#library technical assistant

[rosesradio]

so i finished an application to my local library, please be manifesting for me to get this job, it’s notoriously hard to get library jobs (which is why i went into this field, obviously :’) )

[teenagefeeling]

one thing i am quite enjoying about my new job is that within my department, there are only 2 men (out of like 15 people). and one of them is my boss and the other is the brother of one of my female coworkers. and the other departments are also like this. there's like 3 women for every man working at the library it's amazing

[inthehexcore]

pages and books

summary: The quiet Enforcer stops by your quiet library. Multiple times.

content: STEB! librarian!reader gets sick, fluff, can't think of much else! probably ooc

wordcount: 2.397

a/n: i love Steb so much... inbox/requests open!

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The sun in Piltover shone as bright as it always did. It lit up the entire library, and you could not help but hum as you pushed the cart of books around. The warmth of the rays only made the building look more beautiful, something which you were not aware was even possible.

The high ceilings with curved windows and hand-painted images, detailed golden pillars, royal blue seats with dark wooden tables. Not all of your fellow students liked the library. To be fair, there were tons of other stunning places all around Piltover, but yours was here.

You spent so much time surrounded by the books that you just ended up taking a side job as the assistant. It meant pouring coffee and putting back books, but it also meant reading when everything was cleaned and drinking the sweet tea that was technically only meant for the professors.

With the library not being the most popular spot, it also allowed you to brush up on skills and even pick up new things to learn. The history of Piltover, Professor Heimerdinger's autobiography, varieties of plants, but most recently, you found a book about sign language. It was interesting for sure. Every time you put the loaned books back in their spot, another one got added to the stack of other books that you still wanted to read during your breaks.

So, as per usual, you sat at the window near the counter. Even with it being your break, you still liked to be close to your workspace, just in case someone came in.

A steaming cup of tea stood beside your book as you flipped through the pages, admiring the photographs of Piltover's 'ten most beautiful buildings', occasionally stirring the cup of tea and taking a sip out of it. Stuck in your own world, though your gaze moved to outside the window ever so often. From here, you could see the main square - the market, Enforcers, students.

The watch around your wrist kept ticking away, reminding you that your break had already stopped a few minutes ago. A neat bookmark got placed between the pages of the book as you turned around, nearly dropping the hot beverage that you were holding.

Right in front of you stood a tall Enforcer. His face was blank and his hands were clasped behind his back. You were nearly jealous of his posture - you must have looked idiotic with how hunched over you were sitting.

"Oh, Officer! I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long."

The man slowly shook his head, his eyes set on you as you moved back to the counter, placing the book that you were reading back on its space. He took a step closer, his arms still behind him.

"What can I help you with today?"

He held out his hand, a small note hidden in the grip of his glove. A short list with some of the most specific books you had seen in a while. Even though you did not dare to ask him why he needed all of these, you could not help but try to theorize.

Maybe he was working on a weapon, or what if he went off into the wilderness and build a house out of nothing but sticks and mud?

"Ha, this might take me a moment to find. Would you like some tea, Officer?"

Quietly, he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. He just had his break - after bringing these books to Commander Kiramman, his day was basically over. Patrol for an hour, and then it was time for him to relax. Finally away from all the loud sounds of the city. But being in the empty library was not unwelcome, either.

"I will be back in a sec!"

It was much longer than a sec.

With every minute, you got more and more anxious. How could you keep an Enforcer waiting for this long? There was no one in the entire library! Your footsteps sounded heavy and you felt like every breath you took was one too loud. But, after fifteen minutes and lots of going up and down ladders, you finally found all the books on his list.

"And... Phew! This should be all," you wiped your hands, "Do you need help bringing it to... your office?"

Silently, the Enforcer shook his head again, reaching for the stack of thick books as he held them in his hands.

"Oh! What name can I put these on? That way I can remember, for next week!"

Next week? Oh, to return the books.

The man looked around him for a moment before his eyes fell on the small notebook next to you. He glanced at it as he looked back at you. You furrowed your eyebrows for a moment before going 'aha!', reaching for your notebook as you opened it on a blank page, handing him your pen. If you could have, you would have chuckled. A strong officer writing in your sparkly notebook with a neon-coloured gel pen.

He put the pen back down, nodding before taking one step back.

"Thank you so much. Till next time, Officer Steb."

Even with the interaction being a little under a week ago, you still had not moved on from it. His intense, blue gaze, his straight and confident posture. His handwriting even - it was immortalized in your notebook.

You found yourself looking for him through the windows, and while walking through the square, you would keep an eye out for his tall figure. 'He still has two days to return the books,' you thought to yourself. Most people even turned their books in late. But he was an Enforcer, so you highly doubted that he would.

Humming again as you placed the books back on the shelves, your cart now empty. Except for a few students in the far corner of the library, you were all on your own. You didn't mind - it left you with some time to finish up the essay that was due for tomorrow. So, with a sigh, you pushed the cart back to the counter.

There, in front of the small spot where you always sat, stood Officer Steb. It seemed to immediately lift your spririts as the cart suddenly felt much lighter.

"Officer Steb!"

His ears slightly moved back a little, not expecting your voice to suddenly pop up, but as he saw you, he gave you a nod.

"And, how did you like the books?"

He only nodded in return, placing the stack of books down on the counter. All of them had been put in alphabetical order - he must be an organized man. You pulled up his page, making sure that you had all the correct books as you nodded, scribbling down all the extra information before handing him the handwritten receipt.

"Could I do anything else for you, Officer?"

Steb was quiet - he was quiet often times. Out of his pocket, he fished another note with a few more books on it. The Undercity's History, a cookbook, 'Haircutting for Dummies!', and some more titles. You glanced up at him, trying hard not to let chuckles escape from you.

"Are these… All for you?"

You spot the tiniest shape of a smile as he shook his head. He tapped his Enforcer badge as you nodded, an 'oooh' as you looked back at the list.

"Be right back!"

This time, you found the books much faster. Not that Steb minded if you took a while - he enjoyed the library. He liked the books, the smells, the sun - you. Maddie offered to bring all the loaned books back to the library, but by the time she could even think about standing up, Steb was already out the door. The rest of the Enforcers shrugged it off as the man just wanting to spend some quiet time on their own. It was what he did.

But you.

How… Happy you always were. Cheery, but not overwhelmingly so. A bright flash of the sun through dark clouds. A stark contrast to his stoic demeanour, fire and water.

"There we go," you hummed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you pushed the cart back to the desk, "Can I put it under Officer Steb again?"

Hearing his name coming from you felt new, refreshing. He nodded, reaching over for the stack.

"Well, if you use the haircut book, let me know."

Steb snorted with a smile before clearing his throat, quickly standing back up straight before nodding. He was looking forward to next week.

For months, he came every single Tuesday, always around the same time. It must be during his break, or during his patrol. Only once had someone else shown up, Officer Nolan, as she introduced herself. She was nice and very talkative, so the two of you spent quite some time at the desk, chatting away. The week after that, Steb had written something extra on a note that he had stuck in a book.

'Sorry for Officer Nolan'

It had made you laugh.

Every week, the list of books would be different from the one before. Not only that, but the topics of said books could not be further apart. It was after a month of wondering that Steb answered the burning question that you had in mind. 'They are for the entire squad. They make a list, I get the books.' It made sense. So now, every week, you would try to guess which of the Enforcers would be reading which book. A fun little game, and thankfully Officer Steb would humour you, nodding or shaking his head depending on if your guess was right.

Over time, it felt like a friendship. More details of Steb came to the surface, and he would ask about your day. Favorite foods, hobbies, things you both hated. Officer Steb did not speak much, but he was comforting company. If bringing the book was his last task of the day, then he would stay at the library for a moment, starting the book that was meant for him. The last few times, you also placed a cup of tea next to him when he wasn't looking. It was like a challenge to see if he noticed you sneaking up on him - he did, but he would have never told you.

Today had been a bad day.

You slipped on your way to the library, there was a group of loud kids in the library, your head was pounding and you were not sure if you were feeling hot or cold. With a pack of tissues in your hand, you sniffed, squeezing your eyes shut.

The large windows and bright sun felt like a curse as you wished for nothing more than it to be dark outside. At least the group of rowdy teenagers had finally left.

When you heard the door open again, you nearly groaned in annoyance. If they returned, then you would have had no other choice but to hide in the back, away from the noise.

But after the creaking of the door, there was no other noise. You raised an eyebrow before lifting your head out of your hands, being met with no one other than Officer Steb.

"Oh, Officer Steb," you sniffed, your voice hoarse and odd-sounding due to your blocked nose, "I nearly forgot the date."

While usually dressed in his Enforcer uniform, he now wore something much more casual. You had never seen him outside of the dark blue and gold - the black and dark green suited him. Without his beret or helmet on, you could also see his hair. You wondered if he used the 'Haircutting for Dummies' book for it all those months ago. According to Steb, the book was not for him. His eyebrows creased as he scanned you, squinting his eyes.

"Yeah, not the best day," you shrugged, wiping your hand on your shirt, "But there is no one else to run the library, so… Me it is."

He quietly stared at you for another moment before gesturing to your notepad again. The sparkly cover held many pages of his handwriting - so many that it might as well have been his. You silently hand it over, your head aching with every move you make.

'Stay here, be right back'.

Steb turned on his heels, walking right down the hall and out the door. You only raised an eyebrow before looking over the stack of books and writing down all the information you needed. After what felt like an eternity, you finally sat back down in your chair, your fingers rubbing at your temples.

The Enforcer came back not long after, a small bag in his left hand. He placed it on the counter - as quietly as he could - which made you look back up.

"You're free."

Steb's voice was so different from what you imagined.

"I-" you frowned, "Excuse me, Officer Steb? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Just Steb is fine," he looked away, "Commander Kiramman has contacted the owner of the library, your boss, and you have permission to leave now."

How had he done that?

Your bag was still packed, resting against the side of the counter, almost jumping in excitement that you got to go home.

"You are sick, yes?"

"I mean… Sadly so, I'm guessing."

He nodded, slowly reaching out to you before slightly raising an eyebrow. You breathed in, nodding as his hand made contact with your forehead. Cold, so cold. Your eyes almost closed at the sensation, the feeling of his cool fingers nice against your burning face.

Sadly, the moment ended all too soon as Steb reached into the small bag, pulling out an assortment of different painkillers and medicine.

"Once a day," he held up one of the packets, "Maximum of three a day, six hours inbetween."

He had gone out to get you medicine? You nearly wanted to start crying, your tired eyes and heavy limbs glad that they would almost be able to rest. Not to mention the bursting and pounding of your heart. Despite feeling horrible, a smile still formed on your face.

"I… Steb, thank you. I can't believe this."

He took your bag off the ground, waiting for you to lock everything up before exiting the library, side by side.

"Thank you again," you said, though it came out not nearly as loud as you thought it would have.

"Have to take care of my favourite librarian," his comment nearly made you fall over, though he would not have let that happen, "I bring you home, you take the medicine, and I see you next week?"

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 2)

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: sprinkling anthony bridgerton references in this because wreck my plans that's my man!! anyways this is actually going to be 3 parts because i have zero self control and ended up writing 15k words in total and im trying to see whether i like posting parts or doing one whole one shot more so there's going to be a third part. but for once in my writer life i have the whole thing written so it will be out in a couple days! have no idea how this fic became this long out of nowhere but i hope you all enjoy lol. stressed reader x calm bf will always be famous on this blog

wc: 4.9k

warning(s): almost cheating? fiyero is still w/ galinda for most of this so the line is very blurred but they dont cross it lmao. the slightest bit of angst but basically all fluff

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero spread his arms out as you took a seat in the grass. Idly, you wondered about getting grass stains out before he started talking again. “Fresh air, actual sunlight, and things to look at other than words on a page.”

“I do go outside,” you said wryly. “You act like I’m some hermit.”

He shrugged. “I only ever see you in class or at the library.”

“I’m just there most of the time,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m not this smart by slacking off.”

Fiyero said your name with surprise. “Was that a joke?”

You laughed again. “Hardly.”

“I think it was,” he nodded. “You really are learning how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun!” you exclaimed. “We just have different ideas of fun!”

“And what is your idea of fun?” Fiyero asked pointedly. “Studying? Attending class? Going through the intricacies of various languages?”

“That last one is very fun,” you defended. 

“How did you decide on linguistics anyways?” he asked. “You’re incredibly passionate about something I didn’t even know was a major here.”

“It’s not, technically.” You shrugged. “I’m a history major. I just convinced Doctor Dillamond to let me be his teacher’s assistant so I could include more linguistics lessons in the syllabus.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Oz— why do you do it? You’re stressed all the time. Surely taking one less class or not being a TA wouldn’t kill you. All of this seems like it is.” 

“I’m not like you, Fiyero,” you said. “I can’t get kicked out of a hundred schools and still be fine. I’ve got one chance, and if I squander it, then I’ve also squandered my dream. And that’s unacceptable to me.”

“There’s always second chances,” he said. “And third ones, too. Sometimes even fourth.” 

“Maybe for a prince,” you laughed. “But not for somebody like me.” 

“And just who are you?” Fiyero asked as he sat down next to you. “I know you’re Gillikinese and I know you’re probably going to succeed in whatever you attempt. But I still feel like I don’t know anything about who you are without the school uniform.” 

“Why does that matter?” you asked defensively. “We’re project partners, not friends.” 

“Because I’d very much like us to be friends,” he answered simply. 

That might have been the most shocking thing he’d said all day. Fiyero Tigelaar, Winkie prince and self-declared slacker and desired paramour of nearly every Shiz student, said he wanted to be your friend. 

Again, that warmth bloomed inside you. You tried to ignore it—tried to fully banish it. 

“Don’t do this,” you said, looking away from him. 

“Do what?”

“Act like you like me,” you said, stronger this time. “You— you do it with everyone, and that’s fine, but don’t do it with me.” 

“I’m not following,” Fiyero said. 

You glared at him. “I know you aren’t this daft.”

“Apologies,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you figured I don’t genuinely like you.”

You blinked. “Because you’re you. You flirt with everybody so you can dance through life.”

“Of course,” Fiyero agreed. “It just so happens that I genuinely like you in addition.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His laugh was nothing but shocked. “Are you asking me why I like you?”

“Well,” you glanced away with a huff, “when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.” 

“I’ll bite anyways,” Fiyero said. “I like you because you know what you want. You never really stop talking about it, honestly.”

“Are you trying to compliment me?”

“You’re intelligent and driven and you don’t shy away from anything you want,” he continued. “And you thoroughly vex me in near every encounter we have, most joyously.”

“…So you like me because I’m stubborn and confusing,” you said. 

Fiyero sighed. “You‘ve got some serious self esteem issues.”

“I do not!” you exclaimed.

“You’ve tied your worth to your academic achievement,” he said. “You can’t see all the good you’ve already done, how smart you truly are, because you only stress about the next thing you need to do. You’d rather lose your mind over what’s to come than realize all you’ve got in the moment.”

Your mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, like a fish out of water, before it snapped shut. 

“I thought you were supposed to be brainless,” you settled on. 

“I am,” Fiyero agreed with a chuckle. “But I also know people better than most, and our study sessions have given me ample time to study you.”

Great Oz, why was your face so hot? You felt like you were burning up from the inside out. Fiyero Tigelaar was killing you, and slowly at that. 

“Why are you studying me?” you asked pointedly. 

“Because you’re interesting,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

“Well, I’m— I’m glad we’ve finally reached a truce.” You tried to sound as casual as possible—you couldn’t let Fiyero know the full effect he was beginning to have on you. You didn’t think he would ever shut up about that, and Galinda certainly wouldn’t either. You didn’t want to make an enemy of her. “It’ll make this project much easier.”

“Yes,” Fiyero mused. “I believe it will.”

Amusement, and maybe something warmer, danced in his irises. A very small part of you wanted to let yourself fall, freely and uncaring, just as every other student did. 

You had to lock that part of you away, never to be seen again. You didn’t like Fiyero. He was still a nuisance in every single sense of the word. 

You swallowed, trying to cure your cottonmouth. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. 

You needed to finish this essay immediately. 

-

You sighed when you heard a knock on your door. Coralie, for how smart she was, had a habit of forgetting her room key—so much so that you’d stopped bothering to lock the door on the days she went to class before you. 

“It’s unlocked, Cora!” you called out. You didn’t want to get up from your desk, not when you were in the middle of writing. You were worried that you would lose the thread of inspiration you’d finally caught the moment you got out of your chair. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a familiar voice said. “All sorts of miscreants could get in.” 

Your hand slipped in your shock, but you couldn’t even be annoyed about smearing the fresh ink on the page or getting it on your shirt cuffs because you had more important things to worry about. Namely, your surprise visitor. 

“Fiyero?” 

“Present,” he affirmed as he leaned against your doorframe. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” you said. “What are you doing here?” 

“Much less pink than Galinda’s,” he continued. “I think it’s the only color she owns, honestly. A bit absurd but—” 

“What are you doing here?” you repeated. 

“I should be asking you that question,” Fiyero said, eyes narrowing in on you. “I went to the library and you weren’t there.” 

You cleared your throat. “I was giving you the day off.” 

He frowned and stood up from the doorframe. “Who said I wanted the day off?” 

“You,” you said. “When you didn’t show up to Doctor Dillamond’s class today.” 

Fiyero brushed his hand through the air. “That’s different.” 

You looked at him expectantly. “So you skipped the class this project is for, but you don’t want to skip the actual project.” 

“That sounds about right, yes.” 

“You don’t even do anything whenever we’re together,” you said. “You just stare at me and complain about doing work and ask me about my life and take an hour to write one page of notes.” 

