#i really want to do a study of the second sphere

[3-inch-sam]

i get it now

[riiviir]

hey guys so I just started reading Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott and OMG AHSBNSBSBSNSNBSHZHSHDBFHGGHFHGRJ2KSHSBSNSK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THE RELATIVITY BETWEEN DIMENSIONS!!!!!!

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

i made conversation with someone i think is very cool and i do think it was pleasant both directions and also got home before sunri--ahem, sunset, i wouldn't even consider sunrise obviously, trust, and just like. yeah. fuck yeah

[pockystickupyour]

unfiltered, 18+

nerd!armin x reader, modern college au!

part 1 part 2 inspired by current fanart circulating on tt (yes he has a tongue piercing).

Warnings: Semi-public sex, vaginal sex, f!receiving oral, slight praise kink, switch (soft dom leaning) Armin, fingering, dry humping, breeding kink if you squint, biting, multiple orgasms

—————————————————————————

“Fancy seeing you here,” 

“In the college library by the manga section?” 

You hung your bag on the side of the nearest chair and took a seat. It was high time you sat down to study, actually study. Without mindlessy scrolling every 5 minutes, or turning a study session into an excuse to buy yourself a sweet treat. 

“In the college library on a Friday night. Isn’t there some party that Mikasa and Eren want to drag you out to tonight?”

Armin was splayed out on a yellow bean bag, computer in his lap with a wired earbud in, and a few piles of books on the floor beside him. If it wasn’t for his frantic typing, you’d assume that he was playing some game.

The crisp sound from his keyboard typing continued as he said, “Last time I didn’t really have anywhere else to go since it quite literally was at my house and this place was closed.”

He did pick a good place for peace and quiet. It was closed off enough to block out other people’s murmuring, but not to the point of accidentally being locked in overnight by the librarian.

”Well, I didn’t come to disturb or distract you. I have some catching up to do.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your course literature, way heavier than you remembered, as well as your laptop. 

“I don’t mind,” He said, not bothering to look up from his lap. ”Let me know if you need help with anything.”

His last comment brought you the comfort needed to clear up the momentary uncertainty that had started growing in your chest.

Whenever you sat down with genuine intention to study, it was relatively easy. You struggled with getting into the material, skimming your eyes over stacks, charts and graphs. Though once you were into it, it stuck. Glued to the forefront of your mind which was very much needed since you hadn’t been able to think of anything except how Armin looked under you, or the feeling of his piercing against your skin. 

Moments when you felt incredibly immersed in whatever economic blabber you jotted down, were easily interrupted by thoughts of him anytime he cleared his throat, hinting at the sound of his whimpers, or whenever he laughed and you caught a glimpse of the smooth silver sphere dancing in his mouth from your peripheral.

Of course, Armin appeared unaffected by your presence. He had both earbuds in and didn’t look up at you once or offer any of his candy. 

Despite not liking them because you felt like they could break your teeth, you’d accept any invitation to talk to him.

Your eyes fleeted between him and the stuff in front of you as you tried to come up with something to say. 

Reaching into your bag confirmed your suspicion, giving you incentive to ask, “Hey, you don't happen to have something to drink?”

”Sorry, did you need help?” He removed his earphones completely and half closed his computer. 

You waved your hand dismissively, slightly flustered by his sudden attention. “No, I forgot my water bottle and I was wondering if you had something to drink.” 

“Oh,” He pulled his bookbag into his lap and rummaged through it for a few seconds before pulling out a Gatorade and a half empty bottle of water. “I usually keep energy drinks for Eren but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I opened the water already.”

”It’s fine, I’m not really an energy-drink person,”  He got off the bean bag to hand you your drink of choice, untwisting the cap for you as he approached. 

You took a swig, pretending it had something in it that would ease off the tension in your body. Armin looked at you intently, surprise colouring his face while the mark on his button nose grew pinker. “What?”

”I was expecting you to hover it over your mouth or at least clean the top first,” 

“Why? I thought it was yours,” your brows furrowed in thought as you wondered if you’d interpreted him wrong. 

“It is, I drank half of it.” After holding your eyes he diverted his attention to your notes and laptop.

Clearly he saw something that piqued his interest as he moved behind you to oversee all material. “Is this econ?” 

“Unfortunately,” You placed the bottle down a little past the edge of the table before continuing, “I’m taking it for extra credit.”

“Eren did too. Somehow I ended up doing all of his assignments,” He noticed the video explanation paused on your screen. ”Hey, is that Mr Smith?”

“Sure is,” He moved his hand to click your mousepad but instead managed to knock the bottle over. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to do that, wait, I’ll help you clean it up I’ve got tissues with me.” 

“It’s okay I promise,” To your luck, only a small amount of water made it out of the bottle since most of it had been emptied, however it was enough to coat your course literature book and leave wet patches on your clothes. 

Once Armin came back with the napkins he handed you half of them to dry yourself. “I think there’s a section over there with course literature like this one if I remember correctly. We can go and check, hopefully no one’s borrowed it yet,” 

He pointed to the left corner behind your table suggestively. From what you could see, he avoided looking at you as much as possible and made sure to walk ahead when he led you to the new section. 

“It should be here somewhere,” He adjusted his frames and scrunched his face as he tried to read the different labels on the shelves. 

“I thought we established that your glasses are fake,” you teased, waiting for that side of Armin to come out. 

“No, you established that.” He held a serious look while he kept searching, his hair occasionally getting in the way. “I’m far-sighted,” 

“Spend too much time looking at the screen instead of going outside?” 

“Spend too much time talking instead of looking for your book?” There it was. The Armin most people didn’t get to see was out of hiding. ”Looking at screen causes near-sightedness anyway,” 

You would’ve thought of a comeback had your eyes not landed on just what you were looking for. “I think I found it,” 

Armin walked over to you, double checking the cover as if he didn’t trust your word. You bent down to take it out right as Armin said, “Wait no I think it’s this one,” 

He tried to collect a book above and you grazed his front with your backside as you came back up. “Uh, here.” 

“Oh you were right. Thanks,” 

You didn’t say much else afterwards, the library was closing soon anyway and as much as you wanted to recreate what had happened at the party, Armin seemed too embarrassed to even make small talk. 

On the bright side it helped you finish up taking notes quicker and all that was left was to go over the material one last time and possibly watch one last explanation video. 

“What are you even doing over there?” He hadn’t bothered to put his earbuds in this time. 

“Reading manga.” 

“You’re reading manga on your computer while having the actual mangas next to you?” You asked, hopeful that it would keep the conversation going. 

“I like comparing online prints with physical copies. Sometimes they have different translations. These are perfect examples, wanna see?”

You made your way over to the red bean bag next to him, he dragged it closer before you sat down then picked up a volume from his pile. “Ever heard of Death Note?” 

“I know a thing or two,” You familiarised yourself with your new seat, wriggling around until you sat comfortably enough. 

Armin opened a new tab in a sea of old ones on his computer, quickly searching up a jumble of words that took you to images similar to the pages in front of you. Although the art was identical you did notice a difference in what was written in the speech bubbles. 

“There’s more, come I’ll show you,” 

The manga section of the library was more stacked than you thought. You wondered if they came in upon request by students like Armin.

He ran his slender fingers along the spine of different sets as he provided trivia on each of them. It all fell on deaf ears as you could only focus on how good those very same fingers felt inside of you. 

”Do you consider yourself a weeb?”

In an effort to pull your head out of the gutter you tried averting your stare elsewhere and attempted to study whatever series he was talking about.

”I prefer the term Otaku,” He spoke under his breath. 

“I hope you don’t go around telling people that…” At the bottom shelf you saw the manga version of your favourite anime. Kneeling down to get a better look you pulled it out to show Armin. “Wait, I didn't know they had this here!” 

When you gazed up at him he was looking away again, “Hey why do you keep acting weird? Is it because of what happened last time?” You got up so you could speak to him face to face, though he still managed to be above your eye level. 

“No,” the silence was deafening and it was obvious that you were the only ones left. 

”Armin.”

”Okay yes, but not in the way you think.” His ears burned the same way as when you’d noticed his tongue piercing for the first time. “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. And then you came in wearing this,” 

He looked down at your cut out top, still having yet to fully dry, and your skirt that was just short enough to tease slivers of skin. “Which was fine until I could see the bra you’re wearing underneath,” 

You looked down at your shirt and noticed that the lace print was showing more than you thought. “I didn’t mean to look. But when you used my bottle like that right before bending over in front of me, as you did just now, I didn’t know how to react.”  

He stared into your eyes for a moment, like he was calculating something in his head simply by looking at you, then started to laugh. “Were you messing with me? Did you do all of that on purpose?”

”Huh?” Your confused look only appeared to amuse him more.

”Were you hoping that I would do this?” He placed a hand where your neck branched out into your shoulder while the other made home above your hip.

“Were you hoping I’d say,” Instead of pulling you closer, he took a step towards you, keeping you steady in his hold.

He hovered above your shoulder, fanning the exposed skin of your back as he spoke into the shell of your ear, tickling it with his piercing. “Please touch me.” 

He pulled himself off and looked at you with a sort of pleading in his eyes, puppy like and nearly causing your heart to burst as he anticipated your answer. “I’ll stop if you don’t tell me to keep going.”

You pulled him back in so that he hovered over your mouth. His eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, once slipping so far down that he possibly caught a glimpse of your cleavage, then asked “Can I kiss you?”

“Been waiting for you to ask,” the words almost didn’t have a chance to fully escape before he closed the gap between you. 

There was a certain urgency, yearning, in the way his lips moved and pulled at your own as he pushed your back against the shelves. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip and you felt the cold metal swipe across the top. 

You placed your hands around his neck while one of his slithered its way up your top, running a warm hand across your stomach and chest.     

“Have you thought about me?” He slipped in between pants and candy-flavoured kisses, and you wondered if they were enough of an answer. “I’ve thought about you,” 

The hand above your hip trailed down between your legs and ran fingers softly up and down the plush of your thighs. “About touching you,”

His lips explored the side of your mouth and the edges of your jaw on their way to your throat. You could barely hold on to him as his one hand unclasped your bra while the other rubbed at your underwear.

”About feeling you, so tight around me I could just—“ 

The graze of your fingers caused him to whimper under his breath. Your hands went down his torso and stopped at his pants. He was already hard, making you want to unzip his pants even quicker. 

You tried to bite back your own moans and helped Armin remove your bra by tossing it on the floor beside you. “Armin, please I need you.”

