#public choice theory

[mostlysignssomeportents]

In defense of bureaucratic competence

Sure, sometimes it really does make sense to do your own research. There's times when you really do need to take personal responsibility for the way things are going. But there's limits. We live in a highly technical world, in which hundreds of esoteric, potentially lethal factors impinge on your life every day.

You can't "do your own research" to figure out whether all that stuff is safe and sound. Sure, you might be able to figure out whether a contractor's assurances about a new steel joist for your ceiling are credible, but after you do that, are you also going to independently audit the software in your car's antilock brakes?

How about the nutritional claims on your food and the sanitary conditions in the industrial kitchen it came out of? If those turn out to be inadequate, are you going to be able to validate the medical advice you get in the ER when you show up at 3AM with cholera? While you're trying to figure out the #HIPAAWaiver they stuck in your hand on the way in?

40 years ago, Ronald Reagan declared war on "the administrative state," and "government bureaucrats" have been the favored bogeyman of the American right ever since. Even if Steve Bannon hasn't managed to get you to froth about the "Deep State," there's a good chance that you've griped about red tape from time to time.

Not without reason, mind you. The fact that the government can make good rules doesn't mean it will. When we redid our kitchen this year, the city inspector added a bunch of arbitrary electrical outlets to the contractor's plans in places where neither we, nor any future owner, will every need them.

But the answer to bad regulation isn't no regulation. During the same kitchen reno, our contractor discovered that at some earlier time, someone had installed our kitchen windows without the accompanying vapor-barriers. In the decades since, the entire structure of our kitchen walls had rotted out. Not only was the entire front of our house one good earthquake away from collapsing – there were two half rotted verticals supporting the whole thing – but replacing the rotted walls added more than $10k to the project.

In other words, the problem isn't too much regulation, it's the wrong regulation. I want our city inspectors to make sure that contractors install vapor barriers, but to not demand superfluous electrical outlets.

Which raises the question: where do regulations come from? How do we get them right?

Regulation is, first and foremost, a truth-seeking exercise. There will never be one obvious answer to any sufficiently technical question. "Should this window have a vapor barrier?" is actually a complex question, needing to account for different window designs, different kinds of barriers, etc.

To make a regulation, regulators ask experts to weigh in. At the federal level, expert agencies like the DoT or the FCC or HHS will hold a "Notice of Inquiry," which is a way to say, "Hey, should we do something about this? If so, what should we do?"

Anyone can weigh in on these: independent technical experts, academics, large companies, lobbyists, industry associations, members of the public, hobbyist groups, and swivel-eyed loons. This produces a record from which the regulator crafts a draft regulation, which is published in something called a "Notice of Proposed Rulemaking."

The NPRM process looks a lot like the NOI process: the regulator publishes the rule, the public weighs in for a couple of rounds of comments, and the regulator then makes the rule (this is the federal process; state regulation and local ordinances vary, but they follow a similar template of collecting info, making a proposal, collecting feedback and finalizing the proposal).

These truth-seeking exercises need good input. Even very competent regulators won't know everything, and even the strongest theoretical foundation needs some evidence from the field. It's one thing to say, "Here's how your antilock braking software should work," but you also need to hear from mechanics who service cars, manufacturers, infosec specialists and drivers.

These people will disagree with each other, for good reasons and for bad ones. Some will be sincere but wrong. Some will want to make sure that their products or services are required – or that their competitors' products and services are prohibited.

It's the regulator's job to sort through these claims. But they don't have to go it alone: in an ideal world, the wrong people will be corrected by other parties in the docket, who will back up their claims with evidence.

So when the FCC proposes a Net Neutrality rule, the monopoly telcos and cable operators will pile in and insist that this is technically impossible, that there is no way to operate a functional ISP if the network management can't discriminate against traffic that is less profitable to the carrier. Now, this unity of perspective might reflect a bedrock truth ("Net Neutrality can't work") or a monopolists' convenient lie ("Net Neutrality is less profitable for us").

In a competitive market, there'd be lots of counterclaims with evidence from rivals: "Of course Net Neutrality is feasible, and here are our server logs to prove it!" But in a monopolized markets, those counterclaims come from micro-scale ISPs, or academics, or activists, or subscribers. These counterclaims are easy to dismiss ("what do you know about supporting 100 million users?"). That's doubly true when the regulator is motivated to give the monopolists what they want – either because they are hoping for a job in the industry after they quit government service, or because they came out of industry and plan to go back to it.

To make things worse, when an industry is heavily concentrated, it's easy for members of the ruling cartel – and their backers in government – to claim that the only people who truly understand the industry are its top insiders. Seen in that light, putting an industry veteran in charge of the industry's regulator isn't corrupt – it's sensible.

All of this leads to regulatory capture – when a regulator starts defending an industry from the public interest, instead of defending the public from the industry. The term "regulatory capture" has a checkered history. It comes out of a bizarre, far-right Chicago School ideology called "Public Choice Theory," whose goal is to eliminate regulation, not fix it.

In Public Choice Theory, the biggest companies in an industry have the strongest interest in capturing the regulator, and they will work harder – and have more resources – than anyone else, be they members of the public, workers, or smaller rivals. This inevitably leads to capture, where the state becomes an arm of the dominant companies, wielded by them to prevent competition:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

This is regulatory nihilism. It supposes that the only reason you weren't killed by your dinner, or your antilock brakes, or your collapsing roof, is that you just got lucky – and not because we have actual, good, sound regulations that use evidence to protect us from the endless lethal risks we face. These nihilists suppose that making good regulation is either a myth – like ancient Egyptian sorcery – or a lost art – like the secret to embalming Pharaohs.

But it's clearly possible to make good regulations – especially if you don't allow companies to form monopolies or cartels. What's more, failing to make public regulations isn't the same as getting rid of regulation. In the absence of public regulation, we get private regulation, run by companies themselves.

Think of Amazon. For decades, the DoJ and FTC sat idly by while Amazon assembled and fortified its monopoly. Today, Amazon is the de facto e-commerce regulator. The company charges its independent sellers 45-51% in junk fees to sell on the platform, including $31b/year in "advertising" to determine who gets top billing in your searches. Vendors raise their Amazon prices in order to stay profitable in the face of these massive fees, and if they don't raise their prices at every other store and site, Amazon downranks them to oblivion, putting them out of business.

This is the crux of the FTC's case against Amazon: that they are picking winners and setting prices across the entire economy, including at every other retailer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

The same is true for Google/Facebook, who decide which news and views you encounter; for Apple/Google, who decide which apps you can use, and so on. The choice is never "government regulation" or "no regulation" – it's always "government regulation" or "corporate regulation." You either live by rules made in public by democratically accountable bureaucrats, or rules made in private by shareholder-accountable executives.

You just can't solve this by "voting with your wallet." Think about the problem of robocalls. Nobody likes these spam calls, and worse, they're a vector for all kinds of fraud. Robocalls are mostly a problem with federation. The phone system is a network-of-networks, and your carrier is interconnected with carriers all over the world, sometimes through intermediaries that make it hard to know which network a call originates on.

Some of these carriers are spam-friendly. They make money by selling access to spammers and scammers. Others don't like spam, but they have lax or inadequate security measures to prevent robocalls. Others will simply be targets of opportunity: so large and well-resourced that they are irresistible to bad actors, who continuously probe their defenses and exploit overlooked flaws, which are quickly patched.

To stem the robocall tide, your phone company will have to block calls from bad actors, put sloppy or lazy carriers on notice to shape up or face blocks, and also tell the difference between good companies and bad ones.

There's no way you can figure this out on your own. How can you know whether your carrier is doing a good job at this? And even if your carrier wants to do this, only the largest, most powerful companies can manage it. Rogue carriers won't give a damn if some tiny micro-phone-company threatens them with a block if they don't shape up.

This is something that a large, powerful government agency is best suited to addressing. And thankfully, we have such an agency. Two years ago, the FCC demanded that phone companies submit plans for "robocall mitigation." Now, it's taking action:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/10/telcos-filed-blank-robocall-plans-with-fcc-and-got-away-with-it-for-2-years/

Specifically, the FCC has identified carriers – in the US and abroad – with deficient plans. Some of these plans are very deficient. National Cloud Communications of Texas sent the FCC a Windows Printer Test Page. Evernex (Pakistan) sent the FCC its "taxpayer profile inquiry" from a Pakistani state website. Viettel (Vietnam) sent in a slide presentation entitled "Making Smart Cities Vision a Reality." Canada's Humbolt VoIP sent an "indiscernible object." DomainerSuite submitted a blank sheet of paper scrawled with the word "NOTHING."

The FCC has now notified these carriers – and others with less egregious but still deficient submissions – that they have 14 days to fix this or they'll be cut off from the US telephone network.

This is a problem you don't fix with your wallet, but with your ballot. Effective, public-interest-motivated FCC regulators are a political choice. Trump appointed the cartoonishly evil Ajit Pai to run the FCC, and he oversaw a program of neglect and malice. Pai – a former Verizon lawyer – dismantled Net Neutrality after receiving millions of obviously fraudulent comments from stolen identities, lying about it, and then obstructing the NY Attorney General's investigation into the matter:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/31/and-drown-it/#starve-the-beast

The Biden administration has a much better FCC – though not as good as it could be, thanks to Biden hanging Gigi Sohn out to dry in the face of a homophobic smear campaign that ultimately led one of the best qualified nominees for FCC commissioner to walk away from the process:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/15/useful-idiotsuseful-idiots/#unrequited-love

Notwithstanding the tragic loss of Sohn's leadership in this vital agency, Biden's FCC – and its action on robocalls – illustrates the value of elections won with ballots, not wallets.

Self-regulation without state regulation inevitably devolves into farce. We're a quarter of a century into the commercial internet and the US still doesn't have a modern federal privacy law. The closest we've come is a disclosure rule, where companies can make up any policy they want, provided they describe it to you.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out how to cheat on this regulation. It's so simple, even a Meta lawyer can figure it out – which is why the Meta Quest VR headset has a privacy policy isn't merely awful, but long.

It will take you five hours to read the whole document and discover how badly you're being screwed. Go ahead, "do your own research":

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/articles/annual-creep-o-meter/

The answer to bad regulation is good regulation, and the answer to incompetent regulators is competent ones. As Michael Lewis's Fifth Risk (published after Trump filled the administrative agencies with bootlickers, sociopaths and crooks) documented, these jobs demand competence:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/27/the-fifth-risk-michael-lewis-explains-how-the-deep-state-is-just-nerds-versus-grifters/

For example, Lewis describes how a Washington State nuclear waste facility created as part of the Manhattan Project endangers the Columbia River, the source of 8 million Americans' drinking water. The nuclear waste cleanup is projected to take 100 years and cost 100 billion dollars. With stakes that high, we need competent bureaucrats overseeing the job.

