#simpler asks like these are easier to answer

[asktotallyhuman]

Maybe you should go ask the Illager why she is the way she is... Or ask her Villager friends why she is different...

"Perhaps they can shed some light on this predicament."

[dead3ve]

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!fem!reader

Summary: After Peter fails English, the teacher pairs him with the English whiz of the class. They, however, are very shy. After several lessons with them, Peter has only just started to gain full sentences from them, but has been pining over them for much longer.

Warnings: Reader uses they/them pronouns. no use of y/n.

Peter was meant to be reading.

He wasn't. He was staring. Listening to their fingers clack on the laptop in front of them.

They turned to him suddenly, seeing the book disregarded underneath Peter's chest as he leaned his head on his hands to look at them.

"Did you finish reading?" They asked, eyes still on the screen of the laptop. They spoke quieter than usual because the pair were in the library. It was unnecessary to Peter; they were already very quiet.

Peter couldn't even find it in himself to lie to them. He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it and opened it again. He released a guilty, breathy chuckle as he shook his head.

"I got halfway; I think." Peter spoke with a laugh still. His neck was warm in embarrassment for being caught ogling the girl.

The girl smiled at him, not minding that he didn't read the work. They passed him their notes and took his book and circled where he was going wrong and provided tips for where he went wrong. They gave Peter their book, hoping he would understand having all the information in front of him. The text was a difficult read. Even for the girl when they were sat next to such a pretty boy.

Peter hadn't really comprehended anything from the girl's book.

There were pretty arrows in all different colors and words that had bubbles and clouds drawn around them. He hadn't even read the summary they had written on the next page. The swirl of their 's' and the curve of their 'o' had made him flustered and distracted.

The girl looked back up once they were ready to give Peter's book back.

"Here." They'd closed the pages over their thumb so Peter could take the book and find the page. Peter liked that. "Tell me what that's about, Peter." They'd asked softly.

"Hm?" Peter looked at them after taking his book back. He gave theirs back gently before he could fake an answer. "It's about people..." He began. Peter then trailed off and looked back down at his pages.

Peter had the same swirls of color and words over his book now. He smiled as he looked at the pages, turning a slight pink in the cheeks. They were somewhat simpler than their notes. They had made it easier for him to understand.

"Anything else, Peter?" The gentle voice interrupted his internal monologue of "I love you".

He looked up at them like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, he had to ask a very important and academic question, so the deer-like daze was broken and turned into a charming smile.

"I think this would be easier if we did it at my place." Peter spoke in a whisper. He lowered his head to meet theirs when they looked away after the flirty statement.

The girl went red. Heat was warming their face from Peter's gaze and smile. They crossed their legs and looked at their laptop. "If I look at Peter for one more second, I think I'll faint." They thought to themself.

Peter mistook it for something else. Something negative and hurtful.

"I didn't mean it like that." He spoke quickly. "I meant so we could do the work at my place." He had taken their hand by that point. Squeezing it in reassurance.

That had disappointed the girl.

"Oh." They released the small noise sadly. "Okay" they closed their laptop and rested their head on their hand that wasn't in Peter's grip. Their eyebrow had knitted together slightly.

Peter's other hand found their face and his thumb met the middle of their brow and softly smoothed it. He didn't think he had flirted that badly.

"If you want, we can ditch the English work and watch a movie." Peter leant down again to meet their gloomy eyes as he whispered to them. The next part was spoken as if it was only for them to hear, "I asked because I thought you liked me..." he was growing quieter in his admission and he broke eye contact with them, growing nervous.

"I do!" They admitted it too loudly, with urgency and surprise. People in the library gave them dirty looks. The silent girl had broken broken the silence. They admitted it quieter the second time, saying, "I like you..." The girl searched for his eyes desperately, "Do you like me, Peter?"

He flicked his head up so urgently, his neck must've hurt. "Yes!" He spoke with a smile drowning the word. Peter squeezed the hand he was holding.

Suddenly, he stood from the table and started to pack up his things, packing them without care, scrunching things into his bag.

The girl was confused. They'd both just told each other they had feelings for one another. Why was this his reaction?

Peter had moved to packing their things, this time with gentle hands. He knew where all of their pencils, pens and highlighters went in their pencil case. He closed their laptop and put it into their case. That was when he looked up at the girl.

"What movie will it be?" He asked. He hadn't realised why the girl had stopped. He was so innocently unaware of the gravity his admission had on the girl.

"You like me, Peter." They were telling themself rather than Peter. They needed the confirmation more. Someone as kind as him had fallen for someone as quiet as them. They needed Peter to show them.

At that, Peter realised his fault. He put down their laptop that was now safely in its flowery laptop case. Peter brought his left hand to their cheek and lightly dragged his thumb across their cheekbone. His right hand had caught their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips.

He then whispered into their hand "I do." He pressed his lips again to their hand Peter then went back to packing their bag. "What was the movie?"

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 12)

A/N: ik it took be forever to post this, pls dont crucify me. I also don't care if we have canon cregan; thats literally not my man

WORD COUNT: 1,078 words

masterlist

You gave him hope. You knew you did and perhaps you shouldn’t have. It would have been easier if you didn’t, but you think you… wanted to? Do you want to have dinner with him?

“Seven hells.” You grumble to Sȳndror after you’ve dismounted. “I suppose I have to eat with him.”

Well, you know you don’t have to. You didn’t even give him proper confirmation, but it’s much simpler to think of it as something you can’t avoid, you decide, making the walk back inside the castle.

“Draw my bath.” You say to Rose as you enter your chambers. “And you’ll need to select a proper evening gown for me today. I’ll be having my supper with Lord Stark.”

“You will?” Your handmaiden asks, looking at you as though you’ve grown a second head.

“I have just said it, haven’t I? Don’t look so bewildered.”

“My apologies.” She curtseys and runs off to start your bath.

When you walk over to the prepared tub, she begins to help you undress. “My apologies for my harsh tone. The situation is simply unusual for me.”

“You never need to apologize, princess. I understand fully.” She finishes undoing your dress and lets the garment drop before also helping you out of your shift.

“I brought him to meet Sȳndror today.” You say wistfully as you step into the perfectly hot bath. Rose always knows just how you like it.

“What prompted that?” She asks carefully, knowing that not even your closest friends have met the beast.

“He caught me watching him train. I wanted to frighten him.” You reply and she giggles.

“I would expect nothing less.” She says and begins to wash your body clean from the smell of dragon. “I also quite like watching the way the northernmen train.”

“There is something unique about the way they move.” You murmur thoughtfully.

“I would say there is something… primal in it.” Rose says with a giggle, clearly thinking about a different adjective in truth.

“Yes, it's very rough.” You muse.

“Did he get along with Sȳndror?” She asks, now running her fingers through your wet hair.

“He is not dead. So, I suppose the answer is yes.” You both giggle.

“Well, I am sure he is appreciative of the honour.”

“He doesn’t quite realize how much of an honour it is.”

“Lord Stark doesn’t know he is the first non-Targaryen you have brought to meet your dragon?” She gives you a slightly bewildered look.

“Of course not. He would be far too pleased with himself if he knew.” You roll your eyes and with your hair washed, you stand, Rose bringing you a robe.

“It is very gracious of you to allow him the meeting nonetheless.” 

“I am known to be gracious.” You reply with a cheeky smile and the both of you giggle.

“I am excited that you’ll be getting more wear out of your evening gowns.” Rose says as she throws open the doors of your closet. “This one could be most suitable.” She holds out a stormy grey dress and you scoff.

“There’s no way in the Seven Hells i’m wearing Stark colours.”

“But it would make him go positively insane.” Rose muses.

“I’ll have one of my black and red gowns.” You say, ignoring her. “The one with the sleeves that Baela adores.”

“Oh, that will be a splendid choice. Lord Stark has never seen you in a proper evening gown. This one will make for a strong start.” She admires the dress in the cupboard before fetching your small clothes.

When you’re dressed, you look nothing short of phenomenal. 

“He may faint from the sight of you.”

“I hope he does.” You murmur, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before strutting out of the room. “Come, Ser Robert. I will be suppering with Lord Stark.” You say to the surprised guard as you walk past him.

“You will dine… with your husband, princess?” He asks in a confused tone as he catches up with you.

“Well I just said that, did I not?” You shoot in a snarky tone.

He chuckles. “My apologies. I simply did not realize you enjoyed his company.”

“I am starting to think that I don’t enjoy your company. Perhaps I should get a new protector.” 

“Any man but I will be subpar and that is the second time you have threatened to replace me today, princess. Should I be worried?”

“Not worried. Perhaps just less irritating.” You smile.

“Anything to please her highness.” He responds playfully just before the two of you arrive at one of the smaller dining halls in the castle. The doors are thrust open for you, your protector waiting just outside as you walk in.

Cregan stands when he sees you and immediately makes his way over before bringing your hand up for a kiss. “Princess.” He murmurs, not wanting to seem too casual by using your name (even if you are his wife).

“Lord Stark.” Your formality makes him frown. His own formality also made him frown.

“That dress looks beautiful on you.” He says, wanting to make sure you know he’s complimenting you and not the gown. He couldn’t care less about a few pieces of fabric.

“You are also looking well.” You murmur in response, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before gliding out of his hold and to your seat. You can feel the ghostly touch of his lips on your hand and you see how he lingers for just a moment before sitting down himself.

“How was your ride today?” He asks as you start to plate your food.

“‘Twas as good as it can be. Sȳndror is restless these days. He doesn’t enjoy flying as high as he used to; I think the bite of chill in the air bothers him.”

“I hope that he can settle soon. It will get warmer… in a few months' time.” Cregan tries to help, but the discussion of the passage of time unnerves you. You don’t want to think about how in a few months, you will still be here.