“That also sounds about right,” Fiyero said. “I enjoy your presence. Do you not enjoy mine?” 

If only he knew the way he’d been making you feel for the past week. He could never know that he appeared in your dream last night. 

“...Your presence is fine,” you said. “I just figured I would give you the day off, seeing as we only have one week left until it’s due.” 

“How much have you written already without me?” he asked. 

“Five pages, but that—” 

“You’ve nearly done half of the project without me?” Fiyero interrupted. 

“...Yes?” Why did you actually feel bad about this? 

Fiyero got closer so he could look over your shoulder at your work, and you found yourself holding your breath at his proximity. 

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor?” 

“Clearly,” you said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over, and the sooner you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” You shrugged. “You said you wanted to ride my coattails anyways, so I figured I would make it easier for you.” 

“Just a few days ago you were chastising me for not doing my part,” Fiyero said. “Now you’re not even letting me try?” 

“I—” the words stuck in your throat, and again you felt your face heat. 

I don’t want to have to think about any of this more than I have to because I’m worried what I’ll realize. 

I don’t want to give you any more chances to take me off course because I know I’ll say yes. 

I don’t want to be around you longer than I have to because I think I’m starting to like you. 

“Yes?” 

“I am doing you a favor,” you finally decided. “You don’t have to worry about it. Go ride that horse of yours, or bother other students, or spend time with Galinda. You’ve earned it.” 

“Hardly,” Fiyero said. “I’m doing my part, whether you like it or not. We’ll meet at the library tomorrow morning before class like we’ve been doing.” 

“I have class at 8 in the morning tomorrow.” 

“...Then we’ll do it after class,” he reneged. “I do need my beauty sleep.” 

That got a smile out of you, which spurned one from Fiyero in turn. “I think that is one of the only genuine smiles you’ve given me since we started working together.” 

“I smile plenty,” you insisted. 

“At your books,” Fiyero said. “Not at me.” 

“That’s because my books are oh-so-beautiful,” you said. “And they don’t even need beauty sleep.”

He placed his hand on his heart. “You wound me.” 

Your smile grew and you set your pen down. “The library after class?” 

Fiyero nodded and tapped on your desk as he stood up. “Library after class.” 

He was about to go to the door when Coralie poked her head in. “Why is the door— oh! Fiyero!” She straightened up, plastering on a pretty smile as she stepped inside. “What brings you to our corner of Shiz?” 

“Doctor Dillamond’s midterm,” he said. “Your roommate here is trying to save all of the fun for herself.” 

“That sounds like her,” Cora nodded sagely. “You’re very good to try and keep her from that fate.”

Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest. “I consider it my duty. But I apologize for the intrusion—I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Oh, stay as long as you want,” she spoke up. “I’m sure your partner wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s got things to do,” you interceded. “You’ve got things to do, Fiyero.”

He smiled knowingly. “I certainly do. You lovely ladies have a fine rest of your day.” He looked at you and said your name. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“How could I?” you said weakly. 

Fiyero chuckled and bowed his head in lieu of more parting words. The second he left, Cora turned to you with wide eyes. 

“Don’t,” you warned. 

“He came here to talk to you!” she exclaimed. “He found out your room number because he wanted to talk to you!” 

“Be quiet!” you exclaimed. “The door is still open—he can probably hear your screeching!”

Coralie shut the door and squealed. “He likes you!”

“We are project partners,” you enunciated. “Nothing more.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you think,” she said. “Just like I’m sure that he wants to be more.” 

“You’re acting like he isn’t with Galinda,” you said. “She controls this whole school—do you remember what happened to Elphaba when she didn’t like her?” 

Cora shrugged. “Sure. But I’ve been hearing there’s trouble in paradise.” 

That got you paying attention. “What?” 

“I knew it!” Coralie exclaimed—nearly yelled, honestly. “I knew you liked him!” 

“Be quiet!” you whisper-yelled. “Oz, what is wrong with you?” 

“I knew you liked him!” she repeated. “And he likes you— oh, it is too perfect!” 

“He does not like me,” you insisted, “and you are crazy.” 

“You didn’t say that you didn’t like him,” Coralie sung, and you screwed your eyes shut. 

“Fine!” you finally said. “Fine— I like him. Will you stop now?”

“Of course not,” she said, and you sighed. “How bad do you have it?”

“I don’t have it bad,” you scoffed. “I just— I enjoy spending time with him. And I think he’s kind of cute.” 

“Oh, you are full on head over heels,” she mused. “You just don’t know it. It’s okay.” 

You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. “I hate you.” 

She laughed. “And you like Fiyero.” 

“Shut up.” Your words were muffled, but you meant them all the same. 

You were comically doomed. 

-

The next day went… shockingly smooth. 

Fiyero was in the library when he said he’d be—he was even there before you, much to your surprise and he still had the notebook and pen you’d given him, much to his surprise. He made sure to bring an extra canteen of water for you, because he noticed you never had any with you. You were probably concerningly dehydrated. 

He tried to be a more attentive student to you than he’d ever been at any of his classes—not that that was difficult. You explained your outline and all the work you’d already done, what he could do on the last five pages and how to make his writing voice match yours to make a consistent paper. 

He wrote notes both on what you knew about Ilara Mayfair (a ridiculous amount, in his opinion) and anything else you thought he needed to know (also a ridiculous amount).

He was impressed most of all, though. No wonder you’d isolated yourself from near the entire student body and stressed over every letter in every sentence in every assignment. You were incredibly intelligent, but you were also able to explain everything in a way that even he understood. Fiyero had never really cared about… well, anything relating to school before he ended up partners with you. 

But now, Fiyero found himself surprisingly entranced by it all. He’d always liked your voice, and he had a permanent smile on his lips watching you talk so easily about your passions. It put a spark in your eye and a brightness about you that was usually bogged down by everything else that you stressed about. 

You were beautiful, especially when you were happy. And Fiyero had discovered over the past week that you were happiest when you got to talk about what you cared about to an interested audience. He only regretted acting like he wasn’t interested for so long. 

Finally, when Fiyero called a break on account of his hands aching (he’d never written this much in his life, and it still was only half of what you did basically every day), and you were eating an apple (that he also brought, because you really didn’t take care of yourself when you were doing work, which was always), he smiled at you. 

“You know, we really do make a good team,” Fiyero said. 

You swallowed the bite of apple you had in your mouth and cocked your head as you looked at him. “You think?” 

“I know,” he nodded. “You’ve done the impossible, darling. You’ve actually made me care about school.” 

“Well, I think you’ve done the impossible too.” You lifted the apple up. “You made me care about my health during midterms season.” 

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. “You kind of took it all kicking and screaming.”

You shrugged. “I’m not top of our class for nothing.” 

“Do you have to stress yourself into misery to be top of the class?” he asked. 

“I’m not miserable,” you retorted. 

It was when you said things like that that Fiyero really began to worry about you. It was part of the reason he was so intent on staying by your side through this whole project—no matter how dull he found the material—after the first session. He sometimes saw you around campus, usually carrying a stack of books or talking with your roommate.

After Fiyero was paired with you, he wondered why he didn’t see you more before it all, considering how active you were with literally everything school-wise. Then he realized you were likely always in the library, and the only time he’d visited the library was on Galinda’s tour. You were there, well enough, but you took your leave as soon as things started getting rowdy. 

A shame, he realized. He wondered what your relationship could have been had Galinda not staked her claim on him so soon. 

You weren’t going to take care of yourself, clearly enough, so Fiyero decided—at least for the duration of this project—that he would. It didn’t really matter if you were top of the class if you passed out from stress, exhaustion, annoyance, or a mix of all three. Likely a mix of all three. 

He didn’t really anticipate those feelings morphing into genuine affection. 

“I seem to recall you saying you dream of your future assignments,” Fiyero said, coming out of his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like the habit of a happy person.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Everybody has stress dreams.” 

“You know, I really don’t think they do,” Fiyero said. 

You rolled your eyes as you picked your pen up with your free hand and jotted down a few more sentences. “Sure.”

“On that note,” he said, “why don’t we call it a day?”

“We can’t call it a day,” you said. You took another bite from your apple and swallowed, continuing to write all the while without looking at him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“That is the most casually you’ve said that so far,” Fiyero mused. “I really am making progress.”

You laughed, finally paying him mind. “Progress with what?”

“I’ve been tracking your smiles and laughs this whole time,” he said. “See, this essay was your project, but that was mine—trying to make you enjoy your life.”

“This essay is both of our projects, Fiyero,” you said. “Besides, I don’t think Doctor Dillamond will accept your bar graph of all the times I laughed at you making a fool of yourself.” You frowned. “Or would it be a line graph because it’s over time? Or maybe it could be—”

“Alright,” he interrupted. “You’re going into hypotheticals on my joke. That’s clearly the sign that we need to call it a day.”

“…Fine,” you reneged. “But it’s just a break, not calling it a day. And I get to finish proofreading the rest of the essay when we get back.”

“A compromise,” Fiyero said. “Love it.”

You rolled your eyes as you started gathering your things. “You love everything.” 

“Eh,” he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes on you. “Most things.” 

You couldn’t help your smile, much as you tried to bite it back. “Whatever.” 

Soon enough, you and Fiyero were sitting together by the dock. You let your legs dangle over as you watched the scenery around campus—the ripple of the water, the gentle brush of the wind, the chirping birds that flew around without a care.

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero asked. He also had his legs over the edge, but he’d laid down against the stone. 

“You don’t have to push your relaxation propaganda so hard anymore,” you said wryly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“And I’m grateful for it,” he said. “Someone that works as hard as you do deserves to relax the same amount.” 

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He turned his head to smile at you. “I just have to hope that some of it sticks.” 

You rolled your eyes, once again unable to hide your smile. “And I have to hope for the same with this paper. Do you think you’ll remember any of this once we turn it in?”

“Oh, but of course. You were the one to teach it to me, after all. I could hardly forget it all.” 

“Good,” you said. “Everyone should know about Ilara Mayfair.” 

Fiyero chuckled, and you once again fell into comfortable silence. 

That was the thing that shocked you the most, you think. Not that you were beginning to like Fiyero, or that you actually liked Fiyero, or that you actually looked forward to spending time with him. It was that you were so comfortable just sitting with him in silence. 

It was very difficult to get to the silence, though. Fiyero couldn’t really stay quiet, and you didn’t know if he liked talking or the sound of his own voice. But you found it didn’t really annoy you like it used to. 

Great Oz. You really were into him. How embarrassing. 

Eventually, when the strain in your wrists and fingers from writing had finally faded, you turned your head to look at Fiyero. “I think it’s time we go back.”

He sighed. “Already?” 

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” you said. “Far longer than the breaks I usually take.” 

He opened his mouth, likely to say something of the same ‘you need to relax’ ilk, but you held up your hand. “Don’t. Just be thankful you got me away for this long.” 

Fiyero smiled, and he pulled himself up off the ground. “I always am.” 

He held his hand out, and you stared at him for a moment. “Why do you always do that?” 

“Help you up?” 

You nodded. “I can do it myself.” 

He shrugged. “I told you it was my project to make your life easier.” 

“You said it was your project to track my happiness,” you said. 

“And they go hand in hand,” he said. “I’m surprised you remember.” 

“It happened thirty minutes ago, Fiyero,” you said wryly. “Besides, I remember everything. It’s a gift.” 

Fiyero laughed, and you finally took his hand. He pulled you up and once again, you tumbled a bit too close—and again, his hand fell to your waist. He had to be doing this on purpose by now. 

“We keep finding ourselves in this position,” Fiyero mused. 

Heat flooded your cheeks like usual. “And whose fault is that?” 

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re not exactly pulling away.” 

Your mouth opened, trying to think of what words to say when your head was reeling from his mere presence. But then you saw a flash of pink in the background, and your eyes darted away from Fiyero. 

Galinda. She was distracted, talking with Pfannee and Shenshen as she went down the stairs. Oz, how did she slip your mind so easily whenever Fiyero was in your proximity? Why did you let him get this close when he was spoken for? 

You panicked—nothing less. You tore out of Fiyero’s grasp with a bit too much gumption, and then you stumbled, then you slipped, and then you fell. Fiyero called your name in shock, reaching his hand out, but it was too late. You’d plunged into the water before you could save yourself. 

The cold water instantly shocked all your senses, your eyes widening as you gasped out on instinct. Your mouth filled with water and your muscles seized up from the change in temperature—it was so much deeper than you’d imagined, and all your layers of clothing weighing you down were of no use. 

You tried your damnedest to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head as you fought against yourself, finally gathering the sense to swim. You kicked your way up to the top, gasping for air once when you breached the surface. 

You heard Fiyero yell your name again and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from your eyes. When everything finally came into focus, you saw him on his knees, his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up. 

His eyes were wide as he reached his hand out, once again saying your name—this time with a certain desperation. “Are you alright?”

You tried to respond but all you could do was cough, trying to expel the water from your lungs. You took his hand and he helped pull you up onto the dock, where an exhale shuddered out of you.

“I— I am so sorry,” he stammered. It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered, and you were too busy hacking up a lung to point it out. “Obviously I didn’t think—”

You held up your hand in lieu of saying something, as you didn’t think you could say something. 

This was so stupid, and it was something that never would have happened before you and Fiyero started working together. Your paper was due in two days, you’d only just finished the draft, you still had so much proofreading and rewriting to do, and instead, you were here on the docks soaked to the bone. 

And you found yourself laughing. 

“Oh, Oz,” Fiyero said. “You’ve lost it.” 

You couldn’t refute it, because you kept laughing. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, could hear them whispering to each other—likely making fun of you—and it only made you laugh harder. 

“Are—” Fiyero chuckled nervously as he said your name, “are you okay?” 

“I’m soaked,” you got out through your laughs. “And everyone saw me fall into the water. I’m a fool, Fiyero!” 

He was still staring at you in that careful way, as if you were made of glass. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.” 

“Oh, Fiyero.” You wiped the trailing water off of your face and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him freeze beneath you for the slightest moment—it had to have been the last thing he expected you to do. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero returned the hug, his movements still unsure. He didn’t seem to care that you were getting him wet, just about your wellbeing. “What— what for, exactly?” 

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. His blue eyes were meant to enrapture, his soft lips typically an invitation sealed with a smirk. But for once, Fiyero looked genuine—he wasn’t putting on a performance, or trying to seduce anyone who looked at him. He was genuinely sorry, genuinely confused. It only made you laugh again.

“What for, indeed.” A higher voice pierced through the air, and you separated from Fiyero immediately. Galinda, to no surprise, had found her way over to the chaos you’d created, her compatriots flanking her on either side. She smiled at you brightly, but her whole demeanor was like a violin string pulled taut. 

“Galinda,” Fiyero said. “Lovely to see you.” He didn’t seem half as shocked as you at her appearance, but his words fell flat. 

“And you as well, dearest.” Her smile turned sickly sweet as she shifted her attention to Fiyero momentarily, taking the opportunity to lace her fingers with his and pull him into a kiss. He pulled away first, but if it affected Galinda, she didn’t let it show when she looked back at you. She batted her eyelashes as she said your name incorrectly. “What was it you were saying?” 

The sudden combination of cottonmouth and sour guilt creeping up your throat didn’t really help your already flustered state. She knew what she was doing—but you did too, didn’t you? 

She was with Fiyero. You knew that. And though Fiyero danced across the line, you took his hand every time he offered. 

“I—” you cleared your throat, attempting a casual smile of your own. “Just that I know why Doctor Dillamond put us together.”

“Excellent,” Fiyero said. “Off-topic, but excellent— are you sure you didn’t hit your head down there?” 

“Perhaps you should go to the nurse,” Galinda said. “I’m sure Shenshen could—” 

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted, your smile tightening ever so slightly. You looked at Fiyero. “Meet me at the library tonight, and bring coffee. We’re finishing this project tonight. 

“Of course,” he nodded.  

You nodded as well, and you started to go. Galinda’s gaze was sugary sweet poison, and you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore. 

“Wait,” Fiyero spoke up. 

You stopped against your better judgment, and he let go of Galinda’s hand to take his jacket off. He moved closer to you and wrapped it around you. His touch, light but certain, lingered on your shoulders once he’d finished adjusting it, and his gaze stayed on yours 

“Until you can change,” he said. 

“...Thank you,” you said. 

Galinda cleared her throat extremely loudly, her taut smile back. You remembered yourself and stepped away from Fiyero. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” you said, already starting on your way. You wouldn’t let him stop you again. 

“Tonight,” he agreed, bowing his head in parting. 

You only glanced back once you were by the stairs. When you did, you saw Galinda speaking rapidly to Fiyero—you were too far away to hear anything, but she didn’t look happy. When your gaze drifted to him, you found he was already looking at you. Almost subconsciously, you tugged his jacket tighter around you. When you realized what you were doing, you stopped. You averted your eyes immediately and hurried up the stairs. 

You weren’t out of breath from exertion. 

[lowkeyerror]

Congrats on Your Divorce

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: Requested, fluff & smut, librarian!reader, divorced!Wanda, smut, fingering, thigh-riding, cunnilingus

Summary: You befriend Wanda, a regular at the library you work at, after learning about her divorce. The friendship becomes something more one day when you come over to help her with her sick kids. As your relationship progresses you even talk about buying a home together, which leads to a physical manifestation of how much you love each other.

An: It took me awhile because I got a little carried away. I hope I did your request justice 🙇‍♀️.

Masterlist

You enjoyed the mundane lifestyle that came with working at the library. There was a comfort that came with knowing that you worked in something of a community center. Being able to provide a service that for some was the highlight of their day. In this day and age having regulars at the library was a rarity, especially the adults. Kids would come after school for homework or for research purposes, but the adults were few and far between.

