#but it’s more like moderating a lecture

[the-travelling-witch]

passed my presentation woo

[parasitoidism]

Nothing ever changes in scrap world

[bynux]

"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?

Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:

Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."

Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.

Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.

As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?

Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.

Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.

Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.

Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.

If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.

Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.

[kenzieluvsnanami]

kenzieluvssuguru :: ☆*:.｡.o the roommate (18+) o.｡.:*☆

You were sure you hated him. From the crown of his silky, jet black hair to the bottom of his bunny-slipper clad feet. Everything he did pissed you off. Whether it’s finishing your very expensive shampoo or sneaking bites of your carefully hidden sweet treats, one thing was for certain: Geto Suguru knew how to get and STAY on your last nerve. (f!reader x suguru)

cw *:･ﾟ✧ roommate/no curses/college au, reader is overworked and underpaid 😭, auditory voyeurism? (by reader).. readers basically a cuck (unknown to suguru, sooo dubcon kinda), cheeky suguru/slight humour (cant help myself), dirty talk, OF references, description of the devils tango (but not w reader) and mastúrbation *:･ﾟ✧♡ 3.2k words // part 1 , part 2

He had become your roommate at the beginning of second year. Having an egregiously rich grandmother who liked her grandkids to earn their keep had its perks at times, one of those being the inheritance of a beautifully furnished townhouse that was only a half hour commute from your university.

However, the downside was the substantial cost of maintaining the house. Bills pilled up fast and whilst your grandmother was lounging in Turks and Caicos, you were working multiple jobs: the campus coffee shop on off-days, a drum and bass club on the weekend and tutoring whenever time allowed.

It was

Wearing.

You.

Down.

By the end of the second semester you had enough. Physically and emotionally drained, you sat down and pondered over all the possible avenues of making money - ASAP since energy companies were not necessarily known for their patience and generosity. Whilst starting an OF was firmly out of the equation, it did give you an idea. Instead of selling yourself, you could sell your home! Ok, not the whole house - but there was a spare room adjoined to yours, fully furnished with its own small terrace. A charming, spacious place where many students living on campus dorms would love to be. However, who did you know that was willing to move out this late in second year? Most had already settled into their new homes and were already accustomed to the people they lived with. You tried asking around but unfortunately it was all rejection.

Dejected, you slinked into your critical analysis class that evening, eye bags so heavy they were almost pulling your eyes shut. The tiredness must have put you you some sort of delirious state because when you sat in your usual seat as you pondered over your situation... aloud?!

"you want someone move in with you?" echoed the mild-mannered man beside you.

Confused and slightly taken aback, he asked you to repeat yourself, to make sure he heard you clearly. Rather frustrated, you grumbled out the question not even meaning to ask him about your situation and to your surprise - he actually said yes. Eyes widening and back moderately straighter, you exchanged contact information and asked him to meet tomorrow so you can discuss more.

You had left the lecture shaken out of your fatigued stupor and felt a tinge of regret already. You barely know this man. All you knew was that his name was Geto Suguru, he’s in your class and will be your new roommate in the next couple of weeks. From what you had gathered from your brief interactions, he seemed like a normal person… at least you hoped so.

You knew he was well mannered. Remembering from the time you tripped over his foot, limbs flailing awkwardly - and how he’d lunged out, firmly grasping you by the waist to stop you from falling flat onto your face. As soon as you had steadied, he apologised profusely with slightly flushed cheeks and averted eyes.

He seemed well kept, his full, shoulder-length hair was never greasy or out of place. Either in a half-up bun or flowing freely, it was definitely a cause for envy. He dressed neatly, loose jeans or joggers with a plain tee or sweatshirt seemed to be his staples. Fingernails were slender - elegant, your sideways glances during lectures providing a view of his graceful, willowy hands. Long and dainty fingers gently tapping on the laptop in front of him.

All known factors considered, when it comes to roommates you seemed to have won the lottery. A quiet and respectful man seemed like a few in a dozen in this generation. How lucky were you!

The first few weeks were like a sort of honeymoon period. Sharing a space with someone you didn’t know was as awkward as you would think it would be. Small smiles when you ran into each other in the hallway and if you were feeling bold, some small talk over breakfast before your shared class.

The ice was breaking between the two of you as you slowly adapted around each others routines. Everything seemed to be going perfectly. You were getting more sleep due to the fact that you didn’t have to work as hard to pay your bills (thanks to your dual income) and actually felt like a human being for once.

Feeling human meant that a lot of additional needs had been forgone and most importantly your dormant libido had jumped back alive. That itself was nothing to write home about but it was more so how you came to this realisation which was.

It was 3 months prior, when you had left your room for a late night snack. Wrapped in your hello kitty throw, you softly pattered down the hall into the kitchen. Treats successfully acquired, you walked back into the hall and was greeted with a mass of steam flowing out from the bathroom, a tall figure emerging.

It was your room mate (duh) but in a way you had never had seen him before. His raven hair was deliciously tousled - the messiest you had ever seen it and...

it. was. beautiful.

The towel wrapped around his slight waist exposed his athletic build, deceptively slim but a slight flex allowed you to see the unbridled power hidden within. His ab definition was exemplified by the drops of water falling from the light smattering of hair trailing down to his deep cut V line.

He was absolutely stunning.

You were frozen for more than a few seconds, marvelling at the discovery of this new side to your roommate. He was… heavenly. You didn’t even realise Suguru had fully left the bathroom until you felt a warm gust of air as he swished past you, a drop of water splashing onto your face as he teasingly poked you. You sped back into the safety of your room and slammed the door. He had you salivating like a damn dog by just a flash of his upper body?? Yes, he may have looked good (a bit more than good actually) but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before.

Since that night, the dynamics of your relationship had imperceptibly changed. You couldn’t really describe how in a concise manner but Suguru had definitely changed. He was much more bold - seemingly doing everything in his power to make you flustered.

It first started with him wearing less and less clothes in the common areas of the house. You weren't completely unreasonable, leaving his room in just his red plaid PJ bottoms and those god forsaken bright pink bunny slippers could be excused. After all, this was his new home and you did want him to be comfortable. You just had to be mindful of not staring too long into his plump, juicy pectorals that were practically two small pillows that you could just face plant into. Not to mention the absolute dumptruck he was carrying from behind. During your dinners together (you always ended up cooking way more for yourself than needed), you really had to fight to keep your eyes fixed onto his face as he spoke and even then you’d find yourself being drawn further and further into his deep, purple eyes. Even his voice, calm, even and low was akin to a sirens call, causing you to be further and further enraptured with him.

Why couldn’t you just be normal about your roommate. You know plenty of people who houseshare with the opposite sex and it doesn’t seem to be as hard for them as it is for you. Maybe you just need a quick fuck? Something to get it out of your system so you can stop feeling like so…. lustful during the most regular exchanges.

It was hard to stop thinking thoughts like that when you would come home from a study group or be leaving early for a shift at the cafe to find Suguru slumped over the couch casually watching a telenovela or a 2000s sitcom. This normally would not be any kind of issue if for the fact he wasn’t practically naked par a grey set of loose Calvin Klein boxers.

The first time this happened you were almost late for work, your body physically refusing to move at the sight of his thick thighs, corded muscles tensing as he swung his legs down from resting on the cushion next to him and patted the space beside him - gesturing for you to sit. The soft smile on his face, eyes shut, eyebrows relaxed and seemingly in a state of inexplicable bliss for someone with 12 assignments due that week was all a bit too much for you to handle as you snapped out of your daze and rushed out of the door.

Suguru’s next ‘misstep’ was his use of almost all of your things and general disregard for personal space. He seemed to find joy in watching you put two and two together and realise that the reason why the whole house smells like Shea vanilla is because he “accidentally” used your body wash whilst bathing and so “just had to” grab the matching lotion, body oil and spray from your room - so he didn’t “smell confused”.

To think that this was the same man who was so quiet when he first moved in honestly is beyond human comprehension, his eyes crinkling shut as he laughed with genuine glee about how in the process of looking for the spray he tripped over your charging hitachi wand.

“Is my roommate feeling a bit pent up?” he drawled as he fake pouted, the tips of your ears burning at the fact that the object of your current infatuation knew about what you did in your… free time. “I was wondering what all that buzzing was last night.”

Suguru was comfortable at your shared house. Too comfortable. Which leads us to what happened today, what you considered to be the most egregious misstep by your roommate and would have made you so pissed if it hadn’t made you so wet.

It’s a Friday - nothing too crazy about that fact, it was just the week coming to an end. As your professor informs you of the upcoming assignments for the following week, Suguru leans down to tell you that he might be home a bit later than usual as he wanted to go to a friends houseparty. This isn’t anything too out of the ordinary, you knew that he was quite well known amongst the second years and as a result he was always flitting in and out the house midweek. You didn't really understand why he was specifically informing you of his whereabouts this time but you thanked him and made your way straight to coffee shop to start your shift.

Today was by far the hardest shift you’ve ever had, the sheer volume of people you had to serve and the few staff that were booked in to work. You were absolutely exhausted. You definitely were up for an orgasm or two to destress and your.. personal massager would be fully charged by the time you got home.

Clocked out at 7 and you were currently speed walking back to the house. A warm bath, filling meal and rewatching one of the telenovela’s Suguru had introduced to you sounded like an excellent plan. Just the action of running the bath, pouring the salts and soap and stripping off your stiff uniform silenced all the noise in your mind - you could truly feel the tension rolling off your body as you eased into the bathtub.

After an hour long soak, you made a wholesome pasta dish and binge watched TV until you started to feel your eyelids drooping shut as the day begun to catch up with you. You dragged yourself to your room, the silk sheets and quilted comforter lulling your weary body to a sweet, sweet slumber.

That was until… 1.27am according to your bedside clock. The loud bang of the front door shook you awake but it’s what you heard next that kept you up.

A bang on the hallway wall and what sounded like... kissing? Sloppy and heated, you could hear the mewls and whines of a woman coupled by occasional groans from what had to be… your roommate?

Footsteps got louder and louder until you could hear them through the shared wall between your rooms. The bed creaked as it hit the bedroom wall and you could hear the low murmur of your roommate’s voice. Almost instinctually, you carefully raised yourself up from the bed and pressed your ear to the wall to hear better.

“You’re going to take allllll of it, okay?” Suguru said lowly, the woman giggling as he retorted “Don’t get shy with me now. We both know you were begging for it.”

You knew what you were doing was fucked up. How could you keep eavesdropping on your roommate fucking another girl but somehow you were unable to tell your body, warmth pooling in your core.

The soft thud of clothes hitting the ground was accompanied by the rejoining of the pair, the loud kissing and sounds of scattered bedsheets made you ponder. This was the first time you had ever heard Suguru do anything remotely sexual. He made jokes (mainly to your demerit) about the apparent lack of sex and I mean, you appreciated that he respected the space that the two of you shared by not always having people over or at least doing it when you weren’t home but part of you just innately knew that he wasn’t seeing anyone - serious or casual. That’s why this is so unexpected.. but not unwanted.

See, it had interrupted your much needed sleep but you couldn’t deny how horny this was making you. The fact that you could hear what it would be like to fuck your roommate and the added taboo of him not knowing you could hear - you were almost soaked in your own essence, a hand snaking down to your pyjama bottoms so that you could alleviate some of your pent-up tension.

“Open your mouth” Suguru demanded. A slight pause in movements as you heard what must have been a fat, wad of his saliva splash into the woman’s mouth. “Good girl” he cooed, the woman moaning back in pure, unadulterated need.

