are you here?" His voice cut through the haze of desire, bringing me back to reality. I turned to face him, my eyes adjusting to the strobe lights that painted him in a harsh, alternating light.

You and your friends had moved to the side of the dance floor, your laughter a siren's call through the chaos. Jayce looked at me with a mix of confusion and concern. "Y/n’s friend, she said you guys would need a ride back to the city," he said, gesturing to the group.

I nodded, the reality of the situation crashing down on me like a cold shower. "Ah, yes," I managed, my voice gruff with the effort of keeping the possessiveness at bay. "Thank you for coming."

"It's no problem," he said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to me. "But why are you here, Viktor?"

The question was a sobering one, pulling me from the dark fantasy I'd allowed myself to sink into. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumultuous emotions raging within me. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay," I finally admitted, my voice a low growl.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, his eyes searching mine for the truth behind the words. "You followed her?"

"Yes," I admitted, not bothering to hide the possessive edge in my voice. "I needed to make sure she was safe."

Jayce's smile grew into a knowing smirk as he leaned closer, the music pounding around us.

"Looks like she's having the time of her life, doesn't she?" His eyes flicked towards you, and for a moment, I could see the same hunger reflected in his gaze that I felt burning in my chest. "If you're not going to make a move, Viktor, I might just have to."

His words hit me like a slap in the face, jolting me back to reality. The thought of anyone else touching you, claiming you, was unbearable. But Jayce's smug smile was a reminder that I wasn't the only one who noticed the change in you tonight. The tension in the air grew thick, the music a distant backdrop to the silent challenge between us.

"Back off, Jayce,"

The words left my mouth before I could even think, a low, menacing growl that seemed to echo through the bar. His smirk only widened.

"Joking," Jayce said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But seriously, you need to talk to her."

I nodded, my gaze never leaving yours. You had noticed our exchange, the sudden tension in the air, and the way your eyes searched my face made my heart pound in my chest. There was a question there, one that I hadn't been prepared to answer. Not yet. But as you started to make your way over, my resolve grew stronger.

When you reached us, your friends following curiously behind, Jayce leaned in and whispered something into your ear. You threw your head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the bar like a bell, and I felt a strange mix of irritation and relief.

You didn't know what was happening here, the silent dance of possession that had unfolded between us. But as your laughter died down and you looked at me with those piercing eyes, I knew the moment of truth was upon us.

"Viktor, what's going on?" you asked, your voice a sweet symphony in the chaos.

Jayce's words lingered in the air, a playful jab that hit a nerve I didn't even know I had. You looked at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement, the pulse in your neck betraying the excitement that was building within you.

"I came with Jayce," I said, my voice steady despite the tumult in my chest. "He told me you might need a ride home, and I… I wanted to make sure you were safe."

Your smile grew, a knowing glint in your eye. "Thanks, Viktor," you said, your voice a sweet caress. "But I'm an old pro at this, remember?"

You turned away from me, heading back to the dance floor, and my gaze followed you like a magnet. As you approached the stranger, he wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace. I felt a twinge of something unpleasant, a feeling I didn't quite understand. As you talked, I watched the way your body moved, the way your smile lit up the room. You were in your element here, and it was as if I was seeing you for the first time.

You whispered something into the man's ear, and he threw his head back, laughing heartily. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an undeniably commanding presence. But as he looked at you, there was something else there, something familiar. My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of your past here in the Undercity.

As you stepped away from him, you turned walking back to me, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Viktor, that’s my friend, Leo," you announced, your voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. "He's the owner of this place. I used to work here, back before I went to Piltover."

As you spoke, I felt a strange mix of relief and trepidation. The tension between us was palpable, and the air charged with an energy that was both electrifying and unsettling. You leaned closer, your voice a siren's whisper over the din of the bar. "Leo said I could bring anyone here," you shouted, your eyes sparkling with a hint of challenge. I'm so glad you came."

You grabbed my hand before pulling me along with your group of friends as you started to leave. The trip back to the academy seemed to pass in a blur, the cobblestone streets of the Undercity a stark contrast to the gleaming spires of our academic sanctuary. The warmth of your hand in mine was a lifeline, a connection to the reality of the world outside this bar, and I held onto it tightly, my thoughts spiraling out of control.

As we approached the grand archway that marked the entrance to the academy, you leaned into me, the alcohol in your system making your movements a little sloppier than usual.

"V," you spoke over the noise of the city, "walk me back to my room?"

The request was simple, but the implications were vast. At that moment, I knew that the lines of our friendship were about to be redrawn. I nodded, my heart racing, and as the group split off, Jayce and your best friend exchanged knowing smiles, the kind that said they'd been waiting for this moment for a long time...

Part 2?

[sebadztian]

So, I saw a couple of posts about a topic that's so common in Kuro, it's starting to get old: How antis despise Sbcl (and its shippers) and what's wrong with this pairing (and Yana too somehow??).

Those who've been following me for a while know that I kind of ship Sebaciel. I might even have written a fanfic or two about them.

In most of my works, they're often decipted as this lovey-dovey romantic couple who are so attached to each other. They're this 'perfect' couple that everyone envied because they're just so sweet. A lovely story about a boy and his domesticated demon butler-slash-boyfriend.

But here's the thing...

If they started to hug and kiss and says 'I love you's in the manga, I'm probably going to drop it real quick. Why? Because that's not what Kuro is about.

Kuro is a dark story about a boy who has lost everything, who has had his world taken away from him and the length that he's willing to go to achieve his goals.