Technically it may have been weird that you had a favorite but you couldn’t help yourself. There was a woman named Wanda, she’d come once a week ask for a recommendation and sit there the whole day and read it.

She’d always make a comment or two on the book on her way out and it made you smile. It was good to know she appreciated your picks. Though there were other staff members she only really asked you.

When she missed one week, you found yourself discouraged. One week turned to two and so forth until it had been a month since you saw the woman.

“Y/n, it looks like your regular is back. She might need a little assistance,” one of your coworkers approaches you.

“What are you talking about?”

They give you a look that says ‘seriously’, “Ms. Recommendations, she’s in the non-fiction section looking a little worse for wear.”

You nod and make your way over to the section. There you find Wanda. Your coworker was not exaggerating. She looked so fragile as if she was just waiting for the tears to fall. She was staring at the books, but it was easy to tell that she wasn’t really reading anything.

“Looking for anything in particular,” you say softly, trying not to startle her.

She seems to snap out of her trance enough to try and answer you, “No, not today.”

It felt like she was speaking on autopilot. If it were another guest, you would’ve let her be, but this was Wanda. Perhaps it was a bit para-social but it felt like you knew her better than the average customer.

“I- I don’t mean to overstep, but are you alright?”

She lets out a tired sigh, “That obvious?”

You attempt to back track, “No… uh it’s just I haven’t seen you around in a while."

She looks away for a moment, “ Yeah, I um got a divorce. So I’ve been a hermit as of late.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

Wanda can’t help but laugh at your words, “Most people have been saying they’re sorry to hear, but congratulations? It’s kind of refreshing.”

You shrug, “Well I don’t think divorce is always a bad thing. It’s hard for sure, but it’s better than staying in a situation you don't deserve.”

“What if I was in the wrong?’ Her eyes are glued to the floor as she speaks.

“I may be overstepping again, but I doubt that's the case. You don't seem like the kind of person,” your tone doesn't make her argue, instead a look of relief crosses her face.

“I'm not,” she says taking a deep breath.

You smile at her, “Then it’s their loss.”

She smiles back at you, “I guess you’re right.”

Glad to have made her feel even a little bit better, you begin to leave the aisle she's in. You dint get far before there’s a gentle tug on your wrist. You turn back to stare into Wanda’s warm green eyes.

She’s nervous as she speaks, “I don’t know if I’m too old to be doing this, but fuck it. I could really use a friend right now and I was wondering if you’d be open to getting coffee or something, whenever you’re free.”

You stare at her for a few seconds before nodding, “I’m off in about 15 minutes, there’s a café a few blocks over that I think everyone should try at least once.”

Her excitement builds up in her features. She clears her throat to hide it, “I’ll wait for you by the YA novels?”

“Sounds perfect.”

From that day on Wanda wasn’t just a regular customer anymore, she was your genuine friend. She was also one of the sweetest people you had ever met in your life. She was unbelievably strong too.

The details of her divorce were quite messy. A touch of infidelity here and there, mixed with a custody agreement was a recipe for disaster.

You always offered to be there in any way you can’t for. She usually turns down your more serious offers for help, and sticks to fun small outings. You can tell that she’s somewhat embarrassed by her situation, but you don’t think there’s anything she should be embarrassed about.

“Y/n, I know I said I was free to go out today, but Tommy is sick and Billy isn’t doing that great either, can I give you a rain check?”

She called you and you could hear the tiredness and distress in her voice, “Let me come over and help you, Wands. Two sick kids is rough work, I know you could use a hand.”

She’s silent on the line, but the coughs and sinus filled conversation doesn’t stop.

Wanda sighs, “Okay, do you think you can bring me some medicine? I’ll text you some ingredients I need for soup too if that’s alright?”

“Whatever you need, I’ll see you in a bit,” you say simply.

You follow through on your word picking up various cough, cold, and fever medicines along with some cough drops. You nearly forget about the stuff for the soup, until Wanda texts you something she left off the ingredient list. After picking up everything you head to her house.

You’d been to her house before, but never when her kids were there. You had seen them with her a few times at the library, but back then you didn’t quite deduce that they were her children. It feels so obvious now, but Wanda was definitely a young mom in your opinion, or at least she looked like one.

You rang the doorbell and waited with the groceries in your hand. It took a moment but eventually the door swung open revealing Wanda. Though your hands were full, she’s the one who had bags under her eyes. She looked as though she would fall over any second.

“You’re a godsend Y/n,” she tries to take the bags from your hands but you don’t let her.

“And you’re sick too, here I figured this would happen,” you rummage through the bags and pull out a medicine that’s for adults.

“It’s drowsy.”

You nod, “I know, I figured you need the rest anyway, let me handle its.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Are you crazy? You think you can handle my two kids and me on your own?”

You smile at her, “You underestimate me, Maximoff. Let me show you what I can do.”

“We’ll see, but first come meet them properly.”

You sit the bags down in the kitchen, opting to take the medicine upstairs with you. She takes you to their room.

Tommy is propped up in his bed watching as Billy plays videogames from his spot on the floor.

“Tommy, Billy, this is my friend Y/n. She’s going to help us out today,” Wanda introduces you.

“The library lady,” Billy sounds congested as he speaks.

You nod your head enthusiastically, “ Yep, that’s me. I heard you boys were sick, so I brought some stuff to make you feel better.”

Tommy gags, “Ew medicine.”

You sympathize with him, “Ew is right, but it’s worth it I promise. In fact, I’ll sweeten the deal, you guys take your medicine, and I’ll make you the best soup of your life in return.”

“Better than mom’s?” Billy questions.

“ 1 million times better,” you egg him on.

Tommy is more hesitant, “I don’t know.”

You get closer to him, crouching so you can meet his level, “How about when you’re feeling better, we go out to the arcade and get some ice cream too.”

That seems to be enough for the boy, “That sounds awesome.”

While you’re chatting with them Wanda starts to prepare the medicine cups for the boys. They take the medicine with all the dramatics that children do.

“Ok, we’ll be back to check on you guys, shortly. Billy, get some socks baby. Tommy stay under the covers sweetheart."

The both of you exit the room and head back down the stairs. Wanda moves to start unloading the groceries, but you stop her.

“If you’re not going to fully rest, at least sit. I can make the soup,” you point to the barstools she has in her kitchen.

“Are you sure? I can help-"

You block her from opening the next bag. She looks into your gaze, which holds no feeling of malice or resentment. Instead she finds a warn and tender look behind your eyes.

“I’ve got it.”

She listens to your directions and takes a seat

She watches as you prep the ingredients, ever so often asking where she keeps certain things. Otherwise there is a fluid motion to your movements in the kitchen.

“You know you don't have to take them to the arcade just because they took the medicine, right?”

You pause slightly from chopping vegetables to look up at her, “I probably should’ve asked if it was okay with you first, but I don’t mind taking them. They seem like good kids, which isn’t a surprise at all considering they’re your kids.”

She beams at your words, “They’re a little more docile in this state, but they can be a handful at times. We haven’t really had a big outing like that since the divorce, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

“Then consider it done, as soon as they’re better let me know. We can all go out and have some fun.”

Wanda can’t help the feeling she gets hearing you talk so nonchalantly about going out with her kids. It’s something like a spark, that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She takes this time to really look at you, you’re stunning. Truth be told Wanda had always found you a little attractive, but she wrote it off as you just being conventionally good looking. However now, with you standing in her kitchen cooking for her and her kids. She’s starting to think it’s more than that.

“Do you like children, Y/n?”

“I have a soft spot for kids, it’s partially why I chose to work at the library. I had kind of a rough upbringing as a kid. It was just me and my mom, and money wasn’t all that great, but I remember her taking me to almost all the community events they hosted at the library. We spent a lot of time there. When I was old enough to go on my own, it was rare that I didn’t go. The library is such a haven for kids it’s one of my favorite things about it.”

Wanda felt herself melting under the sincerity of your words, “That’s really sweet.”

You start cooking down the vegetables before you answer, “Yeah, if I wasn’t so crazy about the library, I would’ve been a chef. I actually applied to a few culinary schools in high school, pretty ambitious but I had won a few competitions. I had offers and full ride scholarships to some of the best schools out there, but I chose to become a librarian instead.”

Wanda tilts her head to the side playfully, “So you weren’t just talking shit when you said you’re going to make a soup 1 million times better than mine.”

You laugh, “Technically I’m using the ingredients that you told me to get, so it’s more like our soup. I’m just tweaking a few measurements and cooking it a little different. It’s like a group project, if you will.”

Wanda laughs even harder, “You’re so full of shit.”

“Language, there are children present.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “They’re upstairs."

“Children have super good hearing Wanda, trust me, I’m a librarian.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle. She watches as the soup comes together a lovely aroma fills the kitchen, her mouth waters at just the smell.

“It smells delicious.”

You motion her over to the stove next to you. She scurries over, which makes you smile. She looks utterly adorable and ethereal at the same time. You began to notice it over the last few times you had hung out. Wanda was simultaneously the cutest and the most beautiful woman, you think you’d ever met in your life

“Taste,” you hold a spoon full of soup up for her.

She hesitates a little, but decides to just eat from the spoon while you hold it. Her eyes close as the flavors dance on her tongue. She lets out an involuntary moan, that has her blushing as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Oh my god, that’s the best soup I’ve ever had in my life,” Wanda stares at you in awe.

“I hope the boys think so too.”

Wanda helps you fill the bowls for them, “They’re going to love it.”

True to her words the boys devour the soup going as far as to ask for seconds. Neither of you can deny them another bowl. Once they eat, you can see the food working in tandem with the medicine to tucker them out. Before they’re completely out of it you and Wanda get them ready for bed.

It feels more normal than either of you expected. By the time you’re done, both twins are now in bed. The tv plays something at a low volume, but you and Wanda are both aware that the kids will likely be asleep as soon as you leave the room.

When you leave you head back to the kitchen fixing 2 more bowls of soup for Wanda and yourself. You eat amongst each other with small chatter, but it’s comfortable. When you’re done, you almost have to fight Wanda to allow you to do the dishes.

She pouts, once again sitting at the barstool watching you clean.

“You haven’t let me help this whole time,” she whines.

“I’m here to help you, not the other way around,” you remind her.

Wanda places her hands on her hips, “But if you’re doing everything, what am I supposed to do?”

“Just sit there and look pretty,” you say without thinking.

Wanda feels her face heating up, losing track of how many times it has happened today alone, “Look pretty, huh?”

You can feel your ears heating with embarrassment, “oh I- well.”

“Oh my god are your ears turning red, that’s literally adorable. Are you flustered, Y/n?” Wanda teases.

You glare at her with faux-anger, “My ears? Your cheeks are just as red.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

You wash your hands, quickly drying them before approaching her. You keep walking until there is virtually no space between the two of you. You look down at her, you don’t stop your eyes from dropping to her lips.

“Oh really?”

She looks up at you, her cheeks indeed, red like you had mentioned.

“And if they were?”

“Maybe I’d say that it’s adorable,” you use her words against her. “Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Her eyes dart to your lips.

You look back into her eyes, “Maybe, I’d kiss you.”

“I’d like that.”

That was all you needed to hear. She met you halfway and, in an instant, you were kissing. Your hand rested on the small of her back, while her hands locked around your neck. It was cliché but it was cute. The kiss itself was respectable, but still filled with a feeling of longing.

Wanda’s hands drop from your neck to lightly push you back, “I’m divorced with two kids Y/n-"

You stop her before she can even rant, “I know, Wanda. I’ve been here, maybe not the whole time, but most of it. I don’t care that you’re divorced and I’d love to get to know your kids. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“I feel like you already know me, Y/n. We’ve been friends for over a year now. We’ve spent so much time together, I’m just surprised you’re not tired of me yet.”

You take her hands in yours, “I could never get tired of you. I’m quite literally asking for more. Let me take you out some time.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s bold, but you place a quick kiss on her lips, “Positive."

From there things just seem to fall into place. You kept your promise to the boys, taking them out when they recovered from their sickness. Wanda was impressed by how well you mingled with them considering her ex always seemed to struggle to relate. However you, had no problem tapping into that childlike like amazement that the kids felt.

Soon after that outing, you and Wanda went on your first real date. You took her out to a nice restaurant. It was an upscale establishment, the prices weren’t even on the menu. Wanda tried to fret about how she didn’t know if she deserved this kind of treatment, but you always reassured her.

You believe she deserved the best and as long as you could give it to her you would.

It only took 4 dates before you asked her to be you girlfriends, not being the best at waiting. Luckily for you she agreed and truth be told if you would’ve asked her on the first date she probably would’ve said yes then.

At this point you’ve been dating for a little over a year. The twins are with their father for the weekend, and Wanda is staying over at your apartment.

The two of you are on the couch. She’s resting in your arms as you watch tv, “Wanda.”

She looks up, “Yes, detka.”

“How attached are you to your house?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

You hold her gaze, “Is it crazy if I say that I want us to live together?”

Wanda plays with your fingers, “No, I don't think so.”

You kiss her forehead, “It’s just a thought.”

“You want to buy a house?”

You nod curtly, “We don't have to leave the area, I know the boys have school and I wouldn't want to pull them away or make them start fresh or anything, but I’ve been looking at some homes in the area. Something a little bigger, Billy and Tommy could both have their own room and a huge backyard. Maybe a dog, in the future.”

Wanda cups your face gently, pulling you down to kiss her, “I would love to buy a home with you Y/n.”

“Really?”

Wanda kisses you again, “Really.”

“I love you,” your eyes softening as the words fall from your lips.

“I love you too.”

Your lips are connected again, this time neither of you break the kiss. Instead Wanda shifts in your lap to straddle your waist. Her hands playing with the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. Your hands start at her thigh but end up sliding up to her hips, and soon your fingers are in contact with the cool skin of her stomach.

You aren’t able to stop yourself from kissing down her jaw. She moves her hair and cranes her neck to give you more access. Your teeth sink into her neck only for your tongue to soothe the skin. You suck the spot tenderly, causing little whines to emanate from Wanda.

“Y/n,” your name is breathless on her lips.

She doesn't have to say anything else for you to stand up with her still in your arms. You carry her to the bedroom. Once you’re in there and her feet are on the floor, you pull her shirt off. Yours follows after.

Wanda feels herself getting wet under your gaze. The way you take in her bare chest, eyes blown with want. While you stare she gets rid of the rest of her clothes. You eagerly do the same.

You pull her flush against your body. Skin heating upon contact.

“You’re perfect,” your thumb toys with one of her nipples.

Your head dips to take it into your mouth. You suck lightly, ever so often slowly fanning your tongue over the nipple. You do the same to the other nipple, while your hand cups her warmth. You moan at her wetness.

“ I need you,” she whispers.

You kiss her tenderly, backing her onto the bed. You’re gentle as you ease two fingers into her. She arches her back slightly, and her kiss becomes sloppier.

You’re in no rush as you slowly build pace. Her finger nails dig into your back.

“More please,” she buries her head in your neck.

You begin pumping at a faster pace, using your thumb to stimulate her clit. Her ragged breaths in your ear only turn you on even more.

You jolt as you feel her hand in-between your legs. Her fingers play through your folds and you hear her gasp in your ear.

“All for me baby?”

You nod, “All for you, Wands. Can I taste you, baby?”

“Fuck,” Wanda murmurs.

She pulls her fingers from you, signaling for you to suck them. You take them in your mouth, swirling you tongue around the digits, high off of your own taste.

Once her fingers exit your mouth, you maneuver down her body. You momentarily take your fingers out of her. She doesn’t have time to complain before you’re sucking on her clit.

“Holy shit,” she entangles her hands through your hair.

You keep eye contact with her as you lick, suck, and slurp her pussy. She throws her head back, taking her lip between her teeth. You can see sweat illuminating her body.

Soon you add your fingers back and you can feel her approaching her edge.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she keeps repeating the mantra as she reach her peak.

You don’t stop when she cums on your tongue, only slowing your motions, to help her come back down.

“You did so good for me baby,” you say kissing up to her lips.

She shifts so her thigh is against your dripping cunt, “Your turn, my love. Use me.”

You see her flex her thigh, which causes you to moan, “Fuck, Wanda.”

Your hands rest on her shoulder as you begin to grind down on her. Her hands are on you, but the movements are all yours. Wanda watches with blown eyes as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Her hands climb up your sides to massage your breasts. You bite your lip as her fingers play with your nipples.

Wanda sits up slightly, just enough to get her mouth on your body. She sucks on near the top of your breasts, trailing hickeys across.

“I love it when you make a mess on my thigh, cum for me, moya lyubov.”

You cum all over her thigh. Her arms wrap around your midsection holding you steady as you shake. Her head rests against your chest, listening to your wild heart beat return to normal. She places a delicate kiss on your shoulder.

“I love you.”

You kiss the top of her head, “I love you too.”

Once you’re both cleaned up, you settle in bed for the night. You’re start out as the big spoon but soon Wanda turns to face you.

“I was so scared before you came into my life,« she admits.

“Wanda-"

She shakes her head, “Let me finish. I was so lost, I didn't know what to do, if there was anything I could do to feel like myself again. There were so many days I went through thinking I was unlovable. Then you show up, and all of those feelings and thoughts just leave. I’ve never felt so cared for. You make me remember all of the things I love about myself. You make love seem so easy, it feels obvious when you’re with me. I’ve never experienced a love like you’ve given me and I need you to know I love you too. I’ve never felt what I feel for you with anyone else.”

Wanda starts out loud and sure, but by the end her voice is quiet. She doesn’t break eye contact, fighting against her insecurities.

There are no more words shared between the two of you. Wanda kisses you with everything she is feeling and you return her fervor. She pecks you again before burying her head in your chest. You hold her tightly in your arms wondering how you ended up being so lucky.

