#it’s not about safety is about control!

[too-attached-to-fiction]

interestingly, I had a conversation with a Lyft driver the other day that might shed some light as to why the firing of 3,000 air traffic controllers is more dangerous than you think

A few years ago - around 2020/2021, a lot of air traffic controllers aged out. The job has an early retirement age, but also is six days a week. It *also* has a maximum hiring age of about 29 or 30.

So, mass turnover has been pretty recent and the industry is still recovering. And you can bet that an already lowered population being reduced by 3,000 people is going to fuck over a lot of airports, and the general safety of aircraft, in addition to all of the shady shit Boeing has been up to in the past few years.

There were multiple systematic failures that caused this crash that were only exacerbated more by Trump's election into office.

”there has been a dire shortage of trained air traffic controllers for years”

“the FAA director resigned on inauguration day because Elon Musk demanded he quit”

“trump’s hiring freeze means no new air traffic controllers are being hired”

“Musk’s ‘resign or get fired’ email went to every ATC too”

First deadly commercial air crash in the US since 2009 occurs

“It’s because of DEI!”

holy shit fuck off

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: It's normal to feel insecure every once in a while. But what would Sylus think of it? You wonder if he'll think that you're too much but you still ask to look through his phone anyway. And he willingly lets you.

Warnings: Low self-esteem and self-doubt, insecurity, jealousy issues (thinking he has other girls), bad relationships (not with Sylus), mentions of stalking (done by Sylus to you), mentions of threat messages.

Author's note: Is this controversial. Idk. I think I'm overbearing, so this is self-indulgent but I hope that it helps if you can relate to it as well. This is based on one of his Destiny Café and affinity level up lines. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You had always been a little insecure of yourself. Comparing yourself to others, envying the life they have, wishing to be a different person entirely. All of this had been ingrained into you like heated iron scorching skin, branding itself onto the fragile fabric of your soul. It would be alright, if it didn't consume your being and take the reigns of your mind at the worst of times.

Previous partners always brushed you off when you wanted to speak to them about your troubles. Telling you that it was fine— that they could handle it. Lies. Maybe they would indulge you once or twice, but they would always end up angry at you for being... difficult. Your jealousy is out of control, your clinginess is overbearing, your need for reassurance is exhausting. Always too much, too high maintenance. It all ends sour.

But you can't help it. The need to satiate this overwhelming emotion withers you away. Your desperate want for someone to claim you as their number one— the only one—overrides rationality. Yet you have learned to bite your tongue. Force your words to die in your throat because you never want to be too much. Especially not for someone like Sylus. Sylus who has always been so understanding and patient and you are terrified that this might tip him over the edge.

Sylus, however, notices that you seem rather lost in thought. Although he has been on his phone for quite some time, nothing gets past him. Not your jittery behaviour or the sighs that escape past your lips as if they were the words you wished to convey but held back on. He sees you fiddling with a trinket, some gemstone he left lying around the base that Mephisto probably went for. Switching off his phone, he sets it aside in favour of staring intently at you, two fingers resting on his temple as he leans on his elbow.

“You seem quite fascinated with that pretty gem, sweetie. Has Mephisto influenced you with a crow's instinct?” Sylus teases you, an opening line for conversation.

You jerk, scowling at the man, “Don't compare me to that bird!”

He only chuckles, shaking his head.

“What's on your mind, sweetie?” The tone of his voice shifts, now noticeably softer. So are his eyes.

Sylus is worried about you, it seems. You glance at him, taking in the way he keeps his eyes only on you. Then briefly direct your gaze towards that damn phone of his before looking into his eyes. Vicious scarlet turned lovesick velvet; it engulfs you in safety. Your lip quivers, and you bite down to stop it from doing so. What would Sylus say if you asked to look through his phone? How irritated or annoyed would he be? But his eyes are so warm, and you crave the gentle adoration it drowns you in.

“Can I... look through your phone?” You ask hesitantly, breaking eye contact first.

Well. That was the last thing he expected you'd ask him. He stares at you a little dumbfounded, only briefly, before regaining his composure. He expected a favor, something grand or perhaps requested the impossible from him. Of all things Sylus owns, and you ask for his mobile device. With a quirk of his brow and small tug at his lips, he gestures for you to come closer. When you do, he sits you across his lap, pulling his phone from the coffee table with his evol and drops it off in your hands.

“Go ahead, sweetie. I have nothing to hide from you, only the authorities.”

Sylus is patient when you begin your... search. Throughout all the apps he has; social media, websites, albums, contacts. You find that most of it contains you and N109 business. Pictures of you that you don't recall him taking, candid ones looking away from the camera. Auction sites where he's betting on antique weapons and vintage wine. Messages to Luke and Kieran regarding missions, and sometimes about keeping an eye on you. Ominous ones from others that come in the form of—

“What do the codes mean?” The question tumbles out of you before you fully think it through. Damn you.

His hand envelops yours, scrolling through the messages with his thumb.

“This one, is a location. Some sort of trap, most likely. The one you looked at earlier was a threat. And as for this...” Sylus explains every single one, not even hesitating.

Once you're satisfied, you give him back his phone. There was nothing. No other girl, no secret lover, not a single piece of incriminating evidence. Shame and guilt immediately take root within you. Sylus is not that kind of person, you should have known that. Should have trusted him more and let it be. Why were you like this? Apologize. It's what you need to do now because maybe he thought you were doubting him.

“I'm sorry—” he cuts you off.

“No. You have nothing to apologize for. Didn't I tell you that you have access to all my resources? Including, but not limited to, my phone. You can take a mile if I give you an inch.”

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. Even the tips of your fingers, and a final one on the inside of your palm.

“Next time, you don't need to ask. Just snatch it away from me if you think I'm giving it too much attention. I'll drop anything to show you how much I adore you.” He looks at you, gaze unwavering.

You will never be too much for Sylus. Everything that you have to offer, he will devour like a dog starved. He has been deprived of the intensity of your affections for far too long to be picky. If your love is tender, he will soften himself from metal to clay and be molded by your hands as best he can. And if your love is untamed ferocity he will embrace you with open arms, ready to be ripped apart. It will be alright— Sylus will stitch himself back together if that was what you needed him to do. That is what he will do to love you.

[filthygalli]

Hush

Fem!Reader x Hwang In-Ho

Warnings: MDNI18+, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, SoftDom! In-Ho, Secretive In-Ho, Mentions of Gunshot wound, Light Alcohol consumption, No usage of Y/N (but readers getting called as "Sweetheart" and "Darling"), Not proofread, Let me know if I missed anything! 🖤

Word Count: 1,686

Author's Note: I was so sleepy and I zoned out with this idea, I had the urge to write it because I'm afraid if I sleep it'll be gone by the time I wake up, so I apologize if there's spelling and grammar mistakes!

© Pictures are from: I come by the rain (2009)

You've been married to In-Ho for 3 years. You've known him since you were kids, he's a dominant man but he would worship the ground you walk on, give you expensive things, treat you romantically without you noticing it. That's probably the main reason why you married him.

For over 3 years of marriage, you still don't know what's his work, he always tell you that he's just going out for a ‘business trip’ that he'll be gone for 7 days, you begged for him to tell you what's his work about—but he's just changing the subject quickly, avoiding the question about his work. You let it pass every time though, maybe it's something that you don't need to know, something that it's private—but you're worried, what if something bad happens to him during that ‘business trip'? Though, when he's away he always call you and send you messages when he can, one time you told him you missed him and you need him that you cried on the phone while begging for him to come home, In-Ho's heart ache at the sound on your voice breaking through the line on the phone, sometimes he hates himself from not telling you the truth about what he do, on who he really is…but for the sake of your safety—he choose not to.

