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dior-luxury · 2 months ago

Note

could i request yandere hcs for the vice dorm heads?!! since i saw yiy do yandere and im curious ^^

Yandere Dormleaders

( ✧ ) ────── yandere stories . yandere/angst - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dormleaders

- [𝐩:𝐬] Yandere Themes (Obsession, Possessiveness, Emotional Manipulation) . Psychological Manipulation . Implied Isolation/Kidnapping . Mild Horror Elements . Dark Romance . Loss of Autonomy . Mentions of Surveillance/Controlling Behavior . Non-Physical Coercion . Angst and Unhealthy Relationships

Note: Sure, I could totally do that! I haven't written anything yandere in awhile, but this turned out good! (￣▽￣)

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle's obsession with you would be disturbingly proper. He wouldn't immediately spiral into madness; rather, his need to "correct" and "guide" you would bloom slowly, quietly wrapping its thorns around his heart.

You might not even realize it at first — the way he insists you "follow the rules" he writes specifically for you. Small things:

"You must report to me each morning."

"You must sit beside me during tea."

"You must not entertain any suitors without my approval."

He frames it as "for your own good," citing countless examples of how the world is too cruel, how others might taint or mislead you. At first, you might mistake his behavior for being strict or protective. He corrects your habits, scolds you for being careless with your health, forbids you from mingling with those he deems "unsuitable."

But over time, the punishments escalate.

Riddle is not above using his magic to enforce obedience. A single, sharp command — "Off with your head!" — and you’d find yourself paralyzed, dizzy, barely able to resist. He'd smile sweetly afterward, telling you he "only does this because he loves you so very, very much."

Isolation becomes a tool. He arranges your class schedules to match his. He ensures that Heartslabyul students monitor you under the guise of "house unity." Trey and Cater notice the change but say nothing — Riddle is their dorm leader. And besides, you always look so cared for, so properly dressed, so "happy," don’t you?

Behind closed doors, Riddle’s desperation festers. He fears your rejection more than anything. He fears your disobedience. His worst nightmare is you laughing with someone else, choosing someone else.

So he tightens his grip.

In private, he would kneel before you, his gloved hands trembling as they reach for yours.

"I cannot allow you to stray. I cannot endure a world without you by my side. You belong to me. You must understand that, won't you?"

If you try to run?

He has the entire dorm searching for you within minutes. And when he finds you — breathless, furious, terrified — his composure shatters.

Tears burn in his eyes, but his voice is calm, almost eerily so:

"If you do that again, I will make sure you never walk far enough to leave."

And somehow, horrifyingly, he still kisses your forehead afterward. Sweet. Gentle. Terrifying.

Yandere Riddle is a prison made of velvet and roses — a nightmare draped in politeness and ritual. You would forget what true freedom even feels like.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s brand of yandere is predatory — lazy, slow, but terrifyingly inevitable. He doesn't chase. He waits. And you realize too late that he's already set the trap.

At first, you think Leona barely notices you. He's dismissive, gruff, always sleeping. But behind those half-lidded eyes, he's watching. Calculating.

He doesn’t ask for your time; he takes it.

You find yourself summoned to his side often. Tasks, excuses, meaningless errands. He’ll tease you, order you around casually, “Be a good herbivore and fetch me some lunch, yeah?”

You think it's harmless until you realize: he only wants you doing these things.

No one else.

Leona isolates you subtly. Friends who get too close? He humiliates them with cruel, cutting words until they slink away. Teachers who praise you? He sneers, dragging you back to his side afterward, reminding you of who really understands you.

"You're not that special. They don't see it. But I do." "Stay where you belong, little herbivore. Right here. With me."

Jealousy turns him violent.

Smile at another guy? Leona’s hand is clamped around the poor fool’s collar before anyone can blink, growling low and deadly in his throat. He doesn’t always resort to physical fights — most back off when they see the glint in his eyes.

But make no mistake: if someone really threatens to take you away? Leona would not hesitate to use his magic to eliminate the problem.

He’s possessive in a way that feels ancient, animalistic. Sometimes he'll drag you to the gardens of Savanaclaw, sprawling on a sunlit bench, pulling you into his lap lazily — but with a grip that promises you won't leave.

