#In a market flooded with options

[gyancareer]

gyancareer

[captainofthetidesbreath]

god, I really have to play Dishonored + Knife of Dunwall + Brigmore Witches again

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States

The vast majority of America's debt collection targets $500-2,000 credit card debts. It is a filthy business, operated by lawless firms who hire unskilled workers drawn from the same economic background as their targets, who routinely and grotesquely flout the law, but only when it comes to the people with the least ability to pay.

America has fairly robust laws to protect debtors from sleazy debt-collection practices, notably the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA), which has been on the books since 1978. The FDCPA puts strict limits on the conduct of debt collectors, and offers real remedies to debtors when they are abused.

But for FDPCA provisions to be honored, they must be understood. The people who collect these debts are almost entirely untrained. The people they collected the debts from are likewise in the dark. The only specialized expertise debt-collection firms concern themselves with are a series of gotcha tricks and semi-automated legal shenanigans that let them take money they don't deserve from people who can't afford to pay it.

There's no better person to explain this dynamic than Patrick McKenzie, a finance and technology expert whose Bits About Money newsletter is absolutely essential reading. No one breaks down the internal operations of the finance sector like McKenzie. His latest edition, "Credit card debt collection," is a fantastic read:

https://www.bitsaboutmoney.com/archive/the-waste-stream-of-consumer-finance/

McKenzie describes how a debt collector who mistook him for a different PJ McKenzie and tried to shake him down for a couple hundred bucks, and how this launched him into a life as a volunteer advocate for debtors who were less equipped to defend themselves from collectors than he was.

McKenzie's conclusion is that "paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States." If you stand on your rights (which requires that you know your rights), then you will quickly discover that debt collectors don't have – and can't get – the documentation needed to collect on whatever debts they think you owe (even if you really owe them).

The credit card companies are fully aware of this, and bank (literally) on the fact that "the vast majority of consumers, including those with the socioeconomic wherewithal to walk away from their debts, feel themselves morally bound and pay as agreed."

If you find yourself on the business end of a debt collector's harassment campaign, you can generally make it end simply by "carefully sending a series of letters invoking [your] rights under the FDCPA." The debt collector who receives these letters will have bought your debt at five cents on the dollar, and will simply write it off.

By contrast, the mere act of paying anything marks you out as substantially more likely to pay than nearly everyone else on their hit-list. Paying anything doesn't trigger forbearance, it invites a flood of harassing calls and letters, because you've demonstrated that you can be coerced into paying.

But while learning FDCPA rules isn't overly difficult, it's also beyond the wherewithal of the most distressed debtors (and people falsely accused of being debtors). McKenzie recounts that many of the people he helped were living under chaotic circumstances that put seemingly simple things "like writing letters and counting to 30 days" beyond their needs.

This means that the people best able to defend themselves against illegal shakedowns are less likely to be targeted. Instead, debt collectors husband their resources so they can use them "to do abusive and frequently illegal shakedowns of the people the legislation was meant to benefit."

Here's how this debt market works. If you become delinquent in meeting your credit card payments ("delinquent" has a flexible meaning that varies with each issuer), then your debt will be sold to a collector. It is packaged in part of a large spreadsheet – a CSV file – and likely sold to one of 10 large firms that control 75% of the industry.

The "mom and pops" who have the other quarter of the industry might also get your debt, but it's more likely that they'll buy it as a kind of tailings from one of the big guys, who package up the debts they couldn't collect on and sell them at even deeper discounts.

The people who make the calls are often barely better off than the people they're calling. They're minimally trained and required to work at a breakneck pace. Employee turnover is 75-100% annually: imagine the worst call center job in the world, and then make it worse, and make "success" into a moral injury, and you've got the debt-collector rank-and-file.

To improve the yield on this awful process, debt collection companies start by purging these spreadsheets of likely duds: dead people, people with very low credit-scores, and people who appear on a list of debtors who know their rights and are likely to stand on them (that's right, merely insisting on your rights can ensure that the entire debt-collection industry leaves you alone, forever).

The FDPCA gives you rights: for example, you have the right to verify the debt and see the contract you signed when you took it on. The debt collector who calls you almost certainly does not have that contract and can't get it. Your original lender might, but they stopped caring about your debt the minute they sold it to a debt-collector. Their own IT systems are baling-wire-and-spit Rube Goldberg machines that glue together the wheezing computers of all the companies they've bought over the last 25 years. Retrieving your paperwork is a nontrivial task, and the lender doesn't have any reason to perform it.

Debt collectors are bottom feeders. They are buying delinquent debts at 5 cents on the dollar and hoping to recover 8 percent of them; at 7 percent, they're losing money. They aren't "large, nationally scaled, hypercompetent operators" – they're shoestring operations that can only be viable if they hire unskilled workers and fail to train them.