You didn’t know exactly what you were pleading for, but once you’d shimmied out of your underwear, he took ahold of your leg and hooked his arm around it to lift it up. 

So eager and desperate to feel you he rubbed himself against you without having taken off his boxers, and despite his shallow thrusts, the friction was enough to stimulate you. “I swear I could come just like this,” 

You moved your hips in rhythm with his and tried your very best to be quiet, though the sound of the shelf moving was louder than any of you. “Help me take this off” 

A free hand and lifted your shirt up as you raised your hands in the air, gripping the wooden display behind you once it was off. “Shit, you feel so good and I’m not even inside yet,” 

He unhooked your leg and spun you around so that he could hit you from the back, this time without a clothing barrier as he bunched up your skirt. He pushed himself in slow and waited for you to bottom out before thrusting.

He held a hand on your chest, pinching and playing with your sensitive spots as he breathed against your neck. “You don’t mind if I go a little rougher right?” The sweetness in his tone would allow him to do whatever he wanted, be it your call. 

You could barely speak, shaking your head as permission was your only option. His grip on you was only getting tighter, much like your hold on him as he went back in after pulling out. He picked up the pace and your legs started to feel like they couldn’t hold you up much longer. 

Moans and groans morphed into one and it was harder to distinguish between the sounds both of you were making. “I’m gonna need you to be more quiet, okay? I’ll reward you real good for it,”

You nodded and felt his hand cover your mouth with his increasing strokes. He held himself close to the crook of your neck and used your shoulder to bite back sounds of his own. His piercing trailed along and sometimes rested coolly against your skin as his teeth sunk into it.

“Are you getting tired? Turn around for me,” You did as he said and he took each of your legs, one at a time, and wrapped them around his waist. 

“Is that alright? You’re gonna feel it in your stomach,” 

At first it was a little sloppy, but once you figured out a good position, he was back to doing most of the work. Like he’d predicted, you did feel it in your stomach, feel him, big and full. 

You grasped onto him as steadily as you could, while interlocking his lips with yours. Almost as if there was a magnetic pull between them. 

“Armin it feels so good I’m close,” you appreciated that he didn’t change his pace, only kept kissing you as deep as he could.

He playfully bit your lip as he ran a hand along the curvature of your back. You only had to move your hips once to get pushed over the edge. 

“My turn?” Armin’s glasses had begun to fog up, and the droplets on his forehead matched the flush of his chest. Once you’d finished riding out your high, he picked up the pace and thrusted into you in a manner that could grant you another. 

“Want me to fill you up or should I be nice and pull out?” 

Before you could respond he pulled out and this time got equal amounts of fluids on himself and you. It was impossible to deny how the tiny show of his abs looked good, flexed and veins flowing. 

“I can barely see right now,” he rubbed the cotton fabric of his t-shirt against his glasses, pulling them up towards the dim library light to identify any persisting streaks of dirt particles. 

”Nothing new,” 

“You won’t see anything but  stars once I’m done with you,” He said and readied himself to get down on his knees. “Just a little reward,”

He propped your leg over his shoulder and pushed up your skirt. “Can I?”

You nodded your head reluctantly but guided him with a hand tangled in his hair closer towards your center.

He kissed his way forward, pressing fluttery butterfly kisses against the heat of your skin. Before he could start you took a hold of his jaw, pulling his kiss swollen lip down, and admired the sight below you. 

“You’re so handsome and pretty at the same time,” 

The blush on his cheeks was made less visible as the library lights started going out, but you didn’t miss the smile forming on his lips as he placed a hand atop of yours. He gave you another peck, then his warm mouth save the metal ball, worked their way with you. 

Having been close only a few minutes prior, the curl of one finger was enough to have you about to coat the entirety of Armin’s face. “Armin, I'm close again!”

Maybe he didn’t hear, or he was too deep in it to stop, but the euphoric feeling building up at your core was reaching another high. His own moans sent vibrations through you which only helped. 

“Armin I’m—“ 

He removed his face but kept his fingers in, watching you ride them to come down. Feeling accomplished to say the least. “Was that a good reward?”

”The best.” You struggled out. 

“If you really wanna talk about the best, that manga behind you is literal peak!” The last light went out and it dawned on you that you’d overstayed your library welcome. Only a small desk light was lit in one of the privacy rooms in the corner. 

“Are we locked in here now?” Waves of pleasure suddenly turned into nerves of anxiety.

”Nah, sometimes I fill-in here as a part time job so my ID can open and close the entire library. Plus, I have an extra key.”

An exhale of pure relief was your body’s first response, your thoughts took a more curious route. “Does that mean that we have the whole place to ourselves?”

”Pretty much. Wanna go for round two?” 

[bl00dyfaiiry]

Yandere Circus clown x F!reader

Tags: HEAVY non con, abduction, obsession, Reader is 18+, begging, fingering, isolating, clowns, violence, toxic behavior, hide n seek.

People have fears. Heights, spiders, worms—you name it, sometimes I'm wondering if I'm really that childish to be scared at literally a person with costume and makeup, but whenever I hear those giggling, honking and those clowny noise, I can't help but feel shiver in my spine and that paranoia eating me like a quick sand.

It's a sunny day outside, my family decided to go to the new circus that just opened in our town. My family knows it—that ever since I'm a child I have that constant fear of clowns yet they ignored my protest about not wanting to go, too eager to help me fight my fears.

The tent is a bright red color, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafting through the air, mixing with the distant sounds of carnival music and the occasional roar of a wild animal. My heart is racing as we walk through the crowd, the anticipation of the horrors that may await me behind every corner is almost unbearable.

The moment we enter the circus, a clown named Sphere approaches us with a smile so wide and eyes so bright that it seems like a mask painted on his face. His hair is a wild mess of colors, and his outfit is a patchwork of patterns that make me feel dizzy just looking at it. He extends a hand with a balloon in it, "Welcome to the show!" he says, his voice a forced cheerfulness that makes my skin crawl.

My family exchanges glances, but then my little brother, Timmy, runs over to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I have a balloon?" he asks, and Sphere laughs, a sound that is both jovial and eerie. He ties the balloon around Timmy's wrist, the plastic stretching and creaking. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I watch them interact.

As we walk deeper into the circus, the lights dim and the music gets louder, the smells becoming a cacophony of animal scents, grease, and the faint metallic tang of fear. The clowns perform their acts with a disturbing level of precision, their smiles never wavering as they juggle, tumble, and ride bicycles. I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to avoid any accidental contact with their piercing gazes.

But no matter where I look, Sphere seems to be there. His eyes are always on me, tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my palms sweat. He laughs a little too loudly at his own jokes, his teeth sharp and unnaturally white against the stark red of his mouth. I feel his stare like a physical weight, and I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me, studying me.

During the intermission, I manage to slip away from my family to the bathroom, desperately needing a moment of solace. As I wash my hands, the water cold against my skin, I hear the telltale sound of a balloon squeaking against the floor. I turn to see Sphere leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his smile still plastered on his face. "You seem to be enjoying the show," he says, his voice a whisper that sends chills down my spine.

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's... interesting," I reply, hoping he doesn't notice the tremble in my voice. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, the cheerful mask slips, revealing something darker beneath.

"Just interesting?" he asks, taking a step closer. The way he says it is almost a challenge, and I can see the glimmer of something sinister in his gaze. I take a step back, my hand reaching for the bathroom door handle. "I would have thought you'd enjoy it more, Y/N."

My heart skips a beat at the sound of my name on his lips. "How do you know my name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughs, a sound that's more of a chilling cackle than a cheerful giggle. "Oh, I know all about you," he says, leaning in so close that I can feel his hot breath on my face. "Every little detail that makes you who you are."

Suddenly, his hand snatches mine, pulling me towards a hidden corner behind the bathroom stalls. The plastic of the balloon still tied to my wrist scrapes against the wall, leaving a trail of paint on the metal. Panic sets in as I realize I'm trapped, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sphere, let go!" I try to sound firm, but fear laces every syllable. He just smiles wider, his grip tightening. "You're so much more fun when you're scared, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a chilling caress against my ear.

He starts to pull me through the twisting back corridors of the circus tent, the fabric walls billowing around us with every step. The music and laughter from the main show seem distant now, replaced by the thud of my racing heart and the scraping of my shoes against the floor. I try to resist, to pull away, but his strength is surprising, like a coiled spring beneath the floppy exterior.

As we weave through the shadows, the clowns' dressing room comes into view. The neon lights flicker, casting jagged shadows across the garish makeup and costumes hanging from hooks. The smell of greasepaint and sweat fills the air, thick and suffocating. "Where are you taking me?" I demand, but Sphere just giggles in response, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

He stops abruptly, spinning me around to face him. His smile widens, the makeup around his mouth cracking as he leans in close, his breath hot and sweet with a hint of something rotten. "Just a little game, Y/N," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. "You see, I've noticed how much you've been avoiding me today. It's making me feel a bit... neglected."

My stomach turns as I realize the full extent of his obsession. "Look, I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I just don't like clowns, that's all."

But Sphere seems unfazed by my protests. "Oh, but I like you," he says, his grip on my hand tightening to the point of pain. "A lot." His smile twists into something that's more of a snarl than a smile. "And when I like something, I don't let it go so easily."

Before I can react, he yanks me into the dressing room and locks the door behind us with a final, echoing click. The room is a cluttered mess of oversized shoes, colorful wigs, and garish outfits. The walls are plastered with newspaper clippings and photos of past performances, all with Sphere's face at the center, his grin growing wider and more disturbing in each one.

He releases my hand and starts to circle me, his eyes never leaving mine. The floorboards creak under his weight as he steps closer, his movements deliberate and predatory. "You know, Y/N," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "I think you're playing hard to get."

I swallow hard, my eyes darting around the room for any escape route. The walls seem to close in around me, the clown paraphernalia watching with a silent, malevolent glee. "I'm not playing games," I reply, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice.

Sphere stops his pacing, tilting his head to the side as if considering my words. "No?" He asks, his smile never faltering. "Well, then, let's make it interesting." In a flash, he snatches a rubber chicken from a nearby chair and tosses it into the air, catching it with ease. His eyes gleam with a sick excitement that sends a bolt of terror through my veins.

With a swift pivot on his oversized shoe, he lunges at me, the chicken held out like a weapon. I scream and stumble backward, tripping over a pile of oversized shoes. As I fall, my hand knocks over a rack of props, sending a cascade of plastic horns and confetti into the air. The sudden burst of noise and color only seems to fuel his manic energy. He starts to chase me around the small, cramped space, the rubber chicken slapping against his palm with a wet, meaty sound.