The hacky conservative jokes comparing every government agency to the DMV are not descriptive so much as prescriptive. By slashing funding, imposing miserable working conditions, and demonizing the people who show up for work anyway, neoliberals have chased away many good people, and hamstrung those who stayed.

One of the most inspiring parts of the Biden administration is the large number of extremely competent, extremely principled agency personnel he appointed, and the speed and competence they've brought to their roles, to the great benefit of the American public:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

But leaders can only do so much – they also need staff. 40 years of attacks on US state capacity has left the administrative state in tatters, stretched paper-thin. In an excellent article, Noah Smith describes how a starveling American bureaucracy costs the American public a fortune:

https://www.noahpinion.blog/p/america-needs-a-bigger-better-bureaucracy

Even stripped of people and expertise, the US government still needs to get stuff done, so it outsources to nonprofits and consultancies. These are the source of much of the expense and delay in public projects. Take NYC's Second Avenue subway, a notoriously overbudget and late subway extension – "the most expensive mile of subway ever built." Consultants amounted to 20% of its costs, double what France or Italy would have spent. The MTA used to employ 1,600 project managers. Now it has 124 of them, overseeing $20b worth of projects. They hand that money to consultants, and even if they have the expertise to oversee the consultants' spending, they are stretched too thin to do a good job of it:

https://slate.com/business/2023/02/subway-costs-us-europe-public-transit-funds.html

When a public agency lacks competence, it ends up costing the public more. States with highly expert Departments of Transport order better projects, which need fewer changes, which adds up to massive costs savings and superior roads:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4522676

Other gaps in US regulation are plugged by nonprofits and citizen groups. Environmental rules like NEPA rely on the public to identify and object to environmental risks in public projects, from solar plants to new apartment complexes. NEPA and its state equivalents empower private actors to sue developers to block projects, even if they satisfy all environmental regulations, leading to years of expensive delay.

The answer to this isn't to dismantle environmental regulations – it's to create a robust expert bureaucracy that can enforce them instead of relying on NIMBYs. This is called "ministerial approval" – when skilled government workers oversee environmental compliance. Predictably, NIMBYs hate ministerial approval.

Which is not to say that there aren't problems with trusting public enforcers to ensure that big companies are following the law. Regulatory capture is real, and the more concentrated an industry is, the greater the risk of capture. We are living in a moment of shocking market concentration, thanks to 40 years of under-regulation:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Remember that five-hour privacy policy for a Meta VR headset? One answer to these eye-glazing garbage novellas presented as "privacy policies" is to simply ban certain privacy-invading activities. That way, you can skip the policy, knowing that clicking "I agree" won't expose you to undue risk.

This is the approach that Bennett Cyphers and I argue for in our EFF white-paper, "Privacy Without Monopoly":

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

After all, even the companies that claim to be good for privacy aren't actually very good for privacy. Apple blocked Facebook from spying on iPhone owners, then sneakily turned on their own mass surveillance system, and lied about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

But as the European experiment with the GDPR has shown, public administrators can't be trusted to have the final word on privacy, because of regulatory capture. Big Tech companies like Google, Apple and Facebook pretend to be headquartered in corporate crime havens like Ireland and Luxembourg, where the regulators decline to enforce the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

It's only because of the GPDR has a private right of action – the right of individuals to sue to enforce their rights – that we're finally seeing the beginning of the end of commercial surveillance in Europe:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/americans-deserve-more-current-american-data-privacy-protection-act

It's true that NIMBYs can abuse private rights of action, bringing bad faith cases to slow or halt good projects. But just as the answer to bad regulations is good ones, so too is the answer to bad private rights of action good ones. SLAPP laws have shown us how to balance vexatious litigation with the public interest:

https://www.rcfp.org/resources/anti-slapp-laws/

We must get over our reflexive cynicism towards public administration. In my book The Internet Con, I lay out a set of public policy proposals for dismantling Big Tech and putting users back in charge of their digital lives:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

The most common objection I've heard since publishing the book is, "Sure, Big Tech has enshittified everything great about the internet, but how can we trust the government to fix it?"

We've been conditioned to think that lawmakers are too old, too calcified and too corrupt, to grasp the technical nuances required to regulate the internet. But just because Congress isn't made up of computer scientists, it doesn't mean that they can't pass good laws relating to computers. Congress isn't full of microbiologists, but we still manage to have safe drinking water (most of the time).

You can't just "do the research" or "vote with your wallet" to fix the internet. Bad laws – like the DMCA, which bans most kinds of reverse engineering – can land you in prison just for reconfiguring your own devices to serve you, rather than the shareholders of the companies that made them. You can't fix that yourself – you need a responsive, good, expert, capable government to fix it.

We can have that kind of government. It'll take some doing, because these questions are intrinsically hard to get right even without monopolies trying to capture their regulators. Even a president as flawed as Biden can be pushed into nominating good administrative personnel and taking decisive, progressive action:

https://doctorow.medium.com/joe-biden-is-headed-to-a-uaw-picket-line-in-detroit-f80bd0b372ab?sk=f3abdfd3f26d2f615ad9d2f1839bcc07

Biden may not be doing enough to suit your taste. I'm certainly furious with aspects of his presidency. The point isn't to lionize Biden – it's to point out that even very flawed leaders can be pushed into producing benefit for the American people. Think of how much more we can get if we don't give up on politics but instead demand even better leaders.

My next novel is The Lost Cause, coming out on November 14. It's about a generation of people who've grown up under good government – a historically unprecedented presidency that has passed the laws and made the policies we'll need to save our species and planet from the climate emergency:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

The action opens after the pendulum has swung back, with a new far-right presidency and an insurgency led by white nationalist militias and their offshore backers – seagoing anarcho-capitalist billionaires.

In the book, these forces figure out how to turn good regulations against the people they were meant to help. They file hundreds of simultaneous environmental challenges to refugee housing projects across the country, blocking the infill building that is providing homes for the people whose homes have been burned up in wildfires, washed away in floods, or rendered uninhabitable by drought.

I don't want to spoil the book here, but it shows how the protagonists pursue a multipronged defense, mixing direct action, civil disobedience, mass protest, court challenges and political pressure to fight back. What they don't do is give up on state capacity. When the state is corrupted by wreckers, they claw back control, rather than giving up on the idea of a competent and benevolent public system.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/23/getting-stuff-done/#praxis

[sophsicle]

OKAY question

i wanna reread choices and edit it but i can never make myself do it cause im like "ugh wow so long i simply cannot"

but also, every time i do reread parts of it i have like *thoughts* like SO many thoughts about it and about what i was thinking at the time and how that has or hasn't changed and what i was trying to do and what i love and what i hate and blah blah blah

SO the question: if i did like a lil read-a-long with soph thing, would anyone be interested? like maybe in the form of small podcast episodes where i discuss the chapters as i edit them and you guys can like tell me the different stuff you want me to talk about etc etc and then i will have the motivation to actually do this and also somewhere to dump all of my *thoughts*

or is that like, a stupid idea that no one asked for? i cannot decide whether this is leaning more on the fun cute side or the annoying keep this to yourself side, Y'KNOW????? so i ask

[kinda-iconic]

Omg bestie what’s ur theory 👀

I think it’s the LI…

And I don’t think they’re working alone 👀

[cyberkiss2uu]

this is so self indulgent but i watched abd illustrates new video and i loved the fashion designer character soo much T_T Beau made me think of my own fontaine chara, Théo, who's like a .... performer lol? idk he does a lot of stuff... singing, dancing, theatre shows, events etc.. but i thought they would be fun together because Théo would probably seek out a fashion designer .. a lot ... if not for his productions then for his own personal wardrobe LOL

this is super rough omfg my apple pencil has been glitching like crazy lately.. can hardly draw for more than a few mins wout getting annoyed i have no idea whats causing it.. its not even old T_T maybe i dropped it too many times lol

OH MY GOD HIS LEG JUST CUTS OFF i forgot i was going to crop it um. i dont care thats too much work

[creature-wizard]

Okay y'all, going forward, this is what we're doing.

Shit's scary, I know. But we absolutely cannot afford to surrender to that fear, because that benefits the GOP. They want us to feel powerless, because they know we are not powerless. That's why they have so many shills and bots discouraging people from voting.

We will not demoralize ourselves and each other by doomposting in our moments of panic. If we have a panic attack, that's okay. But we are not going to spread that fear to other people in public. We will save our most scared thoughts for our private journals and close friends. And we will support our friends who are feeling hopeless.

We will remember that spreading awareness of Project 2025 and Agenda 47 has been hurting Trump. And we will continue to do this.

We will remember that right now, our only option is Biden, because without ranked choice voting, getting a third party candidate in is simply impossible. We might not like it, but that's why we're going to push like hell for ranked choice voting once we get his pruny old ass in to office for a second term. (And thank God, he can't have more than a second term; the Democrats will have to find someone else afterward.)

We will not spread conspiracy theories. Conspiracy theories are the weapon of the enemy. We don't need them.

We will not publicly mock Trump in all of this. Making Republicans feel even more victimized is a losing strategy. "But it's my blog-" I'm sorry, are you playing for political keeps or are you just here to fuck around and put everyone's life in even more danger?

We will emphasize the ways that Project 2025/Agenda 47 will hurt everyone. And we will keep talking about it.

We will remember that the UK and France have already avoided far right takeovers in their elections.

All right? You got that? Because we got this if we stick together and keep at this. Shit's bad right now but that doesn't mean it has to be bad forever. We got each other, and we can do this.

[newsbluster]

Amartya Sen: The Unsung Hero!

Amartya Sen: Amidst a whirlwind of false news, let’s unravel the inspiring journey of renowned economist Amartya Sen, a man whose legacy continues to shape the world. In this blog post, we delve into the life and achievements of this extraordinary individual, debunking myths and celebrating the truth. Unraveling the Truth:In a recent wave of misinformation, reports surfaced claiming the demise…

[ramlionbam]

a lot bugs me about the "christopher colombus was secretly jewish" thing thats been making the news.

primarily the timing of it: in a time where antisemitism is rising, where many are considering jews to be (primarily white and european) colonizers, here is one of the most famous colonizers of all, christopher colombus, a secret (always secret; those sneaks) jew!

but besides that, there's something very obvious to anyone that knows judaism: dna doesn't make someone jewish. the primary 'evidence' for colombus being jewish is dna (which, while it is most likely his, it may not be). every article's quotation is this:

"And both in the Y chromosome (male) and in the mitochondrial DNA (transmitted by the mother) of Hernando there are traits compatible with Jewish origin."