They are subject to automatic damages for illegal behavior, but they still break the law all the time. As McKenzie writes, a debt collector will "commit three federal torts in a few minutes of talking to a debtor then follow up with a confirmation of the same in writing." A statement like "if you don’t pay me I will sue you and then Immigration will take notice of that and yank your green card" makes the requisite three violations: a false threat of legal action, a false statement of affiliation with a federal agency, and "a false alleged consequence for debt nonpayment not provided for in law."

If you know this, you can likely end the process right there. If you don't, buckle in. The one area that debt collectors invest heavily in is the automation that allows them to engage in high-intensity harassment. They use "predictive dialers" to make multiple calls at once, only connecting the collector to the calls that pick up. They will call you repeatedly. They'll call your family, something they're legally prohibited from doing except to get your contact info, but they'll do it anyway, betting that you'll scrape up $250 to keep them from harassing your mother.

These dialing systems are far better organized than any of the company's record keeping about what you owe. A company may sell your debt on and fail to keep track of it, with the effect that multiple collectors will call you about the same debt, and even paying off one of them will not stop the other.

Talking to these people is a bad idea, because the one area where collectors get sophisticated training is in emptying your bank account. If you consent to a "payment plan," they will use your account and routing info to start whacking your bank account, and your bank will let them do it, because the one part of your conversation they reliably record is this payment plan rigamarole. Sending a check won't help – they'll use the account info on the front of your check to undertake "demand debits" from your account, and backstop it with that recorded call.

Any agreement on your part to get on a payment plan transforms the old, low-value debt you incurred with your credit card into a brand new, high value debt that you owe to the bill collector. There's a good chance they'll sell this debt to another collector and take the lump sum – and then the new collector will commence a fresh round of harassment.

McKenzie says you should never talk to a debt collector. Make them put everything in writing. They are almost certain to lie to you and violate your rights, and a written record will help you prove it later. What's more, debt collection agencies just don't have the capacity or competence to engage in written correspondence. Tell them to put it in writing and there's a good chance they'll just give up and move on, hunting softer targets.

One other thing debt collectors due is robo-sue their targets, bulk-filing boilerplate suits against debtors, real and imaginary. If you don't show up for court (which is what usually happens), they'll get a default judgment, and with it, the legal right to raid your bank account and your paycheck. That, in turn, is an asset that, once again, the debt collector can sell to an even scummier bottom-feeder, pocketing a lump sum.

McKenzie doesn't know what will fix this. But Michael Hudson, a renowned scholar of the debt practices of antiquity, has some ideas. Hudson has written eloquently and persuasively about the longstanding practice of jubilee, in which all debts were periodically wiped clean (say, whenever a new king took the throne, or once per generation):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/24/grandparents-optional-party/#jubilee

Hudson's core maxim is that "debt's that can't be paid won't be paid." The productive economy will have need for credit to secure the inputs to their processes. Farmers need to borrow every year for labor, seed and fertilizer. If all goes according to plan, the producer pays off the lender after the production is done and the goods are sold.

But even the most competent producer will eventually find themselves unable to pay. The best-prepared farmer can't save every harvest from blight, hailstorms or fire. When the producer can't pay the creditor, they go a little deeper into debt. That debt accumulates, getting worse with interest and with each bad beat.

Run this process long enough and the entire productive economy will be captive to lenders, who will be able to direct production for follies and fripperies. Farmers stop producing the food the people need so they can devote their land to ornamental flowers for creditors' tables. Left to themselves, credit markets produce hereditary castes of lenders and debtors, with lenders exercising ever-more power over debtors.

This is socially destabilizing; you can feel it in McKenzie's eloquent, barely controlled rage at the hopeless structural knot that produces the abusive and predatory debt industry. Hudson's claim is that the rulers of antiquity knew this – and that we forgot it. Jubilee was key to producing long term political stability. Take away Jubilee and civilizations collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

Debts that can't be paid won't be paid. Debt collectors know this. It's irrefutable. The point of debt markets isn't to ensure that debts are discharged – it's to ensure that every penny the hereditary debtor class has is transferred to the creditor class, at the hands of their fellow debtors.

In her 2021 Paris Review article "America's Dead Souls," Molly McGhee gives a haunting, wrenching account of the debts her parents incurred and the harassment they endured:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

After I published on it, many readers wrote in disbelief, insisting that the debt collection practices McGhee described were illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

And they are illegal. But debt collection is a trade founded on lawlessness, and its core competence is to identify and target people who can't invoke the law in their own defense.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” today (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

[sexybritishllama]

strap in folks it's time for another neopets drama update

some background reading before we begin: back when neopets wanted to introduce customisation (i.e. dressing up your pet) in 2007, they decided to 'convert' all existing pet art to align with a rigid body structure, rather than all having unique poses. it was just not feasible to create new pieces of art for hundreds of different pet poses every single time they released a new clothing them

customisation had been highly requested up until this point. however, the conversion was NOT popular. in some cases, particularly for basic colours, the change wasn't huge, but in other cases.... uh....