My heart thunders in my chest, the walls closing in with every step he takes. The room is a maze of clothing racks and trunks, each corner a potential dead end. I can feel his eyes on me, the unblinking stare of a predator. I dodge behind a rack of sequined outfits, hoping the fabric will shield me from his view, but his laughter echoes through the room, telling me he's closer than I think.

The rubber chicken hits the floor with a wet smack, bouncing away as he reaches for me. His fingers graze my arm, leaving trails of cold greasepaint. The chuckling turns to a full-blown cackle as he pulls me out into the open. "Why so shy?" he coos, his grin now a twisted, malicious thing. "Don't you want to play with me?"

I stumble backward, my feet entangled in a mess of fabric and props. His eyes gleam with a madness that sends ice down my spine. The cheerful exterior has crumbled away to reveal a creature of obsession and darkness. His pupils are dilated, and the makeup around his eyes has started to run, creating a grotesque contrast against the stark white of his face.

He removed his wig, revealing a mop of wavy short white hair, and his true face emerged from beneath the layers of makeup. Despite the madness dancing in his eyes, there was something eerily attractive about him. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his smile made him look like a fallen angel. But the way his eyes burned into me, the hunger in his gaze, was anything but heavenly.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're wondering why I'm doing this." He stepped closer, his breath hot and sour. "It's simple, really. You see, I noticed you talking to that acrobat earlier." His smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "I don't like it when people I care about talk to other people."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What? I don't even know you," I protested weakly, trying to scuttle away from him.

But Sphere was already lost in his own delusion. "You think I didn't see?" he spat, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me closer, his grip like a vice. "You think you can just flirt with him while I'm here, watching you?" His knuckles turned white with the effort of holding back his anger, and the room grew colder with his fury.

"I wasn't flirting!" I insisted, the panic rising in my voice. The clown's smile grew more twisted, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Liar," he hissed, and then, without warning, he slapped me hard across the face. The shock of the impact sent stars dancing in my vision, and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared at him, trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of my situation. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's grip on my shirt loosened, his expression flickering with confusion. He took a step back, his smile fading into something more human. "What did you say?" His voice was softer now, less menacing.

I swallowed the metallic taste of fear and repeated, "I said I'm sorry." The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I knew I had to play along if I wanted to survive. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's eyes searched mine, the rage slowly draining from his expression, replaced by a flicker of doubt. He let go of my shirt, his hand hovering in the air as if he wasn't quite sure where to put it. "You... you're not lying?" he asked, his voice unsure.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his, my voice steady despite the tremble in my chest. "I swear. I wasn't flirting. I was just asking for directions to the concession stand."

Sphere's expression softened slightly, his grip on the rubber chicken loosening. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Directions?" he repeated, his voice a whisper.

I nodded, taking a cautious step towards him. "Yes," I said, my voice shaking. "I just wanted to get some popcorn for Timmy. That's all."

Sphere's gaze searched my face, looking for any sign of deceit. His eyes narrowed, but the doubt remained. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt. "Why would you ignore me?"

I took another step closer, placing my trembling hand on his arm. "I didn't ignore you," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "I just didn't know you liked me that way." His expression softened, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could get through to him.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "But I do like you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with longing. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you." His hand slid from my arm to my waist, his touch sending a shiver through my body. "I want to make you happy."

I knew I had to tread carefully. "I know," I said, trying to keep my voice soft and soothing. "And I appreciate it, Sphere. But I don't think this is the right way."

He looked at me, his eyes searching, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. His hand on my waist tightened, but his gaze remained on my face, as if trying to read my thoughts. "What's the right way?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "Maybe we could talk," I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "Get to know each other without the... the games." His eyes searched mine, his smile slipping away as he considered my words.

Sphere nodded slowly, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You're right," he murmured. "Let's talk." He guided me over to a chair in the corner of the room, the plush velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the cold steel frame.

He sat down, pulling me onto his lap, his arms wrapping around me like a vice. "Why are you so scared of me, Y/N?" His voice was a mix of innocence and something darker, a hint of the madness still lurking beneath the surface. "I just want to make you smile."

My heart raced as his hand began to trace circles on my back, the fabric of my shirt growing damp with my sweat. His breath was warm against my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. "I know you're scared," he whispered, "but you don't have to be. I'll take care of you." His words were a seductive promise, a dangerous lure that I knew I couldn't trust.

Sphere leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my ear as his hand slid up my side, the fabric of his costume brushing against my bare skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a sweet, deadly caress. "Don't you want to be with someone who sees that?" I could feel his breath hitch as his hand moved up to cup my face, tilting it so that I was forced to look into his eyes.

My heart hammered in my chest as his thumb traced the line of my jaw, his eyes searching mine for any sign of consent. His touch was both terrifying and oddly comforting, the warmth of his skin grounding me in the chaos of the moment. But the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach that grew tighter with every beat of my heart. "Please," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Let's just talk."

Sphere's smile grew a little wider, his eyes never leaving mine as his hand slid down to my waist, his fingers digging in slightly. "We are talking," he murmured, his breath warm and tickling against my neck. His other hand reached up to tug gently on a lock of my hair. "Don't you want to feel what it's like to be truly alive?"

I could feel the heat of his body against me, the firmness of his thighs beneath my legs. His fingers began to trace patterns on my skin, moving higher, closer to my chest. "You're so tense," he said, his voice a purr. "Let me help you relax." His hand moved up to my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my neck.

My breath hitched as his other hand slid down to my thigh, his fingertips skimming over the fabric of my shorts. "Sphere," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Please don't." But his grip only tightened, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and sweet, a stark contrast to the cold fear coiling in my stomach.

"You're so soft," he murmured, his hand moving higher, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts. His thumb traced the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but lean into his touch, even as the voice in the back of my mind screamed for me to run.

"Relax," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. "Let me show you how much fun we can have together." His hand slid further up my thigh, the fabric of his costume brushing against my skin, making me shiver. I tried to push away the feeling of revulsion, focusing instead on the warmth of his touch, the gentle way he was speaking to me.

"Sphere, I-" I began, but his mouth was suddenly on mine, cutting off my protests with a kiss that was surprisingly gentle. His tongue slid against my lips, coaxing them open. I couldn't help but respond, my body betraying me as I leaned into the kiss, his flavor a mix of candy and something darker, something that made my stomach twist.

His hands moved with a possessive hunger, one sliding up to cup the back of my head, the other continuing its slow, torturous journey up my thigh. I moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his mouth. He took this as an invitation, his hand moving higher, his touch growing bolder, more demanding.

The fabric of my shorts was no barrier to his seeking fingers, and before I could fully process what was happening, he had slid them underneath, his palm cupping my intimate flesh. I gasped, my body responding despite my mind's frantic protests. His grip tightened, his thumb beginning to stroke in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made my vision swim.

Sphere's other hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. He kissed along the sensitive skin, his teeth nipping gently, sending waves of pleasure and fear crashing through me. His touch was a storm of sensations, a mix of pain and pleasure that made me feel alive and terrified all at once.

His hand continued to move under my shorts, his fingers teasing and exploring with a possessive hunger that made me whimper. I tried to push his hand away, my body responding despite my mind's screaming protests. But he was too strong, too determined.

With a sudden jerk, he yanked the fabric aside, exposing me completely to his gaze. His eyes widened with excitement, and his touch grew rougher, more insistent. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Do you like it when I do this?"

I whimpered, torn between the horror of the situation and the unwanted arousal his touch elicited. I tried to push his hand away, but his grip was unyielding. "Sphere, stop," I managed to say, my voice shaking. But he was beyond listening, beyond reason.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through me that I despised feeling. "You like it," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and triumph. "You can't hide from me, Y/N." His free hand reached up to grab a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back even further. He kissed me again, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from me that he took full advantage of, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth.

The sound of his clown shoes squeaking against the floor filled the room, a twisted soundtrack to the horror playing out before me. His hand worked faster now, his fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me feel sick. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my hair tightened, keeping me in place.

"You're mine," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Mine to do with as I please." His words were a cold slap in the face, bringing the reality of my situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.

I struggled against him, my fear turning to anger and desperation. "No," I gritted out, pushing against his chest. "Let go of me."

But Sphere was lost in his own twisted fantasy. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, panting bursts against my neck. "You're so tight," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "So warm, so wet."

I squirmed in his lap, trying to break free of his iron grip. His fingers moved in a relentless rhythm, each stroke sending a bolt of unwanted pleasure through my body. "Please," I whimpered, the word barely escaping the vice of his mouth.

Sphere's eyes searched mine, his smile never wavering. He leaned back, his gaze raking over me with a possessive hunger that made me feel like a toy in his hands. "Say it," he murmured, his thumb still stroking my sensitive flesh. "Tell me you want this."

I bit my lip, the fear and arousal warring within me. His touch was wrong, but my body responded regardless, betraying me with every shiver and gasp. "I-I don't know," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Sphere's smile grew a little softer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of willingness. "Shh," he murmured, his thumb circling my clit with a gentle pressure that made my eyes roll back in my head. "Just tell me you want this, Y/N. Just say it." His voice was a seductive whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate need for my validation.

I swallowed hard, the fear giving way to a strange mix of emotions. His touch was wrong, but the pleasure was undeniable, a siren's song that I didn't want to resist. His hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, coaxing a response from my body that I couldn't suppress. "I... I don't know," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

Sphere leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it," he urged, his voice a soft growl. "Say you want me." His thumb pressed down harder, and I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips. My body tensed, my breathing shallow and fast.

I stared into his eyes, the madness in them now a frenzied need for my acceptance. His hand moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each stroke sending waves of conflicting emotions crashing through me. I didn't know if I wanted this, but I knew I didn't want to fight anymore. His grip on my hair loosened, his hand moving to cup my cheek instead, his thumb stroking my skin with a gentle tenderness that was at odds with the harshness of his earlier touch.

"Say it," he murmured, his breath hot and sweet, his eyes searching my face for any sign of submission. "Tell me you want me." His voice was a whisper of hope, a plea wrapped in the guise of a demand. The room spun around me, the clown's twisted world becoming my own, the line between fear and desire blurring into a haze of confusion.