You stifled your own whine, the delicious pressure of your fingertips on your swollen nub combined with your roommates filthy, sinful words had you so close. The woman gasped at what you can only imagine being Suguru finally pulling down those grey boxers. Another splash and a steady, slick rhythm began - probably Suguru stroking himself, long slender fingers wrapping tight around his base dragging his hand right up to the tip, thumb swirling to collect any pre-cum to lubricate his shaft even more.

“Please..” the woman pleaded. “Please what?” Suguru chided “If you are going to beg at least beg properly”. “Please..please put it in” she mumbled. “You’re still not asking properly but” A loud squelch and the woman’s even louder moan interrupted Suguru’s almost lazy drawl. He seemed so relaxed, responding back as if he himself didn’t want this as bad as she did. “I’m in a good mood so I’ll do as you wish” he punctuated his sentence with a sharp thrust, the already worn bed frame jolting into the wall as he fully buried himself into this woman.

Her mewls seemed to get even higher and higher in pitch as the two established a steady rhythm. Hand firmly placed along your slit, you toyed with oozing entrance and sensitive clit - middle and ring finger prodding into your hole, scissoring and feeling your inner walls. You gathered some more of your essence and spread it onto your thumb, applying more and more pressure as you swirled your bud. It was like you were in a freaked out flow state, your mind purely focused on achieving that high. You tuned out the shrieks of the other woman and honed in on your roommates low grunts, imaging how tense his abs would be from the sheer effort he would be putting, arms caged around you in missionary as he just plowed straight into you until you both came.

The bed creaks became more and more frequent, your hand moving faster and faster as you heard the woman cry out one last time and start sobbing. It seemed your roommate had slowed down slightly, close himself as the thrusts became more slow and tempered not hitting the wall as loudly. You were so so close, focusing on deep breathing to slow it down so that you could come undone at the same time as him.

As he got close himself, you could hear some sort of low rumble… was he.. whining? You could also hear his murmured praises to his partner “You did so good… thank you so much… your so pretty…ngh.. all…urghh….fucked out…mffh.. like this”. He seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, so close to the edge. Even though you knew he wasn’t talking to you, all the words just melted into your brain adding to your dazed, enraptured state. You couldn’t hold out any longer, fingers moving into overdrive as you reached your peak and fell head first into the mind-numbing pleasure of release as you heard Suguru’s muffled cry as he came.

As the static from your ears started to clear and you were finally able to come back to earth from that earth-shattering orgasm, you could hear a slightly more heated conversation happening in the adjoined room.

“What the fuck was that” the woman whisper shouted while pulling on her clothes. “What the fuck do I know??” puffed your roommate as he seemed to pace around the room. “You just groaned another girls name as you came Suguru. That’s fucked up.. Seriously?” You could practically hear the sheepish look on his face as the door banged for a second that night.

How can he moan another girls name whilst he’s balls deep inside of her? I mean thinking back you may have heard him say your name but that was just because you were in a freaked out flow state, right?… right?

And that’s why at 3.09am you had come to the solid conclusion that you hated Geto Suguru. He was obnoxious, used your stuff AND had the cheek to mock you for what’s in your room but most importantly he fucked a girl and said your name whilst he came. Not only did he hurt this poor girl but he left you even more confused. Where do you even go from here? Did he know you heard the whole thing? Even if he did what does this change? Your hot roommate maybe does want to pipe you? This should be a good thing but for some reason you know it’s going to be more complicated than that...

part 2

a/n *:･ﾟ✧♡ :: credits to @/cafekitsune for the dividers! part 2 shld be done by the 10th (no promises 😭) but i lowk do want to drag it out to a three parter.

likes and reblogs make me squirt!

[forkingandcountry-if]

For King and Country is an 18+ period low fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.

But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.

Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?

Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.

You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.

Features

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.

Romance one of seven ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.

Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.

Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.

Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.

Study at Pyrenne University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.

Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.

Don't lose your head.

Critical Lore*

Talent

Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.

Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.

Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Pyrenne Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.

Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:

Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.

Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.

Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.

Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.

Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.

Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.

The Second Civil War

The Second Civil War, sometimes known as the Revolution is recognized as having commenced approximately ten years ago and concluded two years later with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd. The conflict was precipitated by a series of critical events and widespread discontent among the populace throughout the entire reign of the King Wulfric I Wynd regarding the laws of his government and his conduct as monarch.

The Second Civil was notably ignited by the previous monarch's decision to disinherit his eldest daughter and legitimise his illegitimate children thus making them heir presumptive. This controversial move generated significant unrest among the yeomanry and laborers, who perceived the monarch's actions as unjust and contrary to ecclesiastical teachings. Particularly in redeemist cities across the Empire, widespread protests ensued, leading to the deposition and, in some instances, the defenestration of local officials such as Lord Mayors, Sheriffs, and Governors who supported the king and a state of national emergency being declared with martial law being invoked.

A general, Walthe Courtney, who had previously fought in the unpopular Eleven Years' War on behalf of the crown, emerged as a pivotal leader of the revolution. Utilizing strategic peasant uprisings and sieges, Reval's forces delivered decisive blows to the royalist regime. The revolution culminated in the fall of the capital during the Siege of the King's Seat.

Following the war, a great council of all the great houses instituted several significant reforms. While the monarchy was retained, it was now bound with the monarch being bound by the Grand East Code. In accordance with the written will of the disinherited princess, who died on the battlefield during the conflict an exception was made to place her youngest brother, Edmund, then only 17 years old, on the throne.

The bicameral parliament was replaced by a unicameral national assembly with expanded suffrage of yeomanry and labourers with certain amounts of land. The sole eligibility criteria for parliamentarians are citizenship, attainment of the age of majority, no debt owed to the crown with elections held every eight years.

General Walthe Courtney was appointed as Lord-Protector of the Realm with extensive powers throughout Edmund’s reign and continued as Commander of the Armies for the duration of their tenure. Furthermore, the Pyrenne University was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, not limited to the children of nobility.

Under the new provisions, all children from great houses or those vassal houses with an annual income exceeding 1,300 libre must receive training and serve in the King's Army and live as wards of the king upon reaching the age of eighteen. The official language of the proclamation declares it to be in the national interest that the next leaders of the regions and nations of the Empire know personally their king and capital but the aim is considered to be preventing another war.

The King's Council is required to be include the Premier elected by the eligible electorate. The Premier recommends people to be members of the King's Council although the King is not bound to accept. The King retains the authority to appoint cabinet members from outside parliament, early precedent set by King Edmund I Wynd suggests that he will appoint those recommended by the Lord-Protector.

The King's Army and Pyrenne University

The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.

During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.

Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete four years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.

Pyrenne University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Tristan of Pyrenne, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.

Pyrenne admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.

Pyrenne has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.

Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Pyrenne University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.

Situated in the capital city, Pyrenne University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.

The Empire

The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."

From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.

Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Cruller (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).

Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.

*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.

Romances

When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?

The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?

Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?

Alas who is to know?

Name: King Edmund I Wynd

Age: 21

Height: 6'5

Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.

(he/him) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues

-

Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?

She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.

Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.

Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd

Age: 36

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.

(she/her) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: scary hot, masc women

-

Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.

In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.

Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.

Name: Walthe Courtney

Age: 43

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.

(he/him/they) solo-route

Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD

-

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

-

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold

-

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

-

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Pyrenne University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her pale green eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

-

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

Additional

Demo: out now!

Pinterest: not yet available

Art: not yet available

Feedback Survey: not yet available

All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!

ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.

[chrollogy]

SIGNED: LOVESICK FOOL #01

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

next | masterlist

synopsis: You decide to try out the university confessions page as an anonymous submitter to write a vague paragraph about your feelings for Iwaizumi—oddly enough, students following the page seems to be hooked in your confession.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff, oikawa appearance :3, reader is helplessly in love with mr iwaizumi hajime, not beta read.

word count: 2.3k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. sorry this came a bit late >< i fell asleep LMAOOOOOO

Falling in love has always been a weird concept. One day you wake up, and feel completely different towards a certain someone who you swear you only love platonically; your heart starts to race faster whenever you’re in their presence, mind formulating a million different thoughts on how to act normally until it loses its meaning, suddenly becoming overly self conscious of one’s appearance, and always wanting to look your very best whenever they’re around—the whole package.

Unfortunately, you were all too familiar with this.

As though in a romance movie, the whole world slowed down as your eyes landed on the person before you, anything, and everything faded into nothing—a mere whitenoise behind the rapid pounding of your heart.

Iwaizumi’s hair gleamed beneath the sun’s afternoon rays, long lashes ghosted over the apple of his cheeks, rosy lips slightly puckered in concentration. You remembered it like yesterday—the strong aroma of roasted coffee beans, the light chatter of other customers in the café, the warm blanket of sunshine, the heart-stopping eye contact.

Iwaizumi called your name a total of three times until you finally broke free from your trance; everything flooded back the moment your name slipped past his parted lips for the third time—as though suddenly reeled from a freeze frame.

You remembered blinking at him, letting a heartbeat or two pass before asking him what he needed, though, Iwaizumi’s words entered one ear, and left the other; you were more focused on the way his plush lips moved with every word spoken, mind wondering what it’d feel like against your own.

That night, you tossed, and turned beneath your ivory blanket; mind a complete mess, and heart an even bigger mess. You just didn’t get why you had to catch feelings for Iwaizumi out of all people.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, never but everything between the two of you has been strictly platonic ever since—hell, you both even had a fair share of past relationships; you felt indifferent when Iwaizumi introduced his first girlfriend to you but now, just the thought introducing another woman made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

Realising that bottling up these feelings was a foolish thing to do, you scoured your mind for anything, and everything just to find some kind of release from all these unsaid thoughts. You were close to giving up, and retire for the night until a random thought popped into your mind,

Seijoh University Anonymous Confessions.

The unofficial page was undoubtedly popular amongst the students of the university, it served as a freedom wall where one was given the ability to express anything, and everything to fellow students behind anonymity; ranging from harmless rants about the meal prices all the way to heartfelt messages, you name it.

Submitting a confession was easy, all one had to do was fill up an anonymous form linked on the page, and wait ‘til moderators post it for everyone else to see.

You’ve always just been an avid reader of the confessions, a mere pastime in between lectures, and study breaks. It was interesting to see other students’ perspective, and thoughts in the campus you all shared, serving you a reminder that despite being in the same environment, everyone experienced things very differently.

Though, the only constant factor in everyone’s university lives was the confession page, even yours.

Despite the page ensuring full anonymity, it was still nerve-wracking to turn your feelings into words, your thumbs shook as you typed each letter into the anonymous form. You knew Iwaizumi would eventually see this confession despite only reading from the page from time to time, you just hoped it was vague enough for him to not notice—he was smart, and usually pieced clues together like it was nothing.

Surely out of all these students submitting confessions to this page everyday, Iwaizumi wouldn’t know, right?

The next few days consisted of refreshing said page, and waiting for your confession to pop up. “You’ve picked up your phone at least ten times in the past two minutes, what’s so interesting?” Oikawa’s dulcet voice pulled you into reality, your torso unceremoniously jerked away to shield your phone as he attempted to take a peek at the device in your hand.

The former narrowed his eyes at you but before he could throw a sly remark your way, Iwaizumi let out an annoyed sigh which gained yours, and Oikawa’s attention.

“Oikawa, if you’re bored, go bother someone outside the study room.”

The brunette playfully rolled his eyes before standing up to stretch, a small yawn slipping past his rosy lips. “Alright, I’m going to get some snacks. Anyone want any?” He grabbed his phone off the table before shifting his gaze between you, and Iwaizumi who only shook his head in silence, completely preoccupied with an assignment.

“Can I come?” “No, go scroll on your phone.”