“He isn’t used to being alone.” Neither are you.

“Then we will have to house your brothers for a visit. I know how important family is.” He sees it then, the little glimmer in your eyes at the suggestion. Your husband feels like he’s made you somewhat happy for the first time ever.

“I would like that.”

comment to be added to the taglist

[lululandd]

(unfair);

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

You were lounging on the sofa when you heard the door open. Simon carefully ducked under the frame, avoiding hitting his head as he had twice before.

“Hey.” He greets you in a tired voice, duffel dropped and forgotten by the shoe rack as he takes off his boots.

“Hey.” You replied as neutrally as you could. He shuffled into his room and you asked, “Chinese?”

“Fried rice please.”

“Pork?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t come out to get his food as it was delivered, in fact you think he fell asleep in the bath. You left the food on the table and continued watching your program.

You had a terrible dream of being trapped under a landslide, panic starts settling into your psyche as you begin to have trouble breathing. Opening your eyes, you had a moment of confusion as to when you had decided to turn the tv off and fall asleep. Unable to will your arm to grab your phone, you thought sleep paralysis had taken hold; but with a little look around reveals Simon lying on top of you.

“You’re heavy.” You hear yourself say.

His reply was immediate. “Yeah.” He wasn’t asleep.

The silence feels like it stretched on longer than it actually is. “You wanna say a thing or two about work?”

“Sucks.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Go back to sleep, love.”

You hated this. He blurs the line between roommate and something significantly more. You try to ignore the painful thoughts, opting to let sleep overtake you again.

The alarm startled you awake this time. Disoriented and confused, you couldn’t remember when you moved to your bed from the sofa, but the heavy presence behind you answered the question.

“Stay.” he mumbled onto your skin as you tried to dislodge yourself from his hold.

“I got work, Simon.”

“And I just got home.”

“Is that how I’m supposed to call it in today? Sorry guv, can’t make it this mornin’ cos my roommate’s home from deployment. Cheers.” 

“Quit.” He murmured, into your hair this time, his hold fastening against your torso and getting very close to cupping your chest.

Time seems to slow down for Simon as you untangle yourself from his hold. It was borderline painful for him to feel your small fingers dig into his bigger ones as you set yourself free. He watched you in muted fascination as you go about the room to get ready, the elaborate way you clip your hair up before going in the bath, how your arse comes in and out of view as you washed your face in the tiny bathroom sink, the way you shyly go about the room to get dressed; as if Simon hasn’t seen it laid bare underneath him.

He knows its unhealthy, but he stays even when he knows it’s hurting you. The man has wasted money paying for his own flat and half of yours. The kitchen sink in his flat drips, his bedroom light flickers, and the front door creaks badly. He makes sure everything in your flat works though. Your dishwasher no longer makes squeaking noises, he tightens your wobbly ceiling fan, and religiously checks the locks on the doors and windows. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t tried to go and live on his own place only to come running back to yours even before the night is over.

Life seems to be simpler with you around, his thoughts easier to manage. There's something addicting about your presence, your warmth, and your smile that he would never admit aloud.

His heart dreads the day you would ask him to clarify his boundaries, and selfishly hopes it would never come.

[swappingforgood]

All in a days work. Pt 1

Do you ever feel like life would be better if you weren’t doing the thing you were doing? Or, of course, you would answer yes, we as humans are creatures who always want what we don’t have. What do I want? I want an easier life, a simpler life; I want to live. You see I’m what you might call the 1% of the social class.

I inherited my father’s company when I was 25, and I have been working for a long “hard-earned” 30 yes. Now, why would I, the wealthy CEO of a successful company, wish for anything different? Im bored. I didn’t get to live; I didn’t get to get hammered and wake up hungover on the streets or have work at a fast food job. I didn’t even get to come out as gay; I had to hide it and keep it on the down low and only sleep with guys who were too scared to speak up and ruin my status. I was miserable. Considering my age, my team decided to hire an intern. Cute kid, I will say; he got the looks, the nice bod, the adorable face. He didn’t know much, and he respected and admired me. Tsk, if he only knew I would rather be him. I would quit immediately if I had his body and go experiment and do everything I wanted to do. I got an email sent to me by an anonymous sender who simply went by “S” and told me that they can make my wish come true; I would just need to follow certain steps. 1. I would need to get the person I want to swap with to agree. 2. I would then need to swallow their DNA. 3. Have sex to make it permanent. After reading that email, my cock hiding in my fat pad immediately got hard, and I called my intern. “Hey Tanner, come here,” I said as he locked the door behind him. “Yes Sir?” He asked cutely as his voice cracked from the nerves. "Oh, please kid, call me Bruce; you’ve known me long enough. You see, you’ve been working very hard. I’m very proud of you,” I said as I approached him and cornered him with my larger body as I kneeled and put my hand on his crotch. “I wanna make you feel good, okay? You earned it,” I said with a grin as the young man moaned as I unzipped his pants and saw his young cock bounce out. I immediately wrapped my mouth around it and made sure to swirl my tongue around his head to make him whine before pulling back. “Hey kid, you ever wish you had my job?” I said as he looked at me with lust. “Yes b-Bruce. I would love to be you and have your job,” I grinned as I agreed before returning to his young cock. Enticing him until I hear him whimpering before feeling a hot load hitting my mouth, and then my vision went black. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[yuurei20]

hi ! do we know whats considered easy / hard magic ? as in like what is considered beginner level magic and what is considered malleus draconia level magic

Hello hello, thank you so much for this question!

I went through the game and collected all examples of non-unique, non-artifact, non-flight-magic that I could find, and there was a lot! So much that this answer is going to be separated into four parts m(_ _)m Apologies for any inconvenience!

First are the magics that seem to be easier than others: Color-Change Magic, Fireworks, Flames, Ice, Levitation, Basic Construction, Cooking

Color-Change Magic:

Sebek describes color-change magic as being extremely basic, saying that is is one of the first things that human mages learn upon entering school.

Floyd calls it a "baby magic," and Vil tells Jade a story about using it to change the color of his and his father's clothing to avoid paparazzi shortly after he enrolled at NRC and before he was able to do more complex spells.

Cater asks Ace, Deuce and Grim to use color-change magic on their first day of school before they have attended a single class, apparently assuming that they would already know how to do it, but Deuce and Grim both struggle (as does Ace in a vignette).

Fireworks:

Grim is capable of creating an impressive fireworks display, as are Deuce and Ruggie, and none of the three are known for being particularly adept students or mages.

Flames:

Jamil talks about using fire magic when he was still "a literal child," and both Grim and Epel also use fire magic in the game.

Ice:

Deuce seems capable of using ice magic, despite still being a first-year student.

Levitation:

Deuce also seems fairly adept at levitation, and Kalim says that getting a parrot feather to float was the first magic he ever did.

Levitation might have been an early form of magic for Epel as well: he says that he was moving crates of apples with magic prior to enrolling at NRC.

Grim struggles with levitating chairs in a vignette, but this seems to be less of an issue with the magic itself and more a problem with precision (more on this later 👀).

Crowley recommends that the students eject Magicam Monsters via levitation during Halloween, so he may expect that they are all capable of using it.

Simple Construction:

Ace creates a surfboard with ease during the Stitch event, so simple construction projects may not be too high level.

Cooking:

Not known for being one of the more talented students at the school, Kalim still seems to be able to cook with magic.

Uncertain: Summoning, Wind and Attacks

Summoning:

Deuce has been summoning cauldrons since before enrolling at NRC. Ace attempts to mimic him in Book 3 but says, "summoning magic ain't my strongest suit," so it is possible that this is just a particular strength of Deuce's rather than an overall easier magic (or maybe a particular weakness for Ace?).

Wind:

Ace has been using wind magic since the prologue, but it is a little unclear if it is a simpler magic for beginners overall or if Ace just happens to be particularly adept at it. It is possible that Jamil is the only other person we have seen use wind magic.

Attacks:

Even the magic-school-dropout in Book 5 is capable of using magic for attacks, so basic "attack magic" seems to be a fairly simple ability.

But the attacks we see in the game tend to be vague! Are the characters using things like wind, water and fire and it just isn't being specified? Or is there something else going on?

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman - Part 1

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe : Military School

Summary : Ona has to leave Barcelona against her will because her mother decided to sent her to a school in Manchester.

Words : 4k

Masterlist

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Monday, October 5; 6:45 AM - Home.

« Get up, Onii!!! ��

I jump when a little bundle pounces on me, screaming. I groan into my pillow as he laughs in my ears before getting off my back. I turn over as quickly as possible to catch him before he runs away. The surprise rings in my ears even before his shrill scream, but I don't let go of him.

« Joan... » I begin in the calmest voice I can manage. « How many times have I asked you not to wake me up like this? »

« Mmmmmh... »he pretends to think. « I don't remember! »

« You'll see! »

A mix of cries and laughter fills the room as I attack him with tickles along her ribs. He tries to struggle, but I'm far too strong for him.

« St-stop », he says between laughs. « P-Please... Oniii! »

« Ona, let go of your little brother. He'll be late otherwise! » my mother reprimands me as she passes by my bedroom door.

« You're lucky this time! »

I release him and get out of bed to go to my closet. I sigh when I see that a large number of clothes are missing.

« Are you taking me to school this morning? »

I turn around to see my little brother watching me from the edge of the bed where he's sitting. He's so innocent. He makes me want to go back to when I was his age. Everything was simpler. It's rather ironic, considering he keeps telling me he wishes he were as big as I am. My many discussions about my departure don't seem to have sunk in, given his question. I'm afraid he'll hold it against me over time, as this isn't the first time I've left home. I approach him, crouching down to his level. His doe eyes and sad expression don't make it any easier to say what I need to, but I go ahead anyway.