My breath hitched as his thumb continued its torturous dance, the pleasure building in a crescendo that I couldn't ignore. "I..." I began, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I want." Sphere's smile grew a fraction wider, his eyes lighting up with a dark triumph.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my cheek as his hand slid down to cup my chin. "Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a seductive purr. "Let me make you happy." His hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, his grip firm but not painful. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, a silent request for entrance.

And with a tremble of defeat, I parted my lips, giving him the response he craved. "I... I want you," I whispered, the words barely more than a breath. His smile grew wider, his eyes alight with a dark victory. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra.

The cool air of the dressing room hit my bare skin as he yanked the garment away, leaving me exposed to his hungry gaze. He pulled back, his eyes roaming over my breasts with a greed that sent a shiver down my spine. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. His hand slid up to cup one, his thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple.

Before I could process the sensation, Sphere was standing, lifting me with him, his hands never leaving my body. He laid me down on the chair, his eyes never leaving mine, the madness in them now mixed with something primal, something untamed. His costume was a mess of colors and fabric around us, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

He knelt between my legs, pushing them apart with a force that was surprisingly gentle, given his earlier aggression. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, cupping my breast in a firm grip that sent a jolt of pleasure through me despite the situation. His thumb circled my nipple, teasing it to a hard peak, while his other hand slid back down to my thigh, his fingers tracing the wetness that coated my skin.

Sphere's eyes never left mine, his smile a twisted mockery of the cheerful facade he had worn earlier. He leaned down, his mouth closing around my nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive flesh. I couldn't help the moan that escaped me, my body responding to his touch despite the fear that still held me captive. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, a hint of pain that only served to heighten the pleasure.

His hand slid down to my center, his fingers pushing aside the fabric of my shorts and underwear. I felt his thumb slide over my clit, the pressure building, the anticipation of what was to come making me squirm. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with need, his smile a twisted mockery of the gentle lover he had once pretended to be. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a mix of triumph and insanity.

And then he was over me, his clown costume a blur of colors and the smell of greasepaint and sweat. He shoved my shorts and underwear down to my ankles, leaving me bare and vulnerable. His own costume was pushed aside, revealing his arousal, long and thick, standing at attention as he positioned himself between my legs. The room spun around me, the clown's laughter echoing in my ears as I stared up at him, my heart racing with a mix of fear and a twisted excitement that I didn't want to acknowledge.

With a single, brutal thrust, he filled me, his cock stretching me in a way that brought tears to my eyes. I bit back a scream, my nails digging into the chair's velvet armrests. His eyes never left mine, his smile never wavering as he began to move, his hips a blur as he fucked me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of the situation, but the pleasure that followed was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Sphere's movements grew more erratic, his breathing ragged as he claimed my body with an intensity that was almost animalistic. I could feel every inch of him, his girth stretching me to the point of pain, his length hitting deep within me in a way that had me crying out with each thrust. His eyes searched mine, the madness in them now a wild, primal hunger that seemed to devour everything in its path.

The pain grew with every stroke, each thrust hitting a spot that had me seeing stars. My cries grew louder, my body shaking with the effort of holding on to my sanity. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, my nails digging deep into the chair's armrests. And yet, amidst the pain, there was a twisted pleasure that grew with every beat of my racing heart.

Sphere's rhythm grew erratic, his movements more frenzied as he approached his peak. His eyes remained locked on mine, the madness in them swirling like a vortex, threatening to pull me under. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came inside me, his eyes rolling back in his head as he released a guttural growl. The sensation sent me over the edge as well, my body spasming around his, my own climax ripping through me like a tornado, leaving me gasping for air.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, the pain grew more pronounced, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I tried to push him off, my voice a hoarse whisper of protest, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning me to the chair.

Sphere's eyes rolled back in his head, a low moan escaping his lips as he collapsed against me, his chest heaving with the effort of his climax. For a brief moment, the madness receded, and I saw a glimpse of something almost human, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering just above mine. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Mine to do with as I please." His hand slid up to my neck, his thumb pressing against my pulse, a silent reminder of his power over me. I tried to push him away, my strength drained from the intensity of what had just transpired, but his grip was unyielding.

With a sudden, brutal force, he pushed his hand over my mouth, stifling my screams as he climbed off the chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, a sinister grin playing at his lips as he moved to tie it around my eyes. The fabric was cold and rough against my skin, the darkness enveloping me like a second layer of fear.

"Sleep, Y/N"

My vision turns black, the handkerchief tight around my eyes, the fabric scratchy against my skin. I can feel Sphere's breath against my neck, his grip on my wrists tightening as he secures them behind my back. My heart races, the reality of what's happening setting in, my fear turning into a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

He stands me up, his hand guiding me to the center of the room. The floor feels cold and unforgiving beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the chair. His voice is a low murmur in my ear, the words lost in the cacophony of my panic-filled thoughts.

Sphere's hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck, his grip firm and unyielding. I feel his other hand lift, the air around me charged with the anticipation of impact. And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he slams the palm of his hand against the side of my head, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

------------

A/N: part two? ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

[apas-95]

The last post you re logged about arrestability and the Palestine Action network is something I've been thinking about a lot, and I feel really stuck on. It feels like any movement in the imperial core that wants to take actual direct action is going to find itself targeted by feds, but the ways that you can protect against that severely preclude it's ability to grow and find new recruits. Like, activism in the labor sphere can do more direct things because it doesn't have to be illegal, but I cant imagine that that will stay the case once a political labor party that's actually shutting things down. How does one make a mass movement that takes direct action but is able to prevent itself from getting shut down? I don't know, do you have any thoughts on this?

It's been done a hundred times before in the face of the same pressures, so the first order of business should be studying and learning from the experiences of successful labour movements.

Putting that aside, the key things are, in whatever words, militancy and deniability. By militancy, I mean the organisational understanding that you are in direct conflict with the bourgeois state (at a higher or lower intensity) and that your immediate priority should be making yourself immune to attack, followed only afterwards by taking offensive action. Militancy, then, means the recognition that the ultimate aim of the movement is the complete material domination and destruction of institutions that currently field armies and police networks. From the very first step, from the organisational nucleus, it needs to be understood that you are engaging in a pitched battle from within the enemies camp - which leads to the second key item, deniability.

Deniability, here, largely means compartmentalisation. Essentially every successful revolutionary movement has had a separation between the aboveground, legal struggle, and the underground, illegal struggle. To a certain degree, this is a genuinely covert or clandestine effort - undisclosed armed groups known only to a select few in the parent organisation, attributed funding through the laundering of the parent organisation. It is both essential that any armed cell is dependent entirely on the wide, integrated mass workers movement and that this cell is not actually widely known; hence, the parent organisation. If the cell were undisclosed but not integrated to a mass political organisation, it would not have revolutionary character, and be indistinguishable in practice from a common organised crime or terrorist group. It's ability to carry out correct actions would be incidental, and not self-correcting. If the cell had mass character but was not undisclosed, it would present a target to the bourgeois state and be destroyed. The strategy of asymmetric warfare is to strike at the enemy's undefended targets and to refuse to provide any defended targets for the enemy - this applies organisationally, too.

What needs to be stated, here, is that, given the connection to the mass movement, everything needs to be done only when the situation is correct. The size of a workers organisation necessary to support and supply even a single armed cell with laundered funding, safehouses, and information is extremely large, and will not be possible until a significant level of organisational base has been built and developed. Even once it is possible to support an armed cell, the political situation will very likely only warrant fairly low-intensity actions, like industrial sabotage. Again, though, the principal task of the militant - and the irregular fighter, the guerrilla in particular - is the preservation of one's own forces, over and above the destruction of the enemy. In real practice, there is no overabundance of caution, only hesitation - and the way to consistently and repeatedly carry out simple acts of industrial sabotage is by having three people work with the support of thirty-thousand. There can and must be a continuum of support, of different levels of action, between simply 'protest-organiser who pays dues to the aboveground labour organisation', to 'union salt who is a source of information on a worksite', to 'directly involved in organising and carrying out illegal acts'. The key metric for correct connection between the underground and aboveground sides of the movement is: if the actions of the underground were revealed, the mass base of the aboveground should be in support of it. The purpose of underground organising is not to go ahead of the people and start shooting cops (until the struggle has escalated to that intensity, and people are demanding that type of protection), it is to avoid providing a target for the bourgeois state.

At the higher levels of struggle, the existence of the underground becomes an open secret, which, with proper growth, coincides with the underground reaching a size and strength that it can begin to take up the mantle of the mass movement itself, and effectively transform itself into the parent organisation of the aboveground legal struggle. Until then, the model is that of a large political party leading a mass movement in every type of legal and semi-legal action under the sun (in strikes, civil unrest, and parliamentary campaigns), fiercely supporting those who do break the law (through legal and bail support, public campaigns, and protection), while the types of illegal actions the movement needs are carried out covertly.

TL;DR: Build a mass movement, or all you'll get are ecoterrorists and activists in prison.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story Idea #30:

"The traitor /fake friend".

Yanderes must have had some friends before meeting their senpai. I like to think of those kinds of "friends" who envy everything you have, to the point of doing anything to take it away from you (yes, like those friends who steal your partner). Let's say your partner has an envious friend, who is so in love with you that he will do ANYTHING to have you.

So this is the basic story I came up with: Two boys (who I'll call Anderson and William) have been friends since the end of high school (A/N: or as long as you decide), being classified as the "inseparable duo". Anderson came from a financially well-off family, to the point of inheriting the family fortune and businesses along with his brother Axel; while William came from a lower-middle class family with parents who weren't exactly the best.

William was overshadowed by Anderson in everything; in his studies, at work, in the family, economic and social spheres; however, Anderson did not do it on purpose. He always tried to be good to William, since he always defended him from the mockery he suffered for being considered poor.

Anderson was very good and kind to everyone, whether family or not. Unlike many rich and upper class people, Anderson could never look at middle or lower class people as inferior; on the contrary, he treated them as normal people.

William always felt envious of Anderson and secretly hated him for, according to him, "stealing a lot of things from him," when Anderson even gave him work and NEVER stole anything from him.

That's why William set out to steal EVERYTHING from him.

That is, until you met both men. You were a lawyer (or any other profession of your choice) that Anderson and William stumbled upon.

William fell in love with you at first sight, but you never really got interested in him, since you were really interested in Anderson. Anderson also slowly fell in love with you, and over time you became friends, best friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend, and finally married. Needless to say, Anderson was an excellent man to you.

You politely and cordially rejected every flirtation William made, but he refused to lose you to the possibility of Anderson "stealing" you.

This is where William starts to transform into the Yandere fake friend.