Oikawa stuck his tongue out, not letting you protest before leaving the study room. The sound of the door clicking echoed throughout the walls of the study room, a deafening silence engulfed you, and Iwaizumi; for you, the silence was awkward, for him, it was completely normal.

If your heart were to pound any louder against your chest, you were sure he would’ve heard.

You randomly flipped through the pages of your textbook, trying to make yourself look busy. God, you couldn’t get more awkward than this. A flurry of overly self-conscious thoughts flooded your mind—would he think I’m weird for flipping too many pages? Fuck, am I reading this paragaph too fast? Is my posture okay? Oh god, I haven’t looked at a mirror all day, do I look fine? Is my hair messy?

Small, sharp prickles kissed down your body as heat engulfed you out of nowhere, cheeks warmed, and palms sweaty. You let out a sigh, nails digging into the skin of your nape, attempting to relieve the annoying itch.

“You okay? You seem very stressed lately.” Iwaizumi pushed his laptop screen halfway down to get a better view of you, he was slouched far into his seat, arms propped on either side of his laptop. His gaze met your own, deep emerald eyes boring into your very core. With a racing heart, you turned your mind upside down for an answer,

“Yeah . . I’m fine. Just tired is all.” Mentally cursing yourself, your nails harshly dug into the hearts of your palm—your voice came out small, and airy, not really convincing but whatever. If Iwaizumi caught your little white lie, he didn’t press on, instead returning a subtle dip of his chin before shifting his gaze back onto the laptop before him.

Sounds of soft keyboard tapping, and the low hum of the wall clock accompanied the deafening silence, you sat there twiddling your thumbs like a dumbass as if you weren’t supposed to be studying.

Iwaizumi wasn’t even doing anything yet here you were, warm faced, and as stiff as a board, if only he knew the effect he had on you. It was beyond embarrassing, really, how he was able to have this effect on you with little to no effort but then again, this was the Iwaizumi Hajime, of course it made sense.

For the first time in forever, you silently wished Oikawa came back as soon as possible—each second passed without a word spoken between you, and Iwaizumi, and you could really use the brunette right now to diffuse the growing awkwardness on your side.

As if the heavens answered your prayer, Oikawa came striding past the door, a bunch of snacks tucked neatly beneath his arm, and torso; you’ve never felt happier seeing him but you weren’t about to let anyone know. The brunette held his phone with his other hand, brown eyes concentrated on the device,

“Have you guys read the new confession? The page just posted it a couple of minutes ago.” He set the snacks on the table, and slid one your way before sitting down.

That’s right, just like you, Oikawa was also an avid reader of the university confessions page as though it was the morning newspaper. You couldn’t really blame him, the whole concept of it was interesting, plus, some confessions were rather strange but fascinating, nonetheless.

Iwaizumi wordlessly shook his head, not sparing a glance at his friend, you, on the other hand, felt a sudden wave of panic wash over your body. Did they finally post your confession? You squirmed in your seat, trying to act nonchalant, and completely normal about the situation at hand, “Mmm, no, not yet. Is it that interesting?”

Oikawa let out a low hum, an amused smile plastered on his face, with the way his gaze shifted back, and forth across the screen of his phone, he seemed to be reading the newest confession. The expression on Oikawa’s face did nothing to relax your nerves, he looked like he was enjoying every bit of the post—surely, you didn’t put much detail into it for anyone to piece it together or did you?

You expected the brunette to answer a simple yes or no along with a little explanation like he always did whenever he brought up the confessions page but apparently, he decided he’d read it out loud without you or Iwaizumi even asking.

Oikawa cleared his throat, “Here, I’ll read it out loud,” 

“Oh god. Never in a million years did I think this would happen to me but lately I’ve noticed that every time I see him, my heart starts racing. I can’t act normally around him anymore and he just looks so handsome whenever I see him. It’s hopeless, I know but some part of me wishes that my feelings are reciprocated. I don’t blame myself for falling in love because he’s such an amazing guy. He’s my everything, he knows that but he doesn’t know I don’t mean platonically. Sigh.”

As your friend read deeper into the paragraph, you slouched further into your seat, cheeks burning like the sun, and embarrassment engulfing your whole body. That was your confession. Fuck, you just wanted the floor to swallow you whole right then, and there.

Your eyes darted between Oikawa, and Iwaizumi, scanning their expressions—the former obviously had a smug smile on his face while the latter looked indifferent; the same old deadpan expression he’d worn since the start of your study session.

As if to make things worse for you, the brunette spoke up again, “It’s gaining quite the attention only because it's such a juicy confession, and students are trying to find out who’s in love with their best friend.” Oikawa chuckled, turning off his phone, and resting his palms behind his head.

What the fuck. How was your confession gaining more attention than the others? Last time you checked, yours was just a typical love confession, something all students have seen hundreds of times on the page, nothing special.

“W-what? Why? Why is it gaining attention?” Your tone came out more panicked than intended. Upon realising this, you awkwardly cleared your throat, and took a sip from your water bottle to help your nerves calm a tad bit before speaking up once again, “What’s so interesting about it, anyway?”

Oikawa shrugged, “Just a typical love confession but I’m not going to lie, it’s always interesting whenever someone has feelings for their best friend.”

Grabbing the snack Oikawa gave you earlier, you hastily opened the bag, and popped a chip in your mouth. Yeah, maybe eating something will calm your nerves.

This time, it was Iwaizumi’s turn to speak up, “Mhm. I’m guessing everyone’s just curious about it, maybe many can relate. It’s not easy being in love with your best friend.” He finally looked up from his laptop, dark emerald eyes shifting from Oikawa to you.

His gaze lingered a little too long for your liking which caused your brain to short circuit. Before you knew it, all you could do was listen to the sound of your yearning heart, fingers curling around the chip packet as your grip tightened.

You sucked in a breath, and averted your gaze from Iwaizumi, staring at the contents of your chip packet, “True . . I feel sorry for OP, especially since it's a long term friendship.” At least your voice didn’t come out shaky this time. Iwaizumi only nodded, he seemed to be in deep thought, whatever the reason was, you absolutely didn’t want to know.

Back in your dorm, you couldn’t help but check the comments under your confession, and as Oikawa stated earlier, majority of it were students tagging their friends on the post, and trying to find out who’s in love with their best friend. Some also gave sound advice about the situation which you appreciated, though, you didn’t know if you were really ready for a face to face confession with Iwaizumi.

Weirdly enough, the unexpected attention gave you a bit of confidence now that you were looking at it from another perspective. Earlier, it felt like a complete nightmare with how much other students were invested in your sad lovelife but now that you’ve calmed down, it was reassuring to see others give blind support, and words of encouragement.

Safe to say, there was still a hint of community between students despite everyone fighting their way through the semesters.

Plus, everyone seemed to await your next confession post, so who were you to deny them that? After all, you couldn’t really talk about it with anyone else, why not share it with the student population behind anonymity?

As expected, not only did your confession gain more traction within the next few days, but friends from classes you’re taking have also been talking about it. Though you couldn’t really comprehend what was so special about your submission, your feelings felt nothing but valid. Suddenly, it didn’t really feel like much of a crime being in love with your best friend—running away from your feelings was never an option but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t once cross your mind.

A million thoughts from students floated throughout the campus regarding the confession; ‘I wonder what their best friend is like?—he must be a really amazing guy.’ ‘I’m kind of curious as to what the person behind the confession is going to do next.’ ‘Heh, what if this confession is actually meant for me?’ ‘When will it be my turn?’

You’ve heard it all.

Despite everyone’s attention on the post, you just really wished that in the back of Iwaizumi’s mind, there was a pressing thought telling him the confession might be for him.

—

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© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

My McLuhan lecture on enshittification

IT'S THE LAST DAY for the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Last night, I gave the annual Marshall McLuhan lecture at the Transmediale festival in Berlin. The event was sold out and while there's a video that'll be posted soon, they couldn't get a streaming setup installed in the Canadian embassy, where the talk was held:

https://transmediale.de/en/2024/event/mcluhan-2024

The talk went of fabulously, and was followed by commentary from Frederike Kaltheuner (Human Rights Watch) and a discussion moderated by Helen Starr. While you'll have to wait a bit for the video, I thought that I'd post my talk notes from last night for the impatient among you.

I want to thank the festival and the embassy staff for their hard work on an excellent event. And now, on to the talk!

Last year, I coined the term 'enshittification,' to describe the way that platforms decay. That obscene little word did big numbers, it really hit the zeitgeist. I mean, the American Dialect Society made it their Word of the Year for 2023 (which, I suppose, means that now I'm definitely getting a poop emoji on my tombstone).

So what's enshittification and why did it catch fire? It's my theory explaining how the internet was colonized by platforms, and why all those platforms are degrading so quickly and thoroughly, and why it matters – and what we can do about it.

We're all living through the enshittocene, a great enshittening, in which the services that matter to us, that we rely on, are turning into giant piles of shit.

It's frustrating. It's demoralizing. It's even terrifying.

I think that the enshittification framework goes a long way to explaining it, moving us out of the mysterious realm of the 'great forces of history,' and into the material world of specific decisions made by named people – decisions we can reverse and people whose addresses and pitchfork sizes we can learn.

Enshittification names the problem and proposes a solution. It's not just a way to say 'things are getting worse' (though of course, it's fine with me if you want to use it that way. It's an English word. We don't have der Rat für Englisch Rechtschreibung. English is a free for all. Go nuts, meine Kerle).

But in case you want to use enshittification in a more precise, technical way, let's examine how enshittification works.

It's a three stage process: First, platforms are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.

Let's do a case study. What could be better than Facebook?

Facebook is a company that was founded to nonconsensually rate the fuckability of Harvard undergrads, and it only got worse after that.

When Facebook started off, it was only open to US college and high-school kids with .edu and k-12.us addresses. But in 2006, it opened up to the general public. It told them: “Yes, I know you’re all using Myspace. But Myspace is owned by Rupert Murdoch, an evil, crapulent senescent Australian billionaire, who spies on you with every hour that God sends.

“Sign up with Facebook and we will never spy on you. Come and tell us who matters to you in this world, and we will compose a personal feed consisting solely of what those people post for consumption by those who choose to follow them.”

That was stage one. Facebook had a surplus — its investors’ cash — and it allocated that surplus to its end-users. Those end-users proceeded to lock themselves into FB. FB — like most tech businesses — has network effects on its side. A product or service enjoys network effects when it improves as more people sign up to use it. You joined FB because your friends were there, and then others signed up because you were there.

But FB didn’t just have high network effects, it had high switching costs. Switching costs are everything you have to give up when you leave a product or service. In Facebook’s case, it was all the friends there that you followed and who followed you. In theory, you could have all just left for somewhere else; in practice, you were hamstrung by the collective action problem.

It’s hard to get lots of people to do the same thing at the same time. You and your six friends here are going to struggle to agree on where to get drinks after tonight's lecture. How were you and your 200 Facebook friends ever gonna agree on when it was time to leave Facebook, and where to go?

So FB’s end-users engaged in a mutual hostage-taking that kept them glued to the platform. Then FB exploited that hostage situation, withdrawing the surplus from end-users and allocating it to two groups of business customers: advertisers, and publishers.

To the advertisers, FB said, 'Remember when we told those rubes we wouldn’t spy on them? We lied. We spy on them from asshole to appetite. We will sell you access to that surveillance data in the form of fine-grained ad-targeting, and we will devote substantial engineering resources to thwarting ad-fraud. Your ads are dirt cheap to serve, and we’ll spare no expense to make sure that when you pay for an ad, a real human sees it.'