His voice is low, rough, coaxing you like a predator comforting its prey:

"Don't bother struggling. You're mine. You're safer here than anywhere else. You don't need anything outside of me."

Leona demands loyalty. And if he ever suspects you want to leave — truly leave — he'll break you down, piece by piece, until you have no one but him left.

It’s suffocating but disguised as protection: "You think you can survive without me? Pathetic. But... tsk, guess I'll just have to teach you how much you need me."

In the end, you realize the cage isn't physical. It’s emotional.

Because somewhere in your mind, you start to believe it:

There’s no escaping the King of Beasts once he’s claimed you.

Azul Ashengrotto

At first, Azul’s obsession with you would seem almost charming — flattering, even. He’d approach you carefully, calculatingly, hiding his trembling excitement behind a mask of cold professionalism.

He’d offer you small favors first:

A free meal at the Mostro Lounge.

Help with your classes.

A luxurious study room, just for you.

All free of charge, he promises with a dazzling smile — only his eyes, glinting with greedy hunger, betray his true intentions. You don’t realize you’ve been ensnared until it’s too late.

Because when you finally need something serious — help passing an important exam, rescuing a friend from a mess — Azul is there. Waiting.

Contract ready.

“Just a small agreement, my dear. Nothing you can’t handle.”

In exchange?

Your time. Your loyalty. Your company.

He’s careful at first. You spend hours by his side under the excuse of “repaying your debt,” helping with paperwork, entertaining him during long nights at the Lounge. But Azul doesn’t want your labor. He wants your heart, your soul, your everything.

You’ll start noticing the chains tightening around you:

Students whisper behind your back, too afraid of Azul to approach you.

The Lounge employees "casually" follow you wherever you go.

Jade and Floyd are always just a little too close, their smiles sharp and strange.

Azul is subtle in his madness. You’ll never catch him forcing you to stay. He'll smile warmly, adjust his glasses, and say, "If you don't want to spend time with me... well, I suppose there will be some consequences. But it’s your choice, truly."

And then terrible things start happening to those who get too close to you. Scholarships revoked. Projects sabotaged. Rumors spreading like ink in water.

Azul would make sure you realize:

You are safest by his side.

If you ever tried to confront him, he’d sigh, looking genuinely wounded: "I have given you everything. Is it so wrong to expect a little... devotion in return?"

And if you ever tried to leave? Azul wouldn’t fight. He’d simply present the contract you signed, in front of the whole school, revealing the humiliating clauses you never thought he’d enforce.

You’d have no choice but to stay. Chained, legally and emotionally, to the cunning boy whose love for you has long since turned into something monstrous.

At night, he would sometimes whisper into your hair as you sit rigid beside him. "Even if you hate me, even if you curse me... you’ll always be mine, my precious pearl at the bottom of the ocean."

There’s no escape from Azul Ashengrotto. Not without drowning.

Kalim Al-asim

At first glance, Kalim would seem like the least threatening yandere imaginable. Warm, smiling, generous — he showers you with gifts, attention, affection. He genuinely loves you, body and soul, with the purity and enthusiasm of a child.

But that’s what makes him so terrifying.

Kalim doesn't understand boundaries. He doesn’t want to understand.

If you mention something you like in passing, the next day he presents it to you — a mountain of it. You say you’re cold once? He fills your room with dozens of silk blankets. You admire a bird outside? He commissions a golden cage and presents it to you, saying "Now you can keep it forever, just like me and you!"

At first, it’s sweet. Overwhelming, but sweet.

Until you realize Kalim’s kindness comes with invisible chains.

He insists on escorting you everywhere — “For your safety!” He buys out entire cafes so you can have “private dates” without anyone else around. He fills your calendar with lavish parties — but only he is allowed to dance with you, talk with you, look at you.

Kalim doesn’t tolerate sadness from you. If you seem upset, he panics — and smothers you in even more suffocating care, "Are you unhappy? Did I not give you enough? Tell me what to do! I'll do anything, just please smile for me!"

