#which is why some of the right ones are 'corrected' by the other

[eugenedebs1920]

I’m not sure why, but I am honestly shocked by the capitulation and subservient nature of the Republican lawmakers.

I do my best to not travel in conspiracy theories, abide with more of an Occam’s razor approach. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. So in my mind the weakness and the refusal to even slightly object to some incredibly egregious orders and actions from the new administration was based on their fear of being primaried and losing their seat, or fear of reprisal from their more extreme maga constituents.

My mind wonders into other possibilities though…

If you dive into the rightward swing of the judiciary after the very progressive and open minded liberties ruled upon by the Warren court you begin to spiral down a vortex of Christianity, very wealthy capitalists, right wing indoctrination of Ivy League students, and individuals who perceive democracy as more of a hindrance to their success than a fair system of self governance.

Quick side story. Most people are not aware that the “pro-life” movement was born (pardon the pun) out of the desegregation of schools. Jerry Faldwell was opposed to mandated desegregation, long story short, the government threatened to tax the church if they were unwilling to comply with the Civil Rights Act. Faldwell had very recently stumbled upon what would become the modern day mega church style of reaching an enormous audience and was making money hand over fist. As most people with copious amounts of wealth they opposed contributing to society by paying their fair share in taxes on their revenue. Opposing taxation because you were racist and didn’t want children of color in your classrooms was an unflattering position to stand on. He needed something controversial, something that contained strong opinions on both sides of the argument that wasnt racism. He settled on abortion as the hot button topic in which to levy his protest against complying to desegregation, or having to contribute tax revenue.

Anyway, I digress…

When you look at the current court, the Federalist Society plays a major role in the installation of justices, the bonkers textualist stance, the ideology of the “conservative” justices generally.

I don’t want to, nor do I have time today to go down that great expanse of a rabbit hole regarding the Federalist Society, The Heritage Foundation, Harlan Crow, Clarence Thomas, etc etc, but I will say they have had an itinerary for the the implementation of the theocratic agenda they desired going on more than 40 years now.

Fortunately for us society is moving away from the mythological explanations of the unknown used to control the masses and quiet dissent from the peasantry for the exploitation of their labor to enrich the ruling class hoarding the majority of societies capital, and into a more scientific explanation with spirituality being a more personal experience.

The conservative platform is not popular. The policies of the right overwhelmingly benefit the incredibly wealthy through the abuse and neglect of the workers. As technology and society progressed, the traditional viewpoints of patriarchy, whites superiority, and the dominance of a ruling class have become less and less popular.

Yet through patience, planning, scheming, and corruption, the religious right has perpetuated a minority rule. The electoral college, the equal representation to disproportionate constituency of the senate, and good ol fashioned cronyism poised the increasingly less relevant political stance to acquire disproportionate power despite the populations copacetic views of it.

What if this is where the 40 plus years of planning has finally come to fruition? What if the conditions were set to make that move to circumvent democracy and self rule to finally implement the authoritarian, kleptocratic, theocracy they sought? Like a cornered animal, dangerous and desperate, pouncing on what they perceive as a threat on the plan they strived so long to achieve.

A useful idiot in the executive. A stacked judiciary of their members. A manufactured division of the citizens. A complacent and feckless legislature. An abundance of wedge issues. A media apparatus existing in a fact free platform of their chosen propaganda. A society unable or unwilling to obtain objective truth.

I’m not confident this is t the case. I can see the dominos in line to topple. The behavior and rhetoric coming from the new administration, mixed with the misinformation sphere of today’s information platforms. The utter disdain created between a two party system against one another.

Some things are too coincidental to be a coincidence. If you don’t read the road signs what are they there for. JD Vance, Steven Miller, Russ Vought, they look, act, and think like commanders from the Handmaids Tale. Their policies fit as well.

Hopefully I’m just paranoid and this is all some crazy conspiracy theory in my head from reading Orwell and watching too many movies and shows.

Although…. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you 

A House hearing Tuesday descended into chaos when Chairman James Comer (R-KY) threatened to have Rep. Maxwell Frost (D-FL) forcibly removed for calling President Donald Trump a “grifter.”

During his speaking time, Frost called Trump the “grifter-in-chief” and accused both him and Elon Musk of using their positions to “enrich themselves to the tune of billions of dollars.”