Yandere fake friend went crazy when you and his best friend first became a couple.

Yandere fake friend heard how happy you and his best friend were and he couldn't stand it. He would pretend while he was with you or in public, but in private he would curse Anderson for everything.

Yandere fake friend wanted you to look at him at least once the same way he did, but he didn't want to accept the reality that you deeply loved your husband. He hated seeing the fact that you talked nice to him, hugged him, kissed him, or gave him a child.

Yes, the yandere fake friend hated your child so much because is Anderson's child and not his.

However, William wouldn't take off his mask just yet. First, he'll try to take advantage of all the opportunities Anderson has given him to meet people and climb the ranks; second, he'll pretend to be a nice guy to your son; and third, he'll make his best friend believe that he would never hurt him, and that he could trust him.

Then, the yandere fake friend will try to create conflict between you and your husband, with the aim of separating you and making you disappointed in him.

Now, Here I have a couple of scenarios in mind:

You get divorced:

1. The yandere fake friend saw how his plan was successful after finding out about your divorce. You could say he was jumping for joy in his house. 2. The only bad thing would be that your son is between the two of you, but he would deal with him later. 3. Whatever the rumor or reason for your divorce (caused by William), William will make sure that no evidence reaches your hands. 4. Now, the yandere fake friend will try to manipulate you with comfort, support, and brainwashing. He will control situations in such a way that if Anderson sees you in these situations with him, he will become even more disappointed in you. 5. Or maybe the yandere fake friend kills Anderson and somehow manipulates Axel into helping him get a good place in his business. 6. The yandere fake friend will try to seduce you and if he succeeds, he will want and do anything to marry you (and maybe want to have another child). 7. If he fails, he will kidnap you and your child. 8. It is likely that if you fall for his manipulation, marry him and so on, William would make your son a puppet to keep him quiet, since he knows that your son is not stupid at all despite his young age; and that the little boy is suspicious of him. 9. Did I mention that William would secretly despise your son? You don't get divorced:

William will be very angry and will fly into a rage.

He would proceed to plan B, which is to murder his best friend. He would plan an "accident", then take advantage of your pain shamelessly to get closer to you.

Then the yandere fake friend would pretend to be hurt to try and manipulate you.

Since there are no witnesses (according to William), the yandere fake friend was able to continue lying to try to take Anderson's place.

If you fall for his game and fall in love, he'll do the same thing I said before. If not, he'll kidnap you and your child.

When your child is old enough, he will send him to study far away with the excuse of letting him know other places to expand his mind and knowledge, but in reality he just wants to get rid of him.

He only does this because he knows that your son is a hindrance simply because he is the son of your enemy.

If he had a child with you, he will treat it like a treasure.

William would also treat you like a precious diamond.

William will also try every possible way to ensure that Axel doesn't suspect anything of what happened and that he doesn't get close to you, his son (let's call him Dereck) or yours either so that he doesn't investigate what really happened.

If there happens to be a witness, William will extort him, give him money or kill him so that you will never find out the truth or be separated from him.

Ending #1: William gets away with it and never pays for his crimes. He gets rid of Axel and your son with Anderson (Anderson. Jr.) and passes it off as accidents, leaving him with you and only you. 12.1- If you find out the truth about his crimes against Anderson, Axel, Anderson Jr and other witnesses; the manipulations towards his own son Dereck; the hatred against Jr and all the lies, William couldn't believe what you are claiming from him with pain and resentment for all those deaths and tragedies. When he saw the pain, anger and sadness you felt for those people, his heart broke as he desperately tried to manipulate you that it was an accident, but you didn't believe anything and finally you yelled at him: -"Anderson gave you everything! He advocated for you many times, helped you with money and in your studies, he faithfully supported you when you needed it and gave you many job opportunities, HE CONSIDERED YOU AS A BROTHER! And I foolishly fell into your game…"- And with that, William began to show his true colors. 12.2- If you even think of trying to escape or call the police, William will not accept it and will probably keep you kidnapped. If you continue to love Anderson and advocate for him, William will not tolerate his resentment or envy and will kill you because he cannot accept that you, the love of his life, loved his best friend more than him. 12.3- Poor Dereck, upon learning of all the crimes and manipulations his father has said and done, would be so devastated that he would leave that house hating William or he would take his own life rather than continue being his son.

Ending #2: 13.1- The beginning is similar, except that Jr and Axel team up to investigate what really happened to Anderson. 13.2- While William is brainwashing you, Anderson.Jr and Axel are trying to gather evidence, until they finally find a witness. 13.3- It turns out that this witness had not confessed anything because William had him under surveillance and threatened, which is why he could not speak in all these years, with a weight on his conscience. 13.4- Anderson. Jr and Axel managed to convince him that nothing would happen to him, so the witness talked about how he saw William tamper with Anderson's car (the same car that Anderson crashed and died in). 13.5- Obviously both Axel and Anderson Jr. were devastated. 13.6- They both decided to tell you about it and finally open your eyes. Needless to say, you were very disappointed and started to hate William. 13.7- When they got all the evidence, the yandere false friend was arrested, especially for the crime of murdering Anderson. 13.8- Dereck managed to confront him before and after much discussion, William confessed his hatred for Anderson because he "stole" everything he could not have, ignoring the help and consideration that Anderson had for him; the deep hatred for Junior, Axel and the murder of Anderson. However, William tried to manipulate him and did not realize that he was recorded by Dereck himself. 13.9- You felt pretty bad, but not for him but for your children, for Axel and for yourself. You hated yourself for falling for his manipulation, but you hated him even more for everything he did against someone who had nothing but attention for him.

-The End.

Yes, i made an entire story in my head.

[therobotmonster]

"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"

Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across desk made of polished slate.

Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.

"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.

"Work." She replied.

"Is that appropriate?"

"Yes. This is about security clearances."

That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."

"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"

"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."

"Good enough. Follow me."

-

"BE NOT AFRAID."

The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.

The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.

"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.

Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.

"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.

"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."

"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"

"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."

"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"

"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."

"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.

"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things its made of can be used for, you know the drill."

"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.

"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."

"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."

"What is it then?"

"Can't you guess, Doctor?"

Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."

"It isn't giving us a warning."

Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.

"It's repeating its orders."

[aranarumei]

what would separate hirano and kagiura?

so. about that preview of the adult au… I’m sure everyone’s wrecked right now. and I. have some thoughts.

so like, for the adult au to exist at all, harusono sensei has to contrive a situation for both hirano & kagiura to not get their romantic drama in high school, and the same applies for sasaki & miyano. it’d be easy to say that these couples are separated just because they need to be, but i think it’s worth giving them a look. under the cut because i'm being thorough.

for sasaki & miyano, it’s simply that they never meet past their first meeting. hirano doesn’t tell sasaki what miyano's class is, and that’s that. kinda mundane, isn’t it? like… cmon, you’d expect sasaki to try a little harder.

except. well. if there’s any word that defines the sasaki of middle school and most of his first year of high school, I’d say it was apathy. I think sasaki's got a very strange relationship with the idea of force—he uses too much of it on his sister once and subsequently avoids using any kind of physical strength to an extreme degree. he doesn’t break up that fight in the beginning by brawling, and when those kids retaliate he doesn’t hit back (ch 1, 2, and 4 of sasaki and miyano show these scenes, but it's ch 2 of sasaki and miyano: first years that explicitly confirms that sasaki threw no punches) and in a friendly arm wrestling competition he uses basically none of his strength at all (2020 sosenkyo extras). he’s careful in how he speaks to miyano and he feels bad for asking him to quit the crossdressing competition (ch 23, sasaki and miyano). he’s really patient about getting his answer.

in its best form, I think sasaki & miyano's relationship is about Care—miyano is so into his interests and so bright about them, and i think that overwhelming sincerity attracts sasaki, and i think it's a large motivating force in making him a more active person. so in a certain way it makes sense that the way they "miss" each other, in this au, is something that amplifies a negative trait/feeling that exists in the original.

for hirano and kagiura, they don't room together for the next year, and then... they drift apart. but here's what interests me. in the adult au, kagiura gets 61st on his exams. you know what he gets in canon? 60th! that's a difference of one place—the difference is so very clearly not the grades itself, it's internal. @raihanstrapinch suggested that this is perhaps an AU where kagiura took the "one day off" mentioned in ch 19 (you can find the post here) and I think this makes sense for a one place difference! (that one place being the possible cutoff for being able to be roommates again is tragic, though)

interesting is that kagiura says that he doesn't want to look back and regret taking that day off, because then he'll never forgive himself. I think this is exactly what motivates kagiura and hirano drifting apart: shame.

in ch 18 of hirano and kagiura, the topic of "equality" in a relationship gets discussed. kagiura wants to have a relationship between equals, and so that's why they start doing stuff like taking turns waking each other up, and it's why hirano gets kagiura to teach him some basketball. this isn't a new topic, since kagiura's been wanting hirano to be needy with him for a few chapters now, and it's one that gets extended on into ch 24, where hirano makes clear that his 10 seconds is distinct from kagi. reciprocation... it's beautiful.

point is, a lot of hirano and kagiura deals with what hirano and kagiura can do for each other. that's because it's central in establishing their continual understanding of each other. hirano is learning to fall in love with kagi, little by little. they're figuring out their relationship. of special importance is how both hirano and kagiura influence each other in the spheres of basketball and studying.

basketball is obvious: in ch 1 and ch 2, hirano takes care of kagiura so that he'll recover quickly from his cold, and he also helps him handle his loss. it's in ch 17 where we really see the full scope of how it applies to both of them, though: kagiura takes his 10 seconds and gets recharged for practice, and then hirano thinks that he really wants to study right now. despite their differences, hirano and kagiura sharing space with each other makes both of them better at their goals. it's a direct repudiation of the ideas that are floated in ch 11 and ch 13: that kagiura came to the dorm to focus on his club activities, while hirano came to the dorm to focus on his studies. their focuses, then, should naturally be pulled in opposite directions. they might just end up distracting each other.

something that's fascinating about the preview of the adult au is that, after waking up, kagiura demeans himself by saying he essentially has no self-discipline / control. here it's in the context of getting basically blackout drunk, but I think it also reflects how he might've felt back then, getting that grade. he didn't have the self-discipline to balance both studying and basketball well enough, in his own opinion, and since he feels like he didn't try his very best at it ("one day off"), I think he might have concluded, personally, that it might be best to pull back. it's not the first time that kagiura's drawn back, after all: he was like this when he started reacting too much to hirano's touch, and he's still like that because he keeps carefully calculating out his 10 seconds. as hirano says in ch 23, he looks annoyingly miserable when he's like this. he worries so much about crossing the line, about not being as good as hirano thinks he is... to me it's perfectly reasonable that there's a world where kagiura retreats.

in their character descriptions for the adult au, it's noted that hirano is mostly taken up by studying and doesn't socialize much, while kagiura doesn't really talk to anyone outside of basketball-related matters. i think this really shows off that idea of the adult au kind of expanding on a theme that gets introduced in the original, but in a negative direction: instead of balancing and positively influencing each other like they do in canon, here hirano and kagiura have retreated solely into their own focuses.

i think hirano is genuinely rooting for kagiura's success in basketball. he's always so impressed by his passion for the sport, so I think here, along with kagiura's self-inflicted withdrawal, he'd probably rationalize to himself that kagiura's working hard on basketball, and it's... good for him that he's doing so. honestly he seems kind of slow on the uptake with emotions in general so even if he did circle around to thinking about reconnecting, he might've already graduated and it would've felt too weird for him. i also think that, to sort of mirror kagiura's own hard work with basketball, he'd also work hard on his studies. in some strange way, they're still powering each other forward.