He went straight home and cuddled up with you on your shared bed, whispering sweet nothings to your ear as you lay your head on his chest, his breathing calms you down—the way his chest would slowly rise up and down, matching the pace of your breathing, you relaxed at the soft hum of his voice as he tells you that he's sorry for leaving you for almost 3 days, that he'll take you out tomorrow to go and shopping and eat at one of your favorite restaurants in Italy.

But sometimes, you just can't help but ask In-Ho about it, even though you know he'll avoid the question, you wanted to know the truth.

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you in detail, but even if I did…you won't understand.” He said, sitting on the leather sofa, a whiskey in his left hand while looking up at you, “It's just…I'm worried,” you sat down beside him, “Last time you went home…you had a wound on your shoulder,” In-Ho clenched his jaw tightly, recalling the incident between him and his brother Jun-Ho, he sighed softly, eyeing you, “I know sweetheart, but I promise I'm ok, nothing to worry about.” he sets down the glass of whiskey on the coffee table as He assured you, he gave you a kiss on top of your forehead, You smiled up at him, “I love you, In-Ho.” You said kissing him, the kiss was gentle and delicate, you liked it when he kiss you like this—taking his time with you, making you take control of him if you want to, his hands travelled up to your waist as he picks you up to sit on his lap, he pulls away slowly, “I love you too, Sweetheart.” He said as he trails down kisses on your jaw all the way down to your neck, you whimper, “In-Ho…” you start to feel a familiar sensation between your thighs, “I know, sweetheart…let me take care of you, hmm?” you nodded eagerly, In-Ho chuckled at your response. He hooked his finger on the strap of your shirt, pulling it down slowly revealing your bare chest to him, “You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he said as he plants kisses on your chest, sucking the exposed skin—leaving reddish marks on it, you whined, “In-Ho…please–” you begged as you looked down on him, still sucking your skin, he looked up, dark brown eyes turned up at you, he trails his warm tongue on your nipple, you moaned as he started sucking it gently. In-Ho can feel himself getting hard, he wants to fuck you right here, right now, but he wants to push you first, to make you feel good.

He released his mouth on your nipple with a loud pop, his saliva glistened on your nipple, “Tell me what you want sweetheart.” He said gripping your neck lightly, not too much to hurt you, “Please.. In-Ho,” you begged, tears started to prickle on the corner of your eye, “Please what, sweetheart?” He said reaching through your cheek to wipe your eyes using his thumb, “Fuck me, please, In-Ho…” you once again begged as In-Ho chuckled, “Want me to fuck you, huh, sweetheart?” He said cupping your chin to look down at him, you didn't say anything and just gave him a whinny look, “Need your words sweetheart,” he said giving you a smirk, “Want you to fuck me, Please In-Ho…” “As you wish, sweetheart.” He said as he lays you down softly on the sofa, he motioned you to lift your hips as he pulls down your shorts, revealing you in your undies, he leans down and trails kisses on your thighs, licking your skin, you whimper as In-Ho chuckled, the vibration of his chuckle sends shivers down on your spine, “Please…” you cried out, “Patience is a virtue, Darling.” He whispered on your skin, his breath feels hot on your skin, you want him to touch you, to fuck you to put you on your place, He hooked his index fingers on the waist band of your undies—exposing your bare cunt Infront of his face, “So wet for me, Sweetheart.” He said as he traced his middle finger on the slit of your pussy—earning a whimper from you, He leaner in as you felt his warm breath on your aching cunt, “In-Ho…please–want you,” your hips jerked up as he looks at you, he glared at you, your breath hitched as he stick his tongue out slightly licking your clit, teasing you as he smirk, “Mmm–” you mumbled, lips pressed together, “Wanna hear your voice, sweetheart, let me hear them.” He said in between kisses on your pussy, You moaned, When In-Ho heard your pornographic moans he eats your pussy like a starved man—slurping every juices that your pussy could offer him, sucking the bundle of nerves, biting the soft skin as your eyes rolled back from the back of your head, you arch your back—gripping your hands on the leather couch as you moaned his name like a broken record, He continues to eat you while looking at you, he reached for your hand that's grabbing the leather couch, softly putting it on his hair, your grabbed his hair tightly—pushing him down on your cunt—you want more, you want more of him, He flicks his tongue faster as he slides his index finger inside your pussy, “Fuck–In-Ho!” You moaned as he curled his fingers inside you, he smirked at the sound of you, priding himself that he could make a mess out of you by just doing this, making you beg for more till you break—of course he will keep giving you more till you can't cum anymore, he'll make you writhe against his touch, make you feel sore, he'll make you unable to walk for days as he pride himself for eating you out and making you cum and squirt all over his face. You started to feel a familiar sensation in your stomach as In-Ho continuously flicked his tongue on your aching clit, you're so gonna be sore for days you'll be staying in bed and call In-Ho for help to stand up, he hasn't fucked you yet and you feel worned out, what more if he rammed his thick cock inside your pussy? He'll rip you apart, not that you don't mind though, you're going to take it like a good girl. His good girl.

“In-Ho…” you cried out, In-Ho felt your pussy clenched around his index finger, he knows you're about to cum and he'll give it to you no matter what. “I know sweetheart, cum for me, Be a good girl and cum on my face,” he said in between a flick of his tongue as his husky voice sent shivers down your spine “ruin my face with your sweet juices, squirt on my face like a damn fountain.”

his voice soft but demanding, you whimpered at his words as you felt him go crazy on your clit, he added a second finger inside you, making you feel full of him already, he pumped his thick fingers inside and out of you, shoving it harshly—hitting every spot inside of you as you shivered and moan his name, “In-Ho!” Is the last thing you screamed as you squirt your juices on In-Ho's face, he hurriedly opened his mouth and slurped everything he could get, not wasting a drop as he repeatedly fuck's you with his tongue, you felt so overstimulated, it's all too much, but you need In-Ho inside of you, you want him badly.

“Stop–I can't! Too much!” you breathe out, “Want you.. inside ah!” You heard him chuckled darkly, “Sweetheart,” he said as he brought up his face a little, his chin and cheeks glistened with your juices, he licked his lips before opening his mouth to talk to you, “Let me make it up to you for those days that I'm gone.” He said as he sat up, unbuckling his belt—not breaking an eye contact with you, you moaned at the sight of him; it always excite you when he does this, it's simple yet so fucking hot and sexy, “I'll make sure you'll forget to ask that damn question,” he said as he threw his pants on the floor revealing his cock, he lined it up on your entrance, gathering some of your juices to use it as a lube for his cock, pre-cum beaded on his tip as he slapped the tip of his cock on your now swollen clit, “The only thing you'll remember is this moment, while I fuck you senselessly with my cock, I'll pump you full with my cum that you'll be leaking for days that I'm gone, You'll only remember how I fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Author's Note: I hope you like this one, Its longer than what i've imagined. Anyways, Let me know if you want a part 2 of this one, Thank you for the support!

< Squid Game Masterlist I Main MasterList >

[littlepeach-world]

Baby on Board

Paring: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Summary: You and In-ho welcome your beautiful baby into the world.

Warnings: Emotional Intensity, Pregnancy and Childbirth, Past Trauma, Labor and Delivery, little angst idk, fluff, soft!inho, protective!inho, dad!inho, husband!inho

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: Just a short fic while I’m working on everyone’s request. Enjoy! 

Your life has been a tapestry of warmth, compassion, and an unwavering belief in the goodness of people. As you stand at the threshold of a new chapter, about to bring a new life into the world, you reflect on the journey that has brought you and your husband to this moment. His rigid exterior and commanding presence often mask a heart full of pain and love—a heart that you know intimately.