It's a story about humanity and its ugliness, about what being human is like, about how manipulative, greedy, deceiving, revolting, and ignorant humans could be. But at the same time, it also talks about humanity's strength, resilience, empathy, and forgiving nature.

Even the way 'love' is decipted in the story is not the kind of 'love' that would make you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

In the Kuroverse, the word 'love' has different meanings for different characters.

For Lizzy, love means being Ciel's 'perfect' wife, even if she has to sacrifice a part of herself.

For Madam Red, she had loved - and lost - two of the most important people in her life and her conflicted feelings were what led her down that path.

For Sieglinde's mother, her love for her country and her husband has pushed her to sacrifice her own daughter.

For Agni, his love and devotion to Soma has led him to a path of redemption and in the end, it has cost him his own life.

For Joker and the rest of the circus troupe, they love each other so much, they chose to turn a blind eye towards the error of their way, choosing to sacrifice their own humanity for each other's sake.

And for our Ciel, he loved his brother so much that he chose to 'kill' himself to keep his brother 'alive'. (Of course there's also the whole thing about the low self-esteem stuff, but we're not going to talk about that here).

And for Sebastian, well, love means cats. He's simple like that.

So, if you're here screamig at us Sebaciel shippers about a pedo demon, about how Ciel & Sebas hate each other, about how wrong it is to ship them, and how Yana has never meant for them to be a couple...

My friend, you're wasting your time, breath, and energy because WE KNOW.

We know Kuro is not about some romantic couple who lived in a nice neighbourhood and they're friends with their neighbours whom they say 'Good morning' to whenever they leave the house in the morning.

We know that Kuro is not a story about love and romance and all things awesome. In fact, Kuro is very, very ugly. And yet, it's exactly why it's also so fascinating and beautiful.

This is a story where the protagonist is a demon who sees humans as grasshoppers. But at the same time, he also finds them fascinating. It's like this whole Kuroverse is Sebastian's own personal research lab and the other characters are his lab rats, with Ciel being his favourite hamster.

If you're looking for sweet romance, you're not going to find it in Kuro. That's what fanfics and AUs and all those headcanons are for.

And if you still don't get it... Well, then you probably should read something more lighthearted...

[pynkhues]

I keep seeing posts about Louis being a very incurious person/vampire and I wanted to know if you agreed on that but more so where that comes from? Is it a that’s none of my business thing or a I really don’t care thing. Maybe it’s something else entirely. I feel like there’s a touch of Gabrielle in that… am I reaching?

Oh, I really disagree that Gabrielle's incurious, anon. I think she's one of the most curious vampires in the series, and if anything, I'd say that I personally feel the show's made Claudia a more curious vampire and a natural explorer to parallel her to Gabrielle, not Louis.

As for Louis being incurious - - I've seen a lot of those posts too (some of them are really funny!), and I think they're kind of true, but also not really? I think Louis' incredibly intelligent, and I think he actually has a pretty insatiable curiosity in certain respects. He reads a lot, and he reads broadly - from Charles Darwin to Edward Carpenter to Gustave Flaubert, Colette to - as eagle eyed fans noticed in the BTS shots - Simone de Beauvoir, and has obviously a specific interest in art, and I don't think you read that widely or engage with art that deeply if you're not a fundamentally curious person.

I think from a fandom standpoint that the theory comes from Louis never sharing Claudia's hunger to know about the vampire world, and his resistance to learning more about them in Europe, as well as Louis seeming to not have asked Lestat all that much (which I actually disagree with - he clearly asks Lestat a lot of questions throughout 1.02, and both scenes where Claudia asks Lestat who turned him I think imply that Louis had asked and been similarly shut down before) - but I don't know if I'd necessarily describe that as a lack of curiosity so much as a symptom of Louis' initial denial of his vampirism, and then his rejection of vampire society.

Louis doesn't see himself in other vampires. He denies his vampiric needs in Rue Royale, pretty clearly has an issue with the fact that Claudia takes after Lestat when it comes to both her efficacy as a hunter, and her embrace of her vampirism. He certainly doesn't identify with the 'Catfish-with-Teeth' that they find in Romania, and he pretty much hates the Coven, from the work they do, to the way they hunt, to the individuals within it. I think he feels detached / alienated from vampire society, and by the end of s2, I think he likes it that way. I talked about it a bit in my Byronic Hero post, but it's very common with this sort of character archetype to live either in exile, or in a self-exile, and Louis' both - he's cut out from the human society he wants to be a part of in New Orleans, and he chooses to remove himself from vampiric society in Paris.

And to me, that's what sits at the root of Louis' curiosity.

I think that he has an enormous amount of curiosity around the human society that cut him out - again, he's reading Darwin, Carpenter, de Beauvoir, he enjoys the human opera with Lestat, is following people around Paris trying to photograph them, engaging deeply with human art, taking fascinating human boys to fuck and eat in San Francisco - and a fundamental lack of curiosity in vampire society - he never really follows up with Lestat about vampires, is disinterested in Claudia's research, tries to pull the pin on their trip, doesn't want to engage with the Coven, hates the vampiric theatre, hates his own photographs of the vampires, finds Armand boring! The world's softest, beigest pillow!

Louis' fascinated by humanity and bored by vampires, and I do think that's partially a reflection of how Louis' internalised his' feelings about being rejected by one, and rejecting the other, just like I think his capitalist climb has been about gaining social power in a society that tried to disempower him. So yeah! I think he's curious, he just doesn't care about vampires, haha.