« Joan... » We've already talked about this. You know it's not possible.

« But I don't want you to leave! » he raises his voice. « You just got back... »

I tense up when he lowers his head to hide his sorrow from me. I feel so guilty for causing him so much pain. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in all this mess. I gently stroke his cheek to encourage him to lift his head.

He makes a pout that could melt anyone's heart, mine first and foremost.

« I'm sorry, little heart... I'm really sorry for putting you through all this. You know that if I could stay, I would. You know that, right? »

« I don't want you to leave! » he shouts again. « Stay, please. »

Now he's crying, which only makes me feel worse. His tears bring tears to my own eyes. I hold him as tightly as I can and stroke his hair to soothe his sadness.

Joan is undeniably my weakness in all this. I feel so guilty about leaving again. I have to stay strong and hide my feelings to avoid making his reaction worse. If it were up to me, I would stay. I resent my mother for sending me to that damn school thousands of miles away. It cuts me off from the few loved ones I have left.

« When will you come back? »

« I have no idea », I shrug. « We'll see. Anyway, I'll call you regularly. »

« Promise? »

« Of course, if I'm allowed to, I will. »

« Is it very strict there? »

If there's one thing I don't like about kids, it's their curiosity. They just keep asking questions and can ask the same one ten times to get an answer. It's not so bad, but in my situation, it's annoying because I don't have the answers myself. He just reminds me why I've been stressed all week since the news broke.

« Well, you know what? » I change the subject. « If we hurry, I'll try to negotiate with Mom to take you to school before I leave. »

« Really? » He smiles with all his teeth.

« Of course! I just have to make sure I don't miss my flight. If we leave a bit earlier, I can drop you off before going to the airport. »

« YAY! »

I laugh at his excitement. I help him get dressed so he can quickly head downstairs. His departure allows me to clean up his mess and get myself ready more peacefully. Fifteen minutes later, I join him downstairs.

Dressed and with makeup on. I find him in the large dining room talking with his father and our mother. I don't bother to stop and head straight to the kitchen. I sit on a high chair behind the bar that faces the kitchen. I smile when I see a cup of hot chocolate and a freshly prepared pastry waiting for me.

« Good morning, Sam. »

« Oh, hi Ona. »

He moves to the counter so we can be face-to-face and chat while I enjoy my breakfast. I've had this habit since... well, since he started working here, to be honest. Samuel has been our cook for a few years now. We're almost the same age, give or take five years. His dishes are truly outstanding. I'll really miss them. They say the food in boarding schools isn't very good.

« So, you'll take me to school then? »

« What's this about now? » asks my mother, entering the room with Joan.

« I told him I'd drop him off if we leave a bit earlier. »

« Did you really have to tell him that? » she snaps.

« It's the last time I'll see him for a long time, you could make an effort. »

I maintain my gaze firmly. She eventually capitulates with a sigh. I suppress a smile that could change her mind. I always win when it comes to staring contests. I'm proud to have irritated her, but even more proud to have won.

« Fine, hurry up then. »

« Yay! »

My brother knows how to lighten the mood. I take a sip from my cup to hide my amusement as he dashes out of the kitchen, with my mother chasing after him, yelling to be careful on the stairs.

« Tough leaving, huh? » asks Sam.

« Not really. The hardest part is leaving Joan. Take care of him for me, please. »

« Don't worry about that. He'll be fine, unlike you », he says through gritted teeth.

« I'll be fine too », I assure him.

« I hope so. It would be nice to see you alive again », he jokes. 

I roll my eyes with a smirk. We've always had a good relationship. At first, I even thought he had a thing for me. I realized it was a mistake later when I found out he was dating this guy named Paolo. I had a good laugh. As a lesbian I was surprised that Samuel was gay too.

« Shall we go, Oni ? »

I turn to Joan, who has returned with his backpack on. The time for goodbyes has come. I smile at my brother and get up to put my empty cup in the sink. Then, I walk over to Sam and give him a tight hug.

"It's all going to be okay, you'll see," he reassures me.

"I'll try to call. Can you put Joan on when you get the chance?" I ask.

"Promise. I really hate goodbyes," he adds, pulling me back into his embrace.

I laugh, playfully tapping his shoulder when I notice his teary eyes. It's touching since I've never seen him cry. I leave before I end up in the same state. I miss Sofia, my governess, who has a day off today. I said goodbye to her yesterday, but it's not the same. She's a bit like my second mom. She always knew how to lend a listening ear when I needed it. I go up to my room to check that I haven't forgotten anything. I also stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I'm sure everything's in order, I put on my jacket, grab my bag, and take one last look at my room. It's time to leave if I want to take Joan to school, so I head down the stairs without rushing.

Hector has put your suitcase in the trunk," my mother informs me as she waits. "Do you have your ticket? »

"Yeah," I reply, patting my pockets to double-check.

"A taxi will drop you off at the school."

I half-listen to my mother's final instructions about my arrival at my new life. I look up when I realize she's wrapping up her verbose explanations, which I could have done without.

"Are you going to be okay?" she finally asks.

« Does it really matter to you?" I retort rhetorically, brushing past her to reach the entrance. She sighs behind me as I open the door. It's all her fault anyway. I look at the cobblestone driveway where the car is already prepared with Joan inside. I greet Hector, our driver, who is standing nearby. I descend the stairs and glance to my left at our garden where Marcus is. I give him a small nod. Asshole. He's my mother's boyfriend. He's not entirely to blame, but I've never been able to like him. I avoid looking back at the landing where my mother might play the model mom, waving me off as if I'm going on vacation. I've never liked formalities, so I head to the front seat of the car. Hector has long stopped making remarks about it. He settles in beside me and pulls into traffic once the gate opens. I watch the house recede in the rearview mirror. Here we go... We're on our way. Before starting my new life, we make a stop at Joan's school. Hector wishes him a good day as I step out to walk him to the gate. The hardest moment arrives... I crouch down to his level. He immediately wraps his little arms around me for a hug.

"I don't want you to go," he says softly.

"Look at me, Joan," I ask gently, lifting his chin. "It's going to be okay, alright? I'll come back, don't worry."

"Will you think about me a lot?"

"I'll do nothing else."

"Will you call me?"

"If I'm allowed, I will. I promised you, little one," I say, touching his nose with my finger. "Sam and Sofia will pass you the phone if it's me."

"I'll miss you."

He hugs me again, and I squeeze him as tightly as I can. I kiss his forehead before helping him with his backpack.

"I love you, Ona!"

"I love you too, sweetheart! Now, go play with your friends."

He runs off to join them. I wait until he looks back to wave at him with a smile. I make sure not to show any emotion so that at least one of us is reassured. I turn around when I'm no longer the center of his attention and settle back into the car. Hector starts driving towards the airport without saying a word. Everyone knows these are the toughest goodbyes for me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, handing me a tissue.

I hadn't even realized I was crying. I nod and smile gratefully as I take the tissue. The journey lasts half an hour to reach the airport. I have plenty of time to check in my luggage and go through security before the flight. Hector insisted on accompanying me the whole way, despite my repeated assurances that he didn't need to stay, though I appreciate his presence. Boarding time arrives quickly, and we head there after passing all the checks.

"We'll take care of Joan, don't worry," he tries to reassure me.

"Thank you."

"He's a big boy now, you know."

"Yes, he's grown up so much," I reply with a faint smile.

The intercom interrupts, announcing the boarding call. I turn to my driver, whom I've always appreciated. He's in his forties, but we've always had a special bond. He smiles tenderly, and we share a hug. I take the opportunity to thank him for everything before joining the line that has formed. I teased Sam about his state earlier, but I'm not much better at the moment. At the end of the line, I present my ticket to a hostess who tears off a portion. A security guard beside her checks my navy blue Eastpack once more, then they wish me a safe journey... "Safe journey," my ass, yeah. I move forward without a word for boarding. A second hostess welcomes me onto the plane and helps me find my seat number. Luck seems to be on my side for once. I have a window seat, and my neighbor who arrives shortly after me is an elderly lady. I'll have peace and quiet for the entire journey. I switch my phone to airplane mode. I put my headphone on. Music will help me sleep since I have two hours to kill. I start my music just as the intercom instructs us to fasten our seatbelts because takeoff is imminent. Indeed, a few minutes later, we're airborne. I watch our ascent through the window with a thoughtful expression. "Hasta la vista Barcelona... Hello Manchester !"

Monday, October 5th; 10:25 - Manchester Airport.

Damn it... Not only did I forget about the time difference, but I also forgot about the temperature change here! I'm finally in my taxi after taking some time to find my driver with his tiny sign. We're now stuck in monstrous traffic. The scenery is different from Barcelona. I'm going to miss my city more than I thought. I put my headphones back on just as my driver announced that we still have a way to go. He explained that the school is located away from the city center, but right now, we're stuck in the middle of it. We just need to manage to get out. Given the traffic jams, I have more time ahead of me. I could have done without it, considering how my imagination has come back in full force. I know nothing about the school she's sending me to. As if what I went through wasn't enough. Something like this had to happen to me again.

I hate having to listen to my mother and do everything she says. I'll be twenty in a few days and I still have to do as she pleases. If I hadn't messed up, I might already have a job by now. Now, here I am stuck on the other side of the Europe, with no one. Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot! My stress level shoots up again, though it had subsided thanks to my nap on the plane. I managed to catch up on my sleep. Nothing can change now. I'm here, and it will be difficult to turn back. The driver tries to make conversation, but he understands it's a lost cause. I can be a real wall when I want to be. He seems relieved to have finally arrived after forty-five minutes on the road. We would have certainly taken less time without the traffic jams. I get out of the car while the driver takes care of my suitcase. There are no buildings here, just a few houses around and even then. I didn't see any bus stops either, which I don't like too much.