Her words make emotion swell inside of you. Your voice cracks when you speak, “You are the love of my life. I was doing alright before, but you and the boys are truly everything I’ve been missing in my life. Getting to be with you, a part of your family, it means everything to me Wanda. Thank you, for letting me love you.”

[callooopie]

The campus trio as study buddies (gone sexual) not clickbait?

Study Buddies (GONE SEXUAL?? NOTTT CLICKBAIT. WATCH TILL END) // HOTD men

“This my playpen. Borderline thinking like Barbie, can you play Ken?” — (Unreleased) // Billie Eilish

Okay chat what if I went a little crazy and did like student versions and professor (or TA) versions… lol. (And that’s exactly what I did) Think of it like an apology for leaving y’all high and dry. This isn’t my best work so sorry if it’s a little bad in general. I feel like my writing was cringe for this so I might edit later. Man… homework is so tufffffff. But my prof. said I’m at the point where my latin doesn’t need to be corrected as much >:333 we truly do take those. And my study is so fun.

[Unedited] BTW this is all fiction. Plz do not come after me for thinking abt the teacher student trope T-T It’s all just silly silly T-T

Davos Blackwood // Student

For his somewhat known reputation as a party guy. Davos is very smart. A good note taker, helpful to his other classmates. Your luck he’s your friend and you both are already taking the same course. And if you’re not already friends? It’s very easy to get on his good side. Just be chill, conversational, laidback. He’s a very easy guy to talk to. So when you’re having issues with understanding this latest lesson from class, you go to Davos for assistance. And so you two decide to set up a study session in the library. Sometime on the weekend and late at night when no one would bother you or try to steal the study room from you guys.

You both are sitting beside one another. Davos is leaning slightly against you as he points to something in your notebook, hands waving around a bit as he explains what’s been confusing you. His eyes shift between looking down at your notes and looking into your eyes. Your legs underneath the table lazily swing back and forth. You’ve kicked your shoes off, a socked foot poking his ankle. It was just a way to annoy him, and Davos does scold you lightly for not paying attention. But as your pointed foot faintly prods against his pant leg and the way you’re giving him a side glance..

The late night study session divulges into something else for the time. Davos sliding off his chair as he drops to his knees in front of you. His hands wrap around your ankles as he pulls you forward to the edge of your chair, making you let out a tiny yelp of surprise as you slide down in a slumped position. Davos hopes you like the thrill of what you’re both about to do as he slowly pulls down your pants and then your underwear, letting the clothes dangle off of one foot over his shoulder before he buries his face in between your legs. Davos is a very eager eater. And you’ve both been working so hard, he’s starving y’know?

There’s a sense of urgency, but also Davos takes his time with you. Technically no one should bother you two. The door is locked and the window blinds are closed. I believe I’ve said it before and so I’ll say it again. Messy eater. Spit and your own wetness drips down his chin onto the chair. As embarrassed as you feel about leaving behind that.. it is quite a sight to see as your eyes lock and you watch Davos as he licks a long strip up your pussy. He swirls his tongue around your clit, leaving little nips as he moves his tongue up and down, going from playing with your sensitive bud to simply pushing his tongue into your wet entrance and tasting around. Loud slurping sounds can be heard from him as he moans into you or against your inner thigh as he pulls you closer to him, wanting to drown in you.

Davos likes looking up at you from this position. Even more so when he drags his tongue around your clit, his other hand returning from where it was in his pants as he pushes a finger slowly into you. He pulls away to watch just this one moment, eyes lighting up even in his half-lidded gaze as he watches you sigh; your head falling back against the back of the chair. Davos adds another finger and then another as he pumps them in and out of you, his lips and tongue returning to your clit as he latches onto it.

This was a study session at the beginning, and Davos wouldn’t be a good tutor if he didn’t at least make sure you looked over or read out your notes and his notes. Which is exactly what he does. Your hands gripping your notebook tightly as you explain your thoughts or reasonings behind the lesson. He doesn’t let up as he hums in agreement or understanding, muffled from how he’s pressing his mouth and nose against your pussy. His fingers speeding up as they pump in and out of you, your slick starting to run down his wrist. Maybe like how it’s easier to remember information when you write it down, maybe you’ll remember your notes as he eats you out and fingers you to cumming all over his face?

Davos Blackwood // Teaching Assistant

Okay. Not professor, although there are young ones. I don’t see him taking up the mantle of educating our youths like that. More so TA. A young TA Davos who’s only excited because he gets paid while talking about something he’s coherent at as a graduate student. He’s tasked with running the recitations, small lectures, a part of the grading. He’s the teaching assistant who shouldn’t be a teaching assistant. The beginning of class is him talking about something unrelated (I.e “Did you guys go to that frat party last weekend? No? ..okay good because you would’ve seen me do something mad illegal—“). You sit at the front of the classroom, and all it takes is you two locking eyes just once and he’s hooked.

He’ll start to crack jokes, always looking at you with a wide grin. If he gestures around with a chalk piece or a dry-erase marker; he points at you absently. A wave or a flourish in your direction. He has one student he always looks at, and it’s you. You’ll be the student he uses as examples or serve as a way to break up the different parts of the lecture. And in return you smile at him, listening diligently, enthusiastically. Davos is cute after all, and maybe it’s been a bit of a fantasy—a thought. But who hasn’t dealt with thoughts about a cute teacher. “Everyone got it? You got it? I know you got it. You’re smart like that aren’t you?”

He tells you after class. Y’know if you ever find the material hard.. it’s okay to pay him a visit. Even just to chat. Davos loves to talk. And you do take him up on that offer. After all, its good to go review things. Reviewing consists of you sitting on his desk in his tiny allotted office, Davos standing between your legs as he presses sloppy and desperate kisses to your lips. Saliva connecting you two as you pull away for air before your lips smash together once more. To be fair it did start out as a serious question pertaining to the course material. But he kept giving you that look, and you just looked so cute today. Almost like you dressed your best just for this moment.

It’s a quickie. It’s dirty, it’s desperate, and it feels so good. His hands know where to remain, when to slide up underneath your shirt like so. His thumbs briefly feel over your nipples—a hard flick from his fingers making you jump. If you’re wearing a skirt or dress; it’s now hiked up around your midriff. Your shirt pushed up around your chest. For the sake of time, your underwear is pulled to the side. Your own hands reaching forward to undo the button and zipper of his pants. Davos likes biting along your shoulder or neck. His tongue drags along the side of your neck, a hum of amusement as he feels your breath hitch right tin your throat as he passes by. His lips running up to bite your ear, whispering things of what he will do, what he can do, what he wants to do.

Obviously you gotta keep at least a little quiet. You can do that right? Be quiet and good as he slides his cock into you. He lets out something like a strangled grumble, a breathy string of incoherent uttering as his eyelids flutter. His hands on either side of you, pushing into the wood of the desk as his lips collide with yours. The best way to keep you both silent. The only sound in the tiny cluttered office being the sound of the table creaking just a bit. Sometimes the sound of skin slapping against skin can be heard but Davos slows down so as not to make it…obvious. Gasps and breathy sounds come from both of you. Your lips or open mouths always remaining near one another, against one another, foreheads pressed together. Saliva drips down your chin and a trail of it can be seen glistening around your mouth and sides of your face. All along your neck and shoulders reddened bite marks and hickeys start to appear more apparent.

Davos could be mean and quiz you right then and there, even going as far as to say that it will be a graded. Just a knowledge check. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers sultry things and exam questions. If you answer wrong, he slows his pace down—almost pulling out entirely as he barely keeps his tip inside you. When you finally answer correctly he praises you and drives his cock back into you hard enough that the table pushes back, an empty coffee mug tipping over as he pounds into you again and again as the tip of his dick hits that spot in you that has you seeing stars and making guttural whines. You’re certain the papers your sitting on top of are ruined from your activities, crumpled and wet as he slides in and out of you—squelching sounds following with each movement and drag of his hips. The rule of being quiet is forgotten about. It’s around 6 pm, really no one should be around in the office to hear anyways…

Jacaerys Velaryon // Student

There was no one else you’d rather have tutoring from than Jacaerys. He was so smart! Top of his class and everything. Although he was defensive over lending his notes. He said he would help you and improve your own if you came over to his dorm. Which is exactly what you did after class on a random Friday. The both of you making light conversation and you thanking him again and again for helping you. Even if you thought you were a lost cause over this subject material, Jace had told you not to fret about it. After all, everyone learns at some point.

You both sit on the floor, your notebook open and a few sheets of paperwork spread around on the carpet. You’re sitting in Jace’s lap as he explains a concept to you. You however are writhing in his lap, a breathy moan escaping you as he presses the vibrator more against your clit. It’s lowly buzzing and thrumming, on the lowest setting possible as Jace watches you closely. Was this what you had in mind when he said he had a “good” way for you to finally learn the material? No. But you weren’t really complaining either as he spreads your legs with his. His other hand squeezing your breast as he talks on and on as if nothing were happening. Sometimes if it looks like you’re starting to lose it; Jace will move his hand up from your boob to your hair as he gently tugs on it, pulling your ear to his lips as he asks you to repeat what he just said back to him. If you can do that (or if you can’t), that’ll change how he goes about tutoring you.

If you get it right? Congratulations, you’re still not out of the woods yet. But ti you get it wrong, Jacaerys will tut as he shakes his head. Slowly he pulls the vibrator away despite your pleas and begging. He goes over the material once more, painfully slowly. His eyes never leaving yours as he talks in a languid manner. Remember, this’ll all be on the test next week. What’ll happen if you fail? You’ll be all upset about it, and Jace hates seeing you upset. So this is for your own good as he talks against your ear, encouraging (and mean) words and remarks coming from him as he asks if you understand. And when you finally get it right? The vibrator returns to your pussy, earning a squeal from you as you slouch in his arms.

Jacaerys has a mean grin on his face as he moves onto a different topic, increasing the speed and intensity of the vibrator against your pussy as you whine loudly. He holds you tightly with one arm so you can’t squirm away. You’re so close to getting it! You just gotta.. put your mind to it. And no you can’t mumble or slur together a barely coherent sentence to appease him. Jacaerys wants you to loud and clear explain the concept as he rubs the vibrator around your clit slowly. And when you finally do, he smiles with a sigh as he presses a kiss to your cheek. Praise falls from his lips as he whispers into your ear about how smart, how hard working you are to finally understand. Perseverance. And he tells you good girls get rewarded as he lets the vibrator run on its highest setting as he holds you tightly with just one arm. Your legs spread as far as they can go. And if you show him a good grade on your exam? He’ll be sure to reward you very well.

Jacaerys Velaryon // Teaching Assistant

Like Davos. Jacaerys is a TA. They’re even in the same cohort of people. But instead of the more chill personality that is Davos, Jace is a little more serious and uptight. This is a high level course he’s helping to teach after all. And it’s a very tiny class, consisting of only 10 or more students. So it’s very easy to share his attention between you all. Although.. you seem to be getting more assistance. While Jace does go around the class when he lets you all work on the homework or latest assignments by yourself; he seems to hover around you just a bit. Asking if you need help, if you understand everything perfectly. He has a habit of bracing his hands against your desk, leaning down slightly as he looks over your work. He’s leaned over enough that you can smell his cologne and feel his breath against your hair. But just as the proximity becomes nothing, he pulls away before going around the class again.

It’s your last class of the day, and everyone’s already leaving to enjoy the Friday night on campus. But you stay behind to help Jace clean up the classroom. And he appreciates your help, a lazy conversation ensuing as you both do your own tasks. Soon it comes up that you didn’t really understand the lesson today and that you’re a little worried about it appearing on a test or something. Of course Jace is concerned; the best student in the class having issues? He certainly can’t let that continue as he says not to worry and that since you’re both here already, he can explain it on the board.

You’re braced against the table up front, your notebook open to the problems you had copied down. A pencil in your trembling hand as your forearms rest on the desk. Jacaerys is right behind you, both of your pants around your ankles as he holds onto your hips. His cock already buried into your warmth as he looks over your shoulder at your work like he usually does. His hips rhythmically rutting in and out of you as he points out where you went wrong with your problem solving. Jacaerys has laid out his conditions, for every problem you get wrong he’ll slow down, pull out—or even leave you to deal with your own mess as he doesn’t let you cum. His eyes watch your work like a hawk. He’s lazy with his thrusts, taking the time to enjoy how it looks when he pulls all the way out before slowly sliding back in all the way to his base. The movement drags out quiet whimpers and moans from your lips as you hastily work on each problem.

Once you finish your work, with a moan you slide the notebook to the side so Jace can read over your shoulder. His pace slows despite your quiet pleas. A worried look crossing your already breathless face as you wait with bated breath. After a few tense moments, your TA smiles at you as he picks up his pace again. Words of praise hitting your ears as he starts to ram his cock into you more harshly. This is what you were begging for after all, right? And your hard work is being rewarded. So don’t start complaining about possible bruises when he slaps your ass or thighs with a firm hand or how the table is squeaking against the floor. And if you have nowhere to be on this Friday evening, Jacaerys has a few tips on how you can study better.

Cregan Stark // Graduate Student

Cregan is the only other student at your table. Which therefore makes you partners for any project or group assignment the professor assigns. It’s not a bad gig, Cregan is nice even if he’s a little quiet and stoic. He’s here to learn after all, this is money being spent. And he’s not the type to be wasteful with his courses. So in class you both cut the conversation to a minimum, working hard and talking to each other only when it pertains to the class or something else academic. A little cold shoulder maybe but you’re both work oriented like that. So when a big exam is expected to come up, you and Cregan decide to block out a certain time to study all the material. Printed study guides, old notes, the whole nine yards.

Some people study better when writing it down again and again, others like flash cards, memorization. The best way you two learn best? Well, your study guide is held in your hands as you read out a section. And Cregan below you nods in return as he lets out a shaky breath. It’s a little hard to follow along with the guide, his eyes shifting between reading and watching you as you ride him. You can see the conflict right there, eyes darting from the paper to your breasts and how they bounce and look, to your own eyes as you read with a lidded look. Now, not only does this get the whole ordeal of studying out of the way, but it’s also quite a fun time for you both. Two birds with one stone.

You are a very distracting picture. Cregan would draw you if he could. But for now he settles on remembering exactly how you look as you slowly sit down on his dick over and over. How your head falls back momentarily as he stretches your walls out. The faint whine you make as he juts up into you for fun. He hasn’t been much help, you’ve been doing all the work. And the room is heating up nicely as the bed slowly creaks underneath you, neither of your eyes leaving the other as you regard one another with a soft and gentle gaze. You really are beautiful. And smart.

Your voice shakes, throat going a little dry due to how long you’ve been droning on about a certain topic from the guide. Your legs and thighs burn slightly as well as you straddle Cregan on his bed. His cock buried nicely into you as you bounce up and down. You have to pause every now and then, a roll of your hips making his eyes close for a moment with a breathy sigh. You both think you manage to divide your attention between studying and well fucking. But soon the restraint in both of you starts to break down as you ride him. And it’s not long before study guides and exams are long forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his hands finding your hips as he fucks you into the mattress. If you both fail the test? Well.. you can always fuck the anger out of one another.

Cregan Stark // Young Professor

The new professor is young. Which is the talk of the entire campus. Professor Stark, lecturer of arctic biology and ecosystems. Very intelligent, very handsome. All that jazz. It’s a little clear that most people taking his course are.. there for other reasons (Which can be said about the others too). But you are actually interested in what Cregan has to say. You’re the one who raises their hand, visits office hours, talks to him outside of the class about the subject and his experience with the subjects in the coursework. You’re a very endearing person, and you make Cregan feel seen academically. And you are… quite attractive. A thought he has desperately tried to get out of his head.

He is no better with how he treats you. Always speaking to you with nothing but praise and respect. When he first compliments your work, a project you had done for the class. Cregan is almost taken aback by how you light up with glee, a smile on your face as you tilt your head. It’s something he wants to see again. And again. Lingering gazes, his hand brushing against your arm as he walks past your desk. Cregan always seems to have a compliment for you on whatever you do. Comments left on your assignments.

You visit his office hours as stated before. It’s a more relaxed setting where you both just talk to one another. Perhaps it’s overstepping but you sit on his desk, legs crossed as he leans back in his chair. Maybe by accident, maybe not, his hand grazes your calf as he lifts his hand to fix his hair. Your shoe rests right against his leg as you lean forward. You are a very lovely student, perhaps the best one he’s ever had. And he tells you so; you are a very good student. So good about how you slide off of the table, sinking to your knees.

Cregan will admit this is a lapse in judgment, simply leaning back and watching as your hands reach up to his belt. Your tongue flicking out for the tiniest moment, wetting your lips in anticipation. Eyes batting up at him; your expression, knowing, confident, upsettingly faultless. You know what you are doing, he knows what you are doing. You know he knows. He helps you take off his slacks, a groan or a grumble resounding in his throat. Guttural and breathy. Low in volume as his eyes regard you with a lusty glint. Like a haze, a mist of anticipation and electricity dancing along his body. Dangerous, definitely. There are rules, codes of conduct, norms of society being broken. But that doesn’t seem to matter as your lisp wrap around his tip, your tongue swirling around the very top as your hand strokes up and down his length. Morals go out the window entirely when your mouth engulfs him, as far as he can go—down your throat practically. Cregan wonders if that image has been burned into his mind as he breathes out a string of strangled groans and incoherent sentences. If not, then you two can always do this again. You gag and slurp, your eyes looking up at him from where you sit on your knees. They’re certainly going to be a beautiful shade of red by the time you’re done. And you seem to be taking your sweet time as you languidly lick up and down. You’re lucky everyone’s already left the building.