"traits compatible with jewish origin". its a very vague term. it doesn't really impart a solid understanding that colombus is jewish; and him being jewish, from what i can tell, also contradicts past understanding of his origin (genoa) as well as his actions (forced conversion of native americans, a deep connection and religiosity based in christianity).

even if this dna evidence is correct, however, him having jewish heritage does not make him jewish. saying that he is jewish based solely on dna reflects a blood-based understanding of jewish identity that echoes back to antisemitic purges like the holocaust. saying that he, a deeply catholic / christian person, is jewish erases colombus' actual faith, and states that personal choice / conversion / professed beliefs are inferior to having jewish blood.

the fun part is, this isn't even a new antisemitic lie / exaggeration. even back in 2012, cnn has been trying to claim that colombus was jewish. his colonization of america was actually all part of his plan to get money to take back jerusalem. it also includes other arguments, like that him leaving money to charitable causes in his will is a sign of judaism.

there's also a paper that discusses this, and how its much, much older than even 2012. i havent verified it, but it may be useful reading for some; it also mentions that the theory gained popularity in the 1930s as the 'jewish question' "was very much on the public mind".

[lbcreations-blog]

Yandere Alastor with daughter reader

A Stag and his Fawn

‐-----‐----‐-----------------------------------

(Not proof read cause I'm tired but I need to post)

Masterlist

---------

Alastor was your adoptive father. He adopted you when you were both still alive. You were only a baby at the time, being left in a dumpster.

When Alastor was dumping bodys in the dumpster he found you, he was originally going to put you in a foster home, but when he saw you open your eyes and look at him seeming at peice, he knew it was a bad idea to put you in any foster home.

Of course, he could not just take you in. He had to get you some medical treatment. So he took you to the nearest hospital to get a check-up and other things. Then he had to do even more other things like birth certificate and adoption stuff. (You know, the essentials)

Anyways, once you were old enough, he taught you his ways of voodoo and murder. (You were already learning from about 4, lmao), and you became a perfect daughter to him (even though you were already perfect to him).

If you were to get bullied in school, those kids would regret it. He would also teach those kids' parents a lesson as well.

If you end up dying before him from it being someone's fault, he would torture that person/persons and eat that person's corpse.

Once he enters hell, he would search for you while aswell becoming a terrifying overlord. And once he finds you, he would pretend you are not his daughter in public so you would not get targeted. He knows you can look after yourself so he would let you in public by yourself, but a shadow will follow you.

But if you are an overlord, he wouldn't admit being your father, but he will treat you like his daughter in public, and he will let others' theories flow. (Overlord or not, a shadow will follow you, btw)

Now, if he dies first, he will patiently wait for you. You, of course, kill the one who mistakes your father for a deer. You then live life how he wanted you to, until you finally arrive in hell.

Once you arrive in hell, he ether will take a while to find you or find you quickly. If you quickly become an overlord just like him, he would be proud, like you have no idea.

(The ways he is with you in hell is the same as I explained in the first death choice.)

Of course, introducing you to people as Alastors' daughter, you will get interesting reactions.

The overlords would be shocked, to say the least, Carmila might like Alastor slightly more cause she has her own daughters.

Now the hotel's reactions ig

Of course, the entire hotel is shocked except for niffty and husk cause yall already probably met (I would tell you that, but that's a different kind of worm)

Anyway, sir pentious would be most likely terrified of you or just won't admit it.

Angel- well, Angel-... he's probably going to start off with sex jokes, and how unfair it is that some random bitch got to fuck Alastor. Your father was not happy.

Vaggie is very suspicious of you once you met. She knew how your father was, so you were not trustworthy. (Which was fair, you showed that same creepy smile your father did)

Charlie loved meeting you. She was and is so happy that Alastor has a daughter and she is and was happy to meet you. She was hoping to help you get redeemed, but you just told her you would rather be in hell with your father.

--------_______--------

I was going to make Alastor more yandere but because of 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠, he's like that, ok? OK

I did get lazy at the end, so... Yyyeeeaaaa

Hope you enjoyed it

- 𝐋.𝐁 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

[elumish]

Hello friends!

I know it's only August, but I thought I'd start early:

If you have the legal right to vote in the United States, there is no benefit to you in not voting. All that not voting does to you is remove your most powerful legal ability to impact the identity of those who represent you in the government.

By the time you reach the election, by the time ballots are printed and you are filling in a bubble or pressing a button or flipping a lever, your only meaningful choice for who to vote for are the people who are listed on the ballot.

Because we live in a two-party system, in the vast majority of jurisdictions*, you are choosing between members of two parties. If you vote for someone who is not a member of one of those parties, you are throwing away your ability to meaningfully impact who wins that election. It sucks. it's shitty. It's unfortunate. But if you want a third party candidate to have a chance in a major race, it starts years before the election, not when you are standing in front of your ballot in November.

And if you think, they're both the same as each other--they're not. For literally any policy that you care about, there will be differences. Pick the policies you care most about, find the one who sits closer to you and vote for them. That is the only way that laws will move in the direction you want, by electing people who vote for policies that are closer to what you want.

I studied game theory in college, and from my standpoint it was one of the most useful and educational classes I took during my entire academic career, because of this key idea: If you want 10, and your options are 0 or 5, 5 is a better option for you. Something gives you more than nothing, even if you want a lot.

You will not get a politician who agrees with everything you want, unless you run for office yourself. Pick what you care the most about, and vote based on that. See voting as harm reduction. See voting as public transportation. See voting as whatever gets you out to vote.

But vote.

*There are a few independents in office. An independent or third party candidate will not win the Presidency in 2024.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Even the most ardent small government type will admit that government has some role to play, even if it’s only enforcing contracts that are bargained for by independent, unregulated entities.

But “enforcing contracts” is exactly the kind of game that only works if the player is more powerful than the ref. If a corporation is permitted to grow so large that it can push the government around, then the government can’t be relied upon to step in when that company reneges on its bargains.

Anyone who lived through the rise of the massive, unaccountable, racist, torturing, spying, conquering post-9/11 security state should be suspicious of what Big Government can do. Government power is not a virtue in and of itself, and the more power we give the government, the more risk we run of state overreach.

But even if governments do nothing but enforce contracts, they still have to be bigger and more powerful than the largest companies and cartels.

This should be an area where good faith leftists and capitalist trufans can come together: making small government possible by banning big business.

Small Government: The ref has to be more powerful than the players

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 14

Conner Kent + Breeding and/or excessive cum

I shall always devour my kryptonian headcanons. Atlantean reader, because I was feeling nasty when I wrote this. *tucks hair behind ear*

I may have taken the word excessive too far...

Kinktober 2023 masterlist.

You were Atlantean, going by the hero name Cetus. It hadn’t been your choice, the name, but one the public started calling you because of your uniform when you started. You were the offspring of an Atlantean and an Amazon warrior. You had been born on Themyscira, but the fact that you were born male and with the need to be in the ocean, you were given to your father to be raised.

You still visited your mother regularly, and got trained by not only her but her friends, that mixed with the training of your father, who was a skilled warrior himself, you became very skilled. When you chose to start fighting crime, your mother had given you a uniform created by the same individuals who armoured the Amazonians, as she wanted you to be safe.

It was similar to the outfit of a gladiator, but had been made in a material that allowed you to stay in the ocean. Your outfit also had actual shoes, and had little exposed skin to keep you safe from enemies, but the Greek inspiration was very clear. It had led to all kinds of theories amongst the people that you were some secret warrior raised by the Amazonians, which was partly true, but your Atlantean heritage didn’t stay a secret for long since you did many of your battles side by side with Aquaman, Aqualad, and the likes.

You were put on the young justice team since you had more experience than the rest, but you were still young enough to not count as a full-fledged hero just yet. You worked well together with the team, getting along better with some more than others. There were some arguments with Megan, as an Atlantean you possessed telepathy, and you disagreed with her ways of using her powers at times.

This led to arguments with Conner, as he was defensive of the girl he had feelings for at the time, but as time passed you all matured. Conner and Megan broke up after a short relationship as teens, you split off from the team to be your own thing, so on and so forth.

This didn’t mean you didn’t work with the other heroes on the regular, but you weren’t a member of any team, except for a place on the justice league roster like most others in your situation. It was because of this you were placed on a mission with Conner, to a dessert of all places. It must have been a mistake, or the ones sending you there hadn’t planned on you guys staying there for so long, but even as a halfblooded Atlantean you still needed water after a while.

Conner had panicked when you suddenly dropped like a bag of bricks, as you’d been out of the ocean for a long time before the mission even started, having to work together with other members of the league on reports and the like. It had been a plan for a quick scouting mission, but here you were, dehydrated and with your consciousness fading in and out.

Conner had never dealt with you become dehydrated, sure he’d seen other Atlanteans, but your half status allowed you to go longer without. The two of you ended up in a small cave Conner had found, as he hoped bringing you out of the sun would help. Normally he would have just carried you off to the ocean, but seeing you, someone he thought as almost unbeatable and someone he had come to develop feeling for as well, collapse in that way, he had panicked.

In your half-conscious state, you had knocked off your helmet, one that looked similar to that of a gladiator but without the hairs on top, the golden metal rolling across the cold floor of the cave. You were splayed out across the cold stone floors, your half lid eyes looking up at the kryptonian standing above you through your lashes, your dry tongue subconsciously running across your bottom lip.

Maybe it was the candle you had held for Conner for a long time, maybe it was just delirium, but you nudged his subconscious with your own, planting images of him crouched above you on his knees, his hands undoing the bottom of his suit. Conner sputtered, going completely red in the face as he tried to stutter out words, his kryptonian biology kicking in at the fact that the one he yearned for seemed to return the want.

His hands came to cradle his crotch, trying to hide how he was already becoming hard at the mere thought of doing what you seemed to want of him. Conner was still trying to fully comprehend what you had hinted at wanting, his face only going redder and cock growing harder as you made easy work of removing the upper part of your armour and undersuit, leaving your upper body completely bare.

“Please Conner…” you mumble out, your tongue already feeling thick and useless as you gulp, your mouth dry and uncomfortable. Conner gulped, glancing behind him towards the entrance of the cave as if debating on simply flying off to gather water, but the wanting look in your eyes seemed to be what he needed to make his decision.

You both moaned softly as Conner undid the bottom of his suit, his heavy length twitching to the colder air of the cave as he shuffled forwards, placing his knees on either side of your torso as your hands came up to rest of his tense thighs. You gulped dryly as his cock twitched in his hand, a thick bead of precum already dripping from the tip and landing on your neck, a shiver running through you as your eyelids fluttered as you felt the water inside the liquid slide into your skin.

It probably wasn’t the most useful or sanitary idea on fixing your situation, but laying there as Conner jerked himself off above you quickly made those thoughts disappear from the both of you. Conner let his hips buck into both of his hands that he had wrapped tightly around his thick length, twisting his already wet hands as precum dripped in a constant river down onto your skin.

You didn’t have to do much, just squeezing his thighs seemed to do the trick as Conner looked down at you, his pupils large as they almost swallowed up the blue of his eyes. His cock throbbed, a moan leaving him as you opened your mouth, sticking out your dry tongue. That seemed to do the trick as the hero above you let out a deeper drawn-out groan as he came, shooting thick heavy spurts across your face and tongue.