“So if we wanna look at waste, fraud, and abuse — which I’m down to do — why is there complete silence on the other side of the aisle about looking at the complete grifter that is the President of the United States,” Frost said, “and the richest man on the Earth, which is looking into things like social security and different things like that? Why don’t we investigate the real corruption?”

[wifelivvyx]

I love your Weasley fics they’re so cute and mischievous. Could you do George and muggle reader after hogwarts? Maybe she just thinks he’s a magician at first or something whatever you want it to be. I love the trope 🤷‍♀️ if it’s already been done then ty in advance :)

Oh, I love this idea! Imagine Muggle!Reader just thinking George is some next-level street magician, completely unaware that he's actually using real magic.

Like, she sees him pull something impossible, and he just winks and goes, "Trade secret, love."

Meanwhile, Fred is losing his mind in the background because George is absolutely not correcting her HELPP

A Magician and a Muggle

George Weasley x Muggle!Reader

You had always liked magic tricks.

Sleight of hand, card tricks, disappearing acts - you could spend hours watching street magicians pull off impossible feats with nothing but a smirk and a flourish.

Which was probably why you found yourself completely enchanted by George Weasley.

You weren’t sure how you met him, exactly. One minute, you were sitting in a coffee shop, reading a book. The next, some tall, freckled guy with a ridiculous grin had made your spoon disappear right off your saucer.

“I - what?” You blinked.

George waggled his eyebrows. “Impressive, yeah?”

You frowned. “Okay, but where is it?”

He held up his hands, empty. “That, my dear, is the question.”

You gave him a suspicious look before turning to check your seat, the floor, even your pockets. Nothing.

By the time you turned back, he was twirling the spoon between his fingers like it had been there the whole time.

You stared. “Okay, how?”

He winked. “Trade secret.”

ϑ𐑞

You had never met a magician like George.

He was charming, mischievous, and had the most insane tricks you had ever seen.

Like the time he turned your tea into hot chocolate mid-sip. Or when he made a full deck of cards shuffle themselves through the air. Or - your personal favorite - the time he conjured a bouquet of flowers out of thin air when you offhandedly mentioned liking lilies.

“I know how most magic tricks work,” you had huffed one evening as he flicked his wand (or, as he called it, his ‘special magician’s wand’) and made the sugar cubes levitate into your coffee. “But this? This is some next-level stuff.”

George leaned on his elbow, grinning. “Are you saying I’m better than all those other magicians?”

“I’m saying I have no idea how you’re doing this,” you corrected, watching the sugar cubes gently plop into your cup. “It’s freakishly good.”

Fred - whom you had only recently met - let out a choked laugh from across the table.

You raised a brow. “What?”

George waved a hand. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous.”

Fred spluttered. “Jealous - ? George, you absolute menace-”

George coughed loudly, kicking his brother under the table. “As I was saying! Some things are best left a mystery, yeah?”

You eyed him. “You’re hiding something.”

He smirked. “Oh, loads of things, love.”

Fred groaned.

ϑ𐑞...

It all came to a head one afternoon when you casually walked into George’s flat and found his teacup floating in mid-air.

You froze.

George - who had been mid-sip - looked at you, eyes wide. Slowly, carefully, he lowered the cup back onto the table.

“…Hi.”

You stared.

He cleared his throat. “So, funny thing-”

“You’re an actual wizard?!”

George winced. “Okay, yes, but in my defense, you never asked if it was real magic-”

“BECAUSE THAT’S NOT A NORMAL THING TO ASK, GEORGE!”

Fred, standing in the doorway, wheezed. “She thought you were a magician, you prat-”

“I am a magician!” George huffed. “Just… a real one.”

You ran a hand down your face. “I - I can’t believe this.”

George gave you a hopeful smile. “So… still fancy me, or did the whole ‘actual wizard’ thing ruin my charm?”

You stared at him.

Then, after a long pause, you sighed.

“You owe me an explanation,” you muttered.

George beamed. “Absolutely. But first-” He flicked his wand, and a chocolate bar appeared in his hand. He handed it to you with a wink.

“Trick or treat?”

You snatched it from him with a glare.

Fred collapsed onto the floor laughing.