Before In-ho became the Front Man of the Squid Game, his life was scarred by a profound personal tragedy. You never knew his late wife, but you've seen the imprints of his loss in the silent sorrow that occasionally flickers in his eyes. His unborn child, too, was a loss that cut deeply into his soul. These memories, though rarely spoken about, have shaped the man he is today—authoritative, relentless, and emotionally guarded.

Despite this, you've come to understand that his ruthless pragmatism is a shield, a way to cope with the responsibilities that weigh heavily upon him. In-ho’s meticulous nature, his need for control and precision, all stem from his desire to prevent any further chaos or pain. Yet, beneath this exterior lies a man conflicted and complex, grappling with the shadows of his past and the duties of his present.

In-ho may rule the games with an iron fist, but your presence in his life brings a warmth that melts the ice around his heart. From the moment he fell in love with you, it was as if a light had pierced through the shrouded corners of his soul—a feeling he had never experienced before. Your own personality—a blend of empathy, nurturing, and optimism—complements his in ways that only destiny could orchestrate. Where he is methodical, you are spontaneous; where he is guarded, you are emotionally open.

Your relationship with him is a delicate balance of yin and yang. Your love is the sanctuary where In-ho can shed his armor, finding solace in the tenderness you offer. Through your creative pursuits and gentle spirit, you bring joy and beauty into his otherwise dark world, creating a space where both of you can breathe freely.

When you revealed to In-ho that you were pregnant, he was initially shocked, the news surfacing deep-seated fears and emotions. But that shock quickly turned into an all-encompassing happiness, deepening the love he felt for you. The idea of bringing a new life into the world—and into his life—was a prospect that filled his heart with newfound hope.

From that moment forward, In-ho became even more overprotective. His attention to your needs and desire to be near you at all times intensified. Never wanting to be away from you, he shadowed your every move, ensuring safety and comfort surrounded you, almost as if it were his new mission. This vigilant presence revealed the depths of his transformation—a man once cloaked in detachment, now a devoted protector with love as his guiding force.

Inho did everything for you. Whether it was cooking your meals, washing your hair, or changing your clothes, he took on each task with unwavering dedication, determined that you should never have to lift a finger. He found immense pleasure in caring for you, meticulously attending to even the smallest details of your life to ensure your absolute comfort and well-being. Through his actions, Inho demonstrated the profound love and commitment that drove his every movement and decision, showcasing a depth of affection that transformed not only his life but yours as well.

The day you go into labor is a whirlwind of emotions. In-ho, usually so composed and in control, becomes your pillar of support despite his visible nerves. As the contractions grow stronger, you see the cracks in his confident façade. He hates seeing you in pain, and each twinge of discomfort you experience reflects in the worry etched on his face.

He holds your hand tightly as you make your way to the hospital, his words of comfort doing as much to soothe his own fears as they do to ease your anxiety. “You’ve got this,” he whispers, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. “I’m here with you every step of the way.”

In the delivery room, the world narrows to just you, In-ho, and the impending arrival of your baby. The pain is intense, and as you push with all your strength, In-ho’s supportive voice fills the room.

“You can do it, my love. You're so strong,” he says, kissing your forehead.

Through gritted teeth, you sometimes snap at him, the pain overwhelming your usual patience. “You did this to me, In-ho! I hate you right now!” you yell, tears streaming down your face.

In-ho only holds you tighter, a gentle smile on his lips. “I know, sweetheart. I know. You're doing amazing, and I love you so much,” he assures, his voice unwavering as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Finally, with one last push, the room fills with the sound of your baby’s first cry. Relief washes over both of you. In-ho kisses you deeply, tears of pride in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs against your lips. He then looks toward the doctor, who is offering him scissors to cut the umbilical cord.

His hands tremble slightly as he takes the scissors, but his resolve is clear. With a determined and loving expression, he cuts the cord, solidifying his role as a father. The doctor then takes the baby to perform the standard tests and clean them up.

In-ho refuses to leave the baby’s side, his eyes never straying from the tiny, precious form. He watches intently, his heart racing with every movement and sound, ensuring that everything is perfect. He holds his breath as the doctors perform their tests, only releasing it when told that everything is fine.

When the doctor hands you the baby first, In-ho’s heart swells with pride and love as he watches you hold your newborn for the first time. He’s overcome with emotion, tears stinging his eyes as he sees you cradling the tiny life you both created.

You gaze at him, a silent understanding passing between you, knowing that this moment is as monumental for him as it is for you. After a few precious moments, you gently pass the baby to him.

His breath catches in his throat as he gazes into the eyes of his newborn for the first time. A soft gasp escapes his lips as his eyes fill with tears.

"Hello, little one," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and tenderness. He brushes a gentle finger across the baby's cheek, marveling at the soft, delicate skin. "I love you more than words can say." The look on his face is one of pure adoration and vulnerability, a side of In-ho rarely seen by the outside world.

As you both sit on the hospital bed, you, still exhausted, lay your head on In-ho’s shoulder while he cradles your newborn for the first time. Tears stream down his face, unable to contain the flood of emotions.

“Thank you for letting me be a dad,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I vow to always love and protect you both, no matter what.”

Together, you gaze at the tiny, fragile life you've brought into the world, with a sense of completion and wholeness. The strong and determined man you fell in love with remains, but now he has also become a loving husband and devoted father. Inho reflects deeply on how empty and mundane his life was before you came into it, realizing with gratitude how you, have illuminated every shadowed corner of his existence.

Even with his steely resolve, he often feels unworthy of someone as extraordinary as you. He questions what you see in him and marvels at his fortune of ending up with someone so perfect. Inho silently vows to cherish and adore you like a queen for all the days of his life, promising to honor and protect you and your newborn with every fiber of his being.

Your journey together, sculpted by balance, unwavering support, and profound understanding, stands as a testament to the enduring power of love. Inho has never experienced a love as deep and transformative as the one he shares with you and your child. The connection and devotion he feels are unparalleled, a symphony he wishes to nurture forever.

In a world often enveloped in darkness, your love is the light that guides him—a beacon of hope and warmth he desperately clings to. As you both embark on this new chapter, you face the future hand-in-hand, with a bond so strong that no tragedy can sever it.

[wombmoth]

The fact that he thinks that being critical of men is an uno reverse, aka the same thing as women being abused and oppressed on a daily basis tells you just about how much male ""feminists"" understand about female subjugation. (Also lol @ the complete strawman claim of us saying only men are abusers and women do no wrong, bc clearly acknowledging that men makeup the majority of violence and sexual assault against women is the same thing as saying women can do no wrong and every single man is a rapist)

If you have no problem comparing

A. being raped, abused, and having your bodily autonomy controlled by the state

with

B. going into a female dominated space and seeing women say "I'm tired of men raping and killing us and if men can't change as a whole then I would like to minimize my interactions with them as much as possible, for my own safety and sanity. I have been raped and repeatedly hurt by men and I despise them."

Its pretty obvious you have no understanding of the extent that patriarchy oppresses us, and you actually have no real interest in helping women, you just want to be able to say that you think women are equal and then be coddled and completely exempt from criticism.

Because why else go into female exclusive spaces to wag your finger and "not all men!!1" us?

Do you chastise that one guy who is really cool but kind of ""weird"" around women?

Are you similarly going into male dominated spaces and telling men to stop talking about how worthless we are and how we deserve to be raped? Or did you decide that that isn't your problem?

Posting this on its own for the girlies

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Twelve

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

warnings: biting, injury, blood

Series masterlist

In a shirt too big for your body, you sat up in bed. There was a man on either side of you, keeping you safe and warm. You had never been so happy. 

Max laid down first, arms behind his head as he waited for you and Charles to join him. Charles scooted down the bed, laying his head on his pillow. "Come on, Birdy girl," he said and patted the space beside him. 