He shivered, but his erection didn’t seem to let up, one of the positives of being kryptonian it seemed, his hands only growing slicker, the noises only growing wetter and more erotic as his movements only seemed to grow more desperate. The cum on your tongue assisted in returning the wetness to your mouth, the light-headedness seeming to leave you to a certain degree.

With your newly returned awareness, you leaned up, pressing the flat of your tongue against his leaking tip, causing Conners hips to buck as another spurt of cum shot out of him, striking the top of your mouth, and spilling down your chin and soaking the skin of your throat and chest. A satisfied hum left you as you swallowed the thick liquid in your mouth with an audible gulp, growing more and more confident in your movements.

Conner couldn’t help but buck his heads, the hands gripping himself letting go so he could lean forwards, supporting his weight instead so he wouldn’t collapse on top of you as you closed your lips around his tip, starting to work your head up and down as you rubbed your tongue all over the skin you could reach.

The kryptonians noises had reached a higher pitch as you kept moving your lips up and down his slick length, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from his heavy cock, letting it fill your mouth just to let it overflow and start running down the rest of your torso. Conner had never dabbled much with his refractory period or his biology, but now he cursed not being curious in the past as he seemed to be stuck in a constant state of orgasm as you drew more and more out of him, it seemed never-ending.

With one last lewd slurp you finally withdrew from his cock, a thick string of spit and cum connecting the tip of your tongue with his length, the string pulling before it snapped, joining the rest of the lewd mess that had been left all over your torso and face. Conner was still shivering above you, somehow still hard but so sensitive as you carefully pushed at his torso to get him to sit up again.

He blushed as he finally focused on the sight of you as you laid there covered in his fluids, making a huge mess of the cave floor beneath you, but neither of you seemed to truly care at the moment. Conner bit his lip as he shuffled down your torso, straddling your hips instead as his hand came up to wipe away some of the cum covering your lower face, his face still red as he leaned in, pressing his lips almost shyly against yours.

You couldn’t help but find it amusing how the guy who had just covered you in so much of his essence seemed so shy about kissing you, or how he was still hard against your stomach, but you responded in kind to his kiss, shutting your eyes to enjoy the press of lips on lips. You found your hands resting on his hips as the kiss was disconnected, spit connecting your mouths as he sat back. “Guess you aren’t dehydrated anymore, huh?” Conner chuckled breathlessly, gulping as he sat back on your thighs.

You found your lips pursing as you reached down, grabbing at his hardness, causing Conner to whimper as his hips bucked into your hand. “That doesn’t mean were done though” you mumble, starting to jerk your hand, much you Conners enjoyment. It was gonna be a while before you two would be done here, maybe you’d actually end up finding the limit to the kryptonian refractory period, but only time would tell.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

Me because the Percy Jackson series is actually about the different cycles of abuse, which include abuse within romantic partners (Sally and Gabe), abuse between “family” (Percy and Gabe, Meg and Nero), abuse from people in positions of power (the gods over the demigods), and so on, oppression than ranges from having adhd in the public educational system to being forced to perform quests for your entire life for people who could not care less about your well-being, how camp is both somewhere safe but also the bittersweet taste of arriving there and realizing you can never escape, you can never be normal your life will never be the same. There’s no turning back. How Luke was right on theory but not on acts, how these kids got around the idea to never make it to 18, and how there was nothing they could do about that. How many of them sat in their cabins, counting down the days until their sibling/friend/partner came back, only for them to not come back at all. Was it ever their turn to leave someone waiting behind? Annabeth, Percy, Grover, Thalia, the whole deal with Nico, Bianca, Silena, and every single demigod. Children of Apollo were the camp healers, was it a choice? A moral obligation? In camp Jupiter there’s Jason, there’s Reyna, Piper’s story, Leo’s story, Leo lived on the street, the way Jason and Piper’s relationship was heteronormativity pushed by Hera because both of them were queer but she wanted a perfect couple. After being gone missing, people searched for Percy, but Jason? The devastation of Leo and Jason’s relationship, how Leo never knew his feelings for him were required, how both Leo and Piper thought they knew Jason but it was all fake memories, how Jason never fully got his memories back. Hazel’s story, Frank’s story, how Nico and Leo’s mutual dislike for each other comes from a place of understatement. How they both see themselves in each other and look away as one looks away from a mirror when they dislike their reflection. They are both so similar, almost the same. They both are also autistic, except Leo is always masking, and Nico never really learnt how to. Neurodivergence, adhd and dyslexia. Being a demigod is a metaphor for neurodiversity. Was Dionysus actual punishment looking over camp? Or was it spending years and years seeing demigods come and grow and die? Knowing there was nothing he could do about it? Knowing than if he was with the gods, he would be causing their deaths, instead of grieving them? Does Chiron feel hopeless? Memory, names, ghosts. Blades, swords, arrows, blood. So many blood, blood-stained hands. Monsters follow you before coming to camp, did they hurt you family? It was all your fault. They don’t want you to come back, you bring danger, you’re more dangerous than the monster, you are a monster yourself, after all the Minotaur was a demigod too. Leo killed his mother, Zeus killed Maria, Sally got taken to the underworld, Tristan was held hostage, Fredrick and his wife and sons got attacked by monsters, and who’s fault it was? You run away you keep on running but you’ll never outrun the danger because the danger is yourself, you are at fault, how do you run away now?

The odyssey, the iliad, the statues in museums, you look at them, do you see yourself? Do you see any resemble? Your nose kinda looks like theirs, the shape of their lips, the width of their hands, but that’s a lie you’re nothing like them, never will be, is that a tragedy? Do you want to be like them? Do you want to be a hero and die a heroic death? Or do you simply wish to visit your family on Christmas and live the life your little cousins will eventually live? Maybe you’ll never see the life they’ll live, maybe you’ll die before seeing it. There’s nothing to be done about that, you just have to accept it. Don’t you feel the rage, bubbling inside of you, making your hands shake? What can you do with it? Not much, remember last time, remember Luke, what did he accomplish? Nothing, blood, screams. You remember the war, you remember the city, maybe it was the first or the second time you set a foot on it, now every single time you do (if you do) in the future, it will be tainted. Look in that corner, that used to be destroyed. Look at that building, my friend died against that wall, that road was filled with blood. Was it ours? Theirs? Is there even a difference between us? Should there be? Why were you on your side? Why were they in theirs? Who was right? Who was wrong? You can go anywhere but home, maybe you’re not welcomed, maybe there’s no home to return, maybe it’s better for everyone if you don’t return. Nico keeps Bianca’s jacket, Leo taps iloveyou on Morse code. Piper was forced to be someone she wasn’t, she thought she was someone she was not, she was forced to think that. Who is she? Is she even who she thought she was? Jason still don’t remembers everything, and him? Who is he? Nico will never get his memories back, he wonders about his mom, did he have more family back then? Grandparents, aunts? Hazel is a walking curse. Silena and Clarisse as Patroklos and Achilles. Apollo seeing the brutal reality of demigods’ life on trials of apollo.

Your hand shakes, the sword you hold moves, you feel it’s weight, do you want to hold it? Do you have to?

The dead come back to haunt us, Nico sees Bianca everywhere, Leo still remembers his mother’s voice, Hazel came back from the dead, Frank holds his life on his pocket, Thalia lost a brother twice, Leo didn’t really die, Jason died instead, Percy wished to drown himself, half of camp still waits for their brother to come back, even if it has been months, even if it has been years. Luke’s mother still waits, was she crazy? The campers who thought to recognize their friend’s face for a second before remembering than it couldn’t possibly be them, were they crazy too? Who was crazier? Luke’s mother who did not remember, or the campers who did? The underworld has no mercy only justice, but the world has no justice only mercy. You might get mercy, but you never will get justice. Was it fair anything than happened to them? You might be spared in a war or in a battle out of mercy, out of pity, out of recognition, but that didn’t stop you from having to fight in it, that didn’t stop you from having to wield the sword. Spare all the people you want, turn a blind eye to whatever you want, mercy? sure, but you were still holding the sword, you were still supposed to fight, you still weren’t in charge of your life. How was that justice? How was that fair? Names had power, even their names had more power than your life, even the letters making up their names were more powerful than your fists, could you ever win? Could you ever win when their names were so powerful they could not be pronounced but your life was so worthless they didn’t even care to learn yours? To learn the names of the ones than died because of them. You can’t say the name of you sister’s killer, but you’re still expected to burn an offering to them each night at dinner.

[saddleups]

you're single handedly feeding all the james sunderlanders tysm for ur service 🙏🙏🙏 can i request if you'd do submissive pathetic james? he's just sooo wet cat in a box left in the rain vibes. again, tysm in advance & lovelovelove ur work 🫡🫡🫡

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 5k

★ ��𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . sub!james . slight fem!dom . handcuffs . cock torture(?) . cervix kissing . breeding ( kinda ) p_rn with a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . omg i wouldn't go that far ! there's so many great writers out there feeding us all <3 i appreciate the kind words tho ?? like ur too sweet <3 <3 trying my hand at being more confident with my exposition ( tend to delete a lot out of fear that it just sounds rambly ) so it may flow differently than my other stuff , i still hope u like it tho !!

Kind and attentive, James was always perfectly in sync, never too early or too late. He opened doors, walked on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, steering you clear of puddles and surprises. Every morning began with his texts, every night ended the same. Sweet surprises, from flowers to stuffed bears, little notes in his distinct handwriting—I was thinking of you. In bed, his touch was just as intimate, hands locked, eyes meeting, searching each other deeply, with neither of you leaving unsatisfied.

Yet, despite the warmth of his affection, a nagging thought persisted: were you giving James the attentiveness he secretly craved? Something seemed to linger in him, an unspoken kink kept close, like a shy confession he wasn’t ready to make. You found yourself distracted by it, craving to claw into the mystery of what he kept hidden. James Sunderland had seen so many sides of you, held you in your most vulnerable moments. You could feel him pushing you to the edge, waves cresting in those unforgettable, mind-bending orgasms that left a faint blush in your cheeks when the memory caught you off guard in public. Still, you yearned to uncover his own desires; fulfill him in the same sense he fulfilled you.

It was a simple date to the mall, his hand holding yours as you strolled the tiled floors under bright fluorescent lights. He soothed you, indulged your whims. And when you passed the shop—kitschy and dimly lit with laughing teens slipping in and out—a sudden idea sparked.

“Let’s go in here.” You didn’t give James much of a choice, tightening your grip and pulling him inside. The shop started tame enough—T-shirts, quirky collectibles—but deeper inside, past a beaded curtain, the lights dimmed. Shelves were lined with rows of phallic toys, vibrating bullets, and skimpy costumes. You glanced at James, noting his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression steady. He didn’t seem fazed by the setting, unlike you, whose pulse had picked up, curiosity running hot as you wondered what was on his mind.