you get the idea. the more expensive colours like plushie, faerie, grey, royal and darigan got the worst of it because they had the more unique poses pre-conversion, and therefore it was largely agreed that the change to the stiff 'samey', frankly kinda goofy converted look did not look great

most users did not get a choice in having their neopet converted and it was done automatically, but if you had one of these colours where the change was huge, you were given the choice of converting or retaining the old pose (but not having the option to customise your pet). those pets that retained the old, pre-conversion poses are therefore referred to as 'unconverted', or UC for short

once a pet is converted, there's no returning to UC. you also couldn't create UC pets anymore, making UCs a limited resource that would only increase in value with time, particularly as people abandon their pets, leave the site, get frozen, etc.

i could write an entire dissertation on the drama that UC pets have caused for the pet trading economy, the neopet account black market, and general retention of the userbase, but to sum it up, people REALLY want UC pets. they are the single most coveted status symbol on the site

we skip forward now to 2023

the neopets team are planning to introduce UC pets back to the site, so that people will be able to create their own UC pets again for the first time post-converstion (legally at least)

they drip feed bits of information over the year about what this will look like. the main points are

changing a pet to UC will be done via some kind of item bought with neocash, the premium currency on neopets that you need to spend real money to get

putting this item on your pet will give it the UC art style appearance

so. not much really known. but expected release is set for january 2024

yesterday, they hosted an AMA focusing on the new UC pet system and how this was going to work. noticeably absent is any explanation of how much this is actually going to cost and whether it is going to involve any kind of gatcha mechanic, so that's causing our first lot of concern

second lot of drama is that the new UCs aren't actually going to be COMPLETELY the same as the old art, as they're making some small changes for style consistency, see below (old on top, new below):

the biggest drama, however, comes from how they're dealing with the 'original' UC pets. ALL pets will be getting forcibly converted on the 23rd, with anyone who has a pet that is already an original UC immediately receiving the UC neocash item. there's mention of possibly some kind of trophy or badge recognition for particularly old pets, but it's vague, and generally seems like it won't be possible to distinguish between the original UCs and these new ones

the people who already have OCs are not happy about this

people are allegedly pounding their pets, cancelling their premium, and quitting the site in protest. the boards are flooded with people complaining about the changes and laughing at the downfall of the 'neo-elite' in equal measure

it's t-minus 5 days until the second great conversion goes live. let's all pray for our souls

[cathkaesque]

When it comes to understanding migration, this needs to be taken into account: if you are in a rural area in the global south, like Honduras, you have basically no access to social services, medicine, and education. In fact, the funding for those services is actually being cut, as the social security funds have been looted by corrupt politicans appointed by a military coup. Then you have to factor in that you likely have no access to the land, and no access to credit to buy seeds, and have to sell yourself for basically pennies to an agroindustrial giant. The peasants feed the local people; the agroindustries feed the Americans. In Guatamala, there is a neo-corporate fuedalism where you are allowed a patch of land if you are willing to work, unpaid, for coffee plantations which sell their produce to the German company Ritz. If you attempt to settle unoccupied land, a local businessman will claim it is his without any proof, and the police will take his side because the Agrarian Reform Institute, which issues land titles, is controlled by coupists whose main concern is squeezing as much wealth out of the country as possible. Thugs will murder a man and his wife in broad daylight, and the judge will respond by evicting you and your family from the land.

There is nowhere else for you to go but Tegucigalpa, where you can work trying to wash car windows or selling snacks to passing cars for a handful of lempira a day. Or perhaps you could work for a few dollars a day in one of the maquila factories making textiles for the American and European market, which are set up in special economic zones called Charter Cities where the constitution and labour laws do not apply, which can close down and spirit away whenever they like to another country when they are more willing to sell their people for even less. And then you have to factor in the hurricanes that sweep through the country, destroying everything, that the rains no longer come when they used to but when they do they come in flooding torrents. Much of the north of Honduras is currently underwater; most of the banana and coffee plantations have been destroyed.

And then you factor in when you tried to change this via electing a better government in 2006, he was overthrown in 2009; when you tried to get organised and resist the coup, your friends, your loved ones, your trade union leaders and peasant resisters all turned up mysteriously dead while the military and police worked with drug gangs disguised as agribusiness like the Dinant coproration to burn down villages that opposed them. For trying to change things in the way that you were supposed to, through non violently protesting, organising, and voting for something better, you were subjected to a decade of counterrevolutionary terror and violence that the “international community” not only ignored but gave its active approval to. All of the factors listed above have not only been ongoing for the last 10 years, they’ve been intensified, hothoused by the global counterrevolutionary terror that was the response to the 2011 wave of post-financial crisis uprisings and revolutions and accelerating climate apocalypse.