You laid down, wiggling around until you were comfortable. Even then, something wasn't right. You continued to wiggle, continued to be unhappy. 

Max released a huff. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, halting your movements. 

At your happy chirp, a grin grew on Charles's face.  "You like that?" He asked as he brushed his fingers over your cheek and held you chin. "Can I kiss you, Birdy?" 

Desperately, you shuffled closer to him. You pressed you lips to his, ass still pressed against Max as he held you. There was nothing sexual about it, laying against both of them at once. 

It was easy to find sleep, nestled in the warmth and safety they provided. Your mouth was open, releasing tiny snores and a little bit of drool. 

"Max," Charles whispered, watching to see if you wake up. You didn't, eyes firmly shut. God, you were adorable. 

Max stared at him across the bed. His thumb brushed over your stomach absentmindedly. It must have been tickling but you didn't react. 

Fast asleep between them, where you were supposed to be. 

"She's perfect," Max mumbled as he stared at you. He was right, you were. 

Max reached over and kissed Charles. It was only quick, neither of them wanting to wake you up. 

They laid down on either side of you, holding you and each other. 

***

Arms around you, closing you in. Too hot. Too hot. Too hot. You had to get away. You had to free yourself from whatever was holding you back. 

Growls left your lips. You tried to open your eyes but they were clamped shut. You struggled and struggled and struggled. 

Your throat vibrated with each growl. You had no control as your claws came out, scratching at whatever held you back, digging into someones skin. 

Your teeth, long and sharp, sank down into flesh, drawing blood. 

The thing before you cried out, but those cries fell on death ears. You shook and withdrew your teeth, ready to bite again. 

Pain in your neck. Your eyes flew open as your body went rigid. "Birdy!" The person holding your neck shouted. 

You went limp in their hold, unable to do anything but stare. Blood against flesh. It was a horrible sight, an even more horrible taste in your mouth. 

Tears filled your eyes, hot and uncontrollable. This wasn't the first time you had been scruffed, not by a long shot. But you always had this same reaction. It always pulled tears from your eyes as you laid there, helpless. 

Only, this time, someone held you. 

"Hey, hey, hey," Max whispered as he released your neck. "You're okay, Birdy. You're safe." 

You whimpered as you tried to regain control of your limbs. 'You were safe. You didn't need to lash out.' 

Lips touched your shoulder. "You're okay, Birdy. Sweet, sweet Birdy." 

You knew that voice. It brought you back to yourself. Max. It was Max. As soon as you released it was him, you withdrew your claws from his arm and released a whimper. 

You didn't mean it. You needed them them to know that you didn't mean it. 

The light switched on and you shut your eyes. Too harsh, too bright. "Shit, Charles," you heard Max whisper, but you couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes and investigate. 

"It's okay," Charles said quickly. When his hands touched your face, you flinched away. "Oh, Birdy," he whispered. 

Suddenly, Max sat up behind you. You curled in on yourself, as if you were trying to hide from them. But there was no hiding once the blankets were pulled back. 

Max climbed out of the bed. "First aid kit," he said, voice hurried as he waited for Charles's response. 

"Bathroom," he said and Max ran in the direction of the bathroom. 

You dared to open one eye. 

Blood. Blood everywhere. It ran down Charles's arm and dripped from his fingers. The taste on your teeth when you ran your tongue over them. Charles's blood. 

Shuffling back, you fell from the bed. You has no control as your body changed, tearing your clothes as you because a wolf. 

"Birdy!" Charles cried you were gone, disappearing into the living room. You ran into the kitchen and curled up beneath the table. Your face was hidden in the fluff of your tail as you whimpered. 

A few moments later, the light overhead turned on. You stayed hidden, stayed quiet, hoped they would leave you alone. You did something bad and you needed to be punished. 

"Birdy?" 

Why did you agree to this? Why did you agree to put Max and Charles in so much danger. 

"Birdy girl, where are you?" 

A chair was moved out of the way as Max joined you beneath the table. His fur was just as soft as your own, no doubt brushed out by Charles. 

You lifted your tail just enough to look at him. Sitting tall and proud, looming over you. You whimpered in submission and resisted the urge to role over and show your belly.

"Birdy," Charles called again. "Can you come out here so we can talk?" 

Still, you didn't move. From under your tail you saw the beginnings of a bandage on his arm, red seeping through. All because of you. Your tail fell back over your eyes. 

Max released something between a whine and a growl. It wasn't harsh, didn't send fear through you. He grabbed your tail between his teeth, not enough to cause you any harm, and moved it from over your eyes. 

You looked up at him and attempted to move away. But Max moved his tongue over your head, smoothing down your fur. He curled himself around you as he continued to groom you, to soothe you. 

"I know you didn't mean to do it, Birdy," Charles whispered as he moved a chair out of the way. "You're not used to sleeping in a bed with other people, are you?" 

You shook your head and Max nudged you, pushing you closer to Charles. You went willingly. 

"I never should have pushed you so far, Birdy," he whispered and reached out to smooth out your fur. Wet from where Max had been grooming you. "This is all my fault."

'No!' You wanted to cry, stepping towards him. 'No it's not your fault, Charles!' You sat yourself in his lap and settled your head on his chest, hoping that told him everything you wanted to say. 

He scratched under your chin and your tail thumped against his leg. "You wanna stay as a wolf for a little bit?" He asked and you tried your best to nod your head. "Okay, Birdy girl." 

Charles hummed as he held you. He scratched under your chin and behind your ears, his laugh filling the kitchen when your tail started moving. You couldn’t help when you tail went around and around like a propeller on a helicopter, giving away just how happy you were. 

"Wanna move somewhere more comfortable, Birdy?" 

You climbed from Charles's lap and followed him into the living room. Max walked behind you, the vigilant wolf watching over and protecting his pack. Even with Charles still human, the pack instincts felt natural. 

As soon as Charles sat down and switched on the television, you jumped onto the sofa with him. Your instincts took over as you walked into a circle and settled down on his stomach. 

He didn't complain with your full weight on top of him, didn't complain when Max joined you. He settled behind you, curling around you. It was a tight squeeze, but you made it work. 

"Putain oui!" Charles cried as he flipped through the channels. He landed on one of the Harry Potter movies, you couldn't tell which one. "My favourite," he explained and scratched behind your ear. 

You tried to watch it, you really did. But Max was asleep beside you, snoring gently. The sound wasn't as annoying as you expected, the rise and fall of his chest comforting against your furry back. 

The three of you fell asleep with the television turned on. Still on the sofa, you slept against Charles with Max behind you. At some point in the night, both you and Max turned back, but you wouldn't know until you woke up.

a/n: sorry for the long wait! i've had this in my drafts for a week, but its been a WEEK

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[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

Sypnosis [The idea, the reality of the Safe Haven seemed like a dream. Practiced words of security and all, you really wanted to believe it. But your body finally gave out on you.]

Characters [Poppy, Doey The Dougman]

Note || I canNOT, stop thinking about this chapter. Had to get something out, RAGHHHH.

The Safe Haven was a sight for sore eyes. After what felt like an eternity of running, hiding, and barely escaping death, the sight of a place that promised some semblance of safety should’ve felt like relief. But it didn’t. Not for you. Not after everything you’d been through—everything you had to endure. Your mind raced with fragmented memories, sharp jabs of terror, grief, and pain.

Poppy, with her porcelain skin cracked and her freckled face stained with something like sorrow, had said something. You couldn’t quite recall what. Her words blurred in the haze of dizziness, each syllable becoming more distant as you stumbled forward, breath ragged and shallow. Kissy Missy, bruised and battered, limped behind you, her usually vibrant form now barely recognizable. The damage was too much; you could see that in her eyes. She wasn't the playful, colorful mascot anymore. She was a broken thing, her energy and joy long siphoned away by the cruelty of whatever twisted force controlled this place.