Just remember you’re not getting extra credit points for this…

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 4/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

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Martin – no, Champion, for that was who he was now – crept through the institute, his ears flat against his head. 

How long had he been technically missing for now? At least a week, if not more. And no one had notified the police. Not Jon, not Tim, not Sasha. Not his own mother, despite the fact Martin would call her almost daily to check in on her. Not his neighbours nor his…well. He didn’t have any friends outside the institute. 

He didn’t have any friends inside the institute either, it seemed. 

Champion padded past the grand oak reception desk in the front lobby. Almost immediately, his paws left the ground, which drew a purr of surprise from him, his little blue eyes growing wide.

“Oh, Champion! You came to visit me, did you?” 

Rosie, Elias’ assistant, gathered Champion into her arms, her thin, angular face all smiles and framed with bouncing red curls. Everyone’s face was all smiles when Champion arrived. Champion, who did nothing at all to actually help the institute. He couldn’t read properly like this. He couldn’t research, staying up all hours of the night to finish reports. He couldn’t go investigate leads across the country, nor pitch theories for statements. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea like this. 

Martin could do all those things. And not once had he been given a genuine smile in return, not a single sparkle in someone’s eye to say they were actually happy to see him. But as Champion? 

All he had to do was walk on by. 

The first few days, that attention had overjoyed Martin. All he’d ever wanted. But now, it stung, jabbing him in the chest and reminding him that all this fuss wasn’t for him. Not really. 

That people liked him better as a useless cat than a man who tried too hard and apologised for existing. 

“Oh dear, little guy, why the sad ears?” Rosie continued, sitting down and depositing Champion onto the immaculate desk in front of her. “Was Jonathan a meanie to you? Do you want Rosie to accidentally misplace his expenses form this month?” She scratched behind Champion’s ear with a perfectly manicured nail, but he couldn’t even muster a false purr in response. 

Everyone liked him better as a cat. Hell, maybe he was better at being a cat? 

Maybe he should just…stay a cat. Let Martin Blackwood become just another missing person, lost behind a veil of barely asked questions. 

Something stirred under his skin at that thought, like a cold fog rippling through his blood, sending all his fur on end. Champion jolted in shock; all too easily, he had forgotten what he wrestled with here. Sure, being turned into a cat sounded silly enough, but the architect of all this had been a Leitner book. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts, caring not for the jovial packaging they came in. 

Champion, now dealing with an alarming amount of adrenaline, leapt from Rosie’s desk and scampered away. He dashed through the corridors, paw pads skidding on the hardwood flooring, his tiny heart hammering away. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts…

He practically slid across the Research Department, not stopping even when one of the researchers reached for a bag of cat treats. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts! What if it could see him or hear him or—

He bounded through the austere, silent library, not sure what he was running from or if anything was even truly chasing him. But instinct tore through his limbs, too aware now of the sense of some unspeakable shadow prowling after him and delighting in his isolation. 

When the panic finally subsided, Champion had to take a moment to look around the room he’d bolted into. The room loomed around him, gloomy save for one desk light working hard to chase it all away. 

His desk light. 

Champion padded through the archival assistants’ office, wandering past Tim’s empty desk and Sasha’s neglected chair. Was Tim at the station, weaving a story as to why they hadn’t reported their colleague missing sooner? Was Sasha in Elias’ office, distracting him from the whole affair? 

He hopped up onto his old chair at his own desk. He hadn’t been here since the day he’d read that damned book in the first place. Jon’s office took the place of his regular workspace, either curled up on Jon’s lap or snoozing under the radiator. 

Being a cat, admittedly, had been a lot more comfortable than being Martin Blackwood. The temptation to remain like this had, he realised, not been entirely out of spite and anger of the others not being too fussed about Martin’s disappearance. 

It had come from Martin’s own disregard for Martin’s disappearance. Like this, he couldn’t annoy people. He didn’t have to worry about messing up conversations or making a fool of himself. He could stay away from people in that way, yet reap all the benefits of getting affection and having his company be greeted with a smile. 

But…he also couldn’t offer Jon a cup of tea and get to see that momentary lessening of his scowl, the only time his frown eased up in the office. The silly little bloom of pride Martin got at being able to coax that out of him with a nice cup of tea – a silent victory, proof he’d done something right.

He couldn’t sneak out five minutes early for lunch with Tim on a Thursday, because they both loved Thursday special at the German kebab shop three blocks away and wanted to avoid the lunch rush queues.

He couldn’t buy a lemon and poppyseed muffin on a Monday to drop off at Rosie’s desk before she got in, earning him first dibs when she baked her amazing Malteser brownies during charity bake sales at work. She pretended she didn’t know Martin brought her breakfast every Monday, when he knew she ran late for work because she had to drop her father off at the physio, but somehow, a hearty slice of brownie would be wrapped in a napkin in the fridge with his name on it all the same. 

He couldn’t go to the little tea room five minutes from his house every Saturday and Wednesday, order the same cup of Earl Grey and the same ham-and-cheese toastie, and beam as the owner called him his favourite and most reliable customer.  

Maybe…Maybe Martin Blackwood did get noticed after all. Little nods, little appreciations. Maybe…that was enough? 

The cold retreated from his fluffy legs, though it didn’t fully subside. It loosened its grip on his tiny heart, but it didn’t uncoil. 

He had to completely undo this, Champion – no, Martin decided. He had to find the answer. And the best place to start had to be the book itself. 

Martin jumped down from his chair, flattening himself on the floor to scoot under the bookcase where he had bashed the book out of sight weeks before. 

A few cobwebs…a pen he’d lost months ago…some paper clips…a scrunched up ball of paper that stole all of Martin’s attention for five minutes or more as he bapped it between his paws in delight…but no book. 

Wriggling his way back out from under the furniture, he looked left and right. Where was it? 

Martin headed out of the archival assistants’ office and made his way towards Jon’s. Had Jon returned to the office to retrieve the book? Martin hadn’t noticed him doing so, nor had the book shown up on Jon’s desk lately. Given that desk doubled as one of Martin’s many napping spots, he was sure he would have spotted it if it had. 

Unless…he’d picked it up recently. Tim had just told Jon that there was no sign of Martin at all at his flat. Tim had done something incredibly important in that conversation, Martin realised in horror. 

He’d given Jon a mystery to unravel. He’d sparked his curiosity and given him a challenge – could he find Martin before a professional? 

Oh no. 

Martin scampered into Jon’s office at full speed, miaowing in a vain attempt to yell Jon’s name. But the room was empty. 

Panting, his head whipped this way and that. Where was he? It was 4:12pm – not a time that Jon would take a smoke break he thought no one knew about, nor a time he’d go for a tea or try to heavily hint for Martin to make one. He was always at his desk. Where was—

“Mrrrrowww…”

Martin blinked, his ears twitching. That…hadn’t come from him. “Miaow?”

A horrified pause stretched out across the office. And then, that same, low rumble of a miaow, sorrowful and irritated. 

“Mrrrrrooooowwww…”

Plucking up his courage, Martin followed the sound, his fur already sticking up on end. He tip-toed around the leg of Jon’s desk, already suspecting what had happened, yet praying it hadn’t.

There, beside Jon’s chair, was The Ninth Life, open on the last few pages. And on top of the book was the saddest, skinniest, scabbiest-looking black cat that Martin had ever seen in his life. Flecks of grey mottled his fur, which was missing in great clumps all over. Most of his right ear was missing, leaving a ragged edge in its wake. His eyes were far too big for his head, a brilliant green that somehow didn’t complement his black fur. Worst of all, the cat was sitting with its hind legs in front of it, as though determined to sit like a person. 

The black cat looked at Martin. 

Martin looked at the black cat. 

It scowled at him. Somehow, despite everything, the cat managed to scowl at him. 

The cat knew who he was, Martin realised. He knew he was Martin. 

…Jon? Is that you? Martin wondered, pacing slowly over to the scabby cat. He just wanted to get close enough to sniff him, to confirm that this was Jon and—

Bap! 

A paw plonked down squarely on Martin’s head, followed by a warning hiss. 

Bap! Bap bap bap! 

Yes, Martin realised, as he lay down on his front and tried to cover the top of his head with his own paws to shield himself. 

The scruffy cat before him was definitely Jonathan Sims.

──── •✧• ────

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 2

Part 1 here part 3 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I lied. Or rather, I had some ideas while I was writing, so instead of three parts, there will probably be four. Nothing is certain, but... you have been warned.

Leave a comment and share if you are enjoying the story.

I can't say exactly when things started to change. Maybe they were never normal from the beginning, but I was too distracted to see it, blinded by this lie that I childishly told myself.

The more comfortable I felt with Qimir, the worse his relationship with Vernestra became, to the point where in the naivety of my young age, I thought it was my fault, but in truth, I couldn't even see the problem.

I had learned to recognize my master's moods very early on. I understood before even talking to her if she was nervous because of some diplomatic mission or worse. Sometimes I was left to myself for entire days, i knew her missions were very important and that I would only slow her down, but all I could do was read and train with other padawans and read again and... do nothing.

So, while I daydreamed about the magnificent future missions with my master... I spent time with Qimir.

Of course, he was busy too, but I eagerly awaited his return each time. He would tell me what he did, who he met on his travels, the fights to the last breath, and, he was good at narrating them. He often came to see me in the library, where he would put on a silent show due to the librarian's constant admonishments, using books as pieces of the story and his lightsaber to represent himself. I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt, I used my hands to muffle the louder sounds, and Qimir seemed to love every moment of it. Sometimes, I wondered if he didn't deliberately behave insanely on missions just to tell me about it when we would meet.

The months passed quickly. After about a year as a padawan, I began to distinguish between what I was good at and what I was terrible at. For example, I was great at controlling the Force, but terrible at using the sword. Not because I wasn't good from a technical standpoint, but more for a mental reason, the idea of hurting someone paralyzed me. I wanted to be a Jedi who protected the weak, but I had missed the part where, if you're protecting them, it's because someone is hurting them, someone who probably should be stopped even with the use of force.

Worse still, I was terrified of my master's weapon, the whip seemed so unpredictable to control, yet she used it with deadly precision and wanted me to try it too. She believed my fear was natural for a young mind, that I just needed to unlock myself, but for me, it wasn't like that.

And it got worse when I sought comfort in Qimir.

Maybe, in hindsight, I should have realized something, but it's easy to talk when the worst has already happened. I remember very well what happened that evening, I was exhausted after all the sword training. Vernestra didn't seem particularly happy with my outburst a few hours earlier when I tried to say that maybe I wasn't suited to be a knight, that I could have pushed myself into the medical field or even just be an assistant, maybe a volunteer in war zones. She thought I was speaking without knowing anything, pushing me all afternoon to train in various forms. My hands hurt from calluses, but instead of running to the infirmary, I decided to knock on Qimir's room.

"I don't understand why she doesn't want to accept it. I... don't want to hurt anyone." I broke the tense silence that had formed while Qimir wrapped my fingers with the bandages he had in the bathroom.

"No one said you have to. You're a Jedi, our job is to fight for those in need." He was focused on looking at my fingers, so he didn't notice the grimace I gave him, "And I understand that. But I don't feel suited for that role. Many Jedi perform different duties, fighting isn't essential for everyone." He sighed a laugh.

"I think Vernestra is worried about your safety, it's okay to seek your vocation elsewhere, but our faith leads us to interact with dangerous environments, even the most peaceful mission could hide a terrible evil." He finished the bandaging, then gently took my hands in his, the warmth of his palms a pleasant consolation to the painful throbbing of the blisters that filled my fingers.

He looked at me again with a sad smile on his lips, "I understand that you feel sure of what you want. But, flower, you're still a child. And you have many years ahead of you before you face the final exam, you don't know what will happen or if you will change your mind, don't take what you feel for granted." I blushed foolishly at the nickname he had started calling me some time ago, something about how "I seemed delicate like a flower".

"I know, but... don't you think lightsabers are terrifying?" I stuttered uncertainly, looking into his eyes.

And that moment. That single instant when he gave me that sweet smile, I shivered.

"That's what makes them so beautiful, right?"

I didn't have an answer, maybe yes, but I wouldn't have had the courage to tell him at the moment. I only know that I swallowed a bitter bite and freed myself from his grip, a heavy breath escaping my mouth, "I have to go, thanks for the bandages," I got up quickly and fled from that room as if I had someone on my heels.

That shiver down my spine, that rancid smell at my nose, I couldn't imagine it at the time, but that was the first time I felt fear.

Of course, I blamed myself entirely, I was exaggerating, everyone said so, I was terrified of violence in a way not suitable for the role I was supposed to fill in the future, I should have recovered quickly and restarted my training. I tried to forget that evening, as I had gradually forgotten that conversation on Hoth, but that was just the beginning.

The missions with Qimir keeping us company decreased over time, sometimes he just stopped by for a greeting or joined us more to keep me company if he had a free moment. I really appreciated the time together, I liked that we could remain silent without making it seem strange, once on Naboo he showed me almost the whole city since he had already visited it before. We got ice cream overlooking a lake in complete silence, the sunset was spectacular, and with the light sounds of the forest accompanying us, I fell asleep with my face pressed against his side.

The next morning, I found myself in my room with his cloak as a blanket since I was still dressed. When I tried to return it, he teased me, saying I had slipped on the ground when I pressed against him. I yelled at him that he was rude to tell me that, but only because I didn't have the courage to admit that I found it hilarious. If I had given him rope, he would have teased me about it for months.

When I was finally old enough to accompany the master on some of her more dangerous missions, my opinion on weapons had not changed, but I had made peace with myself and decided to find my combat style.

I was proud of how I built my lightsaber, but I had to modify it when I implemented the double-sided exit to have a double-bladed saber. It made me feel safer using it, more protected, and it was a more versatile weapon, especially for more enemies. So, once I got used to using it combined with a defensive fighting style, I finally felt complete.

On the field, I rarely used the lightsaber, trusting more in my control of the Force to block my opponents and stun them. I knew Vernestra was not entirely happy with how I restrained myself, but I tried to excel in everything else, hoping it was enough.

On a return trip to Coruscant, both wounded and tired, we talked once again about the problem that had arisen when it was needed.

What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon defending senators had turned into a nightmare when a bomb exploded at the meeting place, civilians fleeing in terror, and only a Jedi and a padawan handling the dozen terrorists shooting at the crowd.

The situation obviously got out of hand, and we survived by a miracle. Before calling the council to let them know what had happened, seeing me still so shaken, Vernestra hugged me.

I clung to her robe, barely holding back tears, the memory of all the wounded passing under my eyes still fresh, but she grabbed my shoulders, and looking at me with a determined face, she said, "You did well. I am proud of you."

A few minutes later, when we could finally sit down, I had the courage to speak.

"I killed them. It was so..." I was looking at the blue of hyperspace around us, lost in my thoughts, I don't know if I was talking more to myself or to her.

"You did what was necessary. On other occasions, we could have captured them, but we were at a disadvantage. Sometimes, to save lives, you have to make drastic choices," her tone always confident, as if it were all normal, and technically it was, for her.

I no longer knew what I was doing at that point.

"I know, but... my hands..." were shaking. They shaking even then, in the peace of our shuttle. I held onto the armrests tightly as if I were afraid of falling.

"Maybe Qimir is right."

I turned suddenly, confused, hearing his name mentioned out of nowhere. She sighed before looking at me again, "He thinks it would do you good to train with him a bit. He has been suggesting it to me for a while..." she cleared her throat before looking away.

"Maybe dealing with a more aggressive combat style like his would help you unlock. I know you two have become friends, and... he is much better than me at making you feel comfortable. He might be more helpful than I am."

I was taken aback, more by the fact that Qimir had suggested something like that without letting me know anything. It gave me a strange, somewhat unpleasant feeling that I couldn't quite identify.

But still, my problems at the moment were different, so I nodded. I already felt guilty enough for hesitating in the face of danger. Despite the comforting words, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had failed.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

The look he gave me is one I would never forget. That… knowing glint deep in his eyes, like a warning bell. But I ignored it.

I nodded, but I ignored it.

When we got home, she headed towards the council room to submit her report. She advised me to go rest since it was already evening, but after saying goodbye to her, I quickly walked down the Jedi corridor. I had been injured and was limping slightly, the next day, I could get myself healed quickly by a healer using the Force, but at that moment, it was a different kind of pain tormenting me.

I knocked hard on Qimir's door without even thinking about it, two, three times before I heard some commotion on the other side, bare footsteps approaching the door before it opened.

“I hope you have a good reason for knocking on my door at this hour—” he mumbled sleepily, his hair messy and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, confused, when I jumped into his arms.

My face pressed against his warm chest, and the tears I had been holding back until then started to fall relentlessly, accompanied by a few sobs.

He woke up suddenly, understanding what was happening. He effortlessly picked me up before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Hey, hey, my sweet flower, what's wrong?” he whispered in my ear, now fully awake.

I hid my face in his neck while he hugged me tightly, my legs hanging down the sides of his hips, my tears wetting the skin of his chest as I tried to stammer out coherent words.

I had never felt so small until that night, hidden in his arms. Although his cheerful personality made him seem childish at times, I tended to forget that we were a little over ten years apart, we didn’t really share anything except our loyalty to the Order and the same master, but we weren’t the same age, and we didn’t even have similar hobbies. We… he treated me like a little sister with absent parents.

I had run off to seek the safest comfort I knew, and he had given it to me without a second's protest.

He listened to my tear-flavored words without saying anything, his fingers brushing through my hair, partly caressing my scalp. He held me against his chest tighter when my sobs were too much to utter even a single syllable. He didn’t say anything when I was done, had me take off my shoes and most of my dirty tunic, and then lay down in bed with me.