And at the same time, all of this is being done so more of the country can be turned into a massive cash cow for the benefit of foreign corporations and domestic oligarchs. The wealth of your country is siphoned off and flows around the American and European financial system, benefiting them and building a consumer disneyland that looks like paradise compared to your situation. That could, even if you are worked for nothing, give you a few dollars to send home that could build your abuela in the countryside a nice home for her to live out her days. What other option is left for you and your family other than joining the exodus of people heading north, to the countries where the wealth and profits and rewards of your homeland’s suffering are being kept. And after you cross mountains and rivers which freeze you to death and sweep you away, you are faced with a massive border wall of ahte and soldiers on horses which hit you with sticks. You are faced with an immigration detention centre that will chain you to your bed while you give birth and separate you from your baby who will be given away for adoption to a white couple. When you make a charge against the border fence in Melilla, fed up with being kept in shacks with nothing while the Northerners debate what to do about the problem people their greed has forced to move, the Moroccan police will beat 35 of you to death.

And then when you get there to that golden paradise, you end up doing work not dissimilar to the work you were doing back home, working for pennies (though pennies that are valuable enough back home to buy the family that remain the tiniest slice of comfort) for an agroindustrial giant that supplies supermarkets with cheap produce picked by cheaper people. While you work in the fields, a crop duster plane will spray you with paraquat; when support organisations try to raise this with OSHA they will ask for the plane’s number, and when this can’t be provided they will say nothing can be done. In fact, inspectors are ordered to stay away from the plantations on the Texas border. A member of the Border Agricultural Workers Project says she hasn’t seen a normal child born on the border in 20 years, such is the effect of agrichemicals. If you fuck up in the slightest, have any interaction with the state, you will be deported and sent back to square one. There are a 14 million migrants in the US in the same precarious state, effectively without any way of enforcing their rights. My aunt is a Mexican migrant in California. Her son was deported because he got a speeding ticket. It was 15 years before she saw him again, other than through the bars of the border fence, when she finally got her green card.

The situation in Honduras can be repeated for almost any other country. Syria, Venezuela, Iraq, South Sudan, Libya, all the headline countries are countries that have been subjected to a severe counterrevolutionary terror. The processes of dispossession and destruction of peasant economies and communities (primitive accumulation to use the Marxist jargon) have been hothoused over the last decade by war and violence. I just wish that relatively comfortable people in the imperialist countries realised that the “migrant crisis” is the result of policies that their governments forced on others. Violence that their elites made their fortunes off. What a monstrous, barbarous way of life we have.

[gothhabiba]

[The Israeli burning of olive-tree groves] is familiar to thousands of Palestinian families. In the name of security, Israel systematically removes them from the land and erases their historic rootedness to this geographic place. For Palestinians, food and agriculture are not merely a pastime; they are a way of life. Without it, they’re rendered powerless economically, voiceless politically and devoid of their own cultural legacy. Yet that’s exactly why a sovereign and self-supporting food system is an early target of the Israel.

The Israeli occupation has transformed the Palestinian food system, converting it from a producer society to a consumer society, according to multiple West Bank residents. A tangled web of laws makes it difficult to sell crops or products like tahini for prices high enough to function as a sustainable income, and settlements continue to encroach upon Palestinian villages, seizing arable land and restricting access to crucial natural resources like water. Food is the first frontier of this conflict, and the Palestinian right to produce, sell and eat local food is a barometer for the future viability of the resistance movement.

[...] [In 1994, Israel and Palestine] signed the Paris Protocol to regulate economic interaction. The agreement hamstrung any hopes at Palestinian economic development, all but guaranteeing it would become dependent on Israel. It gave Israel full control of borders and put the sole customs clearinghouse under its jurisdiction. Goods entering and exiting Palestine remain subjected to Israeli taxes. Palestinian exports are heavily taxed while Israeli goods enter Palestine freely. Israeli goods, especially produce and food-related products like tahini and olive oil, flood the market with alternatives cheaper than local options.

What’s transpired as a result is the dramatic transformation of Palestine, says Raya Ziada, who founded an acroecology nonprofit based in Ramallah. “We depend on other people, whether that’s Israel or international aid, and we have to follow other people’s direction on producing food.”

Raya and others argue this is a deliberate act by the Israelis to handicap opposition to the occupation.

—Carly Graf, "Food Is the First Frontier of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict," 2019.

[kremlin]

i actually do know who needs to hear this, it’s most people, in fact, it’s likely you, statistically; we are entering the american election campaign season, and there are caveats i’d like you to be aware of, and to that effect, i am cashing in on my many years of demonstrated knowledge about The Computer.

you indeed cannot trust what you read on the internet. someone will, indeed, go on here and tell lies. this is no shocker to you, you know this, i know this, i know you know this, but i insist you think about it.

you must know my beliefs regarding conspiracy theories fall far, far to one side of the spectrum: i do not believe them. i dismiss them out of hand on principle. axiomatically. and i am here today to tell you the concept, existence, execution, and proximity of paid, phony, engagement-manipulated, political advertisement is not only real, it is the status quo.

would you describe yourself to others as:

A.) smarter than than they think you are

or

B.) not as dumb as they think you are

if you responded with option A, you are more than likely to be greatly more susceptible to these underhanded messages than you think. option B respondent’s outlook is brighter, only relatively. to restate this in a more digestible way, there are two wolves inside you, one takes top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value. the other, takes top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value. you take top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value.