Doey had already disappeared ahead of you, his doughy body oozing through the walls, reshaping as he went to ensure a path for you, keeping watch for anything dangerous. You could hear his voice echo back to you, encouraging but soft, "It’s just a little farther, hang in there."

But you could barely move anymore. Your limbs were heavy, like lead weights had been strapped to them, your chest tight with every breath. The psychological toll of the horrors you’d witnessed, the twisted machinations of the toys, the monstrous creatures, the feeling of being hunted—it had crushed you. Every time you closed your eyes, the faces of those you failed to save haunted you. And yet, the worst part of it all wasn’t the bloodshed. It was the realization that none of this had really been an accident. This place, the factory, Playtime Co. itself—it had been engineered, designed to trap, to break, to destroy. The lines between the real world and the horrors within had blurred beyond recognition.

But the Safe Haven was supposed to be different. They had told you it would be.

"Poppy... what’s happening?" You barely whispered, stumbling forward, your hand reaching for her as if she could somehow anchor you to sanity.

She glanced at you, her cracked porcelain face betraying something deeper than concern—fear. But she masked it quickly with a false sense of politeness, that same flicker of the commercial persona. "We’re safe, just for a moment. Doey’s gone to prepare a place for you to rest. You need to sleep. You’ve... been through a lot."

The words sounded hollow, too rehearsed. You saw the cracks in her mask, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly, like she was holding something back. Something far darker than just the factory’s horrors.

But before you could ask more, your body rebelled. Your legs gave way, the floor rushing up to meet you with a suddenness that felt like fate had finally decided to claim its prize. The world around you blurred, spinning into a vortex of shapes and colors you couldn’t make sense of. A warm, tingling numbness spread through your limbs, and everything—the noise, the cold, the crushing fear—faded away into the suffocating embrace of blackness.

---

When you woke, the first thing you felt was warmth. It wasn’t the sterile, metallic chill of the factory, nor the harsh stabs of cold that had been your constant companion in the last few hours. No, this felt different. Soft, welcoming, like something familiar.

For a moment, you almost wished it was just a dream. You wanted to close your eyes again, to pretend you could go back to a time before all of this—the monster-filled corridors, the broken toys, the grotesque creations. But you couldn’t. The memories burned too bright, too sharp.

You opened your eyes slowly, your gaze falling on the dimly lit room around you. It was nothing like the rest of the factory—small, homely even. The walls, though still bearing the industrial scars of the facility, had been adorned with what little warmth could be found in this hellscape. A blanket. A chair. The soft hum of a distant power grid keeping things alive. For the first time since you’d entered this nightmare, you felt almost safe.

But that peace didn’t last long. As your vision cleared, you saw the figures sitting in the corners of the room. Poppy, who hadn’t left your side, stood near the door. She was watching you, a mixture of relief and something darker in her eyes. And Doey, the plump, doughy creature who had led you here, was pacing anxiously by the wall, his multi-colored arms twitching nervously.

“You’ve been out for a while,” Doey said softly, his voice carrying a hint of concern, though he tried to mask it with a smile. His orange and yellow limbs flexed as he continued to move, seemingly uncomfortable in the quiet.

Poppy spoke next, her voice softer now, stripped of the false cheer she used to mask her true emotions. “You’re safe here. For now. But…” She hesitated, glancing at the door, as though she could feel the very presence of something lurking just beyond it. “We don’t have much time.”

Your heart skipped, but it was different now. There was no running, no desperate flight. You were here, in this moment, still alive. That was all that mattered. But the reality of what you’d been through—what you had to survive—settled heavily on your chest. The thought of continuing on, of facing whatever nightmare lay beyond this brief respite, made the idea of sleep seem almost impossible.

“I can’t…” You started, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t keep doing this.” The words felt weak, pathetic even, but they were true. The doctor, the toys, the horror—the toll had been too much.

Poppy’s smile wavered again, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she knelt beside you, her porcelain skin reflecting the dim light. “You’re not alone,” she said, her voice barely audible. “We’ll face it together, okay? You can rest for now. You’ve earned it.”

But you could feel the weight of her words. Together. It was a fragile promise, one that carried with it more uncertainty than comfort. Still, you had to believe in it. Because in this place, with the world crumbling around you, it was the only thing left worth fighting for.

You closed your eyes once more, but this time, the darkness was different. It wasn’t filled with monsters or screams. It was filled with something far simpler, far more fragile—hope.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to rest.

[crippled-peeper]

we need to talk about the fact that Trump baselessly, specifically, blamed people with “hearing loss, vision loss, missing extremities, partial paralysis, complete paralysis, epilepsy, severe intellectual disability, psychiatric disability, and dwarfism.” for the 2025 Potomac River Mid-air collision on January 29th

Meanwhile, in reality, where the rest of us live:

It has been longstanding FAA policy — including before, during and after Mr. Trump's first term — to include people with disabilities in recruitment. However, there is no evidence that these initiatives have compromised air safety or had any relation to the crash Wednesday night. The cause of the collision remains under investigation.

Air traffic controllers must undergo extensive training and meet rigorous standards, including physical and mental fitness tests. They cannot have a history of mental disorders or physical conditions that could interfere with their duties, according to the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which is the chief human resources agency for the federal government.

[ceasarslegion]

I work in aviation safety. Let's talk statistics, before the fear mongering train leaves the station.

Around 45,000 flights take off and land in the US every day.

3 aircrafts have crashed in the last week.

That means 99.996% of flights took off and landed without incident. None of those 3 aircrafts were commercial passenger planes, ie none of them were the types of planes you will likely fly on throughout your life. Unless you're in the military, wealthy, or part of a special travel group like a sports team, a diplomat, high-risk prisoner transport, or an air ambulance, you will likely never fly on a private charter flight or military aircraft.

That means all public commercial flights in the US on the days of the recent crashes took off and landed safely, as far as I have been able to find.

Is 2 crashes within a week an absolutely unacceptable number? Yes.

Is this likely connected to the recent firings of the American aviation safety and ATC personnel? Yes.

Is this indicative of a wider trend that I should be worried about as an average citizen of the US, or someone traveling to or within the US? As of now, February 1st, 2025, no. Flying is still, statistically, the safest mode of transportation. Even with the recent crashes included in the numbers, even if you're travelling within the US.

Does this have anything to do with DEI? No. The aviation safety industry has some of the most stringent job training regimens in the world. No one who can't cut it in ATC will get anywhere near an ATC tower, regardless of their minority status. I don't work in ATC, but I'm under the wider aviation safety umbrella, and it took 3 months to finish my training. 18 people started out in my training class and 7 of us passed. No one in an airport terminal can get the badges we wear without passing that along with an INTERPOL background check that we have to do all over again every few years.

Why are you telling me that? Does it really matter if he gutted the ATC? It does, actually. My point is that the people they let work in airports are some of the most competent and capable individuals you can find. You don't cut it if you can't think on your feet or juggle unexpected and unprecedented situations and handle emergencies and contingencies. On average, an air traffic controller handles 5-15 planes at the same time, but they're trained on handling many more in the event of emergencies and unprecedented situations. It's not ideal right now, it's really not, but considering all the things I just told you about aviation safety employees, and the fact that ATC is THE hardest career to cut it in within that umbrella, even the worlds worst air traffic controller is as capable and trustworthy to handle your life as a good neurosurgeon.

And please, please support the american ATCs right now. Just because they CAN handle emergency-level workloads doesn't make it easy or sustainable for long periods of time. Do not blame the ATCs who were handling the crashed flights, it wasn't their fault that they were overworked and overstressed and numbers and directions started scrambling in their heads. They already have to live with what happened for the rest of their lives, they don't need other people making value judgements of them too.