You watched his gaze flick to a BDSM kit, then quickly away. You raised an eyebrow, reading nothing from him as he moved on. Maybe he's into that? A school girl costume caught his eye next, the model on the package striking a bold, risqué pose. Is it roleplay? He only shook his head, lips quirking, dismissing the thought. Okay, not that either.

You broke the silence with a grin. “I used to have one of these,” you said, tapping a box with a vibrator behind a clear, glittery window. Mutual masturbation? It had to be.

James turned, slightly intrigued. “What?”

You shrugged. “It was cute, but it kept dying on me.”

He only smiled, and your theory about mutual kinks dissolved a bit more. Not that either? Just when you thought your plan had fallen flat, you caught his gaze settling on a different item—a pair of classic handcuffs, fluffy pink like in the movies. Tame, yet there was something in his eyes. You reached over, fingertips brushing his arm as he shivered under your touch. So, it is the handcuffs.

You lingered a second longer, voice low. “Ready to go?”

James nods as you exit the store, hand in hand just as you’d entered. Absent of the handcuffs, you start devising a new plan. “Shoot! —I think I left my phone in there.”

You rummage through your bag, feigning worry. “Must’ve set it down when I picked up that box.” You glance up to see James’ hand resting on his chest, his heartbeat quickening, reassuring your suspicions concerning the cuffs. “Stay here; I’ll be right back.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want me to come with?”

You flash him a quick smile. “It'll be quick. Don’t miss me too much.”

Inside the shop again, you move swiftly to the shelf, snatching up the handcuffs and stuffing the small black bag deep into your purse before heading back. Adrenaline pumping through your veins as you rejoin James, he asks, “Want to catch a movie?”

You shake your head, a little grin tugging at your lips. “I’m a bit tired. Let’s head home.”

He agrees quickly—maybe too quickly, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to catch a hint of nervous anticipation in his eyes. You're reassured. It is the handcuffs.

As he drives, the silence between you is thick with tension, each mile seeming to stretch. The new toy in your purse become impossible to ignore, the mere thought of them swirling in your mind. Your plans with the cuffs still in the air, unsure what your intentions were, what James' could be. Meanwhile, James keeps his gaze steady on the road, one hand resting on your thigh, his slender fingers gently pressing against you—a subtle but treasured touch. Your mind adrift at the sight of the manicured nails, he kept them pristine. His wrist, stronger than it looked it's held you down on multiple occasions as he thrusted into you. And when he wasn't? Those pretty fingers circled on your clit, exposing the hood of your bud in order to allow his mouth to work until your undoing. Biting your lip you fiend your hunger, keeping it dormant until your plans come into fruition.

"At the shop," James cuts the silence. "What was that, that thing? The one that you said kept dying on you."

You blink, "the vibrator?"

"Yeah, vibrator... That's the word."

"What about it?"

"Nothing," he shrugs.

Unwilling to accept his answer, you press him. "You wouldn't bring it up if it was nothing."

James chuckles stealing a quick glance. "You caught me." He confesses lightheartedly, "those...toys always interested me."

Fuck. You should've grabbed the vibrator.

Your heart races as you realize you may have misread the situation. Even so, you're not about to let this opportunity slip away. "Really?" you ask, trying to keep your voice casual. "What interests you about them?"

James hesitates, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh. It's hard not to notice his possessive edge, only furthering your doubts. "I guess... the intensity. The way they can make someone lose control."

You swallow hard, heat blooming in your core. "Have you ever used one before?"

He shakes his head. "No, never."

"Well," you say, your voice low and teasing, "maybe we can go back another time and pick one out together."

James' grip on your thigh tightens slightly. "I'd like that," he says softly.

God, were your plans for the night ruined?

The car pulls into your driveway, and James cuts the engine. For a moment, you both sit in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. James opens your car door as always, ever the gentleman. Inside, you set your purse down carefully, acutely aware of its hidden contents; feeling foolish for your possible blunder. However, one thing is for certain; the experience in the shop must've had an effect on him. The conversation about your vibrator, the pretty fluffy cuffs. It was still thrilling, keeping this from him like a dirty little secret. The plan still forming in your head had you battling with how to introduce the object to the bedroom. He didn't seem into the roleplay, BDSM was, well...that was something.

James moves to the kitchen, falling into his usual routine of making tea. He asks if you’re interested in having a cup yourself, you shake your head. “I’m okay, thank you.”

You watch James as he sips his tea, his long fingers wrapped around the delicate porcelain cup. You watch him from across the kitchen, admiring the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. Steam rises in lazy curls, and you can smell the faint aroma of bergamot. He looks relaxed, at ease, and you wonder if he's forgotten about the tension from earlier. You certainly haven't. The handcuffs weigh heavily in your mind, tucked away in your purse like a guilty secret. You'd been so sure, so certain that you'd cracked the code of James' hidden desires. Now, doubt gnaws at you. What if you'd misread everything? What if the vibrator comment had been genuine curiosity, not a hint at a deeper kink?

You push the thoughts aside, determined to enjoy this quiet moment with James. Domestic bliss. He tells you about his day at work, about the new project he's excited about, and you listen, nodding and smiling at all the right moments. But your mind keeps drifting back to the handcuffs, the vibrator, you plans, your precious plans.

James excuses himself, saying he's going to take a shower before bed. He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving you in the kitchen. You let out a sigh and start thinking about where you may have hidden your vibrator. There's no way you threw it out; even though it died frequently, it was still there for you when you needed it. You hold your head in frustration until you finally decide to brave your panty drawer, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb James' shower.

After digging around for a bit, you find the glittery pink wand nestled in the back. It looks less phallic than you remember; perhaps it was too embarrassing to use such a lewd-looking tool. You unscrew the bottom and see that the batteries have died. Typical. With determination, you rush to the kitchen and rummage through the junk drawer until you find a spare set of batteries. You pop them into the vibrator and turn the dial, feeling a surge of relief as the motor whirs to life. The sound alone makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment and excitement. You quickly switch it off, straining your ears to ensure that the shower is still running. Relief washes over you as you hear the water splashing against the title.

Clutching your prize, you retrieve the black bag from your bag, before tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Heart racing as you place both items on the bedspread. Observing them with your hands on your hips, wondering how to introduce the two new toys into your bedroom routine.

James stands underneath the showerhead, the scalding water pelting his skin like a punishment. He pulls at his hair and bites his lip in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the torturous thoughts consuming him. The memories of that trip to the sex shop send a surge of arousal through him, instead of the expected shame. Images of you in lingerie and him bound in pink fluffy cuffs flood his mind, sending shivers down his spine. The mere mention of a vibrator had been enough to make him squirm with sinful desire. Your words saying such dirty things, it did things to him. His twisted desires boiling beneath the surface, threatening to consume him. James grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to suppress the rising heat in his core. But it's no use. His half-hard cock betrays him, twitching with need. Surrendering to his own perverse nature, he presses his forehead against the cold tile wall and clenches his fists above him. With one hand, he pumps his length in agonizing strokes, edging himself closer and closer to release until ribbons of hot cum collect in his palm before washing away down the drain, leaving him spent but still craving more.

The bathroom door creaks open, drawing your attention away from the pile of toys you were hastily trying to hide. James emerges, his muscular form barely concealed by a towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water cling to his toned chest, glistening in the soft light of the room. The towel sits low on his hips, revealing the v-shape that leads down to his happy trail - a dark patch of hair that looks enticingly natural and trimmed. Your heart races as he steps closer, your gaze unable to resist lingering on the course hair framing his girth. You try to act nonchalant, but you know he can see right through your flushed cheeks and nervous demeanor.

"Everything okay?" he asks, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Of course," you reply, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just... thinking." Your voice trails, urging James’ curiosity. He raises a brow, “what about?”

You hesitate, caught between desire and uncertainty. The handcuffs and vibrator are hidden beneath the covers, but their presence feels electric, charging the air between you. James' eyes are dark, searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"I was thinking about... us," you manage, your voice low. "About what you might like."

James takes a step closer, the towel slipping dangerously low on his hips. "What I might like?" he repeats, his voice husky.

Your heart races as you nod. "In the shop, I noticed you looking at some things. I thought maybe..."

You trail off, unsure how to continue. James closes the distance between you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "What did you think?" he asks softly. There’s eagerness in his eyes, ones that mimicked your own. The moment stretches, taut with possibility. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. With a weak smile, you slide your hand underneath the pillow and retrieve the pink wand and pair of cuffs. James' eyes widen with disbelief as he looks down at the toys in your possession.

"I bought them," you say coolly, "the cuffs at least. The vibrator, it’s mine. I found it."

"It's the same one you used before?" he asks. His arousal builds as he seeks clarification. You can feel his tension and anticipation.

You nod, feeling a sense of power and control wash over you. "I used it all the time before I met you."

James swallows, his desire growing with each passing moment. He can't help but wonder what you have planned for him.

"What do you want to do with them?" you ask, noticing the shift in James' demeanor. He's waiting for your command, his naivety and innocence only adding to his appeal. There it was. It wasn’t the cuffs or the vibrator, it was your control he craved.

"Do you want me to use them on you, James?" you ask, your voice dripping with dominance.

His breath hitches and he nods eagerly, his eyes wide like a lost puppy begging for an owner.

But you're not satisfied with just a nod. You need to hear it from his lips, to make him submit completely.

"Answer me," you demand, your eyes boring into his with an intense heat. Your own confidence grows as you embody James' ultimate desire.

James swallows hard before finally giving in. "Y-yes," he stammers out, unable to resist your commanding presence.

"Yes?" you repeat, reveling in your newfound power over him.

“Yes, please.”

Your heart races at James' submission. You've unlocked something within him, a side he's kept hidden until now. With gentle authority, you guide him to the bed, pushing him down onto the soft sheets. His towel falls away, revealing his sculpted body in all its glory.

"Tell me everything," you whisper, trailing your fingers along his chest. "Every fantasy, every secret. I want to know it all."

James shivers under your touch, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've always wanted... to be at your mercy. To surrender control completely."

You nod, encouraging him to continue. He takes a shaky breath. "I imagine you tying me up, teasing me. Using toys on me, making me wait for your permission to come." His cheeks flush as he confesses, "Sometimes I think about you... using a….”

You nod, a thrill running through you at James' confession. "Go on," you urge softly.

James swallows hard, his voice wavering. "Sometimes I think about you... using a strap-on on me. Taking me completely."

Your breath catches at his words, a surge of heat flooding your core. You hadn't expected that, but the image it conjures is intoxicating.

"Is that what you want, James?" you ask, your voice low and husky. "You want me to fuck you?"

He nods, unable to meet your gaze. "Yes," he whispers. "Please."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. When you pull back, your eyes are dark with desire. "We'll work up to that," you promise. "For now, let's start with these."

Dangling the handcuffs in front of James, watching his eyes widen with anticipation. "Hands above your head," you command softly, and he complies without hesitation. The metal clicks as you secure his wrists to the headboard, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath you. Your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "Such pretty boy," you murmur, drinking in the sight of him. James shivers under your touch, straining slightly against the restraints.