At first, it seems harmless. But if you ever try to assert independence — refuse a gift, decline a party — Kalim breaks down.

Tears streak down his cheeks. His voice shakes.

"Don't you love me? I love you more than anything. I gave you everything! I made everything perfect for you! Why are you trying to leave me?"

His desperation turns dangerous fast.

You’d find that no matter where you went, guards would be stationed outside your door. He’d smile and wave when you see him — acting like everything’s fine — but the locks on the windows would say otherwise.

And if you ever tried to leave the palace-like dorm of Scarabia? You wouldn’t get far. The desert outside is endless. The guards are loyal. And Kalim...

Kalim would run to you, hug you tightly like a drowning man clinging to driftwood, sobbing against your neck:

"Please don’t go! I’ll die without you, I swear! Please, don’t leave me alone!"

And you realize — Kalim’s love isn’t something you can reason with. It’s too pure.

Too bright.

So bright, in fact, that it burns.

You would live your life like a jewel in a locked treasury — polished, adored, loved beyond sanity...

And never, ever free.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s yandere nature is refined, elegant, and absolutely merciless. He would never scream or throw tantrums. He would simply reshape the world around you until you only belonged to him.

At first, you think Vil’s attention is flattering. After all, he’s Vil Schoenheit — a celebrity, a prince among commoners, shining brighter than anyone at NRC.

He corrects your posture, critiques your clothes, adjusts your diet — always speaking with soft, lilting authority: "If you're going to stand by my side, you must meet the standard."

You think he’s just trying to help. You’re wrong.

Vil doesn’t want you to be perfect for yourself. He wants you to be perfect for him — a polished jewel, an exquisite reflection of his desires.

Every aspect of you becomes a project under his meticulous control:

What you wear.

Who you associate with.

Even what you say and how you smile.

At first, it's subtle — invitations to exclusive parties where you're glued to Vil’s arm, makeovers disguised as "treats," mysterious disappearances of anyone Vil deems "bad influences." But soon, it escalates.

Vil’s jealousy is cold, like winter glass.

If anyone looks at you for too long, he’ll deal with them socially. A few poisoned words in the right ears, a whisper at the right moment — and your admirer finds themselves humiliated, shamed, utterly destroyed.

Vil won’t yell at you if you defy him. No — he’ll sit you down, pour you tea with a smile, and calmly explain exactly how your "disobedience" makes you look ugly, foolish, and unworthy.

"I chose you. I could have anyone, and yet I chose you. Don't waste my love."

And if you still resist? He uses Vil Schoenheit’s greatest weapon:

Your own self-image.

He'll slowly chip away at your confidence until you can't imagine a life without him.

"No one else could love you the way I do."

"Without me, you'd crumble. Don't embarrass yourself, darling."

There would be no chains, no cages. Instead, Vil locks you inside a gilded mirror, a reflection crafted perfectly to his standards.

And the most terrifying part? Even as tears stream down your face, even as your heart aches for freedom — Vil will kiss your forehead gently and say:

"Shh, my sweet. It's better this way. You belong in beauty — my beauty. Forever."

You'd forget who you once were.

Because in Vil’s world, only he decides who you are allowed to be.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s obsession is deep, feral, and terrifyingly personal. Unlike Vil, who dominates the outer world, Idia traps you inside an invisible, digital web you can’t escape from.

At first, Idia is barely noticeable — just a shut-in, a ghost in the halls, hidden behind his holographic screens. You assume he’s harmless.

But what you don’t realize is:

You caught his attention the moment you acknowledged him.

One glance. One smile. One kind word. That’s all it takes.

Idia’s obsession festers in the shadows. He doesn’t approach you openly — no, he stalks your social media, hacks into your class schedules, plants cameras and tracking devices so tiny you’ll never notice.

In his hidden room, lit only by neon glow, he builds an entire digital shrine to you:

Thousands of photos.

Recordings of your laugh, your footsteps.

Custom programs that simulate conversations with your voice.

He tells himself it's "not that creepy" — that he’s just protecting you. From the outside world. From cruel people. From yourself.

When you speak to him in real life, he stammers, blushes, barely meets your eyes. But behind the screen, he’s a god — controlling everything you see, hear, experience.