[alsofoundinpeas]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[harmonysanreads]

Imagine Phainon with a sweet and caring and gentle lover… Him being the famous hero and everyone in Ampho is now used to the sweet girl following him around. But they don’t know, they aren’t aware of how protective he is around his little lover. Overprotective, to be more precise. Because you are so gentle and kind! He thinks you are the purest flower that has appeared in his life.

Maybe he is controlling too…

For a hero, what he must defeat is not his bane ; what he cannot part with no matter the wager, is.

Phainon wishes so often to relive every moment he's had the fortune of sharing with you again, but the day he met you for the first time might be the most prayed for. Still unaccustomed to the customs and dazzles of the Holy City he was and a blessing you were upon him, teaching him grace anew. The events that followed and gradually molded your bond, are enough to make him blush even amidst a fierce battle.

It is a story that earns much admiration and envy ; accounts dedicated to recounting your moments on the Web, forums that fawn over and wish for the downfall of this union simultaneously are evidences of it. They speak of how you two are blessed by Mnestia, a match that'd be celebrated in the heavenly realm of Aquila and many more claims you both found humor in initially.

Sweetness attracts more than just birds and bees and at the heart of every addiction, there is sugar. When so deep in love, he allows his heart to take the lead. As such, the subtle shift from chivalry to possession did not really register in his conscious mind, or, he simply didn't care enough to worry about it. What his worries were occupied with though, was you. One phone call that extended a bit too late into the night, what was supposed to be him sleeping peacefully with dreams of you disrupted with thoughts of your safety at such a time resulted him bolting to and guarding your home all night.

It was still harmless then, something you could wave off with as ‘cute’. You have always had such a pure heart, always choosing the best in everyone — even for a man like him, one with nothing but the shattered pieces of himself as offering. You never agree with the notion of the perfection he's supposed to embody, but assure him that his every blemish, every flaw makes him perfect in your eyes already — without lethargy. A Hero must be a beacon of hope for the hopeless, a sanctuary for the weak ; but even he must have a safe heaven to return to after a tiring day. Some people say you are lucky for having Phainon, but the truth is that, to say he thinks he's undeserving of you is an understatement.

His personal feelings aside, fate still brought you two together. If he feels inferior to you, it simply means that he has to treat you in a manner that is befitting of your station, your worth. For that, it matters little if he's seen as ‘lovesick’ and ‘overprotective’, if he starts bloody carnage over a few scratches, if he's always hell-bent on having your attention on him alone. He's aware of his position and he's grateful for it, but others are not like him. He could tolerate seeing Aedes Elysiae being destroyed once again, but he cannot withstand seeing you being disrespected, mistreated.

Phainon is not the best at keeping words to himself, his lips are particularly loose around you. His transparency softens your heart, but it kills him a little each time whenever you're so understanding. Even if he's shutting down the doors in others' faces, you'll smile at him. Even if he's locking you up in one place, you'll smile at him. Even if he cries, fingers trembling as his hand hovers over your leg, each twist and crack tearing apart his sanity, you'll smile — because you have as much of a bleeding heart as him.

If you sin, he'll worship it and if he sins, he knows you'll forgive him. Even if one day you refuse to look at him, he'll be fine with it, as long as the that scintilla of light he treasures stays lit.

[exilethegame]

i apologize in advance if this is too long and rambling lol. i just need to make you aware of the moral quandary i’ve found swimming around in my head all day. firstly, your book is amazing. i don’t think ive seen a writer capture my attention and also rip my heart into pieces so throughly (although, I, the Forgotten One is maybe tied with yours in my mind).

so, trystan and syfyn.

IRL i consider anyone who sits by as atrocities happen to be completely complicit and (sometimes) as equally as guilty as the perpetrator. your story makes my head spin as this is a stance i take very strongly and i struggle with hating syfyn and trystan. on one hand, my MC does hate them for things they’ve done (breaking his arm, holding him down while people essentially experiment on him, and even not really doing anything after finding out what happened to MC and learning that the queen is working with the “enemy”). other times, my MC can’t hate them for being a victim of circumstance, just as MC himself was (and is). my MC sees them for who they used to be, how their circumstances have shaped them, and how they may be punished for defying the crown but also can’t help but feel a personal and… maybe political betrayal? my MC, and me by extension, have been grappling with a couple questions: at what point does being a victim of circumstance no longer absolve someone of guilt? how many horrible things must someone do before their allies see that something must change? at what point does someone become just as guilty as the perpetrator because they refused to lift a finger either way? is it wrong to hate someone as a whole because of circumstances that, up to a certain point, were beyond their control? is it wrong to hate someone that follows a tyrant because they fear for their safety? what if it’s all they’ve ever known and they have no clear path forward without their leader?

i hope all of that made sense and don’t seem like the ramblings of a lunatic lol. i’m not very intellectual but these are just some things i’ve been thinking about as i gave your story another read last night and i was bursting at the seams to share my thoughts. like i said before, your story is beautiful. tragically beautiful, perhaps? i’m wishing you the best of luck in your work and personal life! and thank you so much for sharing this story with us; we don’t deserve it, but we will try to.

(also sorry if i misspelled trystan lol)

Ah no don't apologize!! I love discussions like this re. the characters, especially because pretty much all of them are morally questionable to one degree or another. It always makes me happy to hear when the game has made people start to think and worry about bigger moral questions like this :)

I think both Syfyn and Trystan definitely are intended to make that question be asked. And the game won't push a particular agenda either way re. if the Commander forgives/doesn't forgive, blames them/finds them to be victims, etc.

Of course, something I do think is fun that plenty of characters are wondering this very same question about MC, and the role they used to fulfill for Plaithus vs. what they are now, post-exile... 👀

Thank you so much for the kind words :)

[bambisnc]

          . . swimming through the cherry sky

° ˖ ➴ “forget whatever you think you knew. vampires exist.”

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive? + 1.3k // unedited + roommate trope + blood drinking ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ vamki enthusiasts hi + alt vrs hidden somewhere in txt + [m.list]

you've had your suspicions for a while now. the irregular, conspicuous late nights. the stains that eerily resemble dried blood and something else you can’t quite name but feel in your bones. an instinct that something was odd.

but bless your heart, you just can't bring yourself to actually accuse your roommate, nishimura riki, of anything.

besides, what would you have even said, anyway? 

"hey, roommate! what a wonderful day it is today, huh? the weather sure is … happening! by the way, if i may ask, is there any chance that you might be a bloodthirsty, monstrous creature? just curious haha!"

yeah. that wouldn't work. obviously.

not that you had the ability to even stay in the same room as him long enough to put together a few coherent words. but merely the air around him was enough to have shivers running down your spine. and yet, the worst part of it all? 

he’s never actually tried anything to cause harm to you. never once warranted your fears. which only makes you feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

so you do the only thing you can do. watch from a distance; observe. bide your time and keep trying to piece things together while ensuring to stay as far away as you possibly can. which, considering you live together, is pretty much next to impossible.

and then, after months of feeling like the tension would just about eat you alive, something finally happens. 

it had been a relatively slow day. your roommate had kept to himself as usual, doing nothing out of the ordinary. nothing you could consider hard proof, that is. 

having decided on an early night for yourself, you were in bed, adorned with comfortable night clothes. that was when you’d heard it. 

a dull thump! 

followed up, as if on cue, by a low, guttural groan. the pain in the raspy noise was clear enough to make your stomach twist. against your better judgement, curse you for being soft-hearted, you leave the comfort the safety of your room and towards the adjacent hallway. the door in front of you was slightly ajar, ink like shadows spilling out.

and then you see him.

hunched over, collapsed by the edge of his bed, barely able to hold himself up. riki looks too pale – ashen, almost, like all the warmth has been drained from his body. his breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. he looks like he’s seconds from death’s door.

your entrance wasn’t as quiet as you’d meant for it to be however. he lifts his head, with a considerable amount of exertion, letting his gaze – dark, unreadable – meet yours. when he speaks, it’s hushed. completely unlike the usual confident drawl he uses otherwise. 