The driver told me it was impossible for him to go any further. I understand why now, seeing what's in front of me. A huge, very impressive metal gate blocks the road. OK, what is this place? It's surrounded by an impenetrable high brown stone wall. It might have had its charm in another context. I feel like I'm standing in front of a prison entrance. I read the sign proudly standing above the gate: Camp Wiegman. What the hell is this mess? A camp? I wanted to ask the driver if he had the wrong place, but he was already gone. What an asshole! He better hope I don't run into him again next time! I groan in frustration and resign myself to dragging my feet and my suitcase towards the reception. A woman in her fifties is there, with glasses dangling on her nose. She looks up and smiles warmly at me. At least I'm not dealing with an old hag.

"Hello. You must be the new one, right?"

"I guess. Ona Batlle," I introduced myself.

"That's right," she said, looking at a sheet. "Come in, I'll notify them of your arrival!"

A door next to the large gray gate opens. I push it and roll my suitcase inside. Surprisingly, the taxi wasn't wrong after all. This place is huge from what I can see. I don't know where to look, it's quite... breathtaking. I don't dare move, not knowing where to go. The door is now closed behind me, preventing me from getting out. I wait a few minutes, and still, no one comes. The receptionist smiles at me every time I look at her. I guess someone will come to get me.

"Welcome to Camp Wiegman, Ona!"

I jump and turn toward the voice. A blonde woman stands before me. She has glasses and smile at me. I frown as I shake the hand she offers me. The only question that comes to mind is: Who is she?She must have understood.

"Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself! I’m Marina Wiegman, the director of this camp."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"I'm a friend of your parents" he explains.

"Oh."

I can't manage to say anything else. They've put me in a damn camp run by their friend. Great! This is getting worse and worse! This whole situation reeks of trouble.

"Follow me, I'll give you a quick tour of the place."

She orders me to leave my luggage, saying someone will take care of it. So, I leave my suitcase but keep my backpack. We walk down the large tree-lined avenue. It looks like a beautiful place... until you see what's hidden inside. I wasn't wrong. This place is gigantic! I can't see the end because of the buildings in front of us, but the horizon is already impressive. We take a left where I can see two fields in the distance surrounded by perfectly maintained grass. As we get closer, I spot a macadam field and a grass field, both fenced. Next to that, there’s a huge brand-new gymnasium. We don't go inside, but she indicates there are several rooms that I'll discover over time. We continue the tour in the first building on the left. It’s attached to the central building. This one houses the various classrooms, according to her. There’s another similar building just behind, connected by covered walkways. They don't seem big, only having one small floor each. One thing is for sure, the decoration is far from warm. Everything is as cold as the weather outside. It's raining, by the way. I already miss the sun I left behind in Barcelona. All the buildings are made of gray bricks. The only place that seems less gloomy is the new gymnasium. We exit through the back of the second building after a short passage and continue to the right. We pass the cafeteria, then the dormitories which are at the other end. She indicates that the staff dormitory is behind the student one. We complete our loop by returning to the central building. It’s the heart of the place and houses the administration. It looks very large. The upper floor must be her personal quarters. We continue inside where we are greeted by a hall before accessing the offices. We pass through a door with a sign indicating the secretariat. We walk down a long corridor with several doors labeled with names, most of them closed. We finally reach her office at the end. She invites me to sit on a chair, which I do without hesitation.

"I'm sorry I could only stop by briefly, but work keeps me very busy."

"No problem."

"Alright, let's get to the point. Did your mother explain anything to you?"

"Not really," I replied honestly. "Just that I'd be here for a long time."

"I see," she said. "I've been informed about your issues. Do I have your permission to share this information with the staff?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"As you wish. Do you know it's usually hard to get into this kind of camp?"

"Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I wouldn't be here," I retorted.

"Many applications were rejected this year. I shouldn't even be taking on another person in the middle of the year. You should see this as an opportunity! Your mother contacted me. I owed her a favor, so I reconsidered your application after someone left."

"I could have done without it," I muttered.

"We are a strict establishment," she continued, ignoring my comment. "We have clear rules that must not be broken under penalty of sanctions."

"Hmm."

"We are a half-university, half-military camp."

I sat up straight. Did I hear that correctly?! Military? This has to be a joke! She frowned as I laughed.

"What's so funny, Ona?"

"Military, seriously?" I laughed even harder.

"Military, indeed," she confirmed. "Well, it's a big word. You simply have the right to supervision and guidance by instructors alongside your classes. We are a special private educational institution."

"Didn't see that coming."

I hate her. There's no other word. Sending me to a place like this?! Does she want to turn me into a little soldier or what? If she thinks I'm going to go along with this, she's dreaming! I can already tell I'm going to have fun driving them crazy. They'll get so fed up with me that they'll send me back themselves.

"Since you're just starting, you'll be under the responsibility of an instructor for a while," she informed me. "This person is the one you should listen to first. They will help you adapt, guide you, and discipline you if necessary."

"Yeah, yeah."

I couldn’t care less about what she has to say now. I've been tuning out since she mentioned it's a military school. I did catch that all devices are banned in the camp except in the rooms. Phones included. Great! Well, at least I can use it in the room I'll have the pleasure of sharing with a roommate. It won't change much; I'll act as if I'm alone. I don't plan on staying here, so I'll make sure not to get attached. The best thing would be to leave as quickly as I arrived. She finishes by giving me my class assignment. Wait, they have classes here?! Surprising for this kind of school. She hands me a paper with my schedule and the names of my teachers. I don't even bother to glance at it. I don't know anyone anyway. Wiegman's monologue is interrupted by a noise at the door. A young girl enters after getting permission. She introduce herself as Lotte Wubben-Moy the adoptive daughter of the director Wiegman.

"Lotte will show you to your room in the dormitory. Once again, welcome, Ona. I hope I won't have to see you in my office anytime soon!"

"Yeah, thanks."

I leave the office, ignoring the hand Lotte extends. I wait for her in the hallway while she quickly says goodbye to her mother and closes the door. She leads the way since I don't know the place well yet.

"Your name is Ona, right?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have a good trip?"

"Don't bother trying to make conversation"

Her face falls at my harsh and curt tone. At least she understands not to talk to me. I'm furious with my mother. How could she send me to a military camp! I can't swallow it. It doesn’t even make sense! I now understand why she didn't give me any information about where she was sending me. She just handed me a ticket and said I was leaving home. If I had known, I wouldn't have even gotten on that damned plane. Then again, maybe I would have. She didn't give me much choice. It was either this or she would cut me off and throw me out on the street. That was clear. I don’t know if she would have actually done it, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

We walk along the outside to reach the right side. We arrive at the dormitory I saw earlier. It's larger than the classroom building we visited before. It has three stories. We pass through wooden doors. I'm surprised by the interior. It's a bit cheerier than what I've seen so far since arriving. We're greeted in the hall by a large wooden staircase that leads in two opposite directions. We go up and take a right. Lotte explains that the dormitory is divided into two sections. We stop on the first floor where we reach a long corridor. There are two more floors, but they are for the first and second-year students. I'm surprised she still dares to talk to me after I so harshly rebuffed her. She stops her explanations when we stop in front of room 19. From what I've observed, the even-numbered rooms are on the right and the odd-numbered ones are opposite. She steps aside to let me enter first. The room is nothing special. It has the bare minimum. Two single beds dominate the middle of the room, each with a two-drawer nightstand next to it. A lamp and a clock radio sit on top. On the other side of the bed, two wardrobes face each other. The one at the far end is next to a window, the only source of natural light. Finally, there are two desks at the foot of each bed. There's just enough space to pass between each piece of furniture. I open the only other door next to the entrance to discover a bathroom that is also nothing special. Surprisingly, it’s rather modern. It has a shower, a small sink with an extended countertop, and a mirror above. There’s also a toilet and a laundry basket. I close the door and move into the room with white walls. There's no decoration, so it still feels rather cold, once again.

"Well, here you are," she breaks the silence. "Your suitcase is already here, as you can see. I'm going back to my room. If you need anything, come see me. I'm in room 3, first floor."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

She nods before closing the door behind her. I sigh, looking around the room. What am I doing here? I have to survive a year. A fucking year that I plan to cut short. They don’t know who I am, but they will soon. My name is going to be known to the staff very quickly. If I understood correctly, I'm free for the rest of the day. I pull out my iPod from my pocket and check my phone. I must have sent a message to my mother when I got off the plane. I'm relieved to see she hasn't replied. She would have faced my wrath, and this time, I’ll have trouble holding it back.

My suitcase is at the far end of the room, right under the window. I guess that’s my side. I check by opening the first wardrobe. I close it immediately upon finding it full and lie down on the bed at the back. I would have chosen this one if I had the choice. I like having the window on my side, even though I doubt it will be of much use given the weather outside. I grab my bag to get something to eat. I’m glad I thought to bring snacks. Given the time, I would have been starving until dinner since I didn't eat lunch. I then slip my headphones into my ears. I use this quiet time to gather myself, staring pensively at the ceiling. I still can’t believe where I am. A military camp. This is going to be interesting... depending on your point of view, of course!

[sinn-bee]

Hi I'm very fascinated by your dragon svsss au and I got a question if you're still open for them! It's regard SY!SQQ, bc in the first pic that you uploaded of the au he's noticeably more clothed than LQG and in the last comic you made the joke that he's wondering where his clothes are. Now to my question: is this different to how Shen Jiu used to dress because Shen Yuan had some modesty concerns from his former life or did he always cover up more? Or is Liu Qingge just unusually exposed in comparison to the other dragon Peak Lords? Anyway I hope you have a good day!