Your phone starts acting weird. Messages don't get delivered. Friends drift away after "accidents" they can't explain.

You start feeling isolated — and that's exactly what Idia wants.

When he finally, finally makes his move, it’s not with threats. It’s with desperation.

"You're so lonely, right? It's okay... I'll be your player two. We'll stay together forever in a world where no one can hurt us."

If you reject him?

He doesn't get angry — not at first.

He collapses, weeping, clutching at your sleeve like a child:

"Don't leave me... You're the only real thing I have... If you go, I'll— I'll—"

And then things get worse.

Idia uses every ounce of his intelligence — hacking systems, trapping you inside the campus itself. No transportation. No communication. You are trapped in his perfect, isolated paradise.

When you finally realize the true extent of what he's done — that every door is locked, every path leads back to him — you find him sitting cross-legged on the floor, smiling with tears glittering in his sunken eyes:

"Game over. You belong to me now. Hehe... bad end, but at least we're together, right?"

You can scream.

You can cry.

But in the cold, humming, neon-lit tomb he’s built...

Only Idia can hear you.

Only Idia ever will.

Malleus Draconia

At first, Malleus’s obsession with you would seem almost... innocent.

He's so ancient, so powerful, and yet when he speaks to you, there's a kind of gentle wonder in his voice — like a lonely god marveling at the one star he can still see in the night sky. He doesn’t realize he’s becoming obsessed.

Not consciously.

He simply starts appearing wherever you are:

Strolling silently through your favorite gardens at midnight.

Standing by the windows of your classroom, gazing at you like a spirit unseen by others.

Whispering your name to the wind, letting his magic follow you like a loyal, invisible servant.

You might even feel special at first. Who wouldn’t, under the gaze of the prince of fae, the heir to Briar Valley?

But slowly, things shift. The weather darkens when you’re upset. Animals shy away from you — as if something ancient and predatory looms behind you.

You start to feel watched even when you're alone, even when you lock your door, even when you beg the darkness to leave you in peace.

Malleus is never cruel. He would never raise his voice at you. He would never strike you.

But his love is heavy. It bends the world around you like a star collapsing under its own gravity.

When you speak to others too long, Malleus grows silent. His emerald eyes narrow, his presence becomes chilling. Without lifting a finger, he commands the respect — and fear — of everyone near you.

Soon, others drift away, unwilling to risk the prince’s displeasure.

Malleus would never say, "you can’t leave me." He doesn’t need to.

Because he would reshape reality itself to bind you to him.

If you tried to leave Night Raven College, he would smile sorrowfully and ask, "Why are you running, child of man? There is nowhere in this world my wings cannot reach you."

If you dared to resist, Malleus would never rage. He would mourn.

He would weep thunderstorms into existence, each drop of rain a lament for the love you refuse to return. He would shroud the entire campus in endless twilight, time itself twisting under his grief.

"I do not wish to hurt you. I merely wish to protect you... from loneliness. From pain. From a world that will never love you as I do."

Eventually, Malleus would decide: The world doesn't deserve you.

He would spirit you away — to a palace of thorns and starlight, hidden in the folds of ancient magic. There, days would pass without end, each one a perfect golden cage.

You would be crowned beside him. A consort to the fae. An immortal beloved.

If you cried for your old life, your old friends, your old dreams? Malleus would hold you against his chest, humming a lullaby older than kingdoms, stroking your hair as you sobbed:

"Hush, my treasure. They are nothing now. Only we remain — as it was always meant to be."

Over time, even your memories would blur. The world beyond the palace would become a distant dream. And in the end, you would only remember his voice, his hands, his eyes — and the endless, inescapable love that burned like a black sun in the sky.

Because to Malleus, you are no longer mortal. You are no longer free. You are his.