To the publishers, FB said, 'Remember when we told those rubes we would only show them the things they asked to see? We lied!Upload short excerpts from your website, append a link, and we will nonconsensually cram it into the eyeballs of users who never asked to see it. We are offering you a free traffic funnel that will drive millions of users to your website to monetize as you please, and those users will become stuck to you when they subscribe to your feed.' And so advertisers and publishers became stuck to the platform, too, dependent on those users.

The users held each other hostage, and those hostages took the publishers and advertisers hostage, too, so that everyone was locked in.

Which meant it was time for the third stage of enshittification: withdrawing surplus from everyone and handing it to Facebook’s shareholders.

For the users, that meant dialing down the share of content from accounts you followed to a homeopathic dose, and filling the resulting void with ads and pay-to-boost content from publishers.

For advertisers, that meant jacking up prices and drawing down anti-fraud enforcement, so advertisers paid much more for ads that were far less likely to be seen by a person.

For publishers, this meant algorithmically suppressing the reach of their posts unless they included an ever-larger share of their articles in the excerpt, until anything less than fulltext was likely to be be disqualified from being sent to your subscribers, let alone included in algorithmic suggestion feeds.

And then FB started to punish publishers for including a link back to their own sites, so they were corralled into posting fulltext feeds with no links, meaning they became commodity suppliers to Facebook, entirely dependent on the company both for reach and for monetization, via the increasingly crooked advertising service.

When any of these groups squawked, FB just repeated the lesson that every tech executive learned in the Darth Vader MBA: 'I have altered the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.'

Facebook now enters the most dangerous phase of enshittification. It wants to withdraw all available surplus, and leave just enough residual value in the service to keep end users stuck to each other, and business customers stuck to end users, without leaving anything extra on the table, so that every extractable penny is drawn out and returned to its shareholders.

But that’s a very brittle equilibrium, because the difference between “I hate this service but I can’t bring myself to quit it,” and “Jesus Christ, why did I wait so long to quit? Get me the hell out of here!” is razor thin

All it takes is one Cambridge Analytica scandal, one whistleblower, one livestreamed mass-shooting, and users bolt for the exits, and then FB discovers that network effects are a double-edged sword.

If users can’t leave because everyone else is staying, when when everyone starts to leave, there’s no reason not to go, too.

That’s terminal enshittification, the phase when a platform becomes a pile of shit. This phase is usually accompanied by panic, which tech bros euphemistically call 'pivoting.'

Which is how we get pivots like, 'In the future, all internet users will be transformed into legless, sexless, low-polygon, heavily surveilled cartoon characters in a virtual world called "metaverse," that we ripped off from a 25-year-old satirical cyberpunk novel.'

That's the procession of enshittification. If enshittification were a disease, we'd call that enshittification's "natural history." But that doesn't tell you how the enshittification works, nor why everything is enshittifying right now, and without those details, we can't know what to do about it.

What led to the enshittocene? What is it about this moment that led to the Great Enshittening? Was it the end of the Zero Interest Rate Policy? Was it a change in leadership at the tech giants? Is Mercury in retrograde?

None of the above.

The period of free fed money certainly led to tech companies having a lot of surplus to toss around. But Facebook started enshittifying long before ZIRP ended, so did Amazon, Microsoft and Google.

Some of the tech giants got new leaders. But Google's enshittification got worse when the founders came back to oversee the company's AI panic (excuse me, 'AI pivot').

And it can't be Mercury in retrograde, because I'm a cancer, and as everyone knows, cancers don't believe in astrology.

When a whole bunch of independent entities all change in the same way at once, that's a sign that the environment has changed, and that's what happened to tech.

Tech companies, like all companies, have conflicting imperatives. On the one hand, they want to make money. On the other hand, making money involves hiring and motivating competent staff, and making products that customers want to buy. The more value a company permits its employees and customers to carve off, the less value it can give to its shareholders.

The equilibrium in which companies produce things we like in honorable ways at a fair price is one in which charging more, worsening quality, and harming workers costs more than the company would make by playing dirty.

There are four forces that discipline companies, serving as constraints on their enshittificatory impulses.

First: competition. Companies that fear you will take your business elsewhere are cautious about worsening quality or raising prices.

Second: regulation. Companies that fear a regulator will fine them more than they expect to make from cheating, will cheat less.

These two forces affect all industries, but the next two are far more tech-specific.

Third: self-help. Computers are extremely flexible, and so are the digital products and services we make from them. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing-complete Von Neumann machine, a computer that can run every valid program.

That means that users can always avail themselves of programs that undo the anti-features that shift value from them to a company's shareholders. Think of a board-room table where someone says, 'I've calculated that making our ads 20% more invasive will net us 2% more revenue per user.'

In a digital world, someone else might well say 'Yes, but if we do that, 20% of our users will install ad-blockers, and our revenue from those users will drop to zero, forever.'

This means that digital companies are constrained by the fear that some enshittificatory maneuver will prompt their users to google, 'How do I disenshittify this?'

Fourth and finally: workers. Tech workers have very low union density, but that doesn't mean that tech workers don't have labor power. The historical "talent shortage" of the tech sector meant that workers enjoyed a lot of leverage over their bosses. Workers who disagreed with their bosses could quit and walk across the street and get another job – a better job.

They knew it, and their bosses knew it. Ironically, this made tech workers highly exploitable. Tech workers overwhelmingly saw themselves as founders in waiting, entrepreneurs who were temporarily drawing a salary, heroic figures of the tech mission.

That's why mottoes like Google's 'don't be evil' and Facebook's 'make the world more open and connected' mattered: they instilled a sense of mission in workers. It's what Fobazi Ettarh calls 'vocational awe, 'or Elon Musk calls being 'extremely hardcore.'

Tech workers had lots of bargaining power, but they didn't flex it when their bosses demanded that they sacrifice their health, their families, their sleep to meet arbitrary deadlines.

So long as their bosses transformed their workplaces into whimsical 'campuses,' with gyms, gourmet cafeterias, laundry service, massages and egg-freezing, workers could tell themselves that they were being pampered – rather than being made to work like government mules.

But for bosses, there's a downside to motivating your workers with appeals to a sense of mission, namely: your workers will feel a sense of mission. So when you ask them to enshittify the products they ruined their health to ship, workers will experience a sense of profound moral injury, respond with outrage, and threaten to quit.

Thus tech workers themselves were the final bulwark against enshittification,

The pre-enshittification era wasn't a time of better leadership. The executives weren't better. They were constrained. Their worst impulses were checked by competition, regulation, self-help and worker power.

So what happened?

One by one, each of these constraints was eroded until it dissolved, leaving the enshittificatory impulse unchecked, ushering in the enshittoscene.

It started with competition. From the Gilded Age until the Reagan years, the purpose of competition law was to promote competition. US antitrust law treated corporate power as dangerous and sought to blunt it. European antitrust laws were modeled on US ones, imported by the architects of the Marshall Plan.

But starting in the neoliberal era, competition authorities all over the world adopted a doctrine called 'consumer welfare,' which held that monopolies were evidence of quality. If everyone was shopping at the same store and buying the same product, that meant it was the best store, selling the best product – not that anyone was cheating.

And so all over the world, governments stopped enforcing their competition laws. They just ignored them as companies flouted them. Those companies merged with their major competitors, absorbed small companies before they could grow to be big threats. They held an orgy of consolidation that produced the most inbred industries imaginable, whole sectors grown so incestuous they developed Habsburg jaws, from eyeglasses to sea freight, glass bottles to payment processing, vitamin C to beer.

Most of our global economy is dominated by five or fewer global companies. If smaller companies refuse to sell themselves to these cartels, the giants have free rein to flout competition law further, with 'predatory pricing' that keeps an independent rival from gaining a foothold.

When Diapers.com refused Amazon's acquisition offer, Amazon lit $100m on fire, selling diapers way below cost for months, until diapers.com went bust, and Amazon bought them for pennies on the dollar, and shut them down.

Competition is a distant memory. As Tom Eastman says, the web has devolved into 'five giant websites filled with screenshots of text from the other four,' so these giant companies no longer fear losing our business.

Lily Tomlin used to do a character on the TV show Laugh In, an AT&T telephone operator who'd do commercials for the Bell system. Each one would end with her saying 'We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.'

Today's giants are not constrained by competition.

They don't care. They don't have to. They're Google.

That's the first constraint gone, and as it slipped away, the second constraint – regulation – was also doomed.

When an industry consists of hundreds of small- and medium-sized enterprises, it is a mob, a rabble. Hundreds of companies can't agree on what to tell Parliament or Congress or the Commission. They can't even agree on how to cater a meeting where they'd discuss the matter.

But when a sector dwindles to a bare handful of dominant firms, it ceases to be a rabble and it becomes a cartel.

Five companies, or four, or three, or two, or just one company finds it easy to converge on a single message for their regulators, and without "wasteful competition" eroding their profits, they have plenty of cash to spread around.

Like Facebook, handing former UK deputy PM Nick Clegg millions every year to sleaze around Europe, telling his former colleagues that Facebook is the only thing standing between 'European Cyberspace' and the Chinese Communist Party.

Tech's regulatory capture allows it to flout the rules that constrain less concentrated sectors. They can pretend that violating labor, consumer and privacy laws is fine, because they violate them with an app.

This is why competition matters: it's not just because competition makes companies work harder and share value with customers and workers, it's because competition keeps companies from becoming too big to fail, and too big to jail.

Now, there's plenty of things we don't want improved through competition, like privacy invasions. After the EU passed its landmark privacy law, the GDPR, there was a mass-extinction event for small EU ad-tech companies. These companies disappeared en masse, and that's fine.

They were even more invasive and reckless than US-based Big Tech companies. After all, they had less to lose. We don't want competition in commercial surveillance. We don't want to produce increasing efficiency in violating our human rights.

But: Google and Facebook – who pretend they are called Alphabet and Meta – have been unscathed by European privacy law. That's not because they don't violate the GDPR (they do!). It's because they pretend they are headquartered in Ireland, one of the EU's most notorious corporate crime-havens.

And Ireland competes with the EU other crime havens – Malta, Luxembourg, Cyprus and sometimes the Netherlands – to see which country can offer the most hospitable environment for all sorts of crimes. Because the kind of company that can fly an Irish flag of convenience is mobile enough to change to a Maltese flag if the Irish start enforcing EU laws.

Which is how you get an Irish Data Protection Commission that processes fewer than 20 major cases per year, while Germany's data commissioner handles more than 500 major cases, even though Ireland is nominal home to the most privacy-invasive companies on the continent.

So Google and Facebook get to act as though they are immune to privacy law, because they violate the law with an app; just like Uber can violate labor law and claim it doesn't count because they do it with an app.

Uber's labor-pricing algorithm offers different drivers different payments for the same job, something Veena Dubal calls 'algorithmic wage discrimination.' If you're more selective about which jobs you'll take, Uber will pay you more for every ride.

But if you take those higher payouts and ditch whatever side-hustle let you cover your bills which being picky about your Uber drives, Uber will incrementally reduce the payment, toggling up and down as you grow more or less selective, playing you like a fish on a line until you eventually – inevitably – lose to the tireless pricing robot, and end up stuck with low wages and all your side-hustles gone.

Then there's Amazon, which violates consumer protection laws, but says it doesn't matter, because they do it with an app. Amazon makes $38b/year from its 'advertising' system. 'Advertising' in quotes because they're not selling ads, they're selling placements in search results.