First of all sorry it took so long to answer your ask oTL (Got busy and distracted)

To answer your first question, SY!Sqq wears the same kind of clothing that SJ!Sqq did, he does feel kinda weird about being so exposed for a while but gets to learn Very Quickly that most everyone dresses like this. So yeah he has modesty concerns but learns to hide his embarrassment very quick because if everyone else is doing it, it isn’t as weird!

Lqg is more exposed than the other peak lords 😂 I’ll get back to that in a second.

SO. Some worldbuilding lore~

“Dragon fashion is designed to transition easily between forms and allow a tail to move freely, and dragons don’t care much about nudity or exposure-

Clothes expand at the waist and are slit at the sides to accommodate a larger, more serpentine form, and come off quickly and easily if you want to get really big.”

-excerpt taken from a dragon au fic my friend Corrin (/ partner in crime for making this au) wrote (it’s not posted yet, it’s Moshang, and it’s part of a zine coming soon)

Draconic peak lords, having ascended to full dragon hood, can shift between forms easily and so as mentioned above prefer to have less clothing that is easier to move around in. Normal draconic cultivators mimic those styles to some degree despite not being capable of shifting forms fully.

So less clothing = Shifts into other draconic forms more often. Lqg likes to hunt and travel and be in a draconic form a lot so he…doesn’t care much for clothing.

Yqy you’ll notice is very clothed and that’s because he just doesn’t ever shift to other draconic forms for sad reasons, and also to cover up as much of his scales as possible.

The other fun clothing headcannons (is it headcannons for an au??) I have are that the style and complexity of clothing also depends on the ranking of the peak and draconic hierarchy. Like Sqq has more jewelry and gems and Sqh has much simpler clothing and no gems. Lqg has gems because they’re a gift from Sqq.

The other reason for being so scantily clad is that draconic cultivation takes a Lot of time and effort, some more so than others, so people who have beaten their way to the top and ascended to dragonhood like to show off their scales and draconic features. Ahem Sj cough cough

Thank you so much for your curiosity! I like being able to infodump about my au especially since posting the comic and art for it takes a while 😅

[sunbabycentral]

I've not posted my writing verbatim here, but I wanted to post a bit of Will making a camp necklace for Nico, so... please enjoy!

Nico's Camp Necklace

“What are you doing?” Will jumps, holding his hand over his chest. Melody stares at him, her blonde hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“By the gods, Mel, you scared the mess outta me.” He says, putting his paintbrush down. She narrows her eyes, zeroing in on what he was working on.

“That did not answer my question.” She says, and Will sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Nico doesn’t have a camp necklace.” He mutters, and a smirk quirks up his sister’s lips, Melody stepping forward to examine the beads on the desk.

“So you are… making him one, non?” She asks, picking up one of the dried beads to inspect it. It wasn’t exactly the same, since Will’s not much of an artist, but he figures it’ll be the thought that counts.

“…Yes.” He sighs, defeated. “I am. I want him to feel…welcome here. I want him to stay.” Melody hums, setting the bead down.

“You could just tell him that you have been pining over him since Manhattan, you know.” She says, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “That would be much simpler, non? Much… easier?” Will scowls at her.

“I’m not gonna push him into anything. Plus, he likes someone else.” Melody shakes her head.

“You think that he likes someone.” She points out. “But we are not so blind as you, Will. And you are not as… how you say…” She thinks for a minute, muttering in French. “Discreet? As you think you are.” His frown only deepens. “All this to say, just be normal Will Solace around him, and do the things that you do, and this di Angelo fellow will see how great of a man you are.” She pats his shoulder.

“Is this a pep talk?” He asks with a laugh, and Melody snorts out a giggle.

“Ma chérie is a daughter of the goddess of love, what can I say?” She smiles. “Plus, I would do anything for you, and that includes playing this… What is it, wingwoman? As you Americans say. I do like to see you happy, Will. Nico makes you happy.” Will flushes a deeper red at that.

“He does. I like being his friend first.” Will says quietly, and Melody just hums.

“I know that. But don’t hide your feelings out of fear, frérot. I have a good feeling in my heart for you two. As does Nova. After all, she has a bet with that Drew.” Will rubs his temples. He’s been ignoring that on purpose.

“I’m gonna pretend I don’t know about that and finish this up.” He says, and Melody nods, turning, her braid swishing behind her back. “And Mel?” She turns her head slightly. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

She smiles, her blue eyes lighting up. “It is no problem, Will. You are my most favorite of all brothers.”

---

“What?” Nico says when Will walks in, his eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean what?” Will asks, a grin turning up his lips.

“You’re in a good mood.” Nico comments, hands fiddling with the sunglobe on his lap.

“I’m always in a good mood, that’s not new.” Nico squints, looking him up and down. He shakes his head.

“No, you’re in a strangely cheerful mood, which means either something happened or you did something that you’re probably vibrating with how badly you want to tell someone, so out with it.”

Will practically bounces over to Nico, dumping the necklace in his lap. Nico stares down at it, before he picks it up, running his fingers over the beads.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, inspecting the beads closer. “I didn’t think they just had beads lying around or whatever.” Will clears his throat, shuffling his feet a bit in embarrassment.

“They… don’t.” Nico’s eyebrows furrow, and Will can’t help but feel his heart clench at how adorable Nico looks when he is confused.

“So how did you get this then? With the beads…” Will flushes deeply, biting down on his lower lip.

“I… made it.” Nico looks up at him sharply, his eyes wide.

“You what?” He asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“I made it. I painted the beads. I used my own as reference.” Will says sheepishly, and Nico just stares at him, the necklace with two beads on it in his hand.

“…Why?” Nico asks, and Will comes closer, sitting on the stool next to Nico’s bed.

“You said you didn’t have one.” He says simply, and Nico’s eyes dart away from Will, clutching onto the leather cord.

“That… you didn’t have to do this for me, Will.” Nico says, and Will shrugs.

“It’s part of being a camper, and you… you said you wanted to stay. We’re getting new beads in a couple of weeks, and I wanted you to be able to paint yours with the rest of us.” Nico’s lips quirk into a bit of a smile, just enough that Will feels his heart clench again. Gods above, he needs to control himself.

“How did you know how many beads I should have?” Nico looks at Will, his dark eyes curious. Will cringes. How is he supposed to say that he remembers exactly when Nico came to camp without sounding like a lovesick creep?

“I uh… I remembered that you came in the winter after Thalia’s tree was healed. So that means before this bead.” He points to the first bead, and Nico’s eyes follow his finger. “So that means you’ve been here for two summers.”

“Well, not here.” Nico mutters. Will frowns.

“It doesn’t matter that you weren’t physically here. You deserve these beads, Nico.” Nico just sighs, waving his hand.

“I don’t know how to put this on.” He says, and Will brightens up.

“I can tie it on for you!” He chirps, and Nico just stares at him, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He holds Will’s gaze for a moment before he sighs again and nods, sitting up in his bed.

Will takes the necklace in his hand and reaches behind Nico’s neck, leaning in closely so he can see what he’s doing. He ties the necklace swiftly, making sure it won’t come off accidentally.

He feels Nico stiffen slightly with how close he is, and the quick intake of breath from the younger boy. Will’s sure Nico can hear how loud his heart is beating, and he tries to calm it, breathing in deeply.

He doesn't expect to be reminded of home. The smell of the rain against the stones outside of his grandmama’s house, when he would play in the rain, dancing around with his mama. Will hesitates. Nico smells like Texas to him. Like home. The rain.

Nico clears his throat, and Will pulls back, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. Nico shifts in the bed, looking away from Will.

“Thanks.” Nico says quietly, and Will just smiles.

“No problem, Neeks.”

[bestruction]

How to relax after a long day

Summary: Shoko has a long day at work and decides to relax by eating you out ♡

Long days at work are always hard on Shoko. The hour doesn't pass, nothing goes right, and she can't smoke more than one pack of cigarettes per day or otherwise, no amount of cursed energy will stop you from scolding her to death. When she drives home, the lights on the street hurting her eyes, all she can think about is how she wants life to be simpler and easier. It's a spiral of "I wish's" where she loses herself until she reaches your shared apartment, where you read a book in the living room.

She crossed the door, leaving her shoes at the entrance and her bag as well, too exhausted to care about the small mess for today. She feels her shoulders heavy and her head begging to be laid down. She massages her temples, and once she sees you sitting all comfy on the couch, wearing socks and pajamas, her shoulders relax a bit. She's finally home.

You don't seem to notice her eyes following your legs moving around like a cat watching its prey and even less when she comes closer to tap the book right in front of your face.

"What got you so concentrated?" She asks in a low tone of voice

You smile at the sight of her but judging by the eye bags under her eyes, you know she had a harsh day.

"What happened?" You ask immediately

"Doesn't matter"

She says passing her hand through your hair as she sits down. The last thing she wanted was to discuss about her stressful day, she didn't need to remember, she needed to forget it to relax and with that, only you could help.

"You don't wanna talk about it?"

She thought it was cute how you tried to make sure she was okay. Little do you know the moment she laid her eyes on your pink lips things in her head started to slow down. She caresses your cheek before kissing your forehead and inhales the smell of your shampoo.

"I'm fine," she says giving you another kiss, now right in the corner of your lips "Just need to relax a little" Her cold hands find their way to the hem of your shirt, trespassing with ease. You squeak stopping them at your ribs before glaring at her, which made her chuckle.

"I'm sorry" She whispers in a smirk hidden by the kisses she spreads on your neck.