[maxdibert]

I admire you a lot and thoroughly enjoy your to-the-point completely unapologetic takes and analyses because you really look like someone who knows what they're talking about (Maybe I read in a post that you have a political science or similar degree?). Which is rare because all these anti-snape, pro-fanon-marauder stans are mostly empty headed tiktok using teenagers that severely project into their rather oc-fied favs and wanna be cool- I really wanna ask this but I'm also scared of you but in a good way😭😭 Why do you never tag your posts according to fandom ettiquette? personally I take it less as ettiquette and more as sanity preservation..because at the end of the day, people will have different opinions and preferences regardless of right/ wrong, and I doubt most of us enjoy seeing anti posts of characters we love in our feed knowing we don't agree, don't want to see this type of content and do not follow any anti tags or blogs. Or vice versa. And you do get a lot of hate too. Wouldn't it all be more avoidable, and make it peaceful for you, if you were to tag your posts accordingly? (please don't take offense in any way, I just really wanted to know)

Don’t admire me too much, I’m just someone with a bad temper who doesn’t recognize authority figures. Literally, I don’t even register them but hey hahaha. Still, thank you for the supportive message, you’re lovely. And of course I didn’t take your question the wrong way. In fact, it’s a good one because it gives me space to explain myself on this topic, which is a bit of a loaded one.

Why don’t I use fandom etiquette? Great question: because I don’t believe in it, I don’t like it, and I don’t think echo chambers are productive. For example, I’m not going to complain if someone tags a post “wrongly” and doesn’t use something like 'anti-Snape,' as long as that person doesn’t whine when I see their post and reply to it. In the same vein, I don’t tag things as 'anti,' and I don’t complain if someone replies harshly to me. It would be hypocritical to do so, and that’s not my style. What does bother me is people who refuse to use the 'anti' label but then complain when others respond to them. If you don’t tag it, you’re taking a risk. I get that some people don’t want to take that risk. Me, I don’t particularly care. What I’m not going to do is take part in the culture of ideological ghettos, because it leads nowhere and promotes illiteracy and deliberate ignorance. And I’ve got nothing against people who are simply ignorant, but I do take issue with people who choose to be ignorant and who, on top of that, believe they’re right or think they can present a well-formed, valid opinion on something.

If you don’t dive into what you don’t like, if you don’t study the opposing views, how do you know they’re wrong and you’re right? You don’t, you’re just assuming. That’s not what I was taught. I’ve been deeply involved in politics and I’ve dealt with people I couldn’t stand ideologically, but I’ve still had a beer with them, I’ve studied their political platforms, I’ve read their articles and books, I’ve watched their documentaries. You can’t have a real opinion on a subject if you don’t know it, and all you achieve by staying inside your bubble is reinforcing yourself within a sphere of impunity that has nothing to do with how the real world works. And I’m sorry, but someone who tells me they haven’t read the books and that their opinion is based on what their four friends think or what they read in some fanfic seems dumb to me, dumb because there’s no critical or intellectual effort, and because they still believe their take is equal to that of someone who has done the work. It’s like people who talk about art, film, history, or politics without ever bothering to study those areas. It makes no sense. It’s legitimizing ignorance, and I find that terrible.

I don’t use 'anti' tags, first, because I don’t believe in them; second, because I couldn’t care less; and third, because I tag based on what I’m talking about: the characters, the series, the fandoms. And I have no issue with angry people showing up, I know they will, and I don’t care. What bothers me about hate isn’t the hate itself, but the need to lie and run smear campaigns. I don’t care if you think I’m an asshole —I probably am btw— but what I do care about is being called a pedophile, because I’m not, and that’s a serious accusation with no basis, and it’s also defamation, which is a crime. It’s important to distinguish between those two concepts: I know I’m going to piss people off, that’s fine, you don’t have to like me, but don’t make up shit just because you feel threatened or because I made you look bad. Try being a little more honest. You can’t invent a twisted narrative about someone just to discredit them because you’re incapable of doing it on intellectual or discursive grounds. That’s a populist manipulation tactic, by the way, very popular with the far right. Spreading lies and slander when you can’t win fairly is cheating.

So back to the topic: why don’t I use the tag? Because when I started in fandoms, that concept didn’t even exist, and I don’t think it’s important. If someone doesn’t like what I say, they can block me—super easy— and they won’t see any of my stuff. Simple. But I’m not going to participate in policies that only promote ignorance and censorship. Because to me, it would feel like self-censorship, like I have to tiptoe around what I think just in case someone finds out. No way. In life, you’ll constantly run into people who don’t think like you, and you’ll have to deal with them. That’s just how the world works. You can’t say you don’t want to hear an opinion just because it’s contrary to yours. It’s contrary, and you think it’s wrong? Fight for your point. Lay out your arguments. Develop your critical thinking. Your brain is there to be used, and only interacting with people who nod along like fools to everything you say is not the best way to exercise it.

So yeah: am I going to use it? No. I’m not. And not because 'others don’t use it either', that excuse doesn’t mean anything to me. If others want to use it, fine, but that’s not my reason. My reason is that I won’t self-censor, I won’t promote ignorance, and I won’t support digital ghettos. It goes against my principles, and I’m not Groucho Marx so if you don’t like my principles, too bad, I don’t have others.

[keirawantstocry]

Hi, jay, can I request morning crew being witches(I just really like witches) (I miss both them and witchcraft SMP)

them using different spheres of magic and having hard time combining them, also bitching about each other choices

Kissing you on the mouth /p ofc you can 

Okay ive spent the last few minutes scouring the witchcraft smp wiki to see what vibes you’re most likely looking for and i will now make an attempt :) 

there is some shenanigans altho im not sure how close this is to what you were thinking considering theres so many ways to address witchcraft but i hope you enjoy anyway <3

-

It was no surprise to anyone that Tubbo was a nature witch, it was something everyone had expected. And to a certain degree they understood that he was going to use those powers to do some weird building shit. But holy hell. 

“Actually what the fuck is this,” Fit proclaimed, his hands on his hips as he studied Tubbo’s new creation. There were plants twirling up around dirt in the shape of what seemed to be machinery? It was massive, expanding across nearly a mile of land. 

“Well, I’m not sure what I’m going to call it yet but it’s a lot like a Create machine-” 

Pac and Fit groaned in unison. “You are your Create machines,” Pac said through a laugh. “Seriously what is it?” 

“They’re cool!” Tubbo exclaimed. “What do you want from me! What are you two doing with your magic??” 

“Uh, nothing?” Fit said while Tubbo gaped at him. 

“Please do not tell me that you have the power and ability to control electricity and you aren’t using it to build a single machine or anything.” 

Fit stared at him. The seconds ticked by as they just stared at each other. 

“Holy shit,” Tubbo said quietly. “You are so fucking boring.” 

“Hey!”

Pac laughed loudly. “I mean, Fitch, he kind of has a point.” 

Fit whirled on him. “Oh yeah sure okay, what have you done with your healing magic?” 

Pac’s eyebrows dipped down in confusion. “I’m healing people, what are you talking about? There’s nothing else to do!” 

“Actually, I’m sure you could probably find a way to harness that power and put it into a Create-” 

“Noooo,” Pac howled, dropping down to the ground and slapping his hands over his face. “Not with the Create mod again. Tubbo please. Bom deus!” 

It was Fit’s turn to laugh. “Not so funny now huh? When he’s on your ass about your magic?” 

“Shut up, Fitchie,” Pac muttered into his hands. “Shut up.” 

[baylee-doodle]

Hello! I came across your Youtube and I really like your Sonic artwork. I really want to draw the characters again but have been struggling, do you have any tips or tricks you could share??

Hi! I'm glad you like my work, I appreciate it!

As for tips, I don't have anything particular off the top of my head... I think the biggest thing that I try to keep in mind when I draw them is the volume of their shapes. Most of them have really round heads, so I try to curve their features along that sphere as well as I can. It keeps them proportionate and gives me a good guideline of where to put things!

As for me, I tend to start with the placement of the nose! It's an anchor point that I can immediately use to dictate what direction/angle the character will be facing.

After that, I usually place the eyes, starting with the middle curve between his eyes, since it goes right above the nose (if it's a character like Tails, who has two 'separate' eyes, I just eyeball it in comparison to the nose).

If you've started with a circle, then you can follow along that as a guideline for the curve of the eye, or you can decide the curve of the rest of the head from the eyes, themselves.

The muzzles I always try to make sure are curved along the bottom of the eyes seamlessly. This is my preference, as I know some people choose not to make the cheek curve with the eye, but I just think it flows much more satisfyingly when it does. Since Sonic is meant to be a character that can curl up into a ball, his design really exemplifies that idea. Even the shape and placement of his ears has a curve to it that follows the round shape of his head.

As for the overall anatomy of a Sonic character... in my eyes, it's just sort of a 'fuck it, we ball' situation. Aside from the head, I always prioritize the hands and feet of a Sonic character when I'm posing them, since they're the second biggest part of most of the characters, proportionally. Plus, they're what reads clearest in their designs. No one's really looking at Sonic's torso, you know? Obviously it's still important! But I think that connecting the limbs together after you've planned the general composition of them is easier, and keeps things from looking stiff.