The companies that spend the most on 'ads' go to the top, even if they're offering worse products at higher prices. If you click the first link in an Amazon search result, on average you will pay a 29% premium over the best price on the service. Click one of the first four items and you'll pay a 25% premium. On average you have to go seventeen items down to find the best deal on Amazon.

Any merchant that did this to you in a physical storefront would be fined into oblivion. But Amazon has captured its regulators, so it can violate your rights, and say, "it doesn't count, we did it with an app"

This is where that third constraint, self-help, would sure come in handy. If you don't want your privacy violated, you don't need to wait for the Irish privacy regulator to act, you can just install an ad-blocker.

More than half of all web users are blocking ads. But the web is an open platform, developed in the age when tech was hundreds of companies at each others' throats, unable to capture their regulators.

Today, the web is being devoured by apps, and apps are ripe for enshittification. Regulatory capture isn't just the ability to flout regulation, it's also the ability to co-opt regulation, to wield regulation against your adversaries.

Today's tech giants got big by exploiting self-help measures. When Facebook was telling Myspace users they needed to escape Rupert Murdoch’s evil crapulent Australian social media panopticon, it didn’t just say to those Myspacers, 'Screw your friends, come to Facebook and just hang out looking at the cool privacy policy until they get here'

It gave them a bot. You fed the bot your Myspace username and password, and it would login to Myspace and pretend to be you, and scrape everything waiting in your inbox, copying it to your FB inbox, and you could reply to it and it would autopilot your replies back to Myspace.

When Microsoft was choking off Apple's market oxygen by refusing to ship a functional version of Microsoft Office for the Mac – so that offices were throwing away their designers' Macs and giving them PCs with upgraded graphics cards and Windows versions of Photoshop and Illustrator – Steve Jobs didn't beg Bill Gates to update Mac Office.

He got his technologists to reverse-engineer Microsoft Office, and make a compatible suite, the iWork Suite, whose apps, Pages, Numbers and Keynote could perfectly read and write Microsoft's Word, Excel and Powerpoint files.

When Google entered the market, it sent its crawler to every web server on Earth, where it presented itself as a web-user: 'Hi! Hello! Do you have any web pages? Thanks! How about some more? How about more?'

But every pirate wants to be an admiral. When Facebook, Apple and Google were doing this adversarial interoperability, that was progress. If you try to do it to them, that's piracy.

Try to make an alternative client for Facebook and they'll say you violated US laws like the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and EU laws like Article 6 of the EUCD.

Try to make an Android program that can run iPhone apps and play back the data from Apple's media stores and they'd bomb you until the rubble bounced.

Try to scrape all of Google and they'll nuke you until you glowed.

Tech's regulatory capture is mind-boggling. Take that law I mentioned earlier, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act or DMCA. Bill Clinton signed it in 1998, and the EU imported it as Article 6 of the EUCD in 2001

It is a blanket prohibition on removing any kind of encryption that restricts access to a copyrighted work – things like ripping DVDs or jailbreaking a phone – with penalties of a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine for a first offense.

This law has been so broadened that it can be used to imprison creators for granting access to their own creations

Here's how that works: In 2008, Amazon bought Audible, an audiobook platform, in an anticompetitive acquisition. Today, Audible is a monopolist with more than 90% of the audiobook market. Audible requires that all creators on their platform sell with Amazon's "digital rights management," which locks it to Amazon's apps.

So say I write a book, then I read it into a mic, then I pay a director and an engineer thousands of dollars to turn that into an audiobook, and sell it to you on the monopoly platform, Audible, that controls more than 90% of the market.

If I later decide to leave Amazon and want to let you come with me to a rival platform, I am out of luck. If I supply you with a tool to remove Amazon's encryption from my audiobook, so you can play it in another app, I commit a felony, punishable by a 5-year sentence and a half-million-dollar fine, for a first offense.

That's a stiffer penalty than you would face if you simply pirated the audiobook from a torrent site. But it's also harsher than the punishment you'd get for shoplifting the audiobook on CD from a truck-stop. It's harsher than the sentence you'd get for hijacking the truck that delivered the CD.

So think of our ad-blockers again. 50% of web users are running ad-blockers. 0% of app users are running ad-blockers, because adding a blocker to an app requires that you first remove its encryption, and that's a felony (Jay Freeman calls this 'felony contempt of business-model').

So when someone in a board-room says, 'let's make our ads 20% more obnoxious and get a 2% revenue increase,' no one objects that this might prompt users to google, 'how do I block ads?' After all, the answer is, 'you can't.'

Indeed, it's more likely that someone in that board room will say, 'let's make our ads 100% more obnoxious and get a 10% revenue increase' (this is why every company wants you to install an app instead of using its website).

There's no reason that gig workers who are facing algorithmic wage discrimination couldn't install a counter-app that coordinated among all the Uber drivers to reject all jobs unless they reach a certain pay threshold.

No reason except felony contempt of business model, the threat that the toolsmiths who built that counter-app would go broke or land in prison, for violating DMCA 1201, the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, trademark, copyright, patent, contract, trade secrecy, nondisclosure and noncompete, or in other words: 'IP law.'

'IP' is just a euphemism for 'a law that lets me reach beyond the walls of my company and control the conduct of my critics, competitors and customers.' And 'app' is just a euphemism for 'a web-page wrapped enough IP to make it a felony to mod it to protect the labor, consumer and privacy rights of its user.'

We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.

But what about that fourth constraint: workers?

For decades, tech workers' high degrees of bargaining power and vocational awe put a ceiling on enshittification. Even after the tech sector shrank to a handful of giants. Even after they captured their regulators so they could violate our consumer, privacy and labor rights. Even after they created 'felony contempt of business model' and extinguished self-help for tech users. Tech was still constrained by their workers' sense of moral injury in the face of the imperative to enshittify.

Remember when tech workers dreamed of working for a big company for a few years, before striking out on their own to start their own company that would knock that tech giant over?

Then that dream shrank to: work for a giant for a few years, quit, do a fake startup, get acqui-hired by your old employer, as a complicated way of getting a bonus and a promotion.

Then the dream shrank further: work for a tech giant for your whole life, get free kombucha and massages on Wednesdays.

And now, the dream is over. All that’s left is: work for a tech giant until they fire your ass, like those 12,000 Googlers who got fired last year six months after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years.

Workers are no longer a check on their bosses' worst impulses

Today, the response to 'I refuse to make this product worse' is, 'turn in your badge and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.'

I get that this is all a little depressing

OK, really depressing.

But hear me out! We've identified the disease. We've traced its natural history. We've identified its underlying mechanism. Now we can get to work on a cure.

There are four constraints that prevent enshittification: competition, regulation, self-help and labor.

To reverse enshittification and guard against its reemergence, we must restore and strengthen each of these.

On competition, it's actually looking pretty good. The EU, the UK, the US, Canada, Australia, Japan and China are all doing more on competition than they have in two generations. They're blocking mergers, unwinding existing ones, taking action on predatory pricing and other sleazy tactics.

Remember, in the US and Europe, we already have the laws to do this – we just stopped enforcing them in the Helmut Kohl era.

I've been fighting these fights with the Electronic Frontier Foundation for 22 years now, and I've never seen a more hopeful moment for sound, informed tech policy.

Now, the enshittifiers aren't taking this laying down. The business press can't stop talking about how stupid and old-fashioned all this stuff is. They call people like me 'hipster antitrust,' and they hate any regulator who actually does their job.

Take Lina Khan, the brilliant head of the US Federal Trade Commission, who has done more in three years on antitrust than the combined efforts of all her predecessors over the past 40 years. Rupert Murdoch's Wall Street Journal has run more than 80 editorials trashing Khan, insisting that she's an ineffectual ideologue who can't get anything done.

Sure, Rupert, that's why you ran 80 editorials about her.

Because she can't get anything done.

Even Canada is stepping up on competition. Canada! Land of the evil billionaire! From Ted Rogers, who owns the country's telecoms; to Galen Weston, who owns the country's grocery stores; to the Irvings, who basically own the entire province of New Brunswick.

Even Canada is doing something about this. Last autumn, Trudeau's government promised to update Canada's creaking competition law to finally ban 'abuse of dominance.'

I mean, wow. I guess when Galen Weston decided to engage in a criminal conspiracy to fix the price of bread – the most Les Miz-ass crime imaginable – it finally got someone's attention, eh?

Competition has a long way to go, but all over the world, competition law is seeing a massive revitalization. Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher put antitrust law in a coma in the 80s – but it's awake, it's back, and it's pissed.

What about regulation? How will we get tech companies to stop doing that one weird trick of adding 'with an app' to their crimes and escaping enforcement?

Well, here in the EU, they're starting to figure it out. This year, the Digital Markets Act and the Digital Services Act went into effect, and they let people who get screwed by tech companies go straight to the federal European courts, bypassing the toothless watchdogs in Europe's notorious corporate crime havens like Ireland.

In America, they might finally get a digital privacy law. You people have no idea how backwards US privacy law is. The last time the US Congress enacted a broadly applicable privacy law was in 1988.

The Video Privacy Protection Act makes it a crime for video-store clerks to leak your video-rental history. It was passed after a right-wing judge who was up for the Supreme Court had his rentals published in a DC newspaper. The rentals weren't even all that embarrassing!

Sure, that judge, Robert Bork, wasn't confirmed for the Supreme Court, but that was because he was a virulently racist loudmouth and a crook who served as Nixon's Solicitor General.

But Congress got the idea that their video records might be next, freaked out, and passed the VPPA.

That was the last time Americans got a big, national privacy law. Nineteen. Eighty. Eight.

It's been a minute.

And the thing is, there's a lot of people who are angry about stuff that has some nexus with America's piss-poor privacy landscape. Worried that Facebook turned Grampy into a Qanon? That Insta made your teen anorexic? That TikTok is brainwashing millennials into quoting Osama Bin Laden?

Or that cops are rolling up the identities of everyone at a Black Lives Matter protest or the Jan 6 riots by getting location data from Google?

Or that Red State Attorneys General are tracking teen girls to out-of-state abortion clinics?

Or that Black people are being discriminated against by online lending or hiring platforms?

Or that someone is making AI deepfake porn of you?

Having a federal privacy law with a private right of action – which means that individuals can sue companies that violate their privacy – would go a long way to rectifying all of these problems. There's a big coalition for that kind of privacy law.

What about self-help? That's a lot farther away, alas.

The EU's DMA will force tech companies to open up their walled gardens for interoperation. You'll be able to use Whatsapp to message people on iMessage, or quit Facebook and move to Mastodon, but still send messages to the people left behind.

But if you want to reverse-engineer one of those Big Tech products and mod it to work for you, not them, the EU's got nothing for you.

This is an area ripe for improvement, and I think the US might be the first ones to open this up.

It's certainly on-brand for the EU to be forcing tech companies to do things a certain way, while the US simply takes away tech companies' abilities to prevent others from changing how their stuff works.

My big hope here is that Stein's Law will take hold: 'Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop'

Letting companies decide how their customers must use their products is simply too tempting an invitation to mischief. HP has a whole building full of engineers thinking of new ways to lock your printer to its official ink cartridges, forcing you to spend $10,000/gallon on ink to print your boarding passes and shopping lists.

It's offensive. The only people who don't agree are the people running the monopolies in all the other industries, like the med-tech monopolists who are locking their insulin pumps to their glucose monitors, turning people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers.

Finally, there's labor. Here in Europe, there's much higher union density than in the US, which American tech barons are learning the hard way. There is nothing more satisfying in the daily news than the latest salvo by Nordic unions against that Tesla guy (Musk is the most Edison-ass Tesla guy imaginable).