“it’s dangerous for you to be in here when i’m like this.”

“what-” you swallow down all the questions bubbling inside your throat. “... are you okay?..”

sure, this was probably the only opportunity you’d have with him this vulnerable but, you can’t bring yourself to take advantage of his weakened state. you venture a little closer to him, to properly be able to appraise his condition, despite your entire being begging you not to.

barely being able to hear his answer, you lean closer still to be able to pick up on the yet again hesitant, reluctant mumble, “i … haven’t fed in a while.”

your heart goes cold. you can all but feel the blood rushing into your ears as you struggle to process what riki just said. obviously, he doesn’t mean that in the literal sense. right?

but before you can even reach a conclusion, decide whether or not to let your flight instinct take control and rush out of here, call someone, anyone for help — with a fluid motion, you find your positions completely switched.

your back meets the hard edge of the bed with a jolt. he kneels in front of you now, towering. his frame eclipses yours, one arm braced on the bed, the other steadying himself on the floor. you can tell he isn’t even putting much effort, but he’s able to cage you in without even trying. no longer can you delude yourself into thinking you have any semblance of control over the situation. 

there’s no mistaking it. not with that look in his eyes, the pupils fast dilating – were they always tinged that slight shade of … red? there can be no more excuses, no more pretending that you’re just being paranoid. because this … 

… this is real.

“this isn’t happening. it can’t be.” you whisper, as if saying it out loud will manifest it into existence. as if it’ll wake you up from whatever bad fever dream this is.

he looks almost amused, for a second. lips twitching as if he finds your denial to be funny. 

and then he’s leaning in closer, closer until … something sharp grazes against your delicate neck. your breath hitches sharply at the sensation. 

“forget whatever you think you knew.” his voice is steadier than it was earlier. more certain, more sure of itself. “vampires exist.” ...

where riki’s lips ghost over your neck, his touch is featherlight but somehow still constricting. he tilts your head slightly, movements agonizingly slow exposing it even more to himself.

“can i?..” his voice is strained, as he grits out the words but you appreciate the warning. 

even if it might not be of any actual meaning, “do i have a choice?”

“not really, no. i’m sorry.” 

and then, a sharp, electric sting as his fangs pierce your skin.

the pain flashes for only a moment, though, before a haze-like dizziness takes its place. sinking into your bones, making your limbs go weaker than they felt before.

his free hand shifts from the floor – after he gains some semblance of his former strength, you assume – and he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers digging into the skin as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the living world. it’s a strange sensation, to say the least. the action is rhythmic, if nothing else. 

only when a soft, barely audible gasp escapes you does he pull away, fangs retracting. 

his tongue licks against the open wound in what you would only later discover was supposed to be a means to soothe. before you even realize it, you’re reaching for him, clutching onto his shirt, albeit rather weakly in some sort of attempt of grounding yourself.

you don’t know what to say about it. you don’t even know how to feel.

but what you do know is that he’s still looking at you. eyes dark, lips stained red with your blood, chest rising and falling like he’s just barely holding himself together. 

looking at him like this, it’s clear as day that he needs more. the struggle, the desperation, the way he seems to be at war with himself. 

so you do what any good roommate would do, the words leaving you before you can second guess your decision. you offer yourself to him. 

“take what you need.”

his expression flickers. hesitation, shock, relief, aching. “you don’t have to—” he sounds like he wants to refuse, like he knows he should refuse. 

but when you tilt your head back slightly, just enough for the previous mark to be visible, you practically hear his resolve crack.

riki presses in close again, with more an ease this time and as the alien sensation you’re growing more and more familiar to takes over, you exhale a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“you.. fuck.” his voice is muffled between slow, languid sucks – unhurried, this time. more deliberate. “you’re a terrible roommate.” 

you huff out as best as you can, in your (slightly lightheaded) condition “hah... why is that?”  a pause. his thumb swipes over the place his lips had been seconds earlier, as if reassuring himself of your pulse. “because this means i owe you.”

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[lovelikehomicide]

Yes, to all of this.

I personally headcanon that all vampires are bi, given that they're hedonistic by nature and can reproduce through biting (increases race numbers and family size without sex), they just err towards hetero relationships for the sake of status.

Vampires from noble families, like the Dracula's, are expected to marry the opposite sex to keep the bloodline going, therefore providing more opportunities for political progress and internal wealth distribution. This also plays into the commodification of women. The male heirs need wives, not husbands, because a husband would be their social equal and therefore capable of redistributing their wealth towards their own family, while women are considered to be part of whatever household they marry into. Daughters are only valuable because they can be given to other families as brides, securing status and connections through the promise of someone to birth the next heir. This is a system created not to push compulsory heterosexuality, but to maintain the control of already powerful families. We saw in canon how important family connections and political power are.

Sex and romance exist separately from marriage in the vampire world, with sex and romance being viewed as acts of pleasure, and marriage as a responsibility to their family. I like to think vampires are very accepting of, and open about, all forms of sexuality, so long as they don't interfere with familial responsibility.

Also--new topic, but I refuse to believe that the memory wipe worked on Robin. Season 4 retconned the hypnosis rules, making it so that you can't hypnotise a breather you love in general, not just one you're IN love with. While Vlad's inability to hypnotise Jonno could be read as romance-coded, I don't think they would have been nearly as casual about it if either thought that was the case, given that the Vlad/Erin storyline was still in progress.

Robin and Vlad as an adult couple would be a trip, given Robin always seemed so torn between being in aw of vampires and being afraid of them. He had multiple moments of genuine fear, while still continuing to spend time at the castle and maintaining that vampires are cool. I think he would be enthralled by the new Vlad, but once the thrill died down a part of him would mourn the feeling of safety he had around him as a teen.

Robin is gay, btw, because I have serious trouble reading a vampire obsessed goth boy as straight, and he didn't fall over Ingrid anywhere near as much as every other teen boy in the show, despite her supernatural thrall.

some young dracula thoughts that have crossed my silly little head

i've said it before i'll say it again vlad is bi

he also swears in welsh as the count doesn't understand

he just swears a lot in general

no theres literally evidence for this in the show when he says wtf in the walkee talkees with bertrand

i picture the show with a lot more tradition than is actually shown and love the idea of vlad being referred to as viscount/just generally his status in the nobility being shown

vlad becoming even more morally grey and reconnecting with someone from his past maybe its robin maybe its jono but them seeing him and just being like ??? bc what happened to the vlad they knew

robin!! he also gains his memory back and goes looking for vlad

ingrid finally gains peace and she's happy

honestly i have more that i just can't think of but here we are i just wanted to dump them maybe i'll make another post in the future

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Liz Plank at Airplane Mode:

I’ve been watching the tech bro rebrand, Zuckerberg bulking up, Musk ranting about testosterone, billionaires cosplaying as cavemen, and I have to say the quiet part out loud: They look like clowns. The men running the internet aren’t just controlling the narrative, they’re starring in their own all-male drag show, desperately performing masculinity for each other. Musk, Zuckerberg, and their billionaire boy band are so obsessed with proving who’s the most alpha that they’ve lost the plot. They’re not exuding strength; they’re just insecure men rigging platforms and rewriting algorithms like a group of closeted frat boys terrified of being the least manly guy in the room. At this point, their version of masculinity isn’t just fragile, it’s camp. Take Zuckerberg. He went on Joe Rogan’s podcast to whine about how the world needs more “masculine energy.” And what does his version of masculinity look like? A social media empire that encourages posts calling women "property" while banning information about their life-saving healthcare. In a desperate, bootlicking move, Meta has blurred, blocked, and removed posts from abortion pill providers, even suspending their accounts and hiding them from search results, all while letting misogynists run wild. But this double standard isn’t about men being powerful and women living in fear; it’s about male insecurity being codified into policy. Zuckerberg isn’t masculine, he’s a boy cosplaying as a man. Real men protect women; they don’t make them more vulnerable to predators. Even by his own definition of masculinity, he doesn’t measure up.