"No, you are not"

She moves her hands higher this time ignoring the little slap on her shoulder to cup your soft breasts.

"You don't wanna have dinner, Sho? Maybe go to bed and-" You stop yourself once she presses you down on the couch, making circles on your nipples. "Impatient, aren't you?"

"Just a little" She answered pressing her lips on yours, feeling your nipples get hard against her palms. Her tongue twirls on yours and your mind spins, feeling yourself get warmer as you open your legs to accommodate her on top of you.

"Can you do something for me, angel?" God, she needed to physically stop herself from kissing you just to speak. She brushed her lips on yours and, of course, you nodded in response, eager for whatever she had in the store for you. "Sit on my face"

You blink a few times at her blunt words and try to formulate a proper answer but honestly, you didn't know what to say to something so direct.

"Wha-..." You mumbled

"I said sit on my face" She repeats the words without hesitation.

Shoko has always been direct about her wants and needs with you. In her mind, there was no reason to be ashamed of something she wanted. It was a natural confidence that you loved about her, but it never failed to get you surprised since you are the opposite about these matters.

"I heard you the first time" You frown your eyebrows, unsure about accepting. She had a bad habit of avoiding her emotions. Was it one of these times? "Are you sure this is what you need right now? We can just relax watching something"

"I mean it when I say I'm fine," She says as she sits up on the couch "I just want to feel you a bit"

Lacking words, you decide to trust her and stand up, sticking your fingers in the waistband of your pajamas, taking it off with the cotton fabric of your underwear. It didn't matter how many times she saw you naked, her heart would always race like that was the first time.

Shoko bites her lips and lays down on the couch, waiting for you. Shyly, you straddled her face, placing one thigh on each side of her head hesitantly. What if you hurt her? What if she couldn't breathe? Maybe this wasn't a good idea. You get lost in a turmoil of thoughts until her voice cuts your small internal discussion.

"Angel, " She calls for you grabbing your hips "Sit "

"I don't know, Sho..." You look down, meeting her hungry gaze fixed on your face "It could hurt you"

"Please, huh?" She says, softer, caressing your thighs "Don't worry about it"

Slowly, you let your weight sit on her face, and Shoko was sure she could touch heaven at that moment. Your soft folds over her lips made her mouth salivate, eager to feel your taste. She moves her tongue along your slit, savoring your natural fluids before licking your clit. Her tense muscles relaxed, and she licked it again, now using her fingers to make it peek out of its hood, absorbing that delicious taste.

You felt like she was playing with your nerves, poking parts of your brain that made your mind dizzy. She rolled her tongue on your clit, feeling the soft texture, the warmness, enjoying how wet you were.

"Fuck, you taste so good," She says more to herself than to you, now sucking your sensitive bud slowly "I could spend hours like this"

It wasn't a lie. Shoko didn't enjoy many things in life, but eating you out was her pleasure. She loved watching you grind on her tongue and not just that. She was addicted to your pussy more than she could put in words, and she would always show you through actions. Like the way she is licking your folds right now or the way, she pushes one finger inside of you just to make you moan silently and open your legs more for her.

The slick sounds of your pussy just made her want more. She curled her finger inside of you moving it back and forth as she kept sucking on your clit, making you grab a few straws of her hair in response. You were so wet that even her chin was covered in your fluids already.

You grind on her face moaning her name, and that alone nearly made her cum right on her pants. You looked so damn beautiful like that. All flushed and disheveled. True art, in her words.

Once you finally came on her face she held you down, not letting you pull away immediately to lick and suck your poor clit a few more times and make your orgasm last longer, she wanted to take every single last drop out of you. And she did.

"I feel better now"

It's all you hear her say through your shaking breath as you watch her lick her lips under you.

[silverofthunder]

☆ no more pretending ☆

Papa Emeritus II (Secondo) x GN Reader

🔞 MDNI 🔞

summary: It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed – just sex – but fate had another plans and things got a bit complicated.

content: 1.6k words, sex mentioned, hurt/comfort (kind of?), romance, just feelings, NSFW (kind of)

What can I say? Hmm, this is quite similar to my other fic called stay with me but I love this idea, setting, whatever this is, and I just had to write about this again.

It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed. Just sex – a mutual understanding that this would lead nowhere on emotional part. It was as easy as breathing. You loved how you two could just meet and tell what you needed with one look and then the next moment you were tangled together, exploring each other's bodies, every coherent thought leaving from your minds.

But of course fate decided to intervene and eventually it got complicated.

You noticed it when you were with someone else. Your thoughts drifted off to Secondo and how everything felt with him and you couldn't shake those thoughts away no matter how hard you tried. And then you just couldn't let anyone else touch you the way Secondo had done.

You got confused and frustrated, scared even. Secondo noticed the change in you soon but he didn't say anything. And you tried to continue like you had before.

However it didn't feel the same anymore, your heart aching for something else – something deeper. You tried to deny it, telling yourself that it would pass but slowly, surely, the ache just grew and being around Secondo became hard.

The only thing you could do was take a step back and keep your distance. You just couldn't let Secondo know how things had changed. There was no way he shared those feelings that had blossomed within you.

Days went by, turned to weeks and you did your best at avoiding Secondo. Not every meeting could be avoided but you tried to keep everything as short and quick as possible, professional, using every will power you had to keep yourself from breaking.

And eventually Secondo had had enough. After one meeting he stopped you from leaving the room, pinning you against the wall, eyes boring into you hard. Your heart hammered in your chest as he asked for an explanation.

The words were completely stuck in your throat and you just stared at him, silently pleading him not to do this.

"Please."

That word sounded so strange coming from Secondo yet it had so much emotion that your heart missed a beat. The look in Secondo’s eyes was almost... hurt and your breath hitched as his hands gently cupped your face.

"I miss you."

It was getting too much, all the bottled up emotions mixing and the tears threatened to come. You blinked rapidly as Secondo caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer. If you only had let yourself get lost in his eyes, you would have drowned immediately.

It was new, the way he was acting now. Your steamy couplings had always been so hurried that there hadn't been much talking or softness. It had been rough, bruises, nail scrapes and teeth marks on the skin as you had chased the highest pleasure. And when you had finished, you just had quickly put on some clothes and left to mind your own business.

You knew Secondo wasn't just collected, stoic or rough around the edges – you had seen his softer side whenever he was around children or his brothers. And he had always been kind to you. But this felt different.

You were so used to the less talking, more action thing that you were lost now that you had to use words to communicate. It was much easier to understand the language of bodies – it was simpler and the bodies knew how to respond to the other.

Secondo's fingers brushed close to your lips, making you gasp, and it would be so easy to just forget the words and just fall onto bed and become a tangled mess. Secondo was still waiting for you to say something, his latest words hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," was all you got out eventually and then you broke free from Secondo’s hold. He didn't try to stop you and you left, hurrying to your quarters. As soon as you got inside, you leaned against the door, slid down to sit on the floor and finally let the tears fall free.

...

A week later there was a small festival held and you didn't feel like going there. You had barely slept as your mind had been racing due to all thoughts and your heart felt heavy in your chest. However, a conversation with Primo changed your mind and you attended the festival. It was nice for most part but it was hard seeing Secondo there, looking all handsome and fulfilling his duties like he was meant to do.

At some point Terzo had come to you, mumbling something about two idiots, and taken a hold of your hand and basically dragged you to one of Primo's greenhouses. You were left standing there completely dumbfounded until Secondo was also brought in.

Then there was a clicking sound of a lock and Copia's familiar voice heard from behind the door.

"It's about time you two speak and pull your head out of your asses."

Your and Secondo’s eyes met and you shifted, nervous. Secondo let out a sigh, stepping closer to you and you drew in a sharp breath. You couldn't help but notice how tired and tense he looked. Your heart ached and you almost reached out to touch him.

However, Secondo thought otherwise and closed the distance between you, stepping right into your personal space and cupping your face. You breathed in and out, slowly, trying to calm your now racing heart.

"I guess it's time for us to stop pretending," Secondo said, slowly running his fingertips along the side of your face. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes shining softly in the dim light.

"What?" you whispered, even though you had a good hunch of what Secondo was talking about. He slid his other hand down, stopping it onto your chest, right where your heart was.

"We both have been fools as we thought that there would never be any feelings involved. But there is, has always been," Secondo spoke, leaning closer to you. "At least on my part."

You blinked, not sure if you had heard right. It couldn't be...

"I..." you started but didn't know what to say. Secondo gave you the tiniest of smiles, brushing his thumb over your lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner," he apologized. "But I've never been good at voicing my feelings."

You let out a light chuckle. That was something you both were equally bad at, or so it seemed. Slowly you moved your hand up, placing it onto Secondo’s chest. Butterflies were fluttering in the bottom of your stomach, your heart filling with warmth and a smile rose to your lips as a thought came to your mind.

"Perhaps you can show me how you feel."

Secondo's smile grew, the fondness and relief evident on his face.

"That I can certainly do," he said quietly and closed the gap between you, claiming your lips. The kiss was anything but hurried – there was gentleness, hesitation as if you could break if he was too rough. It was slow, giving you both time to taste each other, feel everything, convey all the feelings you had no words for now.

Secondo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as he could and your hands grabbed his upper arms as he deepened the kiss. It felt like your knees could give out at any minute and you were lucky Secondo was holding you so tightly. Your heart was full, the ache now gone, replaced by the most beautiful warmth you had ever felt.

Something wet fell to your cheeks soon and you realized that you were crying. All the emotions were flooding out and you had to break the kiss so you could take a moment and breathe. Secondo was gently wiping your tears away, resting then his forehead against yours.