But more than anything, I think the best way to understand how to draw these characters is to study how your favorite art of them looks. If you like the Sonic Adventure art style, or the Sonic CD art style, then really take your time looking at it and making notes about what you like about it, and how the artist seems to be achieving that. You can then practice what you've observed and see where it takes you!

I don't know if this was helpful or not, but I appreciate you asking nonetheless. Good luck and have fun!!

[purplesaline]

Ran a DnD game for the first time in forever last night. I've only done it a few times before, and never with 5e so a steep learning curve on my part. Everyone had a blast though and I'm really proud of myself for adapting the campaign to better engage the players.

There was a frog race as part of the first encounter and the book had a single roll determine whether someone's frog won or lost, which I found boring. I had a bunch of resin frogs in various costumes already so I painted one for each player and instead of a single roll I made a "course" four squares long. A successful roll moved the frog forward one space, a failed roll kept them stationary, a natural 20 moved them 2 spaces forward, and a failure by more than 5 moved them back one space. I had 7 players so four spaces was plenty long but if you have fewer players and want to try this you can make the course longer.

It was quite exciting! And there was tension! 3 frogs crossed at the same time so the winning pot was split between three players.

We're playing Strixhaven, Curriculum of Chaos, and part of the encounters is class exams. Which, again, the adventure has a single roll for the multiple choice portion and a second roll for the essay portion. Meh.

So I wrote a multiple choice exam. 6 questions long. The players can either choose an answer if they think they know it (and I gave them a chance to study for it over the supper break, and oh you should have seen them! They were studying like it was a real life test. 3 adults and 4 kids under 16. It was so cute), or they can roll a skill check for the question. I read out each question and they wrote down their answers then went over the correct answers and if they got 3 or more right they passed the multiple choice section.

For the essay portion I just had them do the single roll, but a couple who failed the roll asked if they could turn in an actual short essay instead and I said absolutely! If they want to do that I'll give them a passing grade for that portion. Going forward I'm letting them know their next exam topic ahead of time so they can study and write a short essay between games if they want to do that.

They really enjoyed doing the exam encounter! There was a good mix of choosing answers and rolling when they weren't sure. Some people wound up studying stuff that didn't show up on the test at all and missed all the stuff that did, so they did a lot of rolling (the die rolls act like info they would have learned in class so the characters would have known more than the players)

Next session there's a game where the characters can shoot spheres from a magic object into buckets, whoever gets the most in a minute wins. I'm going to have the players toss nerf rival ammo into buckets instead of just doing a die roll.

I also made a physical Bag of Tricks with coloured pompoms so instead of rolling a die to see what animal they pull out they just pull a coloured pompom out and the different colours will be associated with different creatures.

Just little ways to make the game more immersive. I'm not good at doing voices or engaging roleplay (way too self-conscious and one day I'll get over that but I've had other priorities lol), so I wanted to come up with other ways to immerse folks in the world and keep them engaged. Everyone had a blast so I definitely nailed it for this audience at least!

[chaos-from-an-adult]

this is me trying

hey this is probably going to be multi chapter, this is for the aaa week 2025, day one Jealousy. I meant to post it last night but it was midnight, and I was exhausted. so here it is today.

I've also had to do some research for this, it will be multi-chapter

https://www.tumblr.com/chaos-from-an-adult/784012453147181056/photo-references-for-this-is-me-trying-will-be?source=share

that^^ link is to a photo reference thingy for this

They told me all of my cages were mental So I got wasted like all my potential And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates, and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying I just wanted you to know That this is me trying At least I'm trying

this is me trying - taylor swift

Evanora had died three months ago.

Agatha hadn’t been invited to the funeral. Actually, she’d been actively discouraged from attending—personally—by the priest. That wasn’t the problem. She didn’t even care that she’d barely felt anything beyond a dull, gray static. Numbness was familiar. Comfortable, even.

The real problem was that her friends were acting weird.

Agatha knew they had heard about the bitch's passing, it was all the paper talked about for days. The paper was saying the usual shit. "She was a Pillar of the Community", "A Loving Mother" —blah blah blah. But unlike their usual blunt, nosy questions Agatha had grown to love, her friends had gone quiet. Hesitant. Worst of all, they’d treated her as if she were fragile. And that pissed her off.

Alice's usual loud, boisterous voice, and desert dry humor was replaced with soft, tentative thoughtfulness. Jen hadn’t made a single joke about death in months. MONTHS. And Rio—once practically attached to Agatha’s hip—now hovered just outside her personal bubble, like she might shatter if they got too close. It was a travesty.

But the worst of it? The scathing remarks, the dumb impressions, the casually cruel jokes they used to make about "Eva-whore-a" —Gone. Like the woman had taken their personalities with her when she died.

It started with the pity-stares from Alice and Jen. Surprisingly, it had taken until study hall for them to really ramp up. The morning hadn’t been terrible—first through third period slid by mostly unnoticed, due to her teachers' open (to her) dislike of Evanora, and Alice—the most dedicated wielder of the pity-stare—had been out for an appointment until halfway through second period.

In the hallway between third and study hall, Agatha spotted Alice whispering to Jen across the lockers—eyes flicking her way, mouth shaping something that looked a lot like “hasn’t said a word all morning.” And that, for Agatha, was the last straw. Pretending she hadn't seen them was easy, as was the route towards her study hall. But when it came to actually entering the classroom, Agatha hesitated. Study halls were separated by year, then last name, meaning unfortunately, Agatha was alone.

And worse—her room was overseen by Mr. Donovan, a man who had idolized Evanora. And it showed. It showed in every snide comment, every guilt-laced aside, every narrowed glance like she was a walking disappointment. The thought of thirty silent minutes in that room, with that man, and not a single friend in sight, made her stomach churn. So she took out her secret weapon, a pass to Lilia Calderu's classroom.

Lilia Calderu was the Latin and Italian language teacher—often referred to by students as kooky, crazy, and altogether odd. Most students at Hamilton avoided her classes like the plague. Agatha, of course, had been taking them through all four years. Officially enrolled in Latin, Lilia had seen Agatha's passion for languages and nurtured it, slipping her Italian lessons on the side like contraband candy.

Lilia’s room was tucked away on the single-hallway third floor. The only floor with no lockers and unused classrooms. It was only Lilia and the French and Spanish teacher, Sharon Davis, up there. Something about the acoustics made every step Agatha took echo.

The second she stepped through the door, though, the world shifted.

Gone was the linoleum-and-locker sterility of Hamilton High, the buzzing lights were replaced by a soft Sicilian Lullaby, "La Siminzina," playing on a well-loved record player. Lilia's space was warm, cluttered, lived-in. The sharp smell of dry-erase markers and teenage sweat gave way to lavender and old books. Oriental rugs lined the floor from wall to wall, creating a surprisingly cohesive—and honestly beautiful—mosaic. Maps of Italy curled from every wall. Photos overlapped like feathers, forming an almost wallpaper-like effect. A single cork board held a rotation of bad puns, student art, and contact cards for safe resources.

But the pièce de résistance was a framed oil painting hung just above the radiator, catching the morning light like stained glass. It was done in thick, expressive strokes—blues and golds and dusky reds bleeding into one another like a dream half-remembered. At its center stood a woman unmistakably Lilia, younger but just as confident, a choral folder in hand, singing, as a sea of choirboys in white cassocks sang behind her. The backdrop—vaulted arches and columns rendered in swirling shadow—was unmistakably the Sistine Chapel. Agatha didn’t know who had painted it, but the resemblance was too sharp to be chance.

Most people barely looked at it. Lilia never brought it up with any class.

But it was there; it was historic.

The overhead fluorescent lights were off—fitted with one of those little plastic switch blockers Lilia had ordered in bulk, due to her photo sensitivity and too many incidents of inconsiderate administrators. The warm glow that filled the room came from an eclectic mix of adjustable floor lamps and the faint glow of stained-glass window film taped across the north-facing panes.

Agatha stepped over a pile of folded blankets and slumped into the nearest beanbag, worn down into the shape of her spine. She let her head fall back and just—breathed.

This was the one room in the whole damn school that didn’t make her flinch anymore.

Lilia was the choral director at St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church—Evanora’s go-to for Sunday Mass, of course. She’d wormed her way into Evanora’s fickle circle of trust with just the right amount of quiet charm and well-timed reverence. Some clever paperwork shuffling and subtle comments later, she’d landed her name on the emergency contact forms, school files, and eventually—somehow—the first in line for guardianship of Agatha in Evanora’s will. She even managed to keep a straight face through those high-and-mighty Latin Masses Evanora insisted on for holidays, her voice slipping into the incense-thick air like it belonged there. The woman Evanora once called “odd but religious enough” had snuck her way through the barbed-wire barricade of suspicion.

And Agatha? She saw through it. Every inch of it. But she also saw that Lilia, manipulating as she might be, had never once tried to fix her. Or mold her. Or make her into anything she wasn’t. She hadn't engaged in Evanora's belittling of her, nor had she let Evanora deprecate Agatha in front of the girl.  Lilia just… listened. She found time to sneak away from scripture groups and sit with Agatha for quiet, thoughtful conversations. Subtle remarks that flew right over Evanora’s head told Agatha everything she needed to know about the quiet disgust the perceptive, soft-spoken woman held for the way Evanora treated her. Lilia gave Agatha something Evanora never had the guts to offer: unconditional kindness and love.

[draculasstrawhat]

Cos I reblogged the accent post, I sort of want to write a bit about British accents and class based on my (admittedly brief) study of linguistics, and a sort of lifelong interest in the matter, if anyone fancies it.

It goes in to a bit of a rant, but hopefully explains why we’re such pedants about why a “British” accent being considered stick-up-the-arse posh is a misunderstanding, and why we might be a bit touchy about the bo’ul of wor’uh thing.

So, first up: accents in the UK are very much a class marker. I know that’s true everywhere, but it is really pronounced here. Because of our linguistic history, we’ve historically had enormous regional variation in accents for such a small landmass, as well as a second accent spoken by landowners regardless of geographical location. Historically, therefore, your social class could be discerned by where you were on the scale of ‘regional accent’ to ‘posh person accent’.

To an extent, this applies/applied to Scottish and Welsh accents, too. Really posh Scottish people do not have, or have a very slight Scottish accent. This is not an accident, nor something people were unaware of - I was reading a book from the 1930s recently where someone was discussing her child’s education and bemoaning his accent, saying “a touch of Perthshire is charming,” but that he’d been spending too much time with shepherds and gamekeepers, and was being essentially ‘too Scottish’.