I was pressed between the wall and his warm body, one arm on my side, and the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.

The next day, still comfortably pressed against his chest, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was ashamed of having lost my composure like that, i shouldn’t have fallen victim to fear, so I slipped away at dawn to avoid facing him. We never talked about what happened, I didn’t have much to say anyway and went back to focusing on my studies.

A few days later, Vernestra came to tell me she would be away to resolve the conflict that had arisen after that attack and that I was entrusted to Qimir as she had mentioned. I had already forgotten about that story, but it all came flooding back when we said goodbye on the platform. Her hesitant look as she stopped halfway up the ramp. I saw her sigh, maintaining a stoic expression before coming back to me one last time. “Trust your instincts, Padawan. If something makes you uncomfortable or… you just leave, got it? You’re still too young for certain matters.”

I didn’t have time to ask her what she was referring to, she boarded the ship right after and left, leaving me there with questions on the tip of my tongue.

Qimir sought me out soon after. I was hiding in the library every afternoon, hoping not to run into him and avoid training, but of course, it didn’t last long. With his usual light smile and calm demeanor, he approached me one morning, “Are you perhaps skipping your training, Padawan?” he asked, mimicking an authoritative tone.

I couldn’t even laugh. In the end, I gave in. I had promised my master, and the fear I felt that afternoon still gave me nightmares, so I followed him into the training room.

Fighting Qimir was like facing a hurricane, seemingly chaotic but, in reality, a perfectly concentrated deadly force of nature. I was used to exhausting rhythms, so I didn’t find it difficult, but what destabilized me was his gaze. It seemed like he really wanted to kill me.

Fast and lethal with his double violet lightsabers, he often aimed at my legs to make me fall and gain an advantage over me. I squirmed uneasily under that assault, of course, that was the goal of that training, but… there was a cold wind behind him. A suffocating sensation, a chill on my skin that made me doubt who or what I was facing.

Vernestra was away for just under a month, during which I trained with Qimir when I wasn’t studying. One of the last training sessions was grueling. I began to doubt he wanted to take it easy on me from the beginning, we clashed forcefully -with our lightsabers- because “it’s needed to keep you sharp ” as if the strikes he aimed at me weren’t enough to keep me alert.

A particularly painful strike to the thigh made me fall heavily to the ground, the fabric of my robe smoking from the slash. When I looked up at him, now disarmed, I almost vomited. Those eyes… now I could recognize them. The eyes of a killer. The same as those men that afternoon weeks before who had charged into the crowd.

I fled the room, took a shower, and went to bed without dinner. I was sure I was going insane. I was tired and nervous and seeing things that weren’t there. I tried to shake off that voice in my head that screamed at me to be careful with Qimir, the guilt clashing with the fear. I tried to bury it all once again, deeper and further away.

And so my routine returned to normal once everything was back to how it was before, and the master had returned, although… I had started to avoid Qimir. It wasn’t that I was running away from him, it was more like a need for personal space, let’s say. Luckily, he was sent on a mission, but he wrote to me almost every evening with messages about his goals, to which I replied with monosyllables. He realized something was wrong, but when he asked me how I was or if something had happened, I dodged the question.

During a mission in the Outer Rim, I was able to indirectly spy on a call between Vernestra and Qimir. She was scolding him for some unspecified decision, but it was the final warning that made me waver. “You’re losing your composure lately. Leave the mission and return to Coruscant to meditate on your choices.” My breath stopped when I heard him shouting through the holopad. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but he was complaining about the poor results of the missions or something like that. I swallowed down that memory too. It had been an outburst due to a tense situation, it could happen. I had to stop thinking about it.

Shared missions completely disappeared. Qimir and I only saw each other to spend time together. One evening, he took me to dinner in a somewhat shabby place with the promise that I could bring my fellow Padawans there when we were older. The light conversation at the table was pleasant before silence surrounded us.

“I’m sorry we see each other less lately,” he finally sighed after dessert.

I shrugged, relaxed. “Well, we have our duties. And I need to keep studying.” I thought I had given a satisfactory answer, but he looked more frowned than before. “It’s unfair. I want a Padawan too.”

I chuckled at the thought. “I think you need a few more years for that.” But he didn’t laugh, instead, he… stared at me in a way I couldn’t decipher. “Why do you say that? You’re growing well.”

I frowned at the answer. “Qimir, I’m Vernestra’s Padawan. No offense, but it’s she who’s raising me,” I maintained a smile that he didn’t share. “You spend more time with me than with her.”

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. I wanted to tell him that it was normal since we were friends, but that had little to do with the conversation we had started. To tell him that, as good as he was, he still struggled to act like a real authoritative figure suitable for a young boy who needs to learn the Jedi way, but… of course, I said nothing.

I didn’t feel like it. That conversation died just as it had begun.

It seemed that as time went by, that cheerful air around him faded. Maybe it was the maturity I was gaining that woke me up from that waking dream I was living. I recognized certain expressions or glances better, those smiles that once warmed my heart now had a bitter aftertaste. I began to wonder if something had been wrong from the start. Sometimes those strange warnings from Vernestra or those fragments of memories where I had seen him in a different light, more sinister, would come back to me.

So, I made a decision.

It was better to put some distance between the two of us, maybe growing up, I would be able to face him better, understand what was going through his head, and once matured, I would be able to help him as he helped me.

I don’t know if that decision was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if it was something inevitable that had already begun, or if there was no escape. Looking back at everything that happened, the mistakes had started much earlier, but how much blame did I truly deserve?

I was young, naive, it wasn’t my job to see beyond the veil of lies, beyond the Jedi, beyond the Force.

I wouldn’t have been able to recognize the dark side under those circumstances.

And in fact, I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

And there it was, right in front of me, taking my breath away.

[akutasoda]

"it's always the wrong thing when it's me saying it"

--dan heng was one of your best friends, although maybe it should've stayed that way between the two of you. you weren't destined to be anything more than, but knowing that would drive you both further apart than ever imagined.

--warnings - gn!reader, thought to be unrequited love, fluff, angst no comfort, poor communication, maybe ooc, wc - 1.7k

--a/n: killing your wife emotionally and mentally @lowkeyren + @mitsvriii ^^ made sure he suffered plenty!

life on the express was as good as you could ask for.

traveling all across the galaxy, witnessing its beautiful sights and even helping people along the way. and all with a group of people that were the light of your life. it was truly a dream. there was never a dull day, one that you couldn't enjoy and that was really all you could ask for.

each of your companions had such a unique presence that worked so well together.

himeko was always the more mature yet so calm with whatever antic had been concocted up by namely march and the nameless. whereas welt was still just as mature yet was always too tired to deal with those same antics.

march was like a bundle of joy. her positivity was always contagious, it always got her out of the antics she engaged in. the nameless was no different, their monotone attitude still assisted march in whatever she had planned. yet they were still reasonable and even incredibly kind.

and then there was dan heng.

the silent guard of the express. when you first boarded the express, you clicked with everyone but him immediately. he was a lot more reserved and didn't immediately try to get to know you like the others.

it was really only after he noticed how much you and the other members of the express had bonded that he made an effort to try and get to know you. dan heng was wary. he wanted to see how the others perceived you before he made his own judgment.

some may say he was trying to find something to get you kicked off the express but he wasn't trying to be negative, at all. he could argue that welt was more cautious than he was but atleast welt was more present while you adjusted to life on the express. if dan heng was asked to help you with something, he would but otherwise he wouldn't go out of his way to talk to you.

eventually, however, he did come round to you. once the surface had been broken, it didn't take long at all for you to get just as close to dan heng as the rest of the express crew.

he was a rather calming presence to be around. the conversations you could have with him were endless, time spent with him was never wasted and even if he didn't mean to, he always made you smile.

---✩

it didn't take long before dan hengs “room” became your second room. from your first day on the express you were assigned a personal room like the rest of them, yours to customize how you want and spend your nights or days in.

but ever since your friendship with dan heng started to blossom, you found yourself accompanying him to the data bank - it was technically his room, the scruffy pile of blankets and pillows were really the only sign of someone actually living in there.

your evenings soon became reduced to sitting beside dan heng in the data bank, watching and listening to him as he inputted new entries or updated old ones. seeing all the the different experiences the express had was truly worth admiration.

the data bank was a permanent record. a library of all the things the express had been through and found, a permanent memory. and dan heng was in charge of keeping it organized and up to date - which he did diligently and perfectly.

some of the entries interested you greatly, in response, dan heng showed you them in full - compared to the ones that you weren't so keen on which he simply summarized for your convenience.

although more so lately, this time between the two of you had become less about looking through the databank and more into casual chatter between the two of you. more personal.

even the rest of the express where surprised with how much dan heng opened up to you - he'd known them longer and yet you seemed to know more about him. not that it was a bad thing. some of them, namely himeko, were just happy that he seemed to finally have someone he cared about that much.

somewhere along the line, march started joking about how you and dan heng were “practically attached by the hip” and she would be right. the joke eventually caught on with how if one of you were in the vicinity, the other wouldn't be too far away.

but it made you hyper aware. suddenly you started realizing just how much time you spent with the astral express’s guard. the times he made you smile, all the conversations you had with him, the warm fuzzy-

oh.

you had a crush.

a major crush. on dan heng.

the thought made you flush with embarrassment had anyone noticed? had he noticed? did he even feel a small fraction of the same thing for you? maybe you were just thinking too much into it…

but it was eating you up inside. dan heng didn't exactly seem like someone looking for a relationship and you hated thinking about it because it meant that your feelings would never be reciprocated. it hurt. hopefully you could push it all away, move on and just keep your friendship with dan heng - you didn't want to ruin anything, even at the cost of your own feelings.

however, that was easier said than done. every time you were with him, all you thought about was the possibility of him reciprocating your feelings - and it wasn't looking good for you. you needed to move on, there was no way, if dan heng was looking for a relationship, that he'd go out with you.

very quickly it became very apparent that you needed closure to move on. either your feelings would be harshly crushed or reciprocated. although the former was more likely…

but you wanted an answer, anything to help you move on.

---✩

it was late. you both knew that but you had a question plaguing your mind for far too long and you needed a good nights sleep soon. so you figured now would have to be the time to ask it.

“dan heng” you called out and he turned away from the data bank to face you fully, slightly tilting his head and letting out a short “hm?”

you took a deep breath, trying your best to fight pff the nerves, “would you… uh.. ever consider me, us, as something more than friends?”

you couldn't bear to make eye contact with him, the silence was so loud until he broke it “no.”

oh how you wished for the universe to swallow you whole right then and there. but he continued “why do you ask?”

“oh no reason” your voice tapered off toward the end before you abruptly stood up “goodnight dan heng” quickly walking away and back to your room - fighting the tears that threatened to spill at any time soon.

but what you didn't know, what you'd never know, was that he lied.

ages ago, before you even realized your crush, march kept teasing him about how close you two were. amongst her teasing came the blatant question “do you like them?”

at first, dan heng adamantly denied it. you two were just close friends, nothing more. march knew better however and she took great pride in teasing him, listing out all the instances were you two could've been mistaken as lovers - and then it hit him.

but he still refused. denied everything. there was no way he had a crush. it wasn't that he didn't want to have a crush on you, it was just the fact that he wasn't ready. dan heng couldn't bear to imagine the vulnerability that would give him. it was something he didn't want to think about.

so he pushed all his feelings to the back of his mind and tried to convince himself that it wasn't true. even if it hurt him.

a part of him hoped that he was thinking too much into it, that you wouldn't like him back, purely so he could get over it. he could move on and keep his friendship with you as is, removing the chance of that vulnerability ever getting out.

he loved you.

but he couldn't admit it. dan heng could go on and on about you, talking about you like a lovesick fool but he wouldn't. he couldn't.

he wished he could. to have that confidence to admit it to you but he hadn't.

he'd refused your advance against his better wish, and now he'd hurt you. pushing you away forever.

---✩

“are you sure you want to do this?” himeko stared at you, the sadness in her eyes evident

glancing over through the window of the express’s parlor car, you smiled and nodded. you had to do this. to let go “i'm sure”

some may say leaving the express was a dramatic reaction but you had actually found somewhere you'd like to go but didn't want to leave the express - that was until dan hengs brutal rejection. you couldn't face him anymore and it was too awkward to even be on the same train.

himeko sighed “alright, please take care-”

“and stay in contact!!” march interrupted practically barging himeko out of the way.

dan heng watched, silently, from the doorway connecting the parlor car to the personal rooms. he had so much to say, so much to get off his chest and tell you-

no. he needed to let you go. even if it hurt him because he only ever hurt you.

rest of the "series"

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[nasa]

For the Benefit of All: Assistive Tech Developed from NASA Tech

What do modern cochlear implants and robotic gloves have in common? They were derived from NASA technology. We’ve made it easier to find and use our patented inventions that could help create products that enhance life for people with disabilities.

October is National Disability Employment Awareness Month, which highlights the contributions of American workers with disabilities – many of whom use assistive technology on the job. Take a look at these assistive technologies that are NASA spinoffs.

Low-Vision Headsets

The Joint Optical Reflective Display (JORDY) device is a headset that uses NASA image processing and head-mounted display technology to enable people with low vision to read and write. JORDY enhances individuals’ remaining sight by magnifying objects up to 50 times and allowing them to change contrast, brightness, and display modes. JORDY's name was inspired by Geordi La Forge, a blind character from “Star Trek: The Next Generation” whose futuristic visor enabled him to see.

Cochlear Implants

Work that led to the modern cochlear implant was patented by a NASA engineer in the 1970s. Following three failed corrective surgeries, Adam Kissiah combined his NASA electronics know-how with research in the Kennedy Space Center technical library to build his own solution for people with severe-to-profound hearing loss who receive little or no benefit from hearing aids. Several companies now make the devices, which have been implanted in hundreds of thousands of people around the world.

Robotic Gloves

Ironhand, from Swedish company Bioservo Technologies, is the world’s first industrial-strength robotic glove for factory workers and others who perform repetitive manual tasks. It helps prevent stress injuries but has been especially warmly received by workers with preexisting hand injuries and conditions. The glove is based on a suite of patents for the technology developed by NASA and General Motors to build the hands of the Robonaut 2 humanoid robotic astronaut.

Smart Glasses

Neurofeedback technology NASA originally developed to improve pilots’ attention has been the basis for products aimed at helping people manage attention disorders without medication. The devices measure brainwave output to gauge attention levels according to the “engagement index” a NASA engineer created. Then, they show the results to users, helping them learn to voluntarily control their degree of concentration. One such device is a pair of smart glasses from Narbis, whose lenses darken as attention wanes.

Anti-Gravity Treadmills

A NASA scientist who developed ways to use air pressure to simulate gravity for astronauts exercising in space had the idea to apply the concept for the opposite effect on Earth. After licensing his technology, Alter-G Inc. developed its anti-gravity G-Trainer treadmill, which lets users offload some or all of their weight while exercising. The treadmills can help people recover from athletic or brain injuries, and they allow a safe exercise regimen for others with long-term conditions such as arthritis.

Wireless Muscle Sensors

Some of the most exciting assistive technologies to spin off may be yet to come. Delsys Inc. developed electromyographic technology to help NASA understand the effects of long-term weightlessness on astronauts’ muscles and movements. Electromyography detects and analyzes electrical signals emitted when motor nerves trigger movement. Among the company’s customers are physical therapists developing exercise routines to help patients recover from injuries. But some researchers are using the technology to attempt recoveries that once seemed impossible, such as helping paralyzed patients regain movement, letting laryngectomy patients speak, and outfitting amputees with artificial limbs that work like the real thing.  

To further enhance the lives of people with disabilities, NASA has identified a selection of patented technologies created for space missions that could spur the next generation of assistive technology here on Earth.

Want to learn more about assistive technologies already in action? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[littleyarngoblin]

Finished my art book project for a class! Not the usual thing I knit, I’ll admit, but I’m so proud of how it turned out.

First, the charting was fine but the actual duplicate stitching was a NIGHTMARE to get right. I had to rip out ל so many times 😭

Making the scroll poles was a Learning Experience involving wood stain and super glue. Sewing on the canvas back was somehow the easiest part! Anyway, I’m super pleased with the result and I’m excited to present it to my class.

Skip the read more if you’re not interested in hearing about my artistic decisions :)

Part of this final assignment was to create something based on items in the library collection at my workplace. There’s a beautiful, giant 19th century Torah that I’ve viewed several times and haven’t been able to forget the sheer comfort and awe of being able to sit down for an hour or two and just read the Torah.

But there are rules to interacting with a Torah (both Jewish and archival rules): do not touch the text. Do not touch the parchment. Do not unroll without assistance. No, we can’t repair the holes and whatnot in this manuscript because 1) she’s super old and 2) we have no idea how to do it (which makes me sad!! She needs a good cleaning)

I also got to view a teeny miniature Torah from the library’s EXTENSIVE miniature collection.

So I decided I wanted to make a representation of the Torah that encouraged touch, and interacting with a text through another sense. This one only has the Shema stitched in it (funny, because no one is going to be reading this aloud to a congregation so no one is technically going to hear it). I made the first word blue in the Jewish manuscript illumination tradition, which wouldn’t illuminate just one letter, but rather the whole word, so as not to place one letter above another in importance. The blue is also reminiscent of tekhelet, a probably-blue dye mentioned in the Torah.

I also did not write out G-d’s name because Obviously Not. I’m not an official scribe and I also don’t want smartass or ignorant goyim viewing my art book and going “tehe I know how to pronounce that” when they see the tetragrammaton and just. Saying the Name.

All this to say, I’m so happy with my final project and I hope I get an A.