But even in the USA, there's a massive surge in tech unions. Tech workers are realizing that they aren't founders in waiting. The days of free massages and facial piercings and getting to wear black tee shirts that say things your boss doesn't understand are coming to an end.

In Seattle, Amazon's tech workers walked out in sympathy with Amazon's warehouse workers, because they're all workers.

The only reason the tech workers aren't monitored by AI that notifies their managers if they visit the toilet during working hours is their rapidly dwindling bargaining power. The way things are going, Amazon programmers are going to be pissing in bottles next to their workstations (for a guy who built a penis-shaped rocket, Jeff Bezos really hates our kidneys).

We're seeing bold, muscular, global action on competition, regulation and labor, with self-help bringing up the rear. It's not a moment too soon, because the bad news is, enshittification is coming to every industry.

If it's got a networked computer in it, the people who made it can run the Darth Vader MBA playbook on it, changing the rules from moment to moment, violating your rights and then saying 'It's OK, we did it with an app.'

From Mercedes renting you your accelerator pedal by the month to Internet of Things dishwashers that lock you into proprietary dishsoap, enshittification is metastasizing into every corner of our lives.

Software doesn't eat the world, it enshittifies it

But there's a bright side to all this: if everyone is threatened by enshittification, then everyone has a stake in disenshittification.

Just as with privacy law in the US, the potential anti-enshittification coalition is massive, it's unstoppable.

The cynics among you might be skeptical that this will make a difference. After all, isn't "enshittification" the same as "capitalism"?

Well, no.

Look, I'm not going to cape for capitalism here. I'm hardly a true believer in markets as the most efficient allocators of resources and arbiters of policy – if there was ever any doubt, capitalism's total failure to grapple with the climate emergency surely erases it.

But the capitalism of 20 years ago made space for a wild and wooly internet, a space where people with disfavored views could find each other, offer mutual aid, and organize.

The capitalism of today has produced a global, digital ghost mall, filled with botshit, crapgadgets from companies with consonant-heavy brand-names, and cryptocurrency scams.

The internet isn't more important than the climate emergency, nor gender justice, racial justice, genocide, or inequality.

But the internet is the terrain we'll fight those fights on. Without a free, fair and open internet, the fight is lost before it's joined.

We can reverse the enshittification of the internet. We can halt the creeping enshittification of every digital device.

We can build a better, enshittification-resistant digital nervous system, one that is fit to coordinate the mass movements we will need to fight fascism, end genocide, and save our planet and our species.

Martin Luther King said 'It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.'

And it may be true that the law can't force corporate sociopaths to conceive of you as a human being entitled to dignity and fair treatment, and not just an ambulatory wallet, a supply of gut-bacteria for the immortal colony organism that is a limited liability corporation.

But it can make that exec fear you enough to treat you fairly and afford you dignity, even if he doesn't think you deserve it.

And I think that's pretty important.

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/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel/a>

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

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[celabi]

tbh, I feel like I’ve been drifting away from the original scummy scara I made when I first made the au, so I would like to let everyone know that he is a BIG freak. the type of guy you avoid because he’s just… so creepy and weird. like, restraining order, banned in fifty states type of weird.

he will steal a pen you’ve been nibbling on in class, and do all sorts of things to it that you don’t wanna know. like shoving it down his throat or something idk.

he goes through the trash and takes the gun you spat out, and chews it as if he were a man on death row. and at this point he might as well be.

he ‘makes’ you home made lunch. (which is just store brought food he put into a lunch box). awe, so thoughtful, right? NO, he passed out after cumming so much to replace the dressing on your salad.

spits in your drink, so it’s almost like you’re kissing in a way, because his saliva is in your mouth yada yada. he’s so delusional, gosh.

this man jerks off to anything. pictures of you in a bikini. pictures of your panties that he snuck a photo of from under your skirt. hell, he has even fapped it to a post he found on one of your family members facebook where you look like the most ordinary person ever. anything.

he acts like an angel around you, but the moment you turn your back, he has this dark, violent glint in his eyes at anyone who isn’t you.

he STANK. like discord moderator who manages thirty different servers. he plays video games 24/7 and eats only fast food + he lives in his mothers basement so minus points.

his mind is SO dirty too. like you could be complaining about this one girl who has been getting on your nerves recently, and all he can think about is bending you over the table and running his hands all over your body. he thinks of you when he shouldn’t, and in ways he shouldn’t, even before you knew his name.

yeah he’s so sweet, and kisses the ground you walk on. but he also would love nothing more then to knock you up and keep you as his cute little spouse who he can come home and make love to every day.

god and he’s a brat too, don’t get me started. like, throwing tantrums when you decide to sit with someone else at lunch. starting fights with people who so much as look in your general direction (ones that he loses cause he is so small and scrawny). screaming profanities at the professors who separate your seating plans in lectures, and so on.

if you’ve been keeping up with my posts, you’ll know that this man has a literal sex doll replica of you he sleeps with at night. it’s so detailed to the point where there is freckles in the exact same spot they are on your skin. (even some moles and beauty marks that you didn’t even know you had, and god knows how he does).

has a shrine of you in his closet. strands of your hair he has collected. lipgloss and chapstick he has stolen from your bag whilst you weren’t looking. accessories like rings and bracelets. nail polish, all the works. and in the middle of this shrine, in all its glory, is a pair of your underwear that he took while you were in the changing rooms. he prays to it. the holy grail.

he has been dating you in his head the moment he saw you, like, gets a little annoyed when you don’t remember your five month anniversary, but the thing is, you didn’t even know you’re dating at all.

I love him. don’t get me wrong, but he is not the man you want to get involved with, like AT ALL.

go for someone like scummy alhaitham, who has (some) self respect 👍

[141shousewife]

You like movies? You wanna make one?

Minors DNI I WILL eat you.

ill make this another part if it does well

cw: nsfw, price x female reader, TA reader x Professor! Price, slight jealousy/arguing, filming, price x plus size reader

Johns voice echos inside of the linoleum lecture hall. You quietly listen to the scribbles of a red pen and the sound of his voice. Normally the sound from his auditorium during lectures is moderate, but today he is particularly chipper as his voice bleeds into the shared office you currently revise essays in.

"-Excellent! and what do you think the director is trying to convey with this wide frame shot?"

Your eyes continue to graze over the same words again and again: "Director" "Shot" "Film" "Cinematography" "Intention" "Audience"

You love your job, but reading first years' dull writing for over an hour and a half has your eyes and brain hurting.

Being John's TA had a lot of quirks; good pay, free snacks, and lots of academic validation that you will not expand on in front of your friends when questioned, and lastly the sharply dressed professor that lounges around and insists on your everlasting 'genius', and is admittedly fun to run your eyes over and imagine him slowl-

"ALRIGHT- that is going to wrap up our time for today, it's Friday so I don't want to keep you all. Remember to make good choices and turn in your makeups by 11:59 on Sunday. Okay, get outta here."

You rest your eyes and listen to the symphony of zipping backpacks, chairs being pushed in, and the different conversations of "i gotta turn in-" or "what are you doing this weekend-" quickly zip by the door of the closed office. You take a moment to settle into your rolling chair as you hear Price sending off students warmly. His brown suede dress shoes quietly grow louder as they hit the tile close and closer to the office door.

Price's office is cushy and expansive. There is enough room for more than the desk, rug, couch, and mini-fridge fill the space a subpar amount. The two desks that occupy the warmly lit, carpeted room are positioned across the room from each other. John's desk is littered with a desk lamp, books stacked on top of each other, a desk of pens and a closed cigar case.

As you hear the him begin to answer the last few questions from students while slowly opening the office door, you gather your materials and move to the couch and sit beneath the warm throw that adorns it.

The couch dips in on itself significantly and creaks under your wide bottom as you curse it for its announcement.

"Of course- and if you have any more questions feel free to email me."

The girl that you see him talking to- the sliver of her that you can see is smaller than you and blonde, she catches her hair in between two of her fingers and leans into his personal space.

"Could I come to your office for help on my essay, this Saturday, around say 6?

Not fully understanding what she is asking, he straightens out his back in concern and responds to her in a hushed tone.

"Do you not have a device in order to submit an email? If not the library is open from 9 am to 9 pm during the weekend."

She provides even less space for him and looks up with a smile.

"No Professor, I do, I just meant if I needed some... special help"

He maintains a warm demeanor but shuts her down

" I'm afraid not- My office hours are for working and if you make a comment like that again I am at liberty to report you to the dean, so I would suggest you leave now. Have a nice weekend."

He opens the door fully to enter and shuts it behind him and the blonde pads away quietly with less of her dignity than before. He rolls his eyes as he greets you.

"You can't make this stuff up. Flirting when she hasn't even turned in her essay on time. Bold."

You speak without fully thinking; wondering why Price is acting so insulted by a conventionally good looking girl shmoozing him. As he sets his laptop and other things on his desk you speak.

"She was a pretty girl John. It's not like its such a low blow."

John turns quickly quirks his head "You can't seriously be implying I would date some...kid? one of my students? She's not my type. "

You immediately jump to defend yourself with in hindsight- a bit too much gusto.

You say while sarcastically chuckling "I wasn't saying that! and come on it's just us, she- girls like her, are everyone's type."

John steps closer to where you are sat on the couch and looks down at you with his eyes furrowed and his hands in his pockets.

"Well she's not mine."

He reaches over on top of his desk a grabs a cigar, he quietly throws a "You mind?" over his shoulder and upon you responding "You're all good." he clips his cigar and lights it.

He turns around and steps closer as puffs it and he eyes you over.

His gaze is- uncomfortably intense, in a way that makes you wanna say sorry- or maybe start stripping...

He seems to catch wind of you being in thought.

"What do you care anyway?"

You look at him to respond but nothing comes out of your mouth as he sits the cigar down and steps closer to you until he's standing over you. His legs stand interlinked with yours and brushes them.

You feel something other worldly pull your body up to stand in front of him. You stare at him breathlessly and try to ignore the cinnamon, sandalwood and cigar smoke that's making you want to rub your-

John's voice pulls you out of another depraved thought

"I can't believe you think a girl like that is my type. I date women. Grown women. "

Your voice barely sounds like your own. You barely get the words out.

" I swear that wasn't what I meant. I just thought-"

John cuts you off "I know what you thought, you thought I was going to let you have a self deprecation fest, but I'm telling you that the women I want.. don't look, talk, or think like her. I don't want girls."

"I like women. Women who look, talk, and think like you." He toys with the bottom of your skirt in a way that makes your face grow warm, his hand brushing against your thick thigh.

You start to protest immediately, " You don't need to flatter me John, I'm sorry."

John starts speaking over you in frustration, "Why is it unbelievable that I would prefer you? I'm not flattering you. I'm not a liar or someone who compliments out of pity, you know what- here"

He huffs and grabs your wrist and places your hand directly over his khaki covered hard-on and whispers

"Does that feel like pity to you?"

As you stare at him dumbfounded, John's hand reaches up and holds the base of your skull with his large hand.

All of your breath re-enters your lungs like he just jump-started your entire system.

John looks at you with mischief you cannot quite place.

"How about I help you see how good you look?"

You track his gaze towards his Nikon and immediately look at him in horror.

"You wanna record me? No. Absolutely not. I look horrible on camera and you want to film my O-face and chubbiness from a side profile? You've lost it!"

"Honey, if you don't want to film because you're uncomfortable we can forget it right now, but if this is about the way your 'chubbiness' looks then I'm telling you that I wanna see this body. On me. On video."