Now, forever, and beyond the end of the world.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

Text

The enshittification of tech jobs

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Tech workers are a weird choice for "princes of labor," but for decades they've enjoyed unparalleled labor power, expressed in high wages, lavish stock grants, and whimsical campuses with free laundry and dry-cleaning, gourmet cafeterias, and kombucha on tap:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhUtdgVZ7MY

All of this, despite the fact that tech union density is so low it can barely be charted. Tech workers' power didn't come from solidarity, it came from scarcity. When you're getting five new recruiter emails every day, you don't need a shop steward to tell your boss to go fuck themselves at the morning scrum. You can do it yourself, secure in the knowledge that there's a company across the road who'll give you a better job by lunchtime.

Tech bosses sucked up to their workers because tech workers are insanely productive. Even with sky-high salaries, every hour a tech worker puts in on the job translates into massive profits. Which created a conundrum for tech bosses: if tech workers produce incalculable value for the company every time they touch their keyboards, and if there aren't enough tech workers to go around, how do you get whichever tech workers you can hire to put in as many hours as possible?

The answer is a tactic that Fobazi Ettarh called "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

"Vocational awe" describes the feeling that your work matters so much that you should accept all manner of tradeoffs and calamities to get the job done. Ettarh uses the term to describe the pathology of librarians, teachers, nurses and other underpaid, easily exploited workers in "caring professions." Tech workers are weird candidates for vocational awe, given how well-paid they are, but never let it be said that tech bosses don't know how to innovate – they successfully transposed an exploitation tactic from the most precarious professionals to the least precarious.

As farcical as all the engineer-pampering tech bosses got up to for the first couple decades of this century was, it certainly paid off. Tech workers stayed at the office for every hour that god sent, skipping their parents' funerals and their kids' graduations to ship on time. Snark all you like about empty platitudes like "organize the world's information and make it useful" or "bring the world closer together," but you can't argue with results: workers who could – and did – bargain for anything from their bosses…except a 40-hour work-week.

But for tech bosses, this vocational awe wheeze had a fatal flaw: if you convince your workforce that they are monk-warriors engaged in the holy labor of bringing forth a new, better technological age, they aren't going to be very happy when you order them to enshittify the products they ruined their lives to ship. "I fight for the user" has been lurking in the hindbrains of so many tech workers since the Tron years, somehow nestling comfortably alongside of the idea that "I don't need a union, I'm a temporarily embarrassed founder."

Tech bosses don't actually like workers. You can tell by the way they treat the workers they don't fear. Sure, Tim Cook's engineers get beer-fattened, chestnut finished and massaged like Kobe cows, but Cook's factory workers in China are so maltreated that Foxconn (the cutout Apple uses to run "iPhone City" where Apple's products are made) had to install suicide nets to reduce the amount of spatter from workers who would rather die than put in another hour at Tim Apple's funtime distraction rectangle factory:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/jun/18/foxconn-life-death-forbidden-city-longhua-suicide-apple-iphone-brian-merchant-one-device-extract

Jeff Bezos's engineers get soft-play areas, one imported Australian barista for each mini-kitchen, and the kind of Japanese toilet that doesn't just wash you after but also offers you a trim and dye-job, but Amazon delivery drivers are monitored by AIs that narc them out for driving with their mouths open (singing is prohibited in Uncle Jeff's delivery pods!) and have to piss in bottles; meanwhile, Amazon warehouse workers are injured at three times the rate of other warehouse workers.

This is how tech bosses would treat tech workers…if they could.

And now? They can.

Writing for the Wall Street Journal, Katherine Bindley describes the new labor dynamics at Big Tech:

https://www.msn.com/en-us/money/companies/tech-workers-are-just-like-the-rest-of-us-miserable-at-work/ar-AA1DDKjh

It starts with Meta, who just announced a 5% across-the-board layoff – on the same day that it doubled executive bonuses. But it's not just the workers who get shown the door who suffer in this new tech reality – the workers on the job are having to do two or three jobs, for worse pay, and without all those lovely perks.

Take Google, where founder Sergey Brin just told his workers that they should be aiming for a "sweet spot" of 60 hours/week. Brin returned to Google to oversee its sweaty and desperate "pivot to AI," and like so many tech execs, he's been trumpeting the increased productivity that chatbots will deliver for coders. But a coder who picks up their fired colleagues' work load by pulling 60-hour work-weeks isn't "more productive," they're more exploited.