[thinkingotherwise]

Was thinking maybe a wind breaker boys (you can choose who the only one that needs to be there is Suo) reacting to a reader that instinctively laughs when hurt. Like maybe they get punched by someone at some point in a fight and they just burst out laughing. Not like in an edgy way they can tell that reader is in pain but they just automatically laugh (ik it's kinda weird).

I was thinking about the plot and how to make it, and then I remembered that Taiga lets someone get the first hit in, and somehow I thought about the below thing.

Hayato Suo, Hajime, Umemiya, Haruka Sakura, Choji Tomiyama, Minoru Kanuma, Yukinari Arima, Toma Hiiragi, Jo Togame, Ren Kaji how would they react if reader laughed after getting punched

You stumbled back a few steps, hand going up to cover your mouth and cheek. You massaged the place the guy's fist just bruised, opening and closing your jaw twice before a small chuckle escaped you. When you raised your head to glance at the man before you, you couldn't help it. His self-satisfied look made you laugh harder as you tried to cover your mouth and calm down.

The few people closest to you stopped to stare blankly at you, thinking you were out of your mind. It hurt like hell even if it wasn't the strongest punch, but you couldn't stop it. In the end, the hit surely looked stronger than it felt, so you decided to help him out.

"You know it was a little weaker because you didn't use your whole body." You started moving your own fist back and doing the hitting motion. Your voice was wavering, with a few giggles escaping you and that made the rest of people around turn towards you.

"If you move your whole upper body, you gain momentum, which you can use to your advantage later on when fighting." You continued coming closer to the guy and holding your fists high. You pulled your right hand back, your hips following, turning to the side.

"Like that." You demonstrated the punch, and somehow, you went all out because soon, the guy in front of you was lying on the ground, unconscious.

Your mouth opened in shock, letting out a light 'oh' before you laughed once more. The ridiculous situation made you bend slightly forward. Your unstoppable laughter echoed through the place; you just couldn't help it.

Hayato Suo, Hajime Umemiya

He looked at you the moment he heard you. First, he thought about how you were in trouble, but then when his eyes focused on you, trying to see what exactly happened, he didn't know if he should feel relieved you were alright or worried because why were you laughing.

After beating up the people in front of him, he got you a handkerchief and stepped closer to wipe the blood from under your nose. His gaze was observant, calculating in his head what caused this burst of emotion out of you.

Seeing as you didn't calm down but still chuckled to yourself, he decided only to pat your head twice. He would interrogate you about what happened when you get out of there. When your joyful attitude kept on going, he pushed your head downwards, trying to hide your behaviour from others.

Choji Tomiyama, Minoru Kanuma and Yukinari Arima

He was quick to join you, his voice mixing with yours as the both of you laughed loudly. He heard you and approved of your actions, commented stuff like, "He really needs to take some lessons." or "My punches are stronger even half asleep." He also proposed to wait till the guy woke up so that he could show him the correct stance as well.

Others definitely looked at the two of you as if they saw a pair of sociopaths. They steered clear of your way through the rest of the fight, keeping an eye on you.

Later on, as he learned that you react like that whenever you get hurt, he looked at you strangely and nodded continuously, his brain having trouble understanding how that worked.

Haruka Sakura, Toma Hiiragi

He thought you were crazy. What kind of person teaches a guy who is fighting them how to hit better? Really, he knew he couldn't understand you at times, but this was something else.

While fighting the rest of the group, he was doing that absentmindedly, his mind fully on you. "Who taught you that and why?" The question repeated in his mind.

After, he would sit you down in front of him and talk you through a little lecture about how you should teach others, who you recognize as enemies, how to fight.

Deep inside, he did find the whole situation funny but would never tell you that.

Jo Togame, Ren Kaji

Hearing your laughter, he glanced at you, weirded out, but not because of why you did that. It was because he should be the one to behave like that. He believed that you weren't feeling well to do such things.

He was wondering if it was his influence that got you like that and if you took after him. Was he showing too much of his unhinged side in front of you during fights, and you adapted his behaviour?

He quickly found his way to you and asked all about why you were laughing and if you were okay. Hearing about your habit and asking why he thought you would get it from him, he sighed in relief. He didn't need to worry about you catching more of his strange manners. He needed a few more minutes to fully understand what you said to him, but he was fine as long as you wouldn't turn out like his mad side.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Can you write a beginners guide to chess?