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - The Exorcism Part Two

wanted to do a bit more but ough i am TIRED... this took a lot out of me lmao but i hope y'all enjoy! lmk what u think in the tags/replies/asks :)

masterpost

previous

(Please Reblog! Leave a comment in the tags! They make me very happy :)

SUMMARIZED ID: Reigen and Mob are shown the client's living room, it is in disarray. Reigen begins investigating the room, but begins to feel the presence of spirits... They keep a sharp eye out, as something moves about the room quickly.

FULL ID UNDER CUT

START ID:

(This is a body swap, so I'll be referring to the characters as who they actually are but keep in mind that Reigen is in Mob's body and vice versa.)

Mob watches Dimple fly leave, then goes inside Hiroto's house by shutting the door.

Cut to inside, Hiroto is opening a door for Mob and Reigen. Reigen has his hands on his hips. The client says, "This is where it's been happening." The room inside is moderately sized with a triple pane window on the far left wall. There is a fireplace, a couch, a ripped up armchair, two carpets- both rumpled and one torn, a doggy bed, a toy train, some balls, a tipped over coffee table, some askew and fallen paintings, some shelving units, and a chest of drawers on the right hand wall that has upon it multiple knick knacks. A drawer is missing from it and laying on the floor. There is a book with some pages torn out as well. All in all, it's a room that has seen some damage.

Hiroto lifts a nearby painting, showing three long scratches that were seen previously in the comic as a flashback. "See?" He says, looking at Mob. Mob looks at the scratches, somewhat narrowing his eyes. "Hmm..."

Reigen steps in, leaned over with his hand on his chin, looking at the scratches. Hiroto looks down at him, a little surprised. Reigen asks, "Hmm... have you noticed any strange smells?" "Smells?" The client repeats.

"Yes, like something rotting or damp. Spirits can sometimes carry over scents from their bodies, and that helps us determine which kind of ghost it is." Reigen says, gesturing with one hand while pointing upwards with the other. Hiroto shrugs, smile askew. "No, I haven't smelled anything strange..." He turns to Mob. "What do you think?"

Mob stands in the middle of the room, looking up. "Hmmm. I... don't feel anything." His speech bubble is overlapped by Reigen's, "AHAHA!!!" Reigen laughs, moving to Mob's side and resting one hand on Mob's arm, smiling wide and nervous as he explains to Hiroto: "They must be so weak that my Master is having a hard time picking up on them, but I can sense something in this room... ah, I can sense weaker spirits-- you know. I take care of them for my Master."

Mob gives Reigen a deadpan look. "Is that all you do?" Reigen's smile dims and he sweats.

"Al... right. Well, I'll leave you two to it... I've got to run to the store for a bit..." Hiroto crosses his arms. "And those ghosts better be gone when I get back."

Reigen waves a hand dismissively, using his customer service smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Hiroto, we'll have your spirit problem taken care of in no time!"

Hiroto begins to shut the door. He smiles nervously. "Sure thing..." He leaves.

After a moment, Mob looks down at Reigen, who is now crouching and looking at the scratches. He joins him on the floor.

Reigen says, "Hm... This guy could have a mouse problem. Or termites, possibly... hopefully not."

"I don't think mice could tip over chairs, Master."

"True, but the dogs could chase the mice and knockk over the chairs...." Reigen holds up a finger, his eyes are shut as he lectures Mob. "Always rule out the probable, Mob! Then, you can start looking for the less probable." Mob looks unimpressed.

Reigen stands up, hand in his pocket. "You do have a point, Mob. Although I hate to admit it... This could be a real hauntiiii-IIING!" His speech transitions into a yelp as his back straightens and eyes go wide. The background of the panel is dark with white wisps darting across it. Reigen crosses his arms and glares off to the side, his hair floating up due to his psychic abilities. He shudders. "Do you think the client would notice if we turned his A/C up? It's freezing in here!"

"I'm not cold." Mob responds.

Reigen grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, still tense. He's shivering. "Huh? It's freezing! Are you anemic or... something? Sensitive to cold?"

"No, I think the cold is probably the spirits."

Reigen flinches, then looks off to the side, smiling nervously. "Oh! Yes! Yes. The spirits! I recognize it now. Uh... you don't feel anything, do you?"

"Nope."

"Great." He puts his hand to his chin in thought. "What do you see, then? Anything?"

"Master, I don't have powers right now, remember?"

Reigen stares at Mob, his hair floating up due to his powers again. The background is dark and shadow-y, with the colouring of Reigen being all white. He's pale.

The next panel is of a similar style, dark and silent as they both look at eachother.

Mob angles his head down, looking at Reigen through his bangs and sweating slightly. "... Because we've switches bodies, I only have your powers right now... not mine?" The panel colour is lighter, and Reigen's hair calms slightly.

"Right." Reigen says, sighing and turning away from Mob, arms crossed. The panel is nearly white again, like normal. Mob is looking to the side, too, eyes downturned with a sweat drop on his cheek.

A view of a model train set, turned over. The carpet is rumpled and there is a painting sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Reigen speaks, "I definitely feel something in this room... but I don't see it. Keep a sharp eye out, just in case. Even if you're having trouble with my powers, I'm sure you can still pull something off."

Mob and Reigen stand back to back, glancing around the room. Then something 'wooshes', represented by a panel with a dark gray background and white lines flowing across it with the text 'woosh' on it.

Reigen startles, turning to look at the far side of the room. There is nothing of note there. He sees only the window, the couch, and the chair.

END ID.

[erikahenningsen]

Regina visiting Janis at work

If Janis gets fired from this job, it will not be because she is bad at selling moderately priced soaps. She's actually not bad at it, although all her job really consists of is ringing people up and restocking the shelves.

No, if she gets fired, it will be Regina's fault. Every time she walks in the store, Janis knows that this day could be her last.

Like today: Regina plunks a jar of hand cream on the counter in front of Janis and complains, "This smells bad."

"Then don't buy it," Janis tells her, making a notation on her inventory clipboard. She takes the jar and sets it aside, knowing Regina won't put it back in the right place, if she puts it back at all.

"Who would want their hands to smell like spearmint?" Regina asks, wrinkling her nose.

"People who aren't you."

"It's gross," Regina says. "I don't know how this store stays in business."

"We carry a variety of scents for a variety of people," Janis recites tiredly.

Regina leans against the counter and sighs dramatically. She does look very pretty today, wearing a shirt with a plunging neckline—coupled with the way Regina is leaning over the counter, Janis momentarily forgets the difference between hand cream and hand soap.

"Can I help you with something?" Janis asks exasperatedly. "Because I really need to get this done."

"I'm bored," Regina whines.

Janis gestures to the exit of the store, which leads into the mall. "Then go to one of the many other establishments."

Regina touches the inside of Janis's wrist, right over her pulse point. "But you're here," she says, managing to make it sound more like a complaint than an endearment.

Nevertheless, it makes Janis's chest warm that Regina wants to spend time with her, even if she doesn't particularly want to be doing it here—that Regina will endure apparently offensive odors just to hang out with Janis.

"Um, excuse me?"

Janis looks up to see a lady around her mom's age. "Hi," Janis greets.

The woman slides a piece of paper over the counter along with a tube of body lotion. "I have this coupon," she says.

Janis takes the coupon and looks at it, then frowns. "Sorry, but this expired a couple of weeks ago," she says apologetically. "The promotion is over."

The woman stares at her. "It's expired?" she asks.

"Yes, sorry," Janis apologizes again.

"But I was out of town," the woman says. "I couldn't have gotten here before it expired."

Janis sighs internally. She has a conversation like this every time the store does some kind of promotion or sale. "Unfortunately I can't accept it," she says, as firmly as she can.

"But—"

"She said no," Regina cuts in, glaring at the lady. "Your inability to read the fine print is your problem."

"Regina!" Janis hisses at the same time the woman says, "Excuse me?"

Regina turns to Janis and widens her eyes, like she has no idea why Janis is scolding her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Janis starts, "I—"

"I'd like to speak to your manager," the woman says curtly.

"How do you know I'm not the manager?" Regina says, stepping closer.

Janis grabs her arm, nails digging in warningly. "She is not the manager," Janis says, ignoring the dirty look Regina gives her.

"Janis?"

Janis briefly closes her eyes before turning to see her actual manager.

"What's going on?" he asks, bewildered.

"Banned," Janis says to Regina in a low tone. "You're banned from this store."

"Fine!" Regina huffs. "I didn't need to buy foot cream for my grandma, anyway."

Ten minutes after Regina storms off, while Janis is being lectured by her manager, she receives a text.

Regina George: bored. miss you

[sugarcoatednightshade]

Israels actions against Palestine make me sick to my stomach. Every time I look at the news I see some new horror they are committing, and see how they are justifying the inexcusable, I feel sick to my stomach with rage. But now, in the heart of Ramadan, the word angry feels too small for the fire I feel in my chest.

Palestine will not be able to properly celebrate Ramadan this year. Trying to explain the situation to people who have never interacted with the community is difficult. Even when thinking to myself, I have the urge to compare it to what I know. "Imagine if there was no Christmas." "Imagine if someone took away Easter." "Imagine there was no food on Thanksgiving."

But Ramadan is not any of those things. The fact that there is no Ramadan in Palestine should be enough to make you angry.

I've been living in a muslim country for six months now. Ramadan is not nearly as festive as Eid was, but its presence is unmistakable. You can taste the joy in the air. Children here get out of school early this month. There is a school across from my home; I hear their laughter every day. String lights hang from the balconies of my neighbors, wrap around palm trees, dangle from streetlights. In the news I read that the Sheik has pardoned hundreds of prisoners, paying off their fines himself in the spirit of charity. Shops here are decorated to match, with cut out stars and crescent moons and streamers. Many shops offer discounts. "70% off home delivery."

There are festivals in the streets and lectures in the colleges.

It is wonderful. And the people of Palestine do not have this. Their fasting is forced, their children out of school by force, their houses lit by firebombs and not crescent moon LEDs, homes that smell of gunsmoke instead of oud.

I hate Israel. It feels childish to admit this. It feels like a shortcoming; hate is what causes this crisis, I should be able to focus on loving Palestine instead of adding more hate to the world. But it is a word I can't help but feel when I think about what Isreal has done, is doing, will do to the people of Palestine. What injustices they will force upon them next. Hate. It's not something I say lightly, but it is something I feel I must say.

I am not disappointed in Israel. I am not sympathetic to their 'cause.' I will not censor myself to sound more moderate, to convince the undecided. I hate Israel. I hate Israel. I hate Israel.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Hi! How are you? I hope everything is well!

You can ignore this ask if you want!

Sorry if this ask is awkward but what would Dick do if you were sick? I know you said he snowballs into his tendencies.

But would he keep the reader sick when he sees how easy it is to manipulate them or infantilize them?

It can go in either platonic or romantic!

ALSO I REALLY LOVE YOUR WRITING I STUMBLED UPON YOUR BLOG YESTERDAY AND BINGED EVERY POST YOU HAVE AND KEPT ON REREADING

HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY❤️❤️

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆…

!!! GN reader, coerced care, drugging, forced sickness, slight manipulation, infantilizing, improper use of epidemiology.

At first, he would be terrified. He’d taken all these precautions to make sure you were safe, and here you were, down with some sickness? How did you even catch it?? Answer: Dick brought it home to you. He’s a careful man when it comes to your health, but there’s no way in hell he’s quarantining himself from you, so these are the consequences of his mandatory cuddles. Of course, now wasn’t the time to fret over the details. He had a new role to assume as your bedtime nurse, gathering all necessary items to help you through this illness.

He expected you to fight him with every step. Despite how hopeful he is, he does recognize the unfortunate reality of your relationship; you just don’t understand what’s good for you. A chiding remark was already hot on his tongue as he walked back into your shared room, ready to lecture you into submitting to his care.