You reach for the vibrator, turning it on to its lowest setting. The soft buzz fills the air as you trace it along James' collarbone, down his sternum, circling his navel. He gasps, his hips lifting involuntarily.

"Someone’s excited," you chide gently. "Tell me more, James," you purr, trailing the vibrator along his inner thigh. "What other fantasies have you been hiding from me?"

James squirms, his breath coming in short gasps. "I... I've thought about you dominating me completely. Ordering me around, making me pleasure you in public places where we might get caught."

You reward his confession with a gentle buzz against his shaft, making him moan. "Go on," you encourage, completely enthralled by his unwinding state. His breath becoming irregular, eyes struggling to stay open. His fingernails digging into his palm, and his toes, digging into the comforter beneath him. Completely submissive to you and it hadn’t even been five fucking minutes.

"Sometimes," he continues, his voice strained, "I imagine you denying me release for days, keeping me on edge until I'm begging for your touch."

Your own arousal spikes at his words. You increase the vibrator's intensity, circling it around the base of his cock. "What else?"

James arches into your touch, pulling at the handcuffs. "I want you to use my body for your pleasure.” He gasps out, “to make me your toy, your plaything. I want to be at your mercy.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you. You've never seen James like this - so open, so vulnerable, so desperate for your touch. It's intoxicating.

"Such a good boy," you purr, rewarding him by sliding the vibrator up his shaft. James moans, his hips bucking involuntarily. "But I think you can do better. Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy. The one you've never dared speak aloud."

James bites his lip, hesitating. You increase the vibrator's intensity, making him cry out. "Tell me," you demand softly.

"I... I want you to use me.” James gasps out, “to control me, to punish me when I disobey you.”

You hadn’t expected James to harbor such intense submissive desires. The power he’s surrendering to you intoxicates you. “Is that what you want, baby?” You purr, trailing the vibrator along his inner thigh away from his twitching cock already glistening with pre-cum. “To be all mine?”

He nods frantically, straining against the handcuffs. "Yes, please. I want to be yours completely."

You reward him by pressing the vibrator against the base of his cock, making him cry out. "Such a good boy," you murmur. "So honest for me."

James writhes beneath you, his his hips bucking desperately as you tease him with the vibrator. His confession has ignited a fire within you, unleashing a dominant side you didn't know you possessed.

"Look at you," you purr, drinking in the sight of him. "So needy, so desperate. And all mine."

You trail the vibrator along his shaft, circling the sensitive head. His saline blending onto the base of the vibrator until it shined. James moans, pulling at the handcuffs. "Please," he gasps.

"Please what?" you ask, your voice low and commanding.

"Please... touch me. Let me come. I need you so badly."

You smile, a wicked glint in your eye. "Oh baby, we're just getting started."

With a flick of your wrist, you turn off the vibrating wand and gaze at James' cum that had coated its base. He watches you with curious eyes, desperate for more of your attention. Sensing his desire, you bring the wand to your lips and kiss it, flicking your tongue against the salty residue of his pleasure. A jolt shoots straight to your core, igniting a fiery heat within you.

James lets out a low whimper as you lean in with a sly smirk, pressing your soft lips against his. You allow him to taste himself on you, driving him wild with desire. "Don't you taste so sweet?" you tease, knowing just how much he loves to hear you say it.

His reaction is like a drug to you, taking you to a place of pure ecstasy that you never knew existed. Slowly and deliberately, you begin to undress, each piece of clothing teasingly removed as James watches, mesmerized. He's always enjoyed the undressing aspect of sex, but now it's torture for him since it isn't him peeling away the layers of fabric. You take your time removing your flowy blouse, undoing the strings that hold it together and allowing it to gracefully fall from your shoulders. James can feel himself getting harder at the sight of your exposed skin. Next comes the silky camisole, adorned with delicate lace and a cute bow at the center. The mere sight of it makes James close his eyes in an attempt to control his overwhelming desire. He knows he could cum right then and there if he let himself give in completely.

But then you demand his attention by whispering firmly, "Eyes on me." His eyes shoot open in response.

"Yes, sorry," he stammers, unable to look away from your figure.

The camisole is slowly removed, revealing a simple jersey bra that may not have the same allure as lace, but it doesn't matter. Nothing can distract James from the beauty before him. Your bra comes off next, and with it, all of James' self-control begins to crumble. The fabric falls to the floor, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable before him. And he can hardly contain himself any longer. How is this possible? The thought races through his mind. I’m already so hard, god she’s making me harder. Is that possible?

Savoring the way James’ eyes devour you, his gaze burning with lust that can no longer be contained. His hands strain against the cuffs, desperate to touch you. Your hands move to the waistband of your skirt, slowly unzipping it and letting it pool at your feet. James' eyes hungrily take in every inch of newly exposed skin. You're left in just a pair of lacy panties, the final barrier between you.

"Do you want these off too?" you ask teasingly, hooking your thumbs under the waistband.

James nods frantically, straining against the handcuffs. "Yes, please," he begs.

You smile wickedly. "I don't know... I kind of like seeing you squirm."

You crawl onto the bed, straddling James' thighs. His erection strains against your inner thigh, hot and insistent. You grind against him slightly, making him groan.

"Tell me what you want, James," you purr, running your hands up his chest. “I wanna hear you beg for it.”

James' eyes are wild with desire, his chest heaving as he struggles against the handcuffs. "Please," he gasps, "I need to touch you. I'm dying. I’m going fucking crazy." The tears welling in the corners of his eyes begin to fall down his cheeks. What a sight, it almost leaves you breathless.

A soft laugh falls from you, trailing a finger down his chest. "Is that so? And why should I let you?"

"Because I'll do anything," James pleads, his voice thick with desperation. "Anything you want, anything you ask. I'll be your perfect plaything, your obedient servant. Just please, let me touch you."

You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. "Anything?" you whisper.

"Yes," James moans. "I'll worship every inch of your body. I'll pleasure you for hours, until you're trembling and begging for release. I'll let you use me however you want - tie me up, spank me, tease me. I'll be your good boy, your perfect toy. Just please, I need to feel you."

His raw desperation sends a thrill through you. You've never seen James like this - so needy, so vulnerable. "Such pretty words," you purr, nipping at his earlobe. "But I think you can do better."

You shift, positioning yourself so that your core hovers just inches above his straining erection. James whimpers, his hips bucking up fruitlessly.

"Tell me how badly you want me," you command softly. "Paint me a picture with your words."

James swallows hard, his eyes wild with lust. "I want you so badly it hurts," he gasps out. "Every inch of my body is on fire, fuck I need you. Please, please. Untie me. I need to fuck you.”

He’s biting at you, his desperation etched into the lines of his face. His eyes are wild, like a caged animal longing for freedom. You grip his cheeks tightly, your nails digging into the soft flesh and leaving red marks in their wake.

“Watch your tone,” you warn firmly.

“I’m sorry…I-I” he stammers, his breath ragged and uneven. “I’m sorry, please.” He exhales heavily, defeated. “I need to feel you, to fuck you.”

“Be specific,” you demand.

He licks his lips nervously. “I want to put my cock inside you,” he says boldly, his gaze never faltering from yours. “Deep inside, until it reaches your cervix. I want to worship you, to serve you.”

“Please,” he pleads again. “Untie me, I’m begging you. Please.” The desperation in his voice is palpable as he begs for release, not just from his restraints. Your resolve crumbles at James' desperate pleas. With trembling fingers, you reach up and unlock the handcuffs, freeing his wrists.

The moment he's unbound, James surges forward, crushing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. His hands are everywhere at once, roaming your body with frantic need, as if he's trying to memorize every curve and plane. The sound that elicits from your throat betrays your once dominating nature, but neither of you pay it any mind. Both of you hopelessly turned on, seeking for any form of release.

He flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His mouth trails hot kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point. You arch into him, gasping as his teeth graze your collarbone.

"God, I've been dying to touch you," James growls against your skin. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble under his touch. You moan, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him. “Good boys deserve a reward,”

James' eyes light up at your words, a mix of excitement and lingering desperation in his gaze. He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and hungry. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting, exploring, as if he's trying to devour you whole. You respond with equal fervor, your hands roaming the planes of his back, nails raking lightly down his spine. He breaks away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His teeth graze your pulse point, making you gasp. "James," you breathe, arching into him.

His hands explore your body with reverence, as if he's mapping out every curve and dip. He cups your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble under his touch. You moan softly, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently.

James tugs your earlobe with a bite, “can I put my cock in you?” He whispers.

"Tease me first.”

James gently pushes your legs apart, spreading you wide open before him. His eyes drink in the sight of you, pupils dilated with lust. Your panties are soaked through, the delicate lace darkened and clinging to your folds. James runs a finger along the damp fabric, making you shiver. "It’s so wet," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, slowly dragging the panties down your legs. The cool air hits your heated core, making you gasp.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers reverently, his fingers trailing up your inner thighs. "So perfect." James positions himself between your thighs, his cock hard and throbbing. He wraps his length in the damp fabric of your panties, groaning at the sensation. "You feel so good," he whispers, "even through this. I can't wait to be inside you."

“Please let me put it in.”

With a devilish smirk, James pulls your panties aside, revealing your glistening and eager cunt. He can practically taste your arousal and you swear you see him drool with hunger. “Fuck me, James. Show me how good of a boy you really are.”

James enters you, the cool dampness of your cunt enveloping him as he thrusts deep inside. In unison, both of you curse and scream profanities, calling out to some higher power as waves of ecstasy begin to rip through your bodies. His pace is slow and deliberate, each movement calculated to bring you closer to the edge. “Harder,” you beg, craving more.

“Harder, James,” you moan as he swallows hard, adjusting his body to hit just the right angle that will send both of you over the edge. With each thrust, your walls stretch and clench around him, unable to resist his powerful girth. It's a sensation that no toy could ever replicate. “You're so good for me,” you praise him, urging him on as he seeks out that spongey treasure inside of you.

And then he finds it. Your spongey, angelic cervix kissing the tip of his reddened cock. He knows he does when your legs start to buckle and your back arches in an almost unnatural way. Your body seizes with pleasure and surrender as a loud, guttural groan escapes your lips, surprised at the primal sound that can be made in the throes of passion.

“You're mine,” you growl possessively as James relentlessly pounds into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your bodies are slick with sweat, the scent of desire filling the air. The sound of skin slapping against each other echoes loudly in the room, fueling both of your lust. As James’ pace quickens and his breath hitches, you can sense his own release approaching.

Desperate to please him and yourself, you demand as firmly as you can, “James—James, be a good boy and cum for me okay?”

Too lost in the throes of passion, he nods blindly before gasping out, “Inside you?” His voice is strained with desire as he asks, “You want my hot cum inside your tight pussy?”

“Yes, James, please,” you moan desperately, writhing beneath him. In a final burst of ecstasy, James grips your hips tightly and releases himself deep inside you, claiming you completely as his own.