Amazon is another firm whose top exec, Andy Jassy, has boasted about the productivity gains of AI, but an Amazon Web Services manager who spoke to Bindley says that he's lost so many coders that he's now writing code for the first time in a decade.

Then there's a Meta recruiter who got fired and then immediately re-hired, but as a "short term employee" with no merit pay, stock grants, or promotions. She has to continuously reapply for her job, and has picked up the workload of several fired colleagues who weren't re-hired. Meta managers (the ones whose bonuses were just doubled) call this initiative "agility." Amazon is famous for spying on its warehouse workers and drivers – and now its tech staff report getting popups warning them that their keystrokes are being monitored and analyzed, and their screens are being recorded.

Bindley spoke to David Markley, an Amazon veteran turned executive coach, who attributed the worsening conditions (for example, managers being given 30 direct reports) to the "narrative" of AI. Not, you'll note, the actual reality of AI, but rather, the story that AI lets you "collapse the organization," slash headcount and salaries, and pauperize the (former) princes of labor.

The point of AI isn't to make workers more productive, it's to make them weaker when they bargain with their bosses. Another of Bindley's sources went through eight rounds of interviews with a company, received an offer, countered with a request for 12% more than the offer, and had the job withdrawn, because "the company didn’t want to move ahead anymore based on the way the compensation conversation had gone."

For decades, tech workers were able to flatter themselves that they were peers with their bosses – that "temporarily embarrassed founder" syndrome again. The Google founders and Zuck held regular "town hall" meetings where the rank-and-file engineers could ask impertinent questions. At Google, these have been replaced with "tightly scripted events." Zuckerberg has discontinued his participation in company-wide Q&As, because they are "no longer a good use of his time."

Companies are scaling back perks in both meaningful ways (Netflix hacking away at parental leave), and petty ones (Netflix and Google cutting back on free branded swag for workers). Google's hacked back its "fun budget" for offsite team-building activities and replacement laptops for workers needing faster machines (so much for prioritizing "increasing worker productivity").

Trump's new gangster capitalism pits immiserated blue collar workers against the "professional and managerial class," attacking universities and other institutions that promised social mobility to the children of working families. Trump had a point when he lionized factory work as a source of excellent wages and benefits for working people without degrees, but he conspicuously fails to mention that factory work was deadly, low-waged and miserable – until factory workers formed unions:

https://www.laborpolitics.com/p/unions-not-just-factories-will-make

Re-shoring industrial jobs to the USA is a perfectly reasonable goal. Between uncertain geopolitics, climate chaos, monopolization and the lurking spectre of the next pandemic, we should assume that supply-chains will be repeatedly and cataclysmicly shocked over the next century or more. And yes, re-shoring product could provide good jobs to working people – but only if they're unionized.

But Trump has gutted the National Labor Relations Board and stacked his administration with bloodsucking scabs like Elon Musk. Trump doesn't want to bring good jobs back to America – he wants to bring bad jobs back to America. He wants to reshore manufacturing jobs from territories with terrible wages, deadly labor conditions, and no environment controls by taking away Americans' wages, labor rights and environmental protections. He doesn't just want to bring home iPhone production, he wants to import the suicide nets of iPhone City, too.

Tech workers are workers, and they once held the line against enshittification, refusing to break the things they'd built for their bosses in meaningless all-nighters motivated by vocational awe. Long after tech bosses were able to buy all their competitors, capture their regulators, and expand IP law to neutralize the threat of innovative, interoperable products like alternative app stores, ad-blockers and jailbreaking kits, tech workers held the line.

There've been half a million US tech layoff since 2023. Tech workers' scarcity-derived power has been vaporized. Tech workers can avoid the fate of the factory, warehouse and delivery workers their bosses literally work to death – but only by unionizing.

In other words, the workers in re-shored factories and tech workers need the same thing. They are class allies – and tech bosses are their class enemies. This is class war.

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/2025/04/25/some-animals/#are-more-equal-than-others

#pluralistic #labor #proletarianization #tech #tech industry #monopoly #ai #precaratization #class war #class struggle #big tech #enshittification #i fight for the user

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