So, because the vast majority of the Very Posh and Very Wealthy were educated at about three schools, two universities, and inhabited once social sphere, they all spoke - and were taught to speak - in the same way. The name for this accent, as I’m sure a lot of you know, is “Received Pronunciation,” or RP, and we all know what it sounds like, right?

Or do we?

What Maggie Smith (and most of the other actors there) are speaking *is* RP, but it’s not a particularly thick RP accent. Smith - because she’s a great actor and knows what she’s about - is speaking thicker RP than the others, and that’s doing the work of letting you know she’s posher and more old fashioned than anyone else she’s talking to - but still, her vowels are mostly soft and broad, her consonants clearly articulated. It is stage RP, schoolroom RP - but not from an Eton/Harrow/Westminster schoolroom. It’s the sort of accent you were taught at grammar schools, or small private schools to rid you of your regional accent.

Now, of course, if you speak like that in any normal place in in the UK, people *are* going to assume you’re posh. But it is upper middle class posh, working in the Professions posh, rather than “owns half of Buckinghamshire” posh. It’s designed for clarity - which is what people think RP is all about. But it isn’t.

RP is a shibboleth. It’s actually not a particularly clear accent, and it is designed to mark the people who know it apart from those who do not.

Here is a much thicker RP accent: https://youtu.be/mBRP-o6Q85s

(apologies for the national anthem at the start)

If you see, the vowels are a lot higher and tighter, the consonants less clearly pronounced. But it’s still fairly intelligible - Liz is public speaking here and the majority of her audience will not be RP speakers, so she’s speaking slowly and clearly, and she still wishes to be accessible and comprehensible. If you want to hear a seriously thick RP accent, it’s worth looking up some early 20th century radio broadcasts.

The difference is in the emphasis given to vowels over consonants, as well as how much you move your lips. I’m not good at writing IPA as I’ve only done a bit of linguistics, but to give an example - if you wanted to say “I am speaking clearly,” stage RP might pronounce the word “clearly” as KLEER-lee, two distinct syllables, with a clear but simple vowel sound. A sort of mid level RP might say something more like KLE-ahr-lee, giving more vocalisation to the a and the r, making it almost three syllables, although one without emphasis. Really thick RP almost pronounces it as klAR-le, with almost even emphasis between the syllables, and the stress on the ar, rather than the kl.

But although plenty of people still use it, that very thick RP accent has become almost invisible over the course of the 20th century, as part of (if I put my paranoid socialist hat on) a campaign to render invisible the hereditary privilege and enormous wealth disparity which affects pretty much every aspect of British life. Which is to say, the very small number of people who can speak with and identify each other by a thick RP accent still literally own most of the country.

Even if I’m to be a little less red, the fact is during the 20th century, it became expedient for the accepted voice of radio and television to become less that of landowners and hereditary authority, and more like that of the middle classes. Even ‘The Queen’s English’ changed, as the Queen and several politicians took elocution lessons to sound “warmer and more approachable.” At the same time, Britain had a period of unprecedented social mobility in the post-War period and - much like the American conception of “temporarily embarrassed millionaires” - there gradually emerged this cultural idea that everyone was, or perhaps could be, “middle class.”

Even as this was starting to happen, and markers of “middle class respectability” spread (especially in the South East of England) the countercultural movements of the 60s and 70s rejected this very move and identified itself with everything their parents found ‘low’ or ‘shocking’. One of the markers of this was that middle class boys from the Home Counties adopted a kind of ‘mockney’ accent, which along with the success of a handful actually working class artists meant that having a vaguely working-class, vaguely South-Eastern accent became a sign of counter cultural validity and authenticity. (All of this is, ofc, a vast oversimplification - but it’s a general trend.)

From here we have the rise of the Estuary accent. Estuary English is a vague conglomeration of RP and the accents found around the Thames Estuary. It’s neither Essex, nor London, nor Kent, but a broad mingling of the three. It is easily learned and adopted, and - as a composite accent - has none of the shibboleths of real cockney, or Essex, or RP. To speak cynically, it is an accent uniquely suited to code switching. If you have access to RP, then estuary is an accent where you can ‘choose’ how thickly you speak it, or whether you intersperse it with another accent. (An example my mum always points out, although this is a bit pre-Estuary, is in Mother’s Little Helper, Mick Jagger pronounces all his “th” as “v” - but doesn’t use a single glottle stop.)

Beyond the “clear, warm, and authoritative” idea of a mild RP accent, estuary offered a “relatable” and, more importantly, “authentic” feel. Its use as a political tool further closed the gap between people’s perception of their class (and promoted the idea of the UK as a ‘classless society, which, lol) and their actual circumstances. The wildest example of this is perhaps Victoria Beckham describing being driven to school on a Rolls Royce while claiming her family was “very working class.”

Now, Estuary English has a really complicated place in the UK especially in the way it has homogenised regional accents, but one good thing about it is that it normalises and even valorises patterns of speech that have been historically mocked, excluded, and treated as markers of poverty, criminality, and stupidity. Double negatives, the glottal stop, using a hard “ff” for “v” sounds, and a “v” for “th”, and where someone the ‘drops’ and vocalises ‘h’. I said earlier that RP was a shibboleth, and these were some of the most commonly observed tells that someone didn’t belong. Given that the vast majority of social power in England rested in the same area that the estuary accent drew its sources from, it bears a lot of similarities to the accent of the working classes in those areas - the ones most often mocked, parodied, or disparaged by those in power.

And the thing is, people still have those accents - or they have adopted the similar estuary in place of those accents - but unlike BBC talk show hosts, or politicians trying to convince you they’re a “man of the people,” these people *cannot* code switch. They have no access to RP, and their accent - despite being mainstreamed and in some ways privileged - is still used a shorthand for vulgarity and stupidity. It remains a punchline, a joke. They are still constrained by it - they can’t put it aside or mitigate it in formal situations, they can’t leverage RP to their advantage when it suits, and thereby use their actual accent as proof of “authenticity”. For them, the shibboleths remain - just (like thick RP) hidden now.

I don’t want to call it cultural appropriation, because that’s not quite the right term, but there is something very cruel in that way that - in one of the most classist and economically unequal countries in Europe - an accent which apes several working class accents has become enormously culturally privileged, but only when it is NOT used by somebody working class. And although that isn’t apparent to the casual observer - not even the people being totally shafted here - there is, I think, this broad cultural sense that we’ve been had. That we’ve been played for fools on some level it’s really difficult to quantify.

We have been told that class and accent no longer matter - but every day in our lives, they transparently *do*. So anyone hearing my “middle class vowels” will assume I’m posh, and have endless contacts and support - despite the fact I lived a lot of my adult life below the poverty line - but in any situation where being perceived as posh would get me contacts and support, it’s immediately apparent I’m not part of the Old School Tie, because I don’t talk quite right.

Or how a poor kid with an Essex accent will be told they couldn’t *possibly* be discriminated against because of their class, because that’s how all the presenters on Radio 1 talk, meanwhile whole comedy sketches are still written about how ‘ugly’ and ‘stupid’ the Essex accent sounds.

Or how an accent that is somehow globally understood to be one of power and privilege (be it RP or estuary) and can therefore be ‘punched up’ against is - at home - only ever used to punch down on us. How people who want to ‘do well’ have had regional accents beaten out of them (in some cases literally) and were granted conditional acceptance for it, while the same people who’ve owned the country since the Middle Ages got to slum it down with us, without surrendering any of their money or privilege.

It’s… complicated, okay?

[edited for typos, for there were many.]

[ruhua-langblr]

Hi, you seem to have a decent grasp on Language Learning Resources™, so maybe you could help me.

I currently have a 2600+ day streak for Duolingo Spanish, which I initially picked up because I took classes in school and wanted to see if I remembered any. I'm well aware of the limitations on the app, and at this point it's just because I like to see the number go up. I've only ever been a casual student but I would like to progress eventually. The problem is I have trouble finding a method between gamified app, and full-blown, academic, novel -and- textbook self study. Do you know of good ways to move past Duolingo lessons without biting off more than you can chew?

Thanks for any input you have

Hi!

I feel like that "number goes up" connection is the main reason a lot of people don't want to move on from Duo and similar apps! I hope to do a post that goes into all of this more in depth, so consider this a shortened version~

My personal philosophy is that you shouldn't have to chose between just gamified apps and academic study—ideally you need it to be engaging enough to keep up for when you have less motivation, but with an academic rigor! I'm gonna drop some general resources/resource types and try to give them all a shot! Don't think of replacing Duo with a singular app or activity, but a collection of resources that you can switch between.

Anki: SSR vocab learning. Lots of customization and habit tracking features available so consider this a good "number goes up" replacement (and if you really love looking at data it's much more thorough!). With Spanish as your TL (target language), you'll have plenty of pre-made decks available. You can have specific decks, sentence mine, or have a huge 5,000 most frequent words deck. Anki isn't my favorite method personally, but people get SUPER into it and it works for them—also you'll hear this everywhere anyway.

Language Transfer: I wish my TL was one of the ones they have! If you're coming from Duo then you've probably been lacking a good method to really train your listening skills. 100% free, and I've heard great things about their Spanish course as well. All the files are available to be downloaded to listen to offline. Great to put on when you're getting ready in the morning, for bed, or during a commute.

LingQ/Youtube/Podcast Comprehensible Input: "[TL] Comprehensible Input" in the Youtube search will get you pretty far. There are podcasts like this as well, but it's nice to have a visual stimuli as well! This is pretty much the epitome of a ~natural language acquisition~ style. Immersion and immersion at an appropriate level is what works best. If you've even dipped your toes into the language acquisition sphere, you'll know Steve Kaufmann. LingQ is his app that's based on these principles.

Textbooks: Duo assumes that you can just pick up grammar from pattern recognition and that can work, but upper-level nuanced grammar or grammar patterns that are vastly different from your native language are hard to intuit. Find a good, dedicated grammar textbook and use that as what you will learn the details of grammar from. All that audio stuff will teach you what sounds right, this will teach you why/how it's right. (Buy a used textbook, visit your library, or check out my pinned post...)

+More: There's so MANY ways to learn a language. I'm focusing on specific methods that would fit in naturally with your existing habits (solo, digital, habit-forming), but there's tons more out there that you can do: journaling, discord servers, italki, chatting apps, graded readers, etc.

To start pick one that you feel the most drawn to and then a second that compliments where it might be lacking. Make a goal that you feel is reachable, and build from there.

Best of luck!