[teaboot]

True facts about my home town that I think about sometimes:

Nobody knows how big it is or what the borders are. There is some general consensus on what buildings are inside the town and which buildings are outside the town, as well as which buildings are definitely a different town entirely, but there is no clear "You are now in" or "You are now leaving" type locations you can point to on a map.

Tangentially, there are people one or two towns over, less than a 45 minute drive away, who will regularly ask "where is that?" Or, "I've never heard of that place" when you mention the town by name.

There are so few people that it is technically classified as a Village.

For many years, our only gas station did not sell gas. Once it began selling gas, I remember that they had to patch up the giant hole in a nearby billboard and use it to declare, "We Have Gas!", which was hilarious.

The whole place is mostly just woods.

There is some disagreement among locals as to whether or not there are wolves in the area. That being said, I have absolutely seen wolves in the area.

There is a public transit system that passes through. That said, it only stops by three times a day, and there are no set stops, so you kind of just have to pick a spot on the side of the road and hope for the best. If you are already on board and want off, you have to ring the bell and tell the bus driver where to pull over, which they may or may not do depending on the driver, the weather, traffic conditions, and general vibes.

I had three neighbors and I didn't even see any of them until about fifteen years in. One property across the road was a farm where I never saw anyone outside, but cars and equipment would move places throughout the day.

There is a post office. The woman who operates it is generally regarded as either incompetent or genuinely malicious, as she will often send mail back where it came from  with the justification that she doesn't believe your address is real.

The nearest actual city, with schools and a library and a hospital, famously has absolute dog shit cell service to the point that it is locally famous for it.

My childhood home specifically had a reputation for being a bad traffic spot despite being along a strip of straight road with no turns, and we regularly had to patch up holes in the fence from cars going through it. Most notable was one crash that woke me up as a child on Christmas morning, which I received a lovely thank-you card for noticing after I fetched my parents to assist.

Another time when I was a kid I went outside to find a car with the rear wheels in the air, nose-first in a ditch. I was home alone, so I went inside to call 911 on the landline, where I was immediately put on hold.

Someone stole our church and kept it for several years before inexplicably bringing it back and leaving it behind town hall. Just lifted it off the foundation and trucked it away.

The whole place is just around 100 years old and if you go into the woods you can still find hundreds of humongous tree stumps with foot holds carved into them from when the first white people came in and started settling down.

Apparently an entire family was axe murdered here in like the 80's and nobody talks about it

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Long Haul by @wolfpants

As a writer, I often am fondest of my shorter stories, but these fics are not the obvious choice for binding because they're so little. I actually started setting this story a while ago but put the typeset aside when I realized it was going to be such a low page count.

But more recently, I have been experimenting with a pamphlet bind to see if short stories and/or text blocks can be bound to my satisfaction, and yep! They can!

I love this short story by wolfpants and I have read it often enough that it deserved to be bound and put in my library. The story contains lovely delicious smut and (as you'd expect from wolf) excellent character-building, dialogue, and just exactly the right amount of realism. Wolf writes true adult characters and I adore this about their writing.

More about process and materials under the cut!

Materials: This is a quarto letter pamphlet bind using letter-sized 24# paper. The end papers are chiyogami acquired in Montreal. Book boards are actually cut from matte board that came in some packet of supplies or another, about 1 mm thickness and quite a bit bendier than my usual 2 mm book board, but worked nicely and feels appropriate for this little baby.

Book cloth is wooqu off Amazon as per. I sewed the pamphlet using three strands of waxed embroidery floss. Spine is strengthened with mull and a little strip of the same paper as the text block. Cover decoration is HTV vinyl. A few titles are foiled with toner-activated foil and a laminator. (Big shout-out to @sits-bound for technical assistance with figuring out that process!)

Process: This is a sewn 64-page/16 sheet quarto. I followed DAS Bookbinding's YouTube video here pretty closely except (as you can see) I went for a full cloth bind. I also added the paper layer on the spine before wrapping in cloth. I did this because I found mull alone — at least my cheap-ass mull — was not making for a smooth spine. The paper was a huge help on this front.

This is actually my third attempt at this style of binding (not counting the versions I did in class under adult supervision) so please do not be too impressed, lol.

The whole thing is held together by 50/50 corn starch/PVA mix (as well as the thread.)

I trimmed the tail twice by accident so then I had to trim the head twice too, and so that's why my margins are slender. :D

The HTV decoration was designed by yours truly (if you look at it for very long you'll be like "oh yeah I can see that" ahahaha) but I was really pleased with how it came out. I think I'm FINALLY finding my successful approaches for applying HTV. And yes, it was a monumental pain in my ass to weed. Worth it!

Peep the grease mark on the front title page. Sexy. No idea where it's from but yowza.

Bind short fic! Short fic also deserves binding! *steps off soapbox*

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The enshittification of garage-door openers reveals a vast and deadly rot

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library on Monday, November 13 at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

How could this happen? Owners of Chamberlain MyQ automatic garage door openers just woke up to discover that the company had confiscated valuable features overnight, and that there was nothing they could do about it.

Oh, we know what happened, technically speaking. Chamberlain shut off the API for its garage-door openers, which breaks their integration with home automation systems like Home Assistant. The company even announced that it was doing this, calling the integration an "unauthorized usage" of its products, though the "unauthorized" parties in this case are the people who own Chamberlain products:

https://chamberlaingroup.com/press/a-message-about-our-decision-to-prevent-unauthorized-usage-of-myq

We even know why Chamberlain did this. As Ars Technica's Ron Amadeo points out, shutting off the API is a way for Chamberlain to force its customers to use its ad-beshitted, worst-of-breed app, so that it can make a few pennies by nonconsensually monetizing its customers' eyeballs:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2023/11/chamberlain-blocks-smart-garage-door-opener-from-working-with-smart-homes/

But how did this happen? How did a giant company like Chamberlain come to this enshittening juncture, in which it felt empowered to sabotage the products it had already sold to its customers? How can this be legal? How can it be good for business? How can the people who made this decision even look themselves in the mirror?

To answer these questions, we must first consider the forces that discipline companies, acting against the impulse to enshittify their products and services. There are four constraints on corporate conduct:

I. Competition. The fear of losing your business to a rival can stay even the most sociopathic corporate executive's hand.

II. Regulation. The fear of being fined, criminally sanctioned, or banned from doing business can check the greediest of leaders.

III. Capability. Corporate executives can dream up all kinds of awful ways to shift value from your side of the ledger to their own, but they can only do the things that are technically feasible.

IV. Self-help. The possibility of customers modifying, reconfiguring or altering their products to restore lost functionality or neutralize antifeatures carries an implied threat to vendors. If a printer company's anti-generic-ink measures drives a customer to jailbreak their printers, the original manufacturer's connection to that customer is permanently severed, as the customer creates a durable digital connection to a rival.

When companies act in obnoxious, dishonest, shitty ways, they aren't merely yielding to temptation – they are evading these disciplining forces. Thus, the Great Enshittening we are living through doesn't reflect an increase in the wickedness of corporate leadership. Rather, it represents a moment in which each of these disciplining factors have been gutted by specific policies.

This is good news, actually. We used to put down rat poison and we didn't have a rat problem. Then we stopped putting down rat poison and rats are eating us alive. That's not a nice feeling, but at least we know at least one way of addressing it – we can start putting down poison again. That is, we can start enforcing the rules that we stopped enforcing, in living memory. Having a terrible problem is no fun, but the best kind of terrible problem to have is one that you know a solution to.

As it happens, Chamberlain is a neat microcosm for all the bad policy choices that created the Era of Enshittification. Let's go through them:

Competition: Chamberlain doesn't have to worry about competition, because it is owned by a private equity fund that "rolled up" all of Chamberlain's major competitors into a single, giant firm. Most garage-door opener brands are actually Chamberlain, including "LiftMaster, Chamberlain, Merlin, and Grifco":

https://www.lakewoodgaragedoor.biz/blog/the-history-of-garage-door-openers

This is a pretty typical PE rollup, and it exploits a bug in US competition law called "Antitrust's Twilight Zone":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

When companies buy each other, they are subject to "merger scrutiny," a set of guidelines that the FTC and DoJ Antitrust Division use to determine whether the outcome is likely to be bad for competition. These rules have been pretty lax since the Reagan administration, but they've currently being revised to make them substantially more strict:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-and-ftc-seek-comment-draft-merger-guidelines

One of the blind spots in these merger guidelines is an exemption for mergers valued at less than $101m. Under the Hart-Scott-Rodino Act, these fly under the radar, evading merger scrutiny. That means that canny PE companies can roll up dozens and dozens of standalone businesses, like funeral homes, hospital beds, magic mushrooms, youth addiction treatment centers, mobile home parks, nursing homes, physicians’ practices, local newspapers, or e-commerce sellers:

http://www.economicliberties.us/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/Serial-Acquisitions-Working-Paper-R4-2.pdf

By titrating the purchase prices, PE companies – like Blackstone, owners of Chamberlain and all the other garage-door makers – can acquire a monopoly without ever raising a regulatory red flag.

But antitrust enforcers aren't helpless. Under (the long dormant) Section 7 of the Clayton Act, competition regulators can block mergers that lead to "incipient monopolization." The incipiency standard prevented monopolies from forming from 1914, when the Clayton Act passed, until the Reagan administration. We used to put down rat poison, and we didn't have rats. We stopped, and rats are gnawing our faces off. We still know where the rat poison is – maybe we should start putting it down again.

On to regulation. How is it possible for Chamberlain to sell you a garage-door opener that has an API and works with your chosen home automation system, and then unilaterally confiscate that valuable feature? Shouldn't regulation protect you from this kind of ripoff?

It should, but it doesn't. Instead, we have a bunch of regulations that protect Chamberlain from you. Think of binding arbitration, which allows Chamberlain to force you to click through an "agreement" that takes away your right to sue them or join a class-action suit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

But regulation could protect you from Chamberlain. Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act allows the FTC to ban any "unfair and deceptive" conduct. This law has been on the books since 1914, but Section 5 has been dormant, forgotten and unused, for decades. The FTC's new dynamo chair, Lina Khan, has revived it, and is use it like a can-opener to free Americans who've been trapped by abusive conduct:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

Khan's used Section 5 powers to challenge privacy invasions, noncompete clauses, and other corporate abuses – the bait-and-switch tactics of Chamberlain are ripe for a Section 5 case. If you buy a gadget because it has five features and then the vendor takes two of them away, they are clearly engaged in "unfair and deceptive" conduct.

On to capability. Since time immemorial, corporate leaders have fetishized "flexibility" in their business arrangements – like the ability to do "dynamic pricing" that changes how much you pay for something based on their guess about how much you are willing to pay. But this impulse to play shell games runs up against the hard limits of physical reality: grocers just can't send an army of rollerskated teenagers around the store to reprice everything as soon as a wealthy or desperate-looking customer comes through the door. They're stuck with crude tactics like doubling the price of a flight that doesn't include a Saturday stay as a way of gouging business travelers on an expense account.

With any shell-game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Corporate crooks armed with computers aren't smarter or more wicked than their analog forebears, but they are faster. Digital tools allow companies to alter the "business logic" of their services from instant to instant, in highly automated ways:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

The monopoly coalition has successfully argued that this endless "twiddling" should not be constrained by privacy, labor or consumer protection law. Without these constraints, corporate twiddlers can engage in all kinds of ripoffs, like wage theft and algorithmic wage discrimination:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Twiddling is key to the Darth Vader MBA ("I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further"), in which features are confiscated from moment to moment, without warning or recourse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

There's no reason to accept the premise that violating your privacy, labor rights or consumer rights with a computer is so different from analog ripoffs that existing laws don't apply. The unconstrained twiddling of digital ripoff artists is a plague on billions of peoples' lives, and any enforcer who sticks up for our rights will have an army of supporters behind them.

Finally, there's the fear of self-help measures. All the digital flexibility that tech companies use to take value away can be used to take it back, too. The whole modern history of digital computers is the history of "adversarial interoperability," in which the sleazy antifeatures of established companies are banished through reverse-engineering, scraping, bots and other forms of technological guerrilla warfare:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interoperability represents a serious threat to established business. If you're a printer company gouging on toner, your customers might defect to a rival that jailbreaks your security measures. That's what happened to Lexmark, who lost a case against the toner-refilling company Static Controls, which went on to buy Lexmark:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/felony-contempt-business-model-lexmarks-anti-competitive-legacy

Sure, your customers are busy and inattentive and you can degrade the quality of your product a lot before they start looking for ways out. But once they cross that threshold, you can lose them forever. That's what happened to Microsoft: the company made the tactical decision to produce a substandard version of Office for the Mac in a drive to get Mac users to switch to Windows. Instead, Apple made Iwork (Pages, Numbers and Keynote), which could read and write every Office file, and Mac users threw away Office, the only Microsoft product they owned, permanently severing their relationship to the company:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Today, companies can operate without worrying about this kind of self-help measure. There' a whole slew of IP rights that Chamberlain can enforce against you if you try to fix your garage-door opener yourself, or look to a competitor to sell you a product that restores the feature they took away:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Jailbreaking your Chamberlain gadget in order to make it answer to a rival's app involves bypassing a digital lock. Trafficking in a tool to break a digital lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine.

In other words, it's not just that tech isn't regulated, allowing for endless twiddling against your privacy, consumer rights and labor rights. It's that tech is badly regulated, to permit unlimited twiddling by tech companies to take away your rightsand to prohibit any twiddling by you to take them back. The US government thumbs the scales against you, creating a regime that Jay Freeman aptly dubbed "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

All kinds of companies have availed themselves of this government-backed superpower. There's DRM – digital locks, covered by DMCA 1201 – in powered wheelchairs:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair

In dishwashers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/03/cassette-rewinder/#disher-bob

In treadmills:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/22/vapescreen/#jane-get-me-off-this-crazy-thing

In tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

It should come as no surprise to learn that Chamberlain has used DMCA 1201 to block interoperable garage door opener components:

https://scholarship.law.marquette.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1233&context=iplr

That's how we arrived at this juncture, where a company like Chamberlain can break functionality its customers value highly, solely to eke out a minuscule new line of revenue by selling ads on their own app.

Chamberlain bought all its competitors.

Chamberlain operates in a regulatory environment that is extremely tolerant of unfair and deceptive practices. Worse: they can unilaterally take away your right to sue them, which means that if regulators don't bestir themselves to police Chamberlain, you are shit out of luck.

Chamberlain has endless flexibility to unilaterally alter its products' functionality, in fine-grained ways, even after you've purchased them.

Chamberlain can sue you if you try to exercise some of that same flexibility to protect yourself from their bad practices.

Combine all four of those factors, and of course Chamberlain is going to enshittify its products. Every company has had that one weaselly asshole at the product-planning table who suggests a petty grift like breaking every one of the company's customers' property to sell a few ads. But historically, the weasel lost the argument to others, who argued that making every existing customer furious would affect the company's bottom line, costing it sales and/or fines, and prompting customers to permanently sever their relationship with the company by seeking out and installing alternative software. Take away all the constraints on a corporation's worst impulses, and this kind of conduct is inevitable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

This isn't limited to Chamberlain. Without the discipline of competition, regulation, self-help measures or technological limitations, every industry in undergoing wholesale enshittification. It's not a coincidence that Chamberlain's grift involves a push to move users into its app. Because apps can't be reverse-engineered and modified without risking DMCA 1201 prosecution, forcing a user into an app is a tidy and reliable way to take away that user's rights.

Think about ad-blocking. One in four web users has installed an ad-blockers ("the biggest boycott in world history" -Doc Searls). Zero app users have installed app-blockers, because they don't exist, because making one is a felony. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to defend yourself against corporate predation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/27/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse/

The temptation to enshitiffy isn't new, but the ability to do so without consequence is a modern phenomenon, the intersection of weak policy enforcement and powerful technology. Your car is autoenshittified, a rolling rent-seeking platform that spies on you and price-gouges you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

Cars are in an uncontrolled skid over Enshittification Cliff. Honda, Toyota, VW and GM all sell cars with infotainment systems that harvest your connected phone's text-messages and send them to the corporation for data-mining. What's more, a judge in Washington state just ruled that this is legal:

https://therecord.media/class-action-lawsuit-cars-text-messages-privacy

While there's no excuse for this kind of sleazy conduct, we can reasonably anticipate that if our courts would punish companies for engaging in it, they might be able to resist the temptation. No wonder Mozilla's latest Privacy Not Included research report called cars "the worst product category we have ever reviewed":

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/articles/its-official-cars-are-the-worst-product-category-we-have-ever-reviewed-for-privacy/

I mean, Nissan tries to infer facts about your sex life and sells those inferences to marketing companies:

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/nissan/

But the OG digital companies are the masters of enshittification. Microsoft has been at this game for longer than anyone, and every day brings a fresh way that Microsoft has worsened its products without fear of consequence. The latest? You can't delete your OneDrive account until you provide an acceptable explanation for your disloyalty:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/11/8/23952878/microsoft-onedrive-windows-close-app-notification

It's tempting to think that the cruelty is the point, but it isn't. It's almost never the point. The point is power and money. Unscrupulous businesses have found ways to make money by making their products worse since the industrial revolution. Here's Jules Dupuis, writing about 19th century French railroads:

It is not because of the few thousand francs which would have to be spent to put a roof over the third-class carriages or to upholster the third-class seats that some company or other has open carriages with wooden benches. What the company is trying to do is to prevent the passengers who can pay the second class fare from traveling third class; it hits the poor, not because it wants to hurt them, but to frighten the rich. And it is again for the same reason that the companies, having proved almost cruel to the third-class passengers and mean to the second-class ones, become lavish in dealing with first-class passengers. Having refused the poor what is necessary, they give the rich what is superfluous.

https://www.tumblr.com/mostlysignssomeportents/731357317521719296/having-refused-the-poor-what-is-necessary-they

But as bad as all this is, let me remind you about the good part: we know how to stop companies from enshittifying their products. We know what disciplines their conduct: competition, regulation, capability and self-help measures. Yes, rats are gnawing our eyeballs, but we know which rat-poison to use, and where to put it to control those rats.