those responsible for such comments are effective in their endeavors, because they think about it. they do not approach their work mystically nor inefficiently. they know what to say to you, because they know what language you speak.

a thoughtless individual would read one of the only proper noun phrases in this post, “american election season”, and limit their perspective to exactly two possible entities to watch out for. this individual has, with a pep in their step and a whistle on their lips, stepped directly on a land mine. maybe this individual was you, if so, don’t sweat it, allow me to yank you away at the last moment by your shirt collar. there's tertiary actors at play, and possibly even more, if only we could invent a word that mean's "the fourth thing" and so on

a very large, very easily guessable country has, for some time now, engaged in organized astroturfing or misinformation or disinformation or whatever-you-want-to-call-it campaigns, to great effect, with their angle being to flood the airwaves with so much conflicting information that you, the individual, feel hopeless, and lose your confidence in discerning truth from fiction.

i use this example not because that country or my country or this election or whatever is a key component here, they're not, this applies to everyone using the internet socially, and if you don't think there are disingenuous actors' words appearing on your computer screen at some regular rate, you're also stepping on a landmine.

you just have to think about things, and maybe, from time to time, turn on an electric stove and put your finger on it to remind yourself that there is indeed a very real, objective reality we live in, and that if you find yourself asking, "how can we see if our eyes aren't real", someone has put rats in your head

it goes beyond just politics though, hell, i would describe all of modern marketing to use essentially these same tricks. don't fall for them! my technique is to just approach any written text found online, most especially "comments", with the same utter hater energy as salieri in amadeus.

and hey, while you're at it, pass this thinking along to kids, they're kind-of the first generation that has to deal with an internet that is mostly ingenuine meaningless bullshit, not like we had it, when it was mostly genuine meaningless bullshit.

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 11: The Resort

Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)

Summary: After some persuasion, Joel finally agrees that it's time to settle down, and the weeks pass as the group slowly find themselves a place worth calling home.

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags: Joel is stubborn, but he really just wants everyone as safe as possible, Joel’s anxiety, reader actually being a kid, reader scared to sleep alone, Joel stays with her, Joel has flashbacks (but only minor), mentions of drugs.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3

Chapter 11: The Resort

After a three-month journey north, Joel discovers a relatively intact pamphlet, half-buried in the rubble outside a bomb-ravaged motel. The paper is singed and worn at the edges, but most of the information remains legible. He gently blows away the dust and shakes it to straighten it out as Tommy joins his side, peaking over his shoulder to get a better look.

"This one meet your standards?" Tommy queries, his eyes scanning the pamphlet. Without waiting for a response, he reaches for the pamphlet in Joel's hand.

Joel irritably swats at his brother's hand, grumbling under his breath. "Let me read the damn thing, will ya?" he huffs, making his way over to a nearby shattered phone booth and settling onto the bench.

Joel removes his backpack and pulls out a map he scavenged from a gas station a few days ago. The pamphlet features a remote resort situated west by a river and by the horrifying prices, seems to be marketed as an off-the-grid getaway for wealthy families who want a taste of nature without the inconvenience of roughing it like everyone else would by simply camping.

Judging from the images and the provided details, Joel surmises that the place seems like it would be a good option. The whole idea appears to be living off-the-grid.

They've passed by numerous locations that would have met Joel's usual standards, but now that they have the kid, he finds faults with each one. He can sense the tension and annoyance building amongst their group as he continually rejects every spot they come across, deeming none of them safe enough for her.

Maybe this is the one.

"Can we rest soon? I'm tired." She complains, her footsteps sluggish and her voice weary. She turns the corner, with Myles following closely behind, as she plops down onto the bench beside Joel. Exhaustion floods her, and she slumps against him, leaning her entire weight into his side.

Joel's features twist into a frown as he gazes down at her exhausted form. He encircles her with his arm, pulling her closer and shifting the pamphlet into her view. "What do you think about this place?" he queries.

Myles prods at Tommy's side with his elbow, a look of disbelief on his face as he nods towards Joel and his daughter. "Damn, he's actually found a place, huh?" he mutters, incredulity seeping into his tone.

"Doubt it," Tommy mutters, rolling his eyes towards Joel. "The last place was fine. Old fuck has impossible standards." He shakes his head at Joel as the kid scans over the pamphlet.

"Last place was infested with ants," Joel mutters quietly, his voice filled with irritation. He's interrupted by a gentle tug on his sleeve. She points at a word on the pamphlet, asking him what it says. His voice softens as he reads the sentence aloud, his fingertip carefully gliding over the words as she watches intently.

“Can this be our home? Pleeeeease Joel!” A pleading tone laces her voice as she gazes up at Joel, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout and her eyes staring intently, begging. It's a look that both Sarah and she have perfected, one that melts Joel's heart and bends his will every time.