Silence fell between you, being comfortable this time. It was a lot to take in, this new closeness, the feelings you never thought would step in the picture. You slid your hands to Secondo's waist, breathing slowly in and out. Secondo placed a few kisses on your cheek, the sweet gesture making you smile and heart soar. It was scary to step into this new chapter in your relationship but you knew together you could learn to communicate differently, a better way.

"This is crazy," you eventually sighed, earning a small chuckle from Secondo. He pulled away, just a tiny bit so that he could look at you, affection shining in his eyes and at that moment you knew that you would never get tired of seeing that look.

"Well, I'm all in for this crazy ride," Secondo said smiling and your brows quirked up.

"Oh, are you sure?" you asked, teasing the man little. Secondo hummed, a grin passing his lips.

"As sure as I can be."

You brought your face closer to his, smiling.

"Good," you said and kissed him, short and sweet. When you pulled back, your expression changed more serious and you lowered your gaze, squeezing Secondo waist.

"I'm scared," you admitted quietly.

"I know," Secondo spoke softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug. "But I'm with you on every step of the way.”

You smiled against Secondo’s chest, wrapping your arms properly around him and listening his heartbeat, the sound of it strong and steady, calming.

Silence followed again and you just stood there in the middle of the greenhouse, embracing, for what felt like a small eternity. If that moment had been a part of a romance novel, there would have been many saccharine words used to describe it. Words that were so familiar to you on pages but didn’t sit well on your tongue yet.

But in time you knew that you would learn to speak of your love.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Collective Intelligence Institute

History is written by the winners, which is why Luddite is a slur meaning “technophobe” and not a badge of honor meaning, “Person who goes beyond asking what technology does, to asking who it does it for and who it does it to.”

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

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/2023/02/07/full-stack-luddites/#subsidiarity

Luddites weren’t anti-machine activists, they were pro-worker advocates, who believed that the spoils of automation shouldn’t automatically be allocated to the bosses who skimmed the profits from their labor and spent them on machines that put them out of a job. There is no empirical right answer about who should benefit from automation, only social contestation, which includes all the things that desperate people whose access to food, shelter and comfort are threatened might do, such as smashing looms and torching factories.

The question of who should benefit from automation is always urgent, and it’s also always up for grabs. Automation can deepen and reinforce unfair arrangements, or it can upend them. No one came off a mountain with two stone tablets reading “Thy machines shall condemn labor to the scrapheap of the history while capital amasses more wealth and power.” We get to choose.

Capital’s greatest weapon in this battle is inevitabilism, sometimes called “capitalist realism,” summed up with Frederic Jameson’s famous quote “It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” (often misattributed to Žižek). A simpler formulation can be found in the doctrine of Margaret Thatcher: “There Is No Alternative,” or even Dante’s “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”

Hope — alternatives — lies in reviving our structural imagination, thinking through other ways of managing our collective future. Last May, Wired published a brilliant article that did just that, by Divya Siddarth, Danielle Allen and E. Glen Weyl:

https://www.wired.com/story/web3-blockchain-decentralization-governance/

That article, “The Web3 Decentralization Debate Is Focused on the Wrong Question,” set forth a taxonomy of decentralization, exploring ways that power could be distributed, checked, and shared. It went beyond blockchains and hyperspeculative, Ponzi-prone “mechanism design,” prompting me to subtitle my analysis “Not all who decentralize are bros”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/12/crypto-means-cryptography/#p2p-rides-again

That article was just one installment in a long, ongoing project by the authors. Now, Siddarth has teamed up with Saffron Huang to launch the Collective Intelligence project, “an incubator for new governance models for transformative technology.”

https://cip.org/whitepaper

The Collective Intelligence Project’s research focus is “collective intelligence capabilities: decision-making technologies, processes, and institutions that expand a group’s capacity to construct and cooperate towards shared goals.” That is, asking more than how automation works, but who it should work for.

Collective Intelligence institutions include “markets…nation-state democracy…global governance institutions and transnational corporations, standards-setting organizations and judicial courts, the decision structures of universities, startups, and nonprofits.” All of these institutions let two or more people collaborate, which is to say, it lets us do superhuman things — things that transcend the limitations of the lone individual.

Our institutions are failing us. Confidence in democracy is in decline, and democratic states have failed to coordinate to solve urgent crises, like the climate emergency. Markets are also failing us, “flatten[ing] complex values in favor of over-optimizing for cost, profit, or share price.”

Neither traditional voting systems nor speculative markets are up to the task of steering our emerging, transformative technologies — neither machine learning, nor bioengineering, nor labor automation. Hence the mission of CIP: “Humans created our current CI systems to help achieve collective goals. We can remake them.”

The plan to do this is in two phases:

Value elicitation: “ways to develop scalable processes for surfacing and combining group beliefs, goals, values, and preferences.” Think of tools like Pol.is, which Taiwan uses to identify ideas that have the broadest consensus, not just the most active engagement.

Remake technology institutions: “technology development beyond the existing options of non-profit, VC-funded startup, or academic project.” Practically, that’s developing tools and models for “decentralized governance and metagovernance, internet standards-setting,” and consortia.

The founders pose this as a solution to “The Transformative Technology Trilemma” — that is, the supposed need to trade off between participation, progress and safety.

This trilemma usually yields one of three unsatisfactory outcomes:

Capitalist Acceleration: “Sacrificing safety for progress while maintaining basic participation.” Think of private-sector geoengineering, CRISPR experimentation, or deployment of machine learning tools. AKA “bro shit.”

Authoritarian Technocracy: “Sacrificing participation for progress while maintaining basic safety.” Think of the vulnerable world hypothesis weirdos who advocate for universal, total surveillance to prevent “runaway AI,” or, of course, the Chinese technocratic system.

Shared Stagnation: “Sacrificing progress for participation while maintaining basic safety.” A drive for local control above transnational coordination, unwarranted skepticism of useful technologies (AKA “What the Luddites are unfairly accused of”).

The Institute’s goal is to chart a fourth path, which seeks out the best parts of all three outcomes, while leaving behind their flaws. This includes deliberative democracy tools like sortition and assemblies, backed by transparent machine learning tools that help surface broadly held views from within a community, not just the views held by the loudest participants.

This dovetails into creating new tech development institutions to replace the default, venture-backed startup for “societally-consequential, infrastructural projects,” including public benefit companies, focused research organizations, perpetual purpose trusts, co-ops, etc.

It’s a view I find compelling, personally, enough so that I have joined the organization as a volunteer advisor.

This vision resembles the watershed groups in Ruthanna Emrys’s spectacular “Half-Built Garden,” which was one of the most inspiring novels I read last year (a far better source of stfnal inspo than the technocratic fantasies of the “Golden Age”):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/26/aislands/#dead-ringers

And it revives the long-dormant, utterly necessary spirit of the Luddites, which you can learn a lot more about in Brian Merchant’s forthcoming, magesterial “Blood In the Machine: The Origins of the Rebellion Against Big Tech”:

https://www.littlebrown.com/titles/brian-merchant/blood-in-the-machine/9780316487740/

This week (Feb 8–17), I’ll be in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’ll be in Brisbane tomorrow (Feb 8), and then we’re doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 9. Next are Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra. I hope to see you!

[Image ID: An old Ace Double paperback. The cover illustration has been replaced with an 18th century illustration depicting a giant Ned Ludd leading an army of Luddites who have just torched a factory. The cover text reads: 'The Luddites. Smashing looms was their tactic, not their goal.']

[e-rated-beardo]

Hey,

So, normally I am a really shy person on the internet, but you made this beautiful song Sky Clear Blue, and I just have to ask.

Do you have the notes for that song? And would you mind sharing them?

I have a guitar and I would love to attempt playing that lovely song.

Hello shy person on the internet! omg I got an ask about The Song! :D *sounds of angel-coded delight*

I don't have anything beyond Steph's lyrics written down, unfortunately - HOWEVER, I could absolutely scribble some down for whatever parts you're curious about, if you like!

If we're only talking guitar chords, it's a really nice and simple (comfy!) progression: alternating G and Cadd9 for most of the verses, one loop of G - Am - C - D in the lead-up to the chorus, and the chorus is C - G - Dsus - D. (The very final chord is a Dsus because ✨ambience✨ and open-endedness vibes and... ok that's not what I was supposed to be talking about here oops)

Caveat to the above: wherever there's a D chord, I alternate randomly between plain D and Dsus with no particular pattern, and I may have replaced some Cs with Cadd9 or vice versa here and there. Either of the two works; it's just easier to play Cadd9 between two Gs. 🙂

Technically I played the same-ish chords in the transposed a capella version, too, but simpler and on my mini guitar/guitarlele which is tuned differently so the result is a slightly off-key D - Gadd9 (verse) and G - D - A (chorus).

Before I go off waffling delightedly for WAY too long (omg someone asked me about an Art I've made I can talk for HOURS hello you're my new best friend)... Is there any part/voice/instrument in particular that you're curious about? Because, again, I could absolutely scribble down some sheet music for this (or maybe even wrangle GarageBand to output some for me; I think that's a feature it has??). I don't normally write stuff down much when I play because I find it easier to just noodle around and memorise and I don't tend to get too complex with arrangements, but I do read musical notation and guitar tabulature and I would be a completely normal amount of very excited to talk and write more about this as you can see SO. Yeah. Just hmu if you want more detail about guitar chords or notes or some other stuff; I'd be BEYOND thrilled to share.

Actual view of me reading and answering this ask ⬇️⬇️⬇️

beardo: *goes to town on ask*

(PS. I need to point out that I'm only responsible for the particulars of the arrangement, the physical singing/playing, and the time signature - Steph based her song upon another one, a recording of which she kindly sent me; it's got slightly different lyrics and a somewhat simpler chord progression, is in 4/4 time and gives sort of... cute country ballad vibes? I riffed off of the melody a bit and the rest... really, the arrangement did what the characters in my stories tend to do, and kind of just wrote itself.