You both collapse in a sweaty, exhausted heap, your limbs tangled together as you struggle to catch your breath. The room is thick with the heady scent of sex and sweat, the air still vibrating with the echoes of your shared pleasure. James' weight presses you into the mattress, his body a warm, comforting presence above you. You can feel his heart thundering against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is your ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. James nuzzles into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses against your damp skin. You run your fingers through his hair, reveling in the silky texture and the way he hums contentedly at your touch.

Slowly, reluctantly, James rolls off you, but he doesn't go far. He gathers you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. You can feel the rapid beating of his heart gradually slowing as he holds you.

"That was..." James trails off, struggling to find the right words.

"Intense," you finish for him, your voice soft and a little hoarse.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I've never... I mean, I didn't know…"

You tilt your head up to look at him, seeing a mix of vulnerability and awe in his eyes. "Was it okay?" you ask, suddenly feeling a flicker of uncertainty. "I didn't push you too far, did I?"

James shakes his head emphatically. "No, god no. It was... You were incredible." He pauses, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You smile, warmth blooming in your chest at his words. "I'm glad," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "I loved seeing that side of you."

You sneak him a glance.

“You should tell me more about your fantasies more often.”

[suugarbabe]

Saving Grace IV

[Chapter 4]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader

Word count: ~3.2k

Warnings: mentions of blood, fighting, smut adjacent activity

Mattheo was not fucking around when he said he was heavy into the public displays of affection and physical touch. You had expected and anticipated it during the dinner where you first met each other’s friends, and even at the party given that it was (1) a party and (2) had alcohol which, at least for you personally, heavily lowered your inhibitions and heighted your risk taking choices, hence the lap dance that Theo and Enzo were still talking and teasing about at dinners. Thankfully it had died down over the last couple of days, but just about every two meals one of them will start humming the tune to the song you danced to. The lap dance at the party and Adrian’s initial reaction had seemed to fuel Mattheo further to only display affection more and more. 

Mattheo was laying it on pretty thick, especially in potions class, that you now all three had together. That first Monday after the party Mattheo had walked to class with you. To anyone else it probably seemed just like any other couple walking to class together, but you knew that Mattheo didn’t want Adrian thinking he had any sort of chance of being remotely near you during this period. And Mattheo was right, as soon as you both walked into Potions, Adrian was sat at the table you normally occupied. Mattheo could tell by the look on your face that you were annoyed, so in a big display he threw you over his shoulder and brought you to the back of the classroom to an empty table. You had swatted at his back playfully, telling him to put you down and that he was essentially flashing your ass to the class. He assured you he held your skirt down because “he was a gentleman”. You attempted to roll your eyes at him but he grabbed your chin firmly, winking at you before kissing you deeply, only to be interrupted by Professor Slughorn walking in and clearing his throat, informing the two of you that you were in fact in Potions and not ‘Snogging 101’. You would’ve been embarrassed if you weren’t incredibly satisfied with how pissed off Adrian looked. 

That was a rather tame display of affection compared to others in the weeks after. Mattheo would hook a finger in the waist of your skirt in the hall to snag you away from wherever you were headed and pull you closer to him. Or he would be just slightly obnoxious and walk to class with his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin on your head and clunking his feet along yours causing you to erupt into fits of laughter each time he almost tripped. His height helped him spot Adrian in the halls, and he would always pull you off to the side and kiss you deeply, sometimes being a little cheeky with a hand around your throat like that first day in the great hall. You had to admit that part you was getting a little addicted to it all. You were really trying your hardest to not fall for Mattheo and his antics, but he was either a really good actor, or he was liking the set up you guys created just as much as you were starting to. You were validating this theory based on two occasions. 

The first was about a week after the party, you and Mattheo had made a routine of walking to potions together and you were waiting for him in the common room, per usual. He had been pretty good at being on time since he knew how much of a stickler you were, but that day he had obviously fallen back to his old ways. You were sitting on the arm of one of the couches, waiting for Mattheo, seemingly watching every other slytherin boy leave for classes. When Enzo and Theo passed you stopped them, asking if they had seen Mattheo. Theo smirked, telling you he was ‘still sleeping, but maybe you should go give him a happy wake up call’. You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless you found yourself walking up the steps to the boys dorm. 

“Mattheo!” You knocked on the door, pressing your ear to the wood and listening for any movement, but all you heard was deep snoring. You frowned, flicking your wand and unlocking the door. You looked around the room, hearing the snoring but each boy's bed just looked like a pile of duvets. Then you spotted the familiar curls. “Mattheo,” you sang out his name, his response was a long snore. You trailed your fingers lightly up the duvet to the edge just over his shoulder, gripping the covers and ripping them back. Your cheeks instantly aflame at the sight of his near naked state. The lack of cover made no difference to Mattheo, which you were slightly thankful for because all you could do was stare. Freckles painted along his tan, muscular back. The way he sprawled across the bed made his boxer shorts ride up, exposing more of his thigh and Merlin was quidditch great to him. He stirred slightly, likely noticing the lack of warmth. He turned over, seeing you standing next to his bed, “Enjoying the view, Princess?” Your eyes were glued to his chest but you heard the smugness in his voice and instantly looked to the floor, “I, erm, we’re just late Mattheo, you know I hate that.” 

He sighed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down onto him. You let out a small yelp, not quite expecting that movement from him. You sat up, Mattheo grabbing your hips and now you were straddling his lap. “Mattheo,” you went to protest but he only shushed you. “I’m sorry, Princess. I told Theo to wake me but clearly he didn’t,” you wanted to be mad at him, but the way his fingers were dancing up and down your thighs, barely slipping under your school skirt and back had you melting. “I-I guess it’s fine,” you we’re definitely sporting a pout on your face but Mattheo’s smile never faulted. “Besides, coming in late together might make everyone think we were up to something,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making you giggle and slap his chest. Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall and Mattheo pulled your tie, crashing his lips to yours. You caught yourself, hands on his shoulders while his were now on your hips, ever so subtly moving you back on forth on his lap as you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You jumped off Mattheo’s lap and back to the floor, smoothing your skirt only to see Theo standing at the door. “Forgot my school bag, but don’t let me interrupt,” Theo’s face told you that teasing would be evident at lunch and you were correct. 

Last week was another moment that had you questioning how ‘fake’ Mattheo’s feelings were for you. During your walk between classes you found yourself suddenly dragged into an empty classroom, before you could protest your back was against against a wall and Mattheo’s lips were slotted against yours. You sighed into the kiss, and he took advantage of this, slipping his tongue in your mouth, which you gladly welcomed. You were fisting his blazer, trying to pull him impossibly closer when two students walked into the room. One gasped, apologizing and flustered, which only made Mattheo giggle against your neck, still ghosting kisses along your skin before you pushed him away. The other student was Luna Lovegood, who simply stated, “Don’t be sorry, I think being in love is the most special of magic.” At this statement your cheeks were aflame, but Mattheo simply winked at her before pecking your forehead and heading to his next class. 

You knew you liked Mattheo as a person. His kindness and humor were qualities you highly admired. But each stolen moment that appeared to be just the two of you had you questioning not only if he was liking you more than a friend, but if you did as well. It kept you up most nights, internally battling yourself. Would it really be so wrong? You two obviously had chemistry, everyone who saw the two of you interact thought so. Hell, most even told you so. You couldn’t fake it that well, could you? And then there was the way he’d sneak touches that seemed like they were only for him. Sitting next to you in classes or at the table in the great hall, hand possessively on your thigh, thumb tracing circles on your skin; no one else could see that, or would even notice where his hand was yet he still made the conscious thought to do it. 

That’s why you were so nervous for potions today, it was going to be the ultimate test to your theory. Today would help clarify your own feelings as well as possibly Mattheo’s. Today you were tasked with making the love potion: Amortentia. When given the task, Mattheo gave your thigh a light squeeze, stating openly that he “already knew what his would smell like” before kissing your cheek. Two tables in front of you was Adrian, grumbling like a toddler at the display Mattheo was putting on. You smiled and pecked Mattheo’s lips, party for show and partly because you were afraid of any response you’d have and being too honest. Nevertheless, Slughorn encouraged you all to begin, stating he would make rounds and check everyone’s work. 

You grabbed the peppermint petals and leaves, as well as the powdered moonstone and rose thorns. You knew that the potion would not be ready to be actually used for seven days, but you had read that, if made correctly, you could feel the effects of the vapors as the potion is being made. You were unsure how much you wanted to believe that section of text you read but as you kept stirring the scent of tobacco and sandalwood was almost dizzying. You knew that scent, it filled your lungs with every touch or passing that Mattheo gave. You needed to step away, clear your head, “Mattheo can you stir for a moment? I wanna check to make sure we got everything.” He simply grinned, “Sure, Princess.” He grabbed the rod, stirring the simmering liquid when his smile grew wider, turning to you again, “Did you shower this morning, Princess?” You scoffed playfully, crossing your arms, “Why, Riddle, implying I stink?” He shook his head, laughing lightly, “Of course not, love. It’s just, your shampoo is incredibly strong today.” 

You swear your heart stopped. Your next hair washing day was not until tomorrow, which could only mean - “Okay, Mr. Riddle, Miss Y/l/n, let’s check your work, hmm?” Your thoughts interrupted by Slughorn. Mattheo nodded at the plump man, taking a step back and motioning with his hand for you to step up and smell it. You leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply. “I smell…cigarette smoke…sandalwood cologne and mint chewing gum,” you took a step back, looking to the floor sheepishly. You couldn't make eye contact with Mattheo, but if you had you would have seen the curious look in his eye before stepping up to the potion himself. 

Taking a large breathe in, Mattheo began describing what he smelled, “Hmm..I smell, fresh linen…patchouli and…” he trailed off, eyes shooting open with a sudden realization. “Continue please, Mr. Riddle, what was the last you smelled?” Slughorn was cluelessly encouraging him, but Mattheo met your eyes as he nearly whispered, “s-strawberry vanilla shampoo.” Slughorn patted both of your shoulders, congratulating you both on your work and completely oblivious to the tension that was now suffocating the two of you. The second Slughorn dismissed class you were moving to leave the room, cursing Mattheo’s height as he caught up to you in just three long strides. 