Competition, regulation, constraint and self-help measures all backstop one another, and while one or a few can make a difference, they are most powerful when they're all mobilized in concert. Think of the failure of the EU's landmark privacy law, the GDPR. While the GDPR proved very effective against bottom-feeding smaller ad-tech companies, the worse offenders, Meta and Google, have thumbed their noses at it.

This was enabled in part by the companies' flying an Irish flag of convenience, maintaining the pretense that they have to be regulated in a notorious corporate crime-haven:

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

That let them get away with all kinds of shenanigans, like ignoring the GDPR's requirement that you should be able to easily opt out of data-collection without having to go through cumbersome "cookie consent" dialogs or losing access to the service as punishment for declining to be tracked.

As the noose has tightened around these surveillance giants, they're continuing to play games. Meta now says that the only way to opt out of data-collection in the EU is to pay for the service:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/30/markets-remaining-irrational/#steins-law

This is facially illegal under the GDPR. Not only are they prohibited from punishing you for opting out of collection, but the whole scheme ignores the nature of private data collection. If Facebook collects the fact that you and I are friends, but I never opted into data-collection, they have violated the GDPR, even if you were coerced into granting consent:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/11/the-pay-or-consent-challenge-for-platform-regulators.html

The GDPR has been around since 2016 and Google and Meta are still invading 500 million Europeans' privacy. This latest delaying tactic could add years to their crime-spree before they are brought to justice.

But most of this surveillance is only possible because so much of how you interact with Google and Meta is via an app, and an app is just a web-page that's a felony to make an ad-blocker for. If the EU were to legalize breaking DRM – repealing Article 6 of the 2001 Copyright Directive – then we wouldn't have to wait for the European Commission to finally wrestle these two giant companies to the ground. Instead, EU companies could make alternative clients for all of Google and Meta's services that don't spy on you, without suffering the fate of OG App, which tried this last winter and was shut down by "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

Enshittification is demoralizing. To quote @wilwheaton, every update to the services we use inspires "dread of 'How will this complicate things as I try to maintain privacy and sanity in a world that demands I have this thing to operate?'"

https://wilwheaton.tumblr.com/post/698603648058556416/cory-doctorow-if-you-see-this-and-have-thoughts

But there are huge natural constituencies for the four disciplining forces that keep enshittification at bay.

Remember, Antitrust's Twilight Zone doesn't just allow rollups of garage-door opener companies – it's also poison for funeral homes, hospital beds, magic mushrooms, youth addiction treatment centers, mobile home parks, nursing homes, physicians’ practices, local newspapers, or e-commerce sellers.

The Binding Arbitration scam that stops Chamberlain customers from suing the company also stops Uber drivers from suing over stolen wages, Turbotax customers from suing over fraud, and many other victims of corporate crime from getting a day in court.

The failure to constrain twiddling to protect privacy, labor rights and consumer rights enables a host of abuses, from stalking, doxing and SWATting to wage theft and price gouging:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

And Felony Contempt of Business Model is used to screw you over every time you refill your printer, run your dishwasher, or get your Iphone's screen replaced.

The actions needed to halt and reverse this enshittification are well understood, and the partisans for taking those actions are too numerous to count. It's taken a long time for all those individuals suffering under corporate abuses to crystallize into a movement, but at long last, it's happening.

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/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #52 – The Mercy of Gods by James S. A. Corey

Introduction

I have never technically read any of Corey’s work before, but I really loved all the seasons of the Expanse I’ve seen. So, as it would be months and months before I could actually get a copy from the library, this is the rare book I actually bought off the strength of the blurb. Even rarer, this actually worked out! This is genuinely quite good, meaty, even fairly original space opera!

On the world of Anjiin, a human civilization has developed from the ruins of some prehistoric colonization mission that ended in atomic fire, their origins a matter of theology and myth. Through blatant nepotism (his aunt is a very important administrator whose made his career her way of honoring her dead sister), Dafyd Alkhor is a research assistant on the most prestigious and celebrated lab/project on the planet – a successful attempt to bridge the gap between the native plant life of the planet and the earth-descended life humanity brought with it. But even as everyone’s enjoying their moment in the limelight, the project is in danger of being split up, the credit and prestige a juicy enough prize for the academic politics to get vicious. And then there’s Dafyd’s rather poorly hidden crush on Else, a much more senior scientist and also the Team Lead’s girlfriend. Everything begins to come to a head, and then-

Well, and then aliens invade. The Carryx and their servitor-species more-or-less effortlessly destroy every human attempt to resist, and then execute one eighth of the population where they stand. Like some massive, chitinous, latter-day Assyrian Empire, they then sort through and abduct a few hundreds or thousands of humanity’s administrative and intellectual elites. Hostages to bring to one of their world-palaces to live at their pleasure and prove their worth as subjects until a place in imperial society can be decided for them – with ‘mass grave’ being an entirely plausibly option if they fail to please. Dafyd, honestly a pretty shit scientist but a natural courtier and schemer, then finds himself desperately trying to understand the Carryx actually want from humanity, and why they refuse to communicate any of it.

Complicity and Collaboration

So this is overwhelmingly a novel about how to react to subjugation – of different emotional and trauma responses to seeing your loved ones killed to make a point, to seeing everything you know destroyed in the space of an afternoon, to being forced into an overcrowded ship and sent to a terrifying new world where your life is valued exactly in proportion to your captors' whims. As the novel reaches its climax, it becomes increasingly about the morality of fawning, servile collaboration and nobly suicidal resistance – of whether it’s better to live kneeling or die standing, essentially.

This is one of very few books I can ever remember reading that make a big dramatic point of that question, and then come down on the side of ‘live kneeling, bide your time until you’ve earned their trust and know enough to stab the knife somewhere vital’. Partially just because every other genre story in the world does stack the deck towards resistance (making victory an almost foregone conclusion if people just have the courage to fight) and this does in the opposite direction (‘resistance’ would be at best a few spectacular terrorist attacks before they’re all hunted down and executed, the first thing the rest of humanity would know of their noble fight is when the retaliatory genocide starts), but still.

I found the start of chapter epigraphs a greater flaw, honestly – they’re quotations from an imprisoned Carryx after some future fall of the empire, who lays the blame squarely on humanity. I’m sure this is building up to some lovely dramatic irony in future books (and is a fun window to Carryx state ideology), but the constant reassurance that the plan works and isn’t just a rationalization for surrender really does drain some of the moral stakes out of the question, you know? From a dilemma with genuinely unclear outcome to just a particularly cruel and slimy trolley problem. Which I mean, still juicy character drama! I did enjoy it.

As Space Opera

There are many works of SFF which are, frankly, setting bibles with an excuse of a story stapled on out of obligation. This isn’t one of them, but it is a book written by people who clearly enjoyed the worldbuilding for its own sake and were always looking for little excuses to show off a bit of it. This is probably clearest with Anjiin – from a plotting perspective, they could have sketched out the basics of the world in a paragraph, assuming they didn’t just use some vague future Earth or Mars instead. But Anjiin actually feels like a fully realized world with its own politics and hypocrisies, its own culture and theology, and (especially) its own beautiful and profoundly alien landscapes and architectures. The last thing makes the book’s job much harder, really – the sense of shock and alienation (as well as a guilty sort of curious wonder) at the Carryx world-palace is vital to the book, making the home the cast is stolen away from so strange and unfamiliar as well can only make it harder to evoke in the reader.

The book spends something like the first fifty pages on Anjiin before the Carryx arrive – before (almost) anyone have the slightest idea they exist – introducing the main cast and their dynamics, sketching out their daily lives, and grounding Anjiin a real, vibrant place that it’s possible to get properly attached to. Vitally, it’s not a world without conflict – Dafyd et al spend the entire time embroiled in high stakes academic intrigues and interpersonal dramas, of a kind that could easily sustain a book on their own. This was a big part of why the book worked so well for me, I think – the loss of Anjiin felt like a loss, the cutting off of possibilities I wanted to see play out, the execution of characters I enjoyed seeing on the page. Given how often these sorts of stories can (unintentionally or no) read ‘and then they were whisked from boring mundanity with dramatic fireworks accompanying them’, I’m glad the book spent the wordcount on it.

The Carryx needed to really overawe and impress, which I think the book mostly manages. Their society seems both plausible and viscerally alien. The book does a neat job of obscuring the exact border between their (weird and fascinating) biology and their obsessively eugenic imperial ideology, in a way that seems very fitting given that both the characters we spend any time with at all are middle/lower-middle ranking strategists and overseers in the imperial project.

This is very much an empire which starts with the iron fist and only bothers mentioning the existence of carrots after a new subject population is brutalized and terrified into full submission. Their ideology is a half-step short of pure power worship, and makes no excuses butchering and exterminating to make the world more convenient for them – none of them ever refer to other species as anything but ‘animals’. This isn’t an empire that tries to convert and persuade – but then, it’s not one that needs to.

The world-palace and assembled ranks of other species gathered in it does an excellent job of being genuinely awe-inspiring even for the characters who hate every solitary thing about it. One great advantage of written science fiction over more visual media is that there’s no real need to make your aliens humanoid or relatable-looking, and Corey takes full advantage of it to fill the prison camp with dozens of memorable, different species – absolute none of which could be played by an actor in makeup.

Of course, those aliens are mostly just set dressing – with the exception of one species of primates that humanity is placed into competition with that ends up in a mutually escalating and quite bloody vendetta – the only alien species represented by actual characters with names and points of view are the Carryx and the infiltration-swarm sent by their great enemy to get scooped up along with humanity and gather information about their inner workings. It does this by consuming and possessing one of the main cast, and the book has great fun keeping coy about who for half the book while still using it as a secondary Point of View. Even more than the Carryx, it does a good job of coming across as both genuinely alien (probably because it is an alien-ness in conversation with the humanity of the two hosts it has assimilated) while still being an incredibly compelling character.

Characterization

Dafyd has a habit/nervous tic of looking for people’s ‘pathological behavior’ – the habits and tendencies they default onto in situations of high stress or while they feel in danger or powerless. This is, then, the lens the book invites as far as its characters go. Every one one of them spends the vast majority of the book cycling from one trauma response to another, and each is probably mostly characterized by the way they respond and the things they fixate on as their world is destroyed and they reckon with their own powerlessness. Fixate on the research the Carryx want and at to try and pretend life is still recognizable, or get angrier and angrier and jump at the first chance to justify beating some other inmates to death to feel a bit of agency and control. Plot out a nobly suicidal strike back against your oppressors, or try desperately to understand what they want so you can manipulate them and ensure the survival of you and yours. Or just constantly make off-color and mostly unfunny jokes.

None of it is exactly subtle, but it all rings pretty true, and does a good job making (almost) every cast member compelling and memorable. It helps, I suppose, that we end up spending at least a chapter or two in the head of half the main human cast, and get plenty of careful observation or intimate conversation with the rest. I’m aware some people really despise this sort of POV-hopping in a story (especially when it’s mostly just different perspectives on the same broad events/circumstances) but personally I rather adore it when it’s done well and they each seem both plausible and distinct, which this book easily manages.

In Conversation with the Wider Genre

I am at this point a bit of of a connoisseur of the hyper-specific subgenre of ‘space opera/spec fic more generally deeply concerned imperialism, colonialism, the experience of subjugation, and the internal logics of complicity and collaboration’ – a shelf which its always great to add new works to. I don’t particularly think Mercy was written in direct response to or is actively commenting on any similar works, but it is fascinating to do a bit of a compare/contrast. Well, it is for me, anyway.

Compared to your Memory Called Empire’s and your Imperial Radch’s the most salient really thing is how uncomplicatedly awful the Carryx are. Not that the empires in those books ostensibly aren’t, but they’re simultaneously also cultured, elegant, rich – in a word, alluring. We spend as much or more time on the intricacies of Radachi tea ceremonies and soap operas as we do on their atrocities, and even that makes the messy brutality of imperialism far more foregrounded relative to the seductive beauty of salon poetry and monumental architecture than it is in Memory. Mercy, in contrast, mostly shows the awe-inspiring beauty of the Carryx world palaces through the windows of a prison-camp. It’s there – we even meet the subject-species who were enslaved instead of exterminated because they can architect such wonders – but only really incidentally. The glory of the Carryx is their vastness and their overwhelming might, all the elegance and beauty they have is the fruit of conquest – and more often than not, different subject-species are introduced with hints or notes of how much more they were, before they were crushed and carved into something the empire could use. (This is almost certainly related to the fact that the only point of view we get whose at all a native or wiling agent of the empire is very minor, and clearly a villain without much in the day of redeeming or morally interesting features).

The better comparison is really Exordia. Or maybe I’m only saying that because it’s the one I read this year, and thus the one whose interesting little complications are at least somewhat clear in my head. Better put, Mercy is exactly the story Clayton from Exordia thought he was in. In both the empire is both alien and undisguised in its malice (two things that are probably related, really), in both the empire doesn’t feel any need to understand or integrate humanity, when overwhelming superiority in technology, scale, and availability of coercive force allow it to just threaten and brutalize until it gets what it wants. The humans in Exordia are just both more and less lucky. Less, because their alien invaders are even more monomaniacally (indeed, metaphysically) malevolent to the point that even being their willing accomplice only buys hours to days of life. More, because they have an ancient relic of a plot device buried in the mountains to give a bit of cause for actual hope in violent resistance (and so a final act of the story concerned with an entirely different suite of messy trolley problems).

It’s an interesting addition to the subgenre anyway – I really can’t recall any other books that have a protagonist collaborating with the empire while not at any point being seduced by it. Well no, that’s a lie – Machinaries of Empire does hit the same beat, just in extraordinarily different ways.

Should Your Read This Book?

The answer is at least partially conditional on how the rest of the series turns out – the narrative absolutely requires sequels, and oh how they could retroactively absolutely ruin it. But with just the one book and a bit of optimism? If the premise seems even slightly intriguing, then absolutely.

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

I wanna know ur HCs for Mod AU jayvik 💕

OOOO this is an interesting one because I usually don't indulge in most modern aus of anything, but I shall try.

ask me about arcane!

Both are graduate students at the academy. Both double-majored in Engineering for undergrad, but Jayce's is Mechanical and Electrical, and Viktor's is Mechanical and Chemical. They are in graduate school for Mechanical Engineering, though. Over-achievers, they are. The school is equivalent to MIT. Or is MIT, technically, if you want to make it USA-centered.

They met in a Thermodynamics class (yes, i had to look up types of classes for this lmao) and became fast friends because everyone else around them was extremely obnoxious and very annoying. They started dating two semesters before Viktor graduated, three before Jayce graduated.

For a few semesters, everyone thought they would be rivals, because they were always trading spots in GPA rankings and scores. Everyone thought the tension they were catching was academic hatred, until a library assistant caught them making out in a study room, and then everyone in the engineering school collectively went "ohhhhh"

Both are at the academy on scholarship, Jayce has a few for welding competitions and even some money from art competitions, and Viktor's schooling is being paid for from essays and whatever grants he can get his hands on. Both are determined to have very little student loans. Viktor is also a graduate assistant to the dean of engineering (similar to canon) which pays for his portion of housing (with Jayce).

Jayce has been offered spots on sports teams all the time. He does not know how to explain he has the coordination of a baby deer on ice. He likes to work out, but it's mostly for long days in the labs and blacksmithing he does, which is something he likes to be traditional for. His excuse is that his schooling and work take up too much time for sports.

Viktor is also an international student, having transferred from his home-country university his sophomore year. He and Jayce (who moved to the city when he was 15 from out of the country) related on this very fast.

Sky, Mel and Elora are all apart of the international student club with Viktor. They are all besties. Caitlyn and Vi are Jayce's friends from home (Caitlyn is his "cousin" and he teases Vi, the GF, all the time) and Catvi are undergrad students. All of them like to meet at the "secret" coffeeshop on campus (aka the one people can never find, because it's in the back of an office building).

Jayce and Viktor organized a sit-in when the campus president and campus board (not Dean of Engineering Heimerdinger) routed money from programs that helped campus-accessibility for students with disabilities to a new stadium. It lasted twenty days, five members quit the board, and the money was routed back to fixing elevators, automatic doors, and providing more covered benches.

Jayce was student-class president his junior year, but stopped working on the student council when it took too much time away from Viktor and his friends. Viktor is thankful for it. (Jayce also ran away screaming from the guys trying to get him to rush for frats).

Both want to start their own company when they graduate, focusing on public health and progress, with things like air and water purifiers, teaming up with medical companies for robotic prosthetics, lung + heart mechanical help.

Viktor got sick the winter between his graduation and what was supposed to be the start of grad school. He was diagnosed with severe acute asthma, pneumonia, but just barely avoided a COPD diagnosis with treatment. He was in the hospital for a month and a half, now takes breathing treatments a few days a week, and goes to doctor appointments once a month.

Jayce was so worried, he almost had to delay his own graduation. Viktor managed to convince him to get it together in time to pass with good marks and keep his spot in his grad cohort, while Viktor had to delay his grad school start by a semester, rather than in the spring like he planned. This is why they are in the same cohort, because Viktor had to start later than planned. (Jayce secretly likes that they have all their classes together, even if he's sad for the reason why).

im sure ill have more at some point, bc it is a little interesting!