Joel releases a deep sigh, his resistance crumbling before her pleading expression. He gives in, his shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. "How about we take a look?" he concedes, surrendering to her.

"Yes!" Myles exclaims, his face breaking into a wide grin as he shoves a grumbling Tommy with a chuckle. "I fucking told you, man! He can't say no to her," he teases, punctuating his statement with an exaggerated gesture towards the kid. He wraps his arm around Tommy, pulling him along like a rag doll as Tommy stumbles, struggling to keep up with Myles' excited tugging.

Tommy pushes Myles away with a hearty laugh, and Joel watches the interaction stoically, only barely managing to suppress the amused smile that threatens to break out on his face. He lets out a resigned sigh as he glances down at the kid, her apologetic smile tugging at his heartstrings.

“Your daddy told you to do that, didn’t he.” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“He told me I would get first pick at a bedroom if I convinced you to stay at the next place we find.”

Her sheepish confession causes Joel to finally break out into a smile. He shakes his head in resignation, his heart melting as he gazes down at her. "Did he now?" he responds, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "Well, let’s get a move on then." With a sigh, he rises from the bench, a fond smile still on his face.

Myles bounds over to his daughter, comically grabbing her face and showering it with exaggerated kisses. She squirms and groans, trying in vain to push her father away, a playful frown on her face.

Joel approaches Tommy as his brother rummages through his bag, mumbling under his breath. Joel catches the tail-end of Tommy's mutterings about a bet he had made with Myles, concerning a can of pudding as payment if his plan involving the kid panned out.

Joel crosses his arms sternly as Tommy rises, slinging the bag over his shoulder and holding the can of pudding in his other hand. "You do realize I haven't agreed yet," he adds, a hint of irritation in his voice. "For all we know, the place could be overrun with infected or a group might have already claimed it."

Tommy shrugs casually in response, unaffected by Joel's concerns. Myles swings his daughter onto his shoulder, spinning her around to her joyful laughter. Joel glances over at the pair, his attention fixed on the kid as she holds onto her father tightly, her bandanna falling over her eyes.

"Just a heads up," Tommy adds, his eyes meeting Joel's. "If this place is actually decent and you still say no, Myles told her to put on a show and start crying." Joel responds with a resigned grunt, shaking his head as he walks back to the bench and grabs the girl's pack. Myles readjusts his hold on her, and she comfortably sits atop his shoulders, her head resting gently on her father's.

The resort turns out to be quite expansive, boasting a spacious reception area that backs onto what was once a luxurious five-star restaurant, complete with a pool and spa. Tommy snags a map from behind the front desk, and the group divides the grounds into three equal sections for each member to thoroughly clear.

Tommy assigns himself the task of checking the lake-side family cabins, Joel is responsible for clearing the inner forest cabins, while Myles and the kid take charge of scouting the communal amenity buildings.

The remainder of the day is spent quietly sweeping the cabins, one by one. To Joel's relief, each structure he enters proves vacant and devoid of inhabitants, besides the few rats he finds.

Joel regroups with Myles and his daughter at the agreed-upon meeting spot by the playground. His eyes fall on her, effortlessly swinging on the monkey bars, as Myles gently sways on the swing set.

She jumps off the monkey bars the instant she spots Joel and dashes over to him, her excitement bubbling over as she leaps into his path. "Joel! Joel, this place is sooo cool!" she pleads, her words tumbling out in a torrent of enthusiasm. "Please, please can we stay here? There's a pool, and a playground and a whole building just for games and-" She trips over her words, overwhelmed by her own excitement as she points to each building.

Joel chuckles softly as he places his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. "Easy now, princess," he says, his voice light with amusement. "I know you're excited, but we need to wait for Tommy before we decide anything. Gotta make sure no one else is here." Her shoulders slump slightly as she processes his words, her excitement tampered but not extinguished.

Her face instantly brightens again as she peeks around Joel's towering form, her gaze fixating on something behind him. He follows her gaze and spots Tommy walking between the cabins towards the playground. Tommy raises his thumb and flashes a smile at them, and the kid tugs on Joel's jacket, drawing his attention back to her.

"Alright," Joel responds with a smile, "we can stay here for a few nights and then we'll decide if we'll stay long term." The child's face lights up as she hears the news, breaking into a run towards her father. She leaps with joy as she rejoins Myles on the swings, her excitement uncontainable.

Tommy approaches Joel, sharing that he has found a lake-side cabin that is spacious enough for all four of them and largely untouched by previous looters. Joel nods in agreement, and they begin to walk towards the cabin together. Myles has to restrain the kid from running ahead with excitement, as they make their way to what could potentially become their new home.

The cabin that Tommy leads Joel to is a two-story wooden structure, nestled beside a tranquil river that borders the resort. The landscaping surrounding the cabin has grown wild and lush, greenery creeping over the once immaculately manicured paths. These pathways connect the cabin to both a scenic outdoor picnic area to the right and a detached garage at the back.

The front porch is devoid of any furniture, leaving it stark and bare. The windows remain intact from what Joel can observe, standing before the front of the cabin with his hands resting on his hips as he assesses the exterior of the house.