Uhh. This is not my department. However; I may be able to elaborate on how my approach to chess is a bit different.

Currently; the Language of Chess is the most predominant form of [Language] and [Communication] when it comes to the Military and Political landscape.

As such; I appear to be uninformed and ignorant when I sit at their tables, despite having a*more* advanced form of tactical language in my repertoire.

[Step 1; I have been told, by assorted, musicians, in, assorted, fields; is ALWAYA SELF-PROMOTE. thats why I had to that first.]

Right now there are three aspects of the [game of chess] that are covered by the literature and the nomenclature.

1) The Boardstate

2) The Tactics

3) The Opponent

0) The Void

When we begin a [game of chess], the first thing we notice is the field and/or the pieces. That is the Board and the Pieces.

These combine together to create the term we know and love called [Board State].

In [Chess] the current [Board State] is the most important thing in all of the entire game. Why? Because unlike in more advanced games, there isn't really the fear of a "Board Wipe"

Because chess is supposed to be hyper-realistic and nobody comes back after a board wipe.

Now let's take a moment here to Google some GothamChess reaction videos to ChatGPT playing chess ... That is; a game between two LLMs where each seems to be playing by its own set of rules.

What is each of these things doing? Why/how can it break the rules?

Because Large-Language Models reference the board state as [one-move] differences. Instead of by [How a piece can move]

Now, this has probably been corrected by more advanced LLMs, but the example remains. You're welcome.

How each of those models might come to define what is meant as a [one-move difference between Boardstates] is up to that particular Large-Language-Model's interpretation.

2) The Opener!

[The Opener] is kind of like picking a class in a RPG, you follow a strict "Rotation" [sequence of moves, or algorithm] and the goal is to ensure to maximize your own opportunities over your opponent available opportunities. While maintaining your board state and/or rotation.

2) The Opener AND Boardstate

Because [The Opener] isn't as strictly defined as a class in an RPG; it may change when your Boardstate changes.

If for, for example, your opponent pushes you from "London Play" into the perfect "Grunfeld" Boardstate... Then you automatically get to choose if you wanna switch tactics.

^ this is kind of the key to my approach in chess. I let the opponent do what they want while reacting just enough to set-up my own board state *until* one of us sets off a "Move Cascade"

A [Cascade] is a series of moves that are forced, or the alternative is too high risk. And so each player looks as though they are playing speed chess getting through "The Cascade" but it's just [Asteroids or Plagues] hitting the board like in [Hearthstone].

The tricky part is knowing which move is most valuable.

3) The Opponent

Who are you playing against?

How do they react when you play certain moves?

Do they always react a certain way when provoked?

Do you?

Are both of you aware of the Opponent's Depth of awareness?

--This is my weakness here. I'm not a Poker Player, I'm not about the social algorithm, just the physical one.

Are they likely to switch Boardstates when presented with the opportunity or not? Are they aware of the possibility?

This one is not clearly defined, because this is anything that is outside the rules of chess. If, for example; you're playing chess "Prison Rules" style... What's stopping your opponent from throwing dust in your eyes and their "Referee" from messing with the pieces?

<aside>"referee" in this facet I'm using as a Fencing term. In a Brawl, you always show up with a possè in case the other guy in the duel and *his* possè don't "Play by the rules." Effectively; both sides should bring their own referees. But maybe the fight transcends individuals for some reason, then the referees get to Duke it out while we go for a cuppa something.</aside>

<aside>Now. When the Referees are both prison guards.. *everybody* has problems and the guards are probably raking the take for the simulated "prison beef."</aside>

The Void;

[unrelentingforse]

No, Caitlyn is not a fascist

As time passed after the ending of arcane I've come to realise that labelling Caitlyn Kiramman as a "dictator" is plain wrong and it heavily mischaracterizes her as a person who was so clearly manipulated by a woman in power.

Arcane writers have done everything they can to explain to the fandom that the gas was mostly used on chembarons and their goons. Obviously other people were caught in the crossfire and got poisoned from the gray, but this is nowhere near what the nazis were doing. And it is also NOT a valid reason to call her "KKKiramman"

Yes, she created checkpoints. Yes, she wanted Singed to be put in a dungeon. But - let's be real right now - she didn't do that out of her hatred for the poor people of Zaun. She did it because she wanted to avenge Jinx. All of her actions are caused by her grief, hate, guilt and loneliness.