So, imagine his surprise when you were oddly compliant.

You didn’t try to squirm away when he sat you upright. You didn’t turn your head away as he popped medicine in your mouth. You didn’t spit out the water he gave you to wash it down. Hell, you didn’t even try to curl away after he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. This all felt too good to be true, and he had to actually pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

You were listening to him.

You were finally listening to him.

But, of course, Dick should’ve known better than to get his hopes up. As you regained your health over the course of the week, you went right back to resisting his care, causing his heart to ache from false hope. A slightly more reasonable voice in his head reminds him that it’s good you’re getting better, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the grief he feels over the shortly lived compliance you showed.

You allowed him to dote over you, and he’s not going to trade that in for anything.

I can definitely see him going as far as to lace your medicine with something to keep you sick. I’m not entirely sure what he’d use, and as much as I would love to research this to find out, I’m pretty sure I’m already on a watchlist for the paralysis/amputation ask, so… we’ll just have to leave the substance unnamed. You wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary; perhaps a funny after taste, but maybe it’s always been there and you’re finally well enough to notice it. The next morning, you’ll feel like a truck hit you. Just when you felt like you were near the end, the sickness decided to come back with a vengeance… was this just the final wave before you’re in the clear?

Dick would obviously be faux sympathetic. He’d give you the worried eyes, acting absolutely taken aback by your returning worse condition. How could this be? You were looking good as new yesterday… well, don’t worry!! He’s here to take care of you!! You’ll feel better in no time!!

Now, would he feel guilty for purposely making you sick? A little. But he wouldn’t have to resort to this if you just let him take care of you, so it unfortunately had to happen. And besides, he’s not an idiot. He gives you the laced medicine within moderation, so no significant harm is being brought to your immune system (or so he thinks). He even makes sure to balance it out by giving you real medicine, too!! What’s the worse that can happen?

By the time the second week of your prolonged bedridden state rolls around, you’ve probably figured out something’s up. I can see Dick just eventually dropping the worried act entirely, instead seeming to enjoy your misery, so that would probably be a major clue as to what’s really going on. But it’s too late; you feel too weak to even lift a finger, having to depend on Dick for everything as you helplessly feel trapped in your own body.

[cindol]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 ᧔♡᧓ !

gender neutral reader

cw— geto calls reader dear, drinking multiple alcoholic drinks, reader gets called hun and dear, crack and fluff(?),

a/n: UHHH DONT GIVE YOURSELF ALCOHOL POISONING! This is pure fictional crack and fluff 🫶🏾!!

SATORU GOJO

a lightweight drinker with surprisingly low alcohol tolerance so he was bound to lose even if he swears he can last long. It's surprising he decided to even do this challenge with someone like you with a higher alcohol tolerance and a professional alcohol taste tester but he loves to challenge himself. On his first drink he’s already slurring his speech tapping his big glass and looking at you from across the table.“did you like.. put one of them pills that make ya really drowsy and happy? Because this is just making me really happppy!”

On the second and third drinks he’s more whiney with his body slouched.“you can quit anytime you want satoru, this is just a game for money after all.” he just scoffs snorting.“I’m the strongestttt! Can handle anything ya give, shoot me three more while we’re at this drinkin’ game!”

His fourth drink has him getting snappy and thinking about his morning today.“Pfft… stupid fuckin’ yaga lecturing me on my students? I’m a good teach..”

His fifth drink makes him wanna fight and it doesn’t help that he hears commotion out the front door.“fuck this.. strongest has duties to attend to.” he finishes on his fifth drink going outside to pick a fight.

SUGURU GETOU

a man with moderate alcohol intolerance, isn’t a lightweight like gojo but definitely goes overboard. He’s a wanted criminal cult leader who shouldn’t even be playing this drinking game with you but you love some fun characters right?

On his first three drinks he can handle it. His face slightly flustered but with still that friendly closed smile while staring at you.“If this is all you throw at me you’re truly doubting me dear really, my daughters have seen me worse than this.”

giving him more of a challenge like he said he was given 4 more drinks getting him more flustered and his hands brushing through his hair nervously with a slight crooked smile.“my… I see you truly threw me a challenge here haven't you? It’s fun to see you upped the pace with this burning taste.” There was a slight slur and quiver in his voice.

On his last drink he started to mutter things that just don’t make sense. Barely paying attention to the challenge at hand and mumbling words like monkeys and cursed energy till he headed out, he lasted eight drinks.

KENTO NANAMI

a man with a high tolerance for alcohol being a workaholic always being on a time crunch, he came here thinking it would be a nice game for a workaholic like himself.

His first four drinks were like a piece cake for him, no complaints or whines, just a bashful look every time he drinked. It was a change from your two contestants making you raise a brow.“how’s about i up the pace?”

His next four drinks were a doozy, his face more flustered and blonde hair a mess with his eyes nearly closing.“ if you're feeling tired you can easily drop out of this nanami, no pressure.” He did a small frown.“rest assured… I can handle this just like the other two, I’m not some ah, child..”

He was proven wrong when he fell asleep after his last two.

SHOKO IERI

Her alcohol tolerance is high for someone’s whose job it is to preach health and taking care of your body. She’s truly only here for the free unlimited drinks not caring for the money it brings.“Just hit me with ‘em, need it after the day I’ve had y’know?” And you of course abliged.

Her first three drinks had her in a better mood than she entered with her just vibing in the area.“and you and this uh whole crew here say this is supposed to test alcohol tolerance? Gotta try better than this Cmon! I’m a tough girl.”

Hitting her with five stronger drinks just got her giggling and more talkative to you.“I’m not ol’ satoru out there who needs his precious pink Whitney cute drinks, hit me harder hun.”

Her drinking time was unfortunately interrupted by satoru calling for her outside in an emergency. She would’ve lasted for 10 drinks

TOJI FUSHIGURO

almost like a demon for alcohol so his tolerance is higher than shoko’s, being a poor man always in need of money came in for him here kinda.

His first five drinks were easy ones, he was acting like himself just flustered and manspreading like a fool just happy to be drinking something free.“this like some kinda rich vodka or sake? Tastes like it.”

The next six drinks had him being a blabbermouth.“this is so so cheap tasting, I can see how everyone else is getting by easily, your alcohol is fucking terrible I’ve had better from half a bottle of beer..”

He finished on his last three, eventually snoring away.

[chosotallgf]

DOUBLE IDENTITY #1 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

next chapter 🔜

SYNOPSIS | y/n is a third year college student who is about to intern for the top business company in Japan in a week, what happens when she unknowingly cross paths with her future boss not knowing he’s hiding a secret.

WARNING | mafiaboss toji x fém!reader, geto x fém!reader, alcohol, moderate au, sexual activity, criminal activity & behavior, naoya is his own warning, angst & fluff (not really lol) not proof read

p.s my work is only on A03 & tumblr!

it was finally the weekend which means you and your girls can turn up in club after your lectures. I mean what is a Friday night if you are not clubbing in your 20s? you have 1 year left before you graduate from university & is interning at one of the top businesses in japan in a week.

you been waiting for this opportunity since you hear a new ceo was appointed not so long ago, you also hear gossip that he always looks detached / laidback but he’s also very wealthy so it’s fine right? what could possibly go wrong?

Rushing up your apartment stairs to get ready & nearly falling to get to your closet. you promised your two best friends shoko & utahime to be dress by midnight and it was well past 10pm. destroying your closet wasn’t enough you needed to find the perfect outfit for tonight, it didn’t help that you also had to take a bath & do your makeup which all together was about an hour.

as you were searching you spot your off the shoulder tight mesh top that push up your boobs up good. “yeah this top will do for now” you thought as you pair it with a black mini skirt.

Half way getting ready, you hear a loud ass banging nose against your door “y/n you better hurry tf up I wanna make sure we get a good section at the club” utahime shouts. “hold on give me a min” you huff out as you struggle to get your last pair of heels on.

Finally all done you walk downstairs to find them snooping thru your fridge “if your hungry their barely anything in there, I haven’t gone shopping yet” “I can tell I only see this half ate pie left” shoko says as she grabs a fork. “So who the lucky guy that’s been taking you out to dinner Mhm?” Utahime grins says crossing her arms.

“No one” I roll my eyes. “I been so busy & tried that all I been eating is takeout, between classes and getting ready for this new internship it’s hell” my face clearly showing that I’m stressed, utahime pulls me into a hug saying “don’t put too much pressure on your self you need to relax you already got the intern whats more to worry about?” Puffing out “I don’t know what if I somehow mess this up? I been pulling so much into my classes to get good grades but it will be all for nothing if I can’t even get working for a company correctly”

“see their you go again worry about the future, just have fun in the moment, right shoko?” she gesture towards me at Vivi to get her to agree. I mean she’s right but I saw so many reviews online about how the company is strict and isn’t afraid to disposition anyone. “utahime right, plus we are suppose to clubbing right having fun and this isn’t let’s goo” shoko wraps her arms around me and utahime shoulders as she pulls us to the door with kisses on our cheek. if only y/n knew this was the first step leading down a dangerous road….

author note: I already wrote like half of the beginning of this fic so give me time to post chapter 2 soon :)

also lmk if you wanna be tagged when 2nd chapter is posted! remember to like and reblog

update chapter 2 is posted

[earthstellar]

healthcare event day: new lanyards, new enemies -- Pharma would love this shit

had to go to a healthcare conference

they were giving out lavender gin and brie crackers, like astonishingly good snacks and booze (probably because a lot of consultants were present lmao)

everyone got drunk and the hepatologists got mad about it

anyway two docs got in a verbal fight in the hallway which got pretty loud (all I know is that it was an argument about a research project)

you can't tell me Ratchet and Pharma wouldn't be the two docs fighting at the professional event lmao

also they really gave everyone a lot of gin, the tonic seemed to be optional. like straight up shots. you'd think they wouldn't do this at a healthcare thing but I think the organisers were just excited about hosting something in London so they went overboard LOL

I can imagine some event in Iacon going roughly the same way, they want to schmooze with the big city medics so they accidentally-on-purpose get everyone wasted on unreasonably good engex in order to make sure everyone has a good time (this does not work, it only results in pettiness and/or arguing, lmao)

like usually they'll have Prosecco or something served moderately, but this was fucking shots of gin. which is hilarious.

maybe it's because it's Saturday so they felt bad about having everyone show up on a weekend, I have no idea. almost all of us work every weekend anyway lol.

nothing is funnier than watching med professionals get increasingly drunk and somewhat agitated with one another over the course of several hours while still having to pretend to be more or less professional

like you can't cause too much of a scene in the lecture hall, but as soon as everyone's mingling in the reception area, everyone groups into their various specialities and starts WILDLY SHIT TALKING

Pharma would be a shit-talker. Ratchet would be consistently agitated the entire time, and would get into arguments over health service logistics and solutions to staff retention problems, among other things.

First Aid would be the one trying to make sure that nobody from their institution embarrasses themselves too badly in front of anyone from any of the other institutions, in between trying to network with said other institutions.

Ambulon would be three shots of engex deep by the second speaker, but still taking some pretty good notes the whole time while actively avoiding having to speak with anyone else.

Velocity would be extremely nervous but ultimately would raise some good questions during the Q&A session. She would also immediately utilise any stickers in the swag bag to decorate her datapad, but then panic because now she has to shove all the blank sticker papers into her bag since there's no trash receptacle around, which makes it rustle really loudly.

anyway I'm going to take a nap now, I ate a whole fucking block of brie at this thing