Joel scrutinizes the cabin's exterior, mentally noting every minor imperfection and flaw. Although the exterior gives the impression of a luxurious residence, he can tell it is constructed with cheap materials, cleverly concealed with a lavish facade.

The fact that the cabin has multiple entrances in the form of several doors and windows concerns Joel. He mentally counts the various routes that someone could use to break in, deeming it a potential security issue. Thirteen windows and five doors on the first floor, ten windows on the second floor.

Joel's gaze falls upon the garden, and his frown deepens as he notices the roots of the plants. He can already imagine the child tripping and falling on the uneven terrain.

The swing set in the back looks like it could collapse at any moment, the creaking of the metal chains as it sways in the wind is not filling Joel with much confidence.

Tommy lays a reassuring hand on Joel's shoulder, sensing the tension building in his chest. "It's safe," Tommy asserts, his words carrying a sincere conviction. "She's safe," Tommy adds, and Joel lets out a weary sigh as Myles opens the door and the kid dashes into the cabin.

Joel grunts and follows his brother into the cabin. The front half of the house is open to the upstairs level above them, with a staircase in front of him leading up to the bedrooms. The loft area extends over the open kitchen on the right side, supported by wooden columns. The space is more spacious than he expected, taking in the layout before him.

As Joel looks to his right, his gaze falls on the dining room, situated directly in front of the kitchen. A large, round blue wooden table dominates the majority of the space, with chairs arranged around it. However, Joel grimaces at the sight of the plush black rug beneath, envisioning the mess and chaos small children could cause in the presence of a rug like that.

To his left, a comfortable seating arrangement beckons, composed of a brown leather couch and two matching armchairs. A small metal fireplace stands in a tiled corner, and next to it, a wide archway leads to another room. The kid emerges from there, holding a puzzle box in her little hands.

"They have puzzles and games and books and crafts!" she exclaims excitedly, showing Tommy the horse puzzle she discovered. Tommy chuckles and sets the puzzle box down on the coffee table, settling down on the couch as the kid settles next to him, the pair examining the puzzle together.

Joel steps into the small windowed room adjacent to the living room. Low bookcases line the lower portion of the walls, while large windows cover the upper space. A multicolored table stands in the center of the crowded room, bearing a scattered array of playing cards upon its surface. A door on the right leads out to yet another porch, located on the side of the house.

Joel departs the room, strolling past his brother and the girl as they unload the puzzle pieces onto the coffee table. The remainder of the main floor is simple, consisting of a bathroom situated behind the staircase that serves as an en-suite for the main bedroom located next. In addition, a primary bathroom is stationed at the end of the hallway and a mudroom is located between the bathroom and the kitchen.

The upper floor consists of two fairly spacious bedrooms, an open loft that houses more couches and, surprisingly, another bathroom. How many bathrooms do rich folks need?

The kid bounds up the stairs behind Joel and almost collides with him, bursting into a run as soon as she reaches the top. Joel steadies himself against the railing of the loft as Myles steps out of the bedroom on the left, joining Joel and coming to a stop beside him.

"This one! I want this one!" she gasps, excitement filling her voice as she pokes her head through the door of the bedroom on the right.

After a brief discussion, Tommy claims the bedroom on the main floor, while Myles settles into the upstairs room next to his daughter's. Joel is left with the short end of the stick and opts to take the garage at the back, but he doesn't protest. The space to himself is exactly what he craves.

Over the coming weeks, their efforts focus on scavenging through the park, gathering items to turn the newly-found house into a home. Tommy even locates a guitar and woodworking supplies for Joel. Meanwhile, Myles scours for clothes and furnishings to enrich their bedrooms. On top of that, Myles has taken up gardening, constructing raised beds in the area behind the side porch where he tends to growing food. He sternly rejects any idea of Joel touching his plants.

Joel diligently gathers potential defenses and an assortment of craft supplies for the kid. Lately, she's been immersed in the art of cross stitching, leaving her handiwork gracing each of their rooms.

During those initial weeks, Joel barely catches a glimpse of her as she buries herself in books, crafts, or accompanies Tommy on food-related expeditions. Despite her hectic schedule, Joel can't help but miss her presence, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that she remains safe, never leaving the watchful eyes of either Tommy or Myles.

He locates her by the lake one late summer afternoon, perched high in a tree with a book in her hands as Myles floats lazily in the river, relaxing on an inflatable donut. After a long day spent patrolling the resort and checking on his traps, Joel returns to the lakeside, carrying yet another puzzle he stumbled upon in a car trunk.

Her head jerks towards Joel as he snaps a twig underfoot and a small, satisfied smirk appears on his face as he looks up at her. He’s pleased to see that she's paying attention to her surroundings, even as she’s reading and safe in the company of her father. That she’s listening intently to her environment, just as he's been trying to teach her in the past few weeks at the cabin.