You can argue that if she wasn't a fascist then she wouldn't do any of it and would've given up her power. But this actively ignores the grief she's going through. And also completely ignores the definition of fascism. What was she supposed to do? Just give up all of her assets and power when she was at her lowest? Beg on her knees for forgiveness? Just forget that her mother died a horrific death and forgive Jinx for everything?

Caitlyn actively despised how she was seen. Here's some quotes from S2:

When talking to maddie she said that she never thought this operation would go for so long. She didn't seem happy or malevolent about it - which would be true if she hated zaunites so much as you guys are painting her.

When Ambessa came to her Caitlyn accused Rictus of inciting violence against zaunites (after she became "the fascist dictator")

In the same dialogue said that there needs to be a reason to arrest someone.

Again, in the same dialogue - "Why is peace always the justification for violence?".

Actively acknowledged that she was manipulated and used as a pawn by Ambessa when she was talking to Vi.

No, her throwing that wooden boat is not abuse. I genuinely don't know HOW this is a real argument.

6. "Hating you...I've hated myself"

7. "No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes!" is the biggest one. She didn't say this about Jinx - she said it about herself.

I could go on and on listing you quotes from S2 but to be frank - this is not how character development works. You don't just say a bunch of words and magically become "better". You change how you act. And you don't magically become "worse" when you say something heinous.

Most of you have the ability to see nuance in Jinx's character. Why isn't the same for Cait? Is it because you just agree with her? Is it because you divide "good" and "bad" people by whether or not they agree with you?

What about Cait giving up her seat at the council for Sevika? What about her fighting her mentor just for the freedom of the people she supposedly hates? What about her asking zaunites to fight alongside her? What about her ratting out everything about Ambessa's defense in viktor's village AS SOON as she gets support from Vi and Jinx?

Obviously in real world it would seem that I argue for the "both sides" bullshit. I am not. And I really don't want you to think that I'm acting as superior because I'm able to see nuance in Caitlyn's arc. I want to show you that it is REALLY REALLY important not to dehumanize your enemies. Because

when you dehumanize nazis YOU BECOME ONE!

You NEED to be able to see them as humans so that you can see yourself in them and correct that. So that you see your friends and family in them. Because so many people realize they were living with racists/homophobes/transphobes/antisemites/bigots in general for their whole life only when the elections come. I want that to stop. And you can begin to do that by watching arcane one more time and not basing your opinion on something as fragile and unstable as a public opinion.

[greasydumbfuck]

dumb post of the month. rlly wanted to do one of these so i did. bc life is short i guess

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[gideonisms]

Does a podcast ever release a take you disagree with so strongly it makes you question everything you heard on it up to that point

[themyscirah]

Reading shit comics kind of sucks but at least I get the satisfaction of proving my own point w this

[sigmundthesorcerer]

M would be obsessed with the fact that vault-tec dropped the bombs bc she's a paranoid freak who's been running off a conspiracy theory that america nuked itself as a population control tactic and the rest of the world is doing fine

but the point is that she's supposed to be wrong!!!!!

[shararan]

What's with this sudden uptick in "any fanfic depiction is a deliberate slight against the source material that should be condemned" I'm seeing across fandom in general and how the fuck do I opt out of seeing it

[classyrbf]

you find it so funny how people think your husband, nanami, is the sweetest, most innocent and romantic man they’ve ever laid eyes on, such a gentleman. Which, they are correct in some ways. Gentleman. Check. Sweet. Check. Romantic. Check. He’s always buying you flowers, opening doors for you, kissing your hand, taking you out on spontaneous dates, calling you ‘sweetheart’, ‘honey’, ‘love’, and treating you like some porcelain doll. But innocent? Oh no, no. You almost laugh because it may seem like your husband is ‘innocent’ or ‘vanilla’ whichever term they may use, but he is anything but that. While he may treat you like a princess in public, he absolutely sluts you out behind closed doors.