“Princess, we have to talk about this,” He was on your heels as you continued walking, clutching your books to your chest. “Y/n, c’mon…we need to talk about this,” he rarely used your full name, even though it was all supposedly a facade he was always using a pet name, princess, darling, love. So when your name fell from his lips you stop, turning to face him, “There’s nothing to talk about, what is there to say really?” He pulled you to the side of the corridor, leaning his shoulder against the wall, “C’mon, you know we smelled each other.” You shrugged, “We smell each other like, every day, Mattheo. We’re basically on top of each other in every public space.” You were trying to play it off, but he was having none of it. “We smelled each other, in the love potion, y/n. That’s not something you can make up, we have to talk about thi-”

“Well, well, trouble in fake paradise?” The sneer was evident in Adrian’s voice, your whole body tensing at his presence. Mattheo was instantly in a rage, “Sod off, shithole, you’re irrelevant here, as always.” The smirk on Adrian's face even made you irritated. It was like he thought he knew something no one else did, which, technically he was right, but now was not the time. But he didn't seem to care, just continued to poke the bear, it was like he couldn’t help himself, “You two were convincing in the beginning, but now it’s just sad to keep going. I get you wanted to make me jealous, Y/n, with the flirting and that lap dance, which was incredibly sexy by the way. But really, couldn’t you have picked anyone better?” Adrian took a step toward you as he spoke, backing you against the wall and reaching to cup your face. You were frozen in your spot, however Mattheo’s temper was boiled over. 

He grabbed Adrian by the throat, slamming him on the corridor floor. Student’s all around backed up immediately forming a semi-circle around the commotion. Mattheo had Adrian pinned, kneeling on the ground next to him, his face leaning over Adrian’s as the tip of his wand was pressed to Adrian’s temple. “You know I could fucking kill you right now, don’t you Pucey? One simple spell, you know the one. You think my father didn’t teach me how to get rid of pests?” Adrian was squirming under Mattheo’s grip, obviously struggling to breath. “Or maybe I should just make you my puppet, hmm? Maybe then you’d have the decency to leave me and my girlfriend the fuck alone.” Adrian pulled at Mattheo’s fingers around his throat, managing two simple words, “Fuck you.” 

Mattheo’s wand was thrown on the floor as he started pummeling Adrian’s face, his fists connecting one after the other as Pucey’s blood started to splatter on Mattheo’s school uniform. “Stop it!” You shouted at the scene, trying to get Mattheo’s attention, but his rage was all he could see. He was over how Adrian was treating you, over his entitlement and how he felt like he had some sort of right to you. He could tell Adrian was almost unconscious, Mattheo wanted to knock him out, make him really understand how serious he was about you, but then he heard your voice pleading again, “Mattheo, please.” He stood up, leaving Adrian groaning on the floor as the circle of student’s started whispering around them. He grabbed your hand, pulling you through the mob of people and headed back toward the common room. 

He was leaning against the edge of the sink in your dorm bathroom now, opening and closing his fists and inspecting the cuts on his knuckles. You stood in front of him, holding out your palm for him to place his hand in yours. You waved your want over his cuts, whispering healing spells and watching them close and disappear, forming new scars next to old ones. You did the same to his other hand before placing your wand back in your pocket. Mattheo placed his index finger under your chin, making you look up, brown irises meeting yours, “You know we still have to talk about potions, y/n.” You sighed, nodding and taking his hand, leading him to your bed where you both sat at the edge. 

He scooted closer to the middle, making you do the same so you could face each other. You were playing with your fingers, wringing your hands as you waited for either of you to break the silence. Mattheo grabbed your hands in his, giving them a light squeeze. You took a deep breath, “I smelled you. And not because we’re around each other all the time, or because I was making it up for show. I noticed as soon as all the ingredients were in the cauldron together. Before slughorn even asked us to test it out.” You were looking at your hands together, afraid to see what his reaction was. After all, you were the one to ask him for help, he didn’t have to do that, he was just being nice and now you were smelling him in love potions? But he didn’t pull away his hands after hearing what had to say, he was…laughing?

You looked up at him confused, but his eyes were nothing but pure adoration when they met yours. “I knew I was going to smell you, y/n.” You opened your mouth to reply but he continued on, “You are…so beautiful. Not just your looks, but your mind, the way you approach things, your spirit. I knew I liked you that first time I kissed you at dinner. Yes, at first I agreed to this whole thing and what not because I fucking loathe Adrain,” this made you laugh a little, “but after that first kiss, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let this end.” You were speechless, Mattheo Riddle, bachelor extraordinaire just told you he liked you, like, wanted to be with you, liked you. What was happening? You weren’t supposed to fall for him, let alone him fall for you. You were just supposed to use him, you were-being snapped at again.

“Y/n, seriously? Overthinking or trying to come up with a nice way to reject me?” Mattheo was smiling at you zoning out. “I’m- I’m sorry, it’s just. I’m trying to process it all. I never really thought you would actually like me. I know you said I was pretty and such but, you kiss pretty girls all the time and I…ugh, I made a rule for myself when we first started this whole thing and I’m breaking that rule, but I guess I don’t care becaus-” Mattheo’s lips on yours cut your rambling short. Your hands were wrapped around his neck, tugging lightly at the curls and he slowly leaned further over you, laying you down on your back, lips never breaking from yours. One hand held him up, right next to your head while the other roamed your body, gliding over your neck, down the valley between your breasts and resting at your hip. You grab hold of the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, breathing him in like it’s your last breath before he finally pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispers shyly, “just couldn’t help m’self. What were you saying, love? What rule are you breaking?” You looked him over, eyes dancing with fondness, lips slightly red and swollen, your words tumbling out and not a single feeling of regret as you did so, “I’m falling for you, Mattheo.” 

Taglist:

@v1olentdelights @cherry-hoe @itsamusical4lifee @chaosartic @b3ean @l4venderia @mypolicemanharryyy @ma-las @usmell4 @carav4l @thereallink @jinxxangel13 @stvrligghtt @taylors--version @classicfandomavenue @lucyispan @moonlightreader649 @badasseddy @icecube1912

*if your name is bolded i tried to tag you but it didn't show up for me. :(

[leclsrc]

wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

re: leaks

As the series comes to a close, I feel compelled to offer my perspective on leaks, my role in them, and how fandom has changed for the worse.

I understand that this post will probably come off as sanctimonious or emotional. That’s fine. The impending end has made everyone incredibly emotional, and I am no exception.

If you look at my blog, you’ll find that I very rarely mention anything about leaked chapters before their official release, and if I do, I tag clearly.

I want to say this outright: the manga chapters getting leaked is wrong.

It is both illegal and morally wrong.

Horikoshi-sensei chose to work with Shueisha to release MHA in Weekly Shonen Jump. They offered him terms for the production and sale of his story, and he accepted them. Shueisha contracts other companies, such as Viz, to release his work to a broader audience and increase his success. You may have reasonable objections to the workload of weekly manga, the pressure involved in running a popular shounen series, or the various publishing companies’ choices, but I strongly encourage you to avoid projecting these criticisms onto Horikoshi-sensei himself. He has expressed nothing but complete gratitude and respect for his team and colleagues, who have supported him in making his dream come true.

The exclusive first-release of his work through WSJ and its related publishers is one of his rights as a creator. He has the right to control how his work is first presented to the public.

I started reading leaks because I didn’t have access to the Japanese chapters. For a lot of reasons, I wanted to read the original chapters before a translation. Along the way I resolved this issue: I have a paid monthly subscription to Shonen Jump+. There are ways to do this outside Japan; if one wanted to contribute financially, it can be done. Regardless of what happens with leaks, I read the official release on their website every week. I recognize that I am an outlier; most people in the English-speaking fandom cannot read Japanese.

Every week, leaks stir up absolute chaos as misinterpretations and badly worded summaries produce patently false, random theories that then spread through the rumor mill of the internet. The same night, pikahlua posts their literal translations. I won’t speak for pika, these thoughts are wholly my own, but their literal translations provide the mha fandom an incredible service that:

combats rampant misinformation produced by leaks

enlightens the non-Japanese-speaking audience to linguistic and cultural nuances that present challenges in translation

facilitates deeper examination of and appreciation for the work as a whole

The first is damage control in the early days of the leak. The second is damage control during the subsequent days, as people argue back and forth about differences between the leaker translation and the official English release. The third is simply a great contribution to fandom. pika works really hard, and some of you have perhaps noticed them tagging me to thank me for providing assistance to them. I help out because, for me, if there is any contribution I can make towards improving readers’ understanding of the text and reducing the chaos that leaks have become, I feel some sense of duty to do so.

Fandom has changed. Modern leakers are not diehard underdogs bringing inaccessible art to a dedicated audience who wants to celebrate it. The Japanese release has a pricetag, but for six other languages, chapters are released online simultaneously every week for free. This kind of access is unparalleled. Leaks are fundamentally unnecessary. The fact that the fan scanlation comes out before the official release is a direct violation of Horikoshi-sensei’s wishes. I can't even put into words how disrespectful it is.

The leakers make the argument that if they didn’t leak the chapters, someone else would, but they personally made the choice to cultivate leaks as an event. They set the stage for how this works. They release the 15-some pages incredibly slowly, over a period of an hour or more, with page uploads delayed behind the summaries. If they receive the entire chapter at once, it really makes no sense to not just summarize the whole thing and schedule posts in tandem with each other in rapid succession. If they receive the pages at roughly the rate they post them, why don’t they just wait until they get the last page to begin?

The only reason to not do this, as far as I can tell, is to generate attention and earn a reputation for being first.

If they think the chapters will get leaked in some form anyway, why don’t they just let them happen and offer summaries to help? I know they must pay money to access these illegal goods, but if their intentions are honest, why don’t they acquire the leaks, translate them, and then release theirs—which you’d think could be of good, cohesive quality with extra time and care—only if somebody else puts out a shoddy upload first?

The leakers have twitter accounts with roughly 68,000 and 92,000 followers each. They manage a discord channel with over two thousand users. Hundreds of people post leaked pages untagged within minutes of the leak, commenting with wild guesses about what’s going on. I see people say that fan spaces feel empty between releases, and that’s because we’re all hyped up on leak juice, focusing all of our time and energy into this brief frenetic spell and then just waiting for the next high.

Many fandoms go on for decades after the series’ end. I think people are concerned mha’s fandom will vanish after the last chapter because when we consume at such a high rate, there may be no longevity to it. But no matter who else is with me, I’ll be here for as long as it makes me happy to do it.

Japanese fandom hates English-speaking fandom because of the leaks. They hate our asses and block us for posting spoilers, memes, and fanart based on leaked chapters before the real release. I see people be curious and try to peer into the Japanese fandom, to find out how the Japanese readership reacts to things, and I get why, but I just always feel sad and uncomfortable that we’re out here breaking the law, breaking the rules of fandom, and disrespecting the creator’s wishes, and then we still feel entitled to their spaces.

If the leakers didn’t release the chapters early to almost a hundred thousand people, maybe some random person would still get a hold of them. Maybe they’d still get spread around a little. But not like this. Not in a way that is impossible to avoid, impossible to quell, impossible to discourage.

I’m sad.

You can think this is stupid or judgmental or moralistic of me or whatever you want, but I’m sad.

Horikoshi-sensei's ending will get filtered through a bad summary and messy translations before he gets to release it properly on his own terms. I've tried to help clean up the mess they make every week, but it never feels like enough.

Every shred of attention just fuels the fire no one is willing to put out.

And I feel very little else except sorry for it.