Either way, I don't want anyone to imagine I came up with the melody or the overall shape of this song myself! I just kneaded it a bit and fought GarageBand to record it. 💜)

gonna tag @klikandtuna and @suzypfonne in case you fine humans want to listen in to continued talk about this song - you're both HIGHLY RESPONSIBLE for these amazing last 24 hours of my life and the existence of this piece of music after all

[noxer]

«Unmasked»

Okay, i'm gonna try. I hope this is not that bad. Uhh, Soundwave/Blaster, some sort of fluff, something about a border where masks don't matter anymore, so it doesn't matter whether the mask is off or not, so why bother taking it off at all?

/awkward curtsy/

______________________________

"Question: Blaster wants to see Soundwave's face?"

It wasn't a question Soundwave would have asked under normal circumstances, but he had to admit that their situation was never normal. It also definitely didn't get easier with the onset of... the truce (he can't bring himself to say the word "peace", and it's not even a matter of Decepticon pride, it's just... it was difficult to realize until now). An intimacy that oscillates on the border with invasive, an understanding that could usually be shared only with own reflection, this whole set of things that does not allow one to relate each other to the usual one-sided categories of “enemies”, “friends” or “lovers”. This is difficult, there is not enough intelligence and experience here, you need faith in your own actions, hope for a favorable outcome, everything that the third-in-command did not have the right to rely on.

However, this is not the only reason. The thing is, Soundwave basically never asks questions. He doesn't need it. He always knows the answer in advance, relying on his own espionage skills or slightly more straightforward telepathy. But he doesn't want to read Blaster's mind right now. Perhaps later, when he gives an answer, and Soundwave can understand how ready he is to lie to him.

In addition, direct questions are much simpler and more effective than trying to unravel other bot's hints, semi-gestures and EMF’s vibrations, small signals emanating from the body, like a special type of code. Soundwave is a master codebreaker, but even he makes mistakes, and this is not a situation where he wants to make a one.

That's why he asks.

Blaster turns his head towards him, looking interested with bright blue optics. An almost tangible curiosity emanates from his body, mixed with playfulness and something less understandable. The Autobot is intelligent, although not the type of intelligence that any Decepticon is accustomed to. There is no cunning in him, no ability to anticipate someone else's shot before it leaves a hole in your back, no tenacious paranoid attentiveness. However, Blaster was not so easily fooled. He has cracked his codes, exposed false broadcasts and lured data out of databases for centuries. The fool couldn't handle this. The fool would have died on the day of his appointment as an officer. Blaster was no fool. Emotions might cloud his vision at times, but at the same time they gave him insight that was only occasionally surpassed by his own uncanny empathy.

Soundwave doesn't know what Blaster will answer, but he already knows that the answer will not disappoint him.

“I don’t know,” the Autobot’s deep voice purrs with attractive vibrations, “Do you want me to see?”

Soundwave's spark ignites. As he had expected, the other person's answer was extremely... interesting.

Blaster knows him. He knows from so many facets, in some places, perhaps understanding more about him than Soundwave himself understood. This happens when your lives repeatedly find themselves in each other's hands in so many different ways. One secret more, one secret less, it wouldn't matter anymore, not for them. But still...

He moves closer, enough to touch another bot, feeling the static spark between the bright scarlet plates and his own fingers. Blaster's hand almost simultaneously touches his mask. And nothing more. Soundwave feels the warm weight, the texture of worn metal and the faint electricity, but that's about it. There is not a single attempt to open hidden locks or remove the mask. Just a gentle, comforting touch.

He would allow his face to be revealed. He would.

But he's glad he doesn't have to.

He's glad that his secrets can remain secrets without tarnishing what was between him and Blaster (whatever that was after all).

Soundwave leans closer to the palm, absorbing its soft warmth under the autobot's quiet laughter.

[riality-check]

even more daisy jones-adjacent things. parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. tw mentions of substance abuse, talks of blacking out. part 6. part 7.

ao3

It hits number five.

The song about losing, the song Steve helped write, the song with Steve's vocals, hits number five. It's the highest Corroded Coffin has ever gotten on a chart, and it's the highest Steve Harrington has, too.

They're ecstatic, Chrissy is smug, and the record company offers an album.

If, and only if, Steve Harrington continues to work with Corroded Coffin.

Eddie scared himself by saying "yes" first and scared himself even more by agreeing with Steve. But, he reasons, if they're going to be writing an album together, he needs to get the hell over himself.

Easier said than done, but Eddie has always had an "A for effort" kind of mindset.

He's always been the one writing most of the songs. He's always been the one with too many words in his head, always itching for a pen, always thinking in terms of guitar tabs and staff notation when Archie is feeling especially pretentious. Eddie has always done most of it, which has always worked. Jeff helps with lyrics because "I need to make sure you won't make me say anything stupid," Gareth has no interest beyond writing his own drum parts, and Archie, despite knowing the most formal music theory of any of them, doesn't care beyond cleaning it up.

But Eddie needs to write with someone now, and he realizes very quickly that he can't work with someone he hates, or, worse, barely knows.

"Let's play a game," he says, setting down his guitar and kicking his feet up on the couch. He and Steve have long since abandoned writing in the studio and instead decided that Steve's house - a little stucco bungalow with a pool and other cars always in the driveway - would make for a better venue.

Steve scowls when he sees Eddie's feet on the couch, but he stops humming to himself and starts paying attention. "What kind of game?"

"Truth or truth."

"Don't you mean truth or dare?"

"Nope," Eddie says. "Truth or truth. I ask a question, you answer it honestly, then I have to answer my own question. Then you ask, I answer, you answer. Rinse repeat, you get the drill."

"How do you win?" Steve asks, looking up at Eddie from where he sits on the floor.

"You win if you ask a question the other person refuses to answer."

"Sounds like I can just give up as soon as you ask."

"You could," Eddie admits. "But where's the fun in that?"

A tiny, barely-there smile pops up on Steve's face, and that's how Eddie knows he's starting to get somewhere.

Yeah. He's on edge around Steve. He thinks that anyone in his position would be. But Steve is admittedly impressive and mysterious and pretty, and all of that calls to Eddie's lesser instinct to push.

So, the game starts. They exhaust the run of the mill questions fairly quickly; Eddie learns that Steve's favorite color is sapphire, that he used to babysit and lifeguard, that he's from some podunk town in Indiana that he doesn't seem too keen on sharing more about. Eddie, in turn, says that his favorite color is ruby, that he used to work as a mechanic and thought about doing tattoos, that he's from a lot of different places all around Appalachia but the simpler answer is "born in West Virginia, raised in Kentucky."

"Shouldn't you make country music or something, then?" Steve asks.

"Folk's more applicable," Eddie says. "And I grew up listening to it, but I need to make something a little more... all-encompassing."

"I wouldn't say metal's very general."

"No, but when you listen to it, you can't think of anything else but the sound, can you?"

Steve considers for a moment, then nods wordlessly. "Your question."

Eddie thinks. He stares at Steve's twitchy hands, his exhausted face, his slumped posture. And he asks, in direct opposition to his better judgement, "When's the last time you slept?"

He watches, in real time, as Steve's face completely shutters.

But that only lasts an instant. The complete fall, the shut-down, lasts a fraction of a second before Steve completely shifts. He sits up taller, brushes his hair back from his forehead, and looks more alert, less fidgety.

He sobers up, right there in front of Eddie, or at least he pretends to.

"That's a boring question," he says. "Last night."

"You're supposed to answer honestly," Eddie reminds him.

"I am. I slept last night. Seven hours."

Eddie bites his tongue to stave off his instinctual, No, you didn't.

"You're supposed to answer your question now," Steve says once the silence has stretched too long.

"Same as you," Eddie says. "Last night."

Steve scoots closer toward the couch. There's a smug smile on his face, one that Eddie doesn't particularly like.

He thinks he might need a cigarette.

Then, Steve asks, "When's the last time you drank?"

Yeah. Eddie's definitely going to need a cigarette by the time this conversation ends.

"Two years ago," he says because if Steve won't be honest, he will. "August. Indianapolis. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything until halfway through the show the next day. Gareth says he thought about dragging my ass offstage because I was too far gone to tune my guitar until after the first three songs."

The smile melts off Steve's face the more Eddie talks. If Eddie were a better person, he wouldn't find such joy in that.

Eddie isn't a better person. Steve isn't, either.

"Eddie, I-"

"Answer your own question."

"A week ago," Steve says. "I was out celebrating Robin's birthday. Honest."

Eddie believes him. Really, he does. But he's a little bit vindictive, and because Steve shoved him, he has to shove back harder.

"What are you running from?" he asks.

Steve goes completely still. "What?"

Eddie doesn't bother explaining. He knows that if he brings up the way Steve is always a little not here, the way he's fidgety and always too warm, the way he always wears something with pockets that he sticks his hands in, that Steve won't say anything at all.

So, he says again, "What are you running from?"

"I'm not running from anything," Steve says.

"I think I win the game."

Steve scrubs a hand down his face. "Sure. Whatever. But answer your own question."

"Monsters," Eddie says because he's honest.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "You have no idea what monsters are, Eddie."

"Is that what you're running from?"

Steve stares at him again. Eddie watches his hands move in his pockets.

"I need a cigarette," he says, standing up. "You want one?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't smoke. It stains my teeth."

Eddie walks outside before he pushes further, says something about the fact that Steve is doing way worse than cigarettes and cares more about his teeth than staying alive.

What the hell is he running from?

Eddie hates himself for wanting to find out.