These men claim to want to go back to when men were men, so let’s talk about their own masculine standards. Evolutionarily speaking, men have always played a role in ensuring the safety and survival of the group. The essence of masculinity, at its best, has always been about using strength and strategy for the benefit of the collective. In hunter-gatherer societies, men would work together to hunt large game, not just for their own benefit, but to provide food for the entire group, including women, children, and the elderly. Protection of the most vulnerable, particularly pregnant women, was paramount in early human societies. But let’s be honest, Zuckerberg wouldn’t last five minutes among the ultra-masculine cavemen he probably idolizes. They’d be embarrassed by his selfishness and shortsightedness, sabotaging his own species just to protect his fragile ego and win approval from other men. And then there’s Elon Musk, a self-proclaimed alpha who literally rewired Twitter’s algorithm to artificially boost his own tweets, because nothing says strength like rigging the game so you don’t have to compete. Imagine being so fragile you have to buy and rig an entire platform to manufacture respect.

Musk didn’t stop there. He made sure Trump got the same algorithmic coddling, boosting Trump’s content because nothing screams “masculine energy” like two insecure men holding hands while silencing women and critics. Not only did Musk reinstate Trump on the platform, but he also bent the rules to ensure his content got maximum exposure, proving that their version of strength relies entirely on manipulation, not merit. For a guy who declared “masculinity is back” he sure isn’t radiating much of it, unless your definition of masculinity is begging other men for approval.

[...] And for men who claim to hate DEI and champion “meritocracy,” they’ve created their own version: Loser DEI —A system for guys who can’t win without boosting their own voices, inflating their allies, and erasing their critics. They sneer at the idea of uplifting people who don’t deserve it, yet their entire playbook is built around rigging the system in their favor. And their loser DEI worked. Congratulations to them on the promotions they could never have earned on their own! Musk’s tweets promoting election lies racked up over 1.2 billion views, tipping the scales for his favorite lapdog, Donald Trump, and handing him a position he’d never be qualified for on merit. Musk’s interference ensured his election-related posts garnered twice the views of all political ads on the platform combined during the election period. For guys who love to brag about being self-made men, it’s almost poetic how much Trump and Elon’s so-called success depends on cheating. If they’re such powerful alphas, why does everything they touch hinge on manipulation? Imagine having a masculinity so fragile that you have to rig algorithms just to keep it up. [...] But misogyny has a fatal flaw: It thrives in silence, and silence isn’t something women are known for. Women have always found ways to fight back. Abortion providers are already building underground networks. Communities are organizing. For every account banned, women find new ways to keep their voices alive. You can try to erase us, but you can’t stop us. Every attempt to control us only proves how much power we hold. Trump, Zuckerberg, and Musk want to believe they’re kings of a new digital era, but their actions reveal the truth: They’re scared little boys, rewriting the rules so they don’t have to face a world where they’ve already lost.

Liz Plank wrote a good piece on how two men with fragile egos-- Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk-- are controlling the internet to enable the spread of far-right content in their quest for masculinity (aka the masculinity that reeks of male entitlement).

[edgar-allan-possum]

Bit of a sci-fi thing I've been working on. It's not much other than world-building tbh

...

"Midshipman Kerr, reporting for duty to Skit'tra Hiveship Abhorrent," I spoke into the small intercom next to the airlock, the only bit of clean plastic or metal on the ship's stony exterior. It hissed open and I stepped on board, ready to begin my new life among the stars.

The airlock was human design, of course. Skit'tra hiveships didn't dock with each other, and the "rockets" being specialized Skit'tra embedded in pits in the surface of the asteroids the ships were hollowed out from meant there was no exposed machinery to be damaged by debris strikes, so spacewalks were a minimal concern. They were standard feature on all ships carrying humans, though, just for that added level of safety.

A Skit'tra drone met me on the other side of the airlock. She, like all her species, was an insectoid with six limbs; four of which were used for walking, while the foremost pair could be used alternately as manipulator arms or extra legs when traversing difficult terrain. Her carapace was black with a hint of metallic purple, and bioluminescent yellow stripes ran down her sides. The pulse pattern of the stripes should have denoted her rank, but I was supposed to receive my training to differentiate the patterns on board.

She chittered, and the Head-Up Display in my goggles lit up with the translator readout.

"Greetings, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]," she said. I noticed she'd made a click and a trill that sounded like "Kerr" with a rolled "R" and wondered if one of the reasons I had been hired was because they could almost pronounce my name. "Your presence among the Abhorrent Kind is most appreciated."

She gestured for me to follow, and we set off through the tunnels of the hiveship. The walls and ceiling bore fresh marks showing where the passages had recently been enlarged so humans could comfortably traverse them. Wires connecting soft yellow lights were strung along the walls for visibility. The Skit'tra didn't need them, of course. They navigated their home by the scent of pheromones and the light of their own bioluminescence.

I switched on the speakers in my breath mask. "It's good to be here, and I'm looking forward to learning more about the Skit'tra," I said, the translator turning my speech into alien clicks and trills. "Do you..." I hesitated, hoping my question wouldn't be rude. "Do you have a name?"

"You are speaking directly to the Abhorrent Mind," the drone said. "Unlike humans, who have their own minds, I directly control all but a few of my children." Her light-stripes pulsed twice as another drone passed us going the other way, and the other drone lit up in return.

"This drone will be your guide and companion aboard the hiveship," she continued. "You may give her a name if you wish."

I nodded, then realized that the Abhorrent Mind may not know what that meant. While it had been in contact with humans for around ten years now, it had mostly been over radio waves until the hurried retrofit of the hiveship in the last year after the request for humans to live among them. In exchange, a few of the independently thinking Skit'tra had been sent to Earth.

"I'll have to think about a name," I said. I looked around the rocky corridor. "Where are we heading, anyway?"

"We are going for a tour of your solar system," the drone explained. "The scientists are eager to see the moons of Jupiter."

I laughed, the translator speakers buzzing with nonsense output. "Right, but where are we heading inside the hiveship?"

The drone cocked her head to one side and her light-stripes fluttered. I reminded myself not to anthropomorphize her. This wasn't embarrassment. She was just processing the new question.

"To the human quarters," she chittered. "We are almost there."

A few moments later, we rounded a corner and found a metal and glass door. Another airlock.

"Please enter," the drone said. "This drone will be waiting for you here when you exit."

"What will you... What will she do while I'm inside?" I asked.

"This drone will sleep," she said. "Another drone will bring this one food if it needs to eat. Please do not be concerned, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]."

I nodded and made a mental note to put my name in the translator's database as soon as possible. Stepping into the airlock, I waited for it to cycle before pulling off my breath mask and taking a lungful of good air. The exterior airlock was to make sure the hiveship was pressurized better than Skit'tra resin could keep it, but this airlock kept the good old Earth air separate from the alien air outside.

I made a quick check of all the systems, making sure everything was working properly before throwing myself on the nearest bunk and grinning up at the ceiling.

"Real space aliens!" I said aloud. Other humans would arrive later. There would be hard work, both mental and physical, before this voyage was up. But for the moment, I was the only earthling on a spaceship full of aliens.