You don’t blame people for thinking he may look and act soft because that was your first impression of him too. So, imagine the surprise when you first had sex and he was pounding you in a mating press, tears streaming down your face. Yeah, best night of your life. And now that you’re married? God, it makes the sex one hundreds times better than before. He’s go you on your side, one arm hooked under your leg, reaching so far that he’s able to wrap his hand around your throat. The other wrapped around your waist, rubbing your clit while he fucks his cum into you. He’s forcing you to look him in the eyes, faces inches away from each other, because he wants to watch your pretty face when you cum. So innocent, right?

“Oh my god! Fuck!” You cry out, your breathing labored. He’s so deep inside of you, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again to the point it makes your head spin especially when he’s toying with your swollen clit. “I can’t! I can’t, Ken! You’re too fucking deep! Ah!” You grip onto the ruffled sheets below, bucking your hips as you attempt to make his cock not feel so good, but the bruising grip he has on your throat and waist puts you right back in your place.

“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can. You know why?” He pulls you in closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Cause you’re a fucking slut for this dick.” He thrusts his hips faster, skin slapping against skin and the mixture of your juices and his cum create a sticky mess between your thighs. “Awe, is that gonna make you cum? Being degraded? I can feel your pussy clenching me,” he darkly smiled, heavy breaths fanning against your damp skin. He rubbed your clit faster, carefully watching the way you threw your head back in pure bliss.

“Fuckkkk! You’re gonna make me cum again!” Your toes curled the closer you got to your orgasm, whimpering as you took in every feeling of pleasure coursing through you.

“Squirt all over this dick, baby. Be a good girl for me and show me how good I make you feel.” He felt your walls tightening with each passing second, sweat trailing down his forehead as he kept his pace. Your legs began to shake as you writhed under him, cursing and screaming as you squirted all over, soaking the blankets below you. “Messy fucking slut. Look at you, you’re still fucking going.”

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes!” Your brows furrowed as you watched him fuck you through your orgasm. “It’s too much, Ken!” You pulled his hand away from your clit, holding onto his wrist tightly while he slowed down his thrusts, now going deep and slow. You laid there in a dazed state, trying to catch your breath. His hand gently caressed your stomach slowly inching up towards your tits, cupping them in his hand while he placed sloppy kisses down your neck and to your collarbone.

So yes, while your husband may be such a gentleman, such a sweetheart, such an angel to others, in the back of your head, you think of those moments behind closed doors when he makes you cum your brains out, praising you and degrading you all within the same breath, choking you and treating you like some common whore. But after all that’s over, he’s back to treating you like the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. It’s truly the best of both worlds.

[kavehayati]

I agree with absolutely everything she said his in game model is not as good as I envision him to be 😭 like fanart carries him FRRR but it’s honestly so sad ppl see the coolest ever character and be like yaoi 😋✌️how about NOOOO !!!! 😭😭😭 gosh this is so !!!! He has so many deep important aspects to himself, he’s so full of contradictions and despite it all he’s still one of the most kindest characters

[medicinemane]

I don't know, those gifs of Andrew Garfield saying how to him the most terrifying thing is certainty... they resonate with me

The way people go around so damn sure that they're right about things, frankly I think there's very few things more dangerous than not even allowing for the possibility that you're wrong

Like you've just decided that you 100% know best, and from now on any evidence to the contrary is just something to be pushed aside because it's clearly wrong. The harm you'll do isn't real because obviously you wouldn't be doing it if there was harm. You're just right. That's the end of it

No, I agree with Andrew Garfield, I'd much rather stop and reassess over and over, as many times as I need to, to make sure that I'm still doing the right thing

I'll never be anything cause it just doesn't interest me, but if I was going to join a religion I know I'd become Jewish

Thought that since I was little with all the Jewish friends I had at school, and what's more it just seems to fit me best, all the elements of questioning. Hell... it even sounds like if I said "you know, I don't really believe in god", that there's a chance the rabbi might say "funny thing, me neither" (I've heard some don't), but if not that at least "eh, that's fine, why don't you come discuss why with us"

It's just funny the number of times I've related to something someone's saying, and then you find out their Jewish and this ties into that sense of questioning things, and that interview is an example

I agree with him, nothing scarier than being 100% sure you're correct... you can do a lot of bad things once you know for a fact you're right to be doing them

[mikkeneko]

In various places -- here, the bird app, even YouTube comments -- I keep running into people with some variation of the same question:

"Does Scum Villain have a teacher/student romance?" And every time I want to answer with: No, But Also Yes, But Also Not Really, It's Complicated (And That's On Purpose.)