"Found you another puzzle," Joel calls out, lifting the puzzle in his hand as he glances up at her. "Looks like some kinda mystery one, can't tell what the picture is ‘til you put it together," he adds, a shrug of his shoulders accompanying his words as she leaps down from the tree branch, landing in front of him.

With a frown, she mutters, "That's just stupid." She stands on her toes, trying to get a glimpse of the puzzle box in Joel's hands. "How am I supposed to know what I'm making if I can't see the picture?" she pouts as he hands her the box in question.

Joel grins as he teases her, "Looks like you'll have to put that brain of yours to work, kiddo." she rolls her eyes in response, clearly not amused by his little jab.

Joel takes the opportunity to observe her as she examines the puzzle in her hands, his gaze lingering on her hair. The time spent at the cabin seems to have had a small, yet noticeable effect. She had banned Myles from even looking at scissors the moment they decided to stay at the cabin long term. It now reaches her shoulders, messily braided into two sections. The bandanna he gifted to her that she refuses to take off, keeps her hair out of her face, tied around her head.

His eyebrow raises as he notices one of the braids, taking it in his hand for closer inspection. The braid appears to start loose and unkempt before transitioning into a tight, neat finish. With a chuckle, she explains that Tommy has been attempting to master the art of braiding recently.

Joel lets go of her braid and nods toward the house. "Why don't I fix up that hair of yours while you start on that puzzle?" he proposes, a smirk on his face. She grins back at him with a nod, shouting out to Myles that she's heading inside.

Joel spends the rest of the evening with her, both hunched over the coffee table as she struggles to piece the puzzle together. After an hour, he pleads to switch places with Tommy but his brother sternly refuses, maintaining the kitchen is out of bounds for Joel after the disastrous stew incident where he somehow managed to burn the first and last meal he was trusted to prepare.

Hours after sunset, she eventually falls asleep, succumbing to exhaustion as Myles and Tommy venture outside to smoke whatever it is that Myles had discovered the day before.

Joel mutters in frustration as he looks down at the puzzle in front of them. He silently admits that puzzles do indeed require a picture to serve as a reference. Although he believes it is a magical fairy forest, she remains confident in her idea that the puzzle depicts nothing more than an ordinary forest adorned with fireflies.

That night, he picks her up and carries her to bed, gently tucking her in and carefully removing the bandanna from her head so she can sleep comfortably. He settles down on the edge of the bed beside her and softly caresses her head, watching as she drifts off into a deeper sleep.

Memories of that fateful night flood his thoughts – the sight of the roof collapsing onto her small form, and the haunting echoes of her terrified screams reverberate in his mind. Joel turns his gaze away from her and instead fixates on his lap, unable to shake the vivid images that continue to play through his mind.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she murmurs his name, pulling him out of the torturous memories replaying in his mind. He looks over at her as she stirs and sits up in her bed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed over, still half asleep.

She’s safe.

Safe.

Safe.

He hums softly in response, watching as she tiredly rubs her eyes. She hesitates, sounding almost embarrassed, before quietly confessing, "I don't like sleeping alone. Can you, um...can you stay?"

Joel recollects Myles mentioning that it had taken the better part of three weeks before she finally started to sleep in her own bed rather than sharing a room with her dad. Even now, Myles would occasionally mention how he trips over her in the morning as he finds her asleep on his floor, silently seeking the comfort of his presence without disturbing his sleep.

Joel nods in agreement, standing up and moving over to the oversized bean bag positioned in the corner of the room, surrounded by boxes of crafting supplies he's collected for her. As he settles into the cushion, he's surprised by how comfortable it is. A small grunt of approval escapes his lips as he shifts, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his head on the bag and closes his eyes.

He’ll just stay here until she falls asleep again, he tells himself before he falls asleep himself.

He remains beside her for the entire night, only to be woken by the first rays of the rising sun as they shine through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.

He gazes over at her, stifling a yawn as he begins to sit up, the bean bag's initial comfort giving way to a distinct sense of discomfort as his back cracks. She remains blissfully asleep in her bed, a content expression on her face. He can't help but smile fondly at the sight.

She’s safe.  

Click here for Chapter 12 - Comming soon

Notes

I've been waiting for this chapter for a while and I can't wait to write more about their time as a family at the cabin! I also made a whole cabin to refrence from and I added some photos below if you want a refrence too, but if you want to keep your idea of the house in your mind, you dont need to look at it :)

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @sunandmuun , @rain-soaked-sun, @frootloops1213 , @samarav , @geralallfandoms , @joelmillersblog , @severussimp , @kitdjarin1 , @yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @justanotherteen12@lils-1979 @elisha-chloe

[mayhamster]

The reason it's called WitchCRAFT is because it's handmade. Special love and care is put into each potion and spell. And it's a dying art. Wizardry is a cheaper mass produced option, and it's flooding the market. Once you had to go on a journey to acquire a potion or spell. Now you have old men descending from the sky and summoning lightning in every village. What's more, Big Wizard™ is trying to push the idea that