Which is an answer that's too long to fit in a tweet or a YT comment, but fortunately tumblr has no (effective) post limit! So here I go.

1 - No

In the very straight forward porn cliche sense of "oh but professor, I really ~need~ to pass this class or my life will be ruined, can't I do ~anything~ to get you to change my grade?" *bats lashes* and "Hoho, my pretty young teen student, I've got your good grade right here in my pants, if you ~apply~ yourself..." then no.

No sex or romance between a teacher and their student in the bounds of a teacher-student relationship happens in this book. No deliberate grooming of an underage student on the part of a teacher occurs in this book. No sex or a romance between an adult character and an underage character occurs in this book, nor is the adult 'waiting' for the minor to reach adulthood to initiate one.

2 - But Also Yes

No sex or romance between a teacher and their student in the bounds of that relationship happens in this book. Two people who were formerly in a teacher and student relationship do enter into a sexual and romantic relationship by the end of the book. Also the nature of the society they're in further means that even though they are no longer in the schooling environment, it is socially assumed that the deference owed by a student to their teacher lasts forever, even after the student leaves that environment, and they continue to regard themselves and refer to themselves in those roles even though the teacher no longer strictly speaking has authority over the student.

Also, the student was really hot for his teacher even when he was still a student. (The teacher was oblivious to this fact.)

3 - But Also Not Really

By the time sex and romance is even on the horizon for these characters, their relationship has so drastically changed from that of a "teacher and student" that it is barely recognizeable as such. The power/authority dynamic between a teacher and their student is subsumed pretty much entirely by the facts that:

A. The 'student' has become a medeival fantasy warlord of such unsurpassable magic and might that literally no other person in this world can stand up against him, 'teacher' included, and the 'teacher' is well aware of that.

B. Also, the 'student' is metaphysically endowed (heh) with the Protagonist Halo, a literally active force within the setting they're part of, which means that not only can he not be defeated, he ontologically cannot be denied anything that he desires; what he wants, he gets, and what he doesn't want, cannot be forced on him.

C. ...But also, the teacher in this setting is a metaphysical outsider to the world order the student is part of, which means that he is aware of all of the above, and can and does manipulate it to suit his own agenda, which may or may not align with giving the student what he wants at any point in time. Assuming that the teacher has the correct understanding of what the student wants. (He doesn't.)

D. ........But also also, for all his power, one harsh word from him can destroy him. For all his knowledge, one tear can devastate him. (Which one? Both.)

4 - It's Complicated (On Purpose)

*throws the chalk against the wall*

Between a teacher and their student, who has the power? Between an emperor and a scholar, who has the power? Between a hero and the villain he is predestined to destroy, who has the power? Between a character and the reader who's read ahead to the end of the story, who has the power? Do we find some of these power imbalances more acceptable than others? And if so, why do we?

Trying to track Who Has The Power or Who Has An Unfair Advantage socially, physically, and metaphysically between this particular pair of characters is damn near impossible and that's on purpose.

The Scum Villain's Self Saving System is a lot of things, but one thing that absolutely defines it is that it is a parody. It's a parody and a deconstruction of a lot of things -- the 'stallion' genre, the 'isekai' genre, the 'pay-per-chapter webnovel' genre, the 'gay drama' genre and, most relevant to this conversation, it is a deconstruction of teacher-student romance.

What kind of a teacher-student romance has a clueless, fish-out-of water NEET in the role of the Wise Old Mentor? What kind of a teacher-student romance has a black-hearted, demonic, domineering feudal warlord in the role of the Blushing Virginal Student? What kind of a teacher-student romance has the two principals so close in age -- by the end of the book, they may be as little as a year apart -- that they're more like peers than teacher and student? What kind of audience are we, going into a story like this one and finding ourselves cheering for the teacher to fall in love and lust with his student, only to be disappointed when that doesn't happen because the teacher fails for three books straight to recognize love and lust when it's literally looking him in the face and crying?

Asking "does Scum Villain have a teacher-student romance?" is sort of like asking "does Galaxy Quest have a lot of high science fiction concepts?" No, but also yes, but also not really. It's complicated, and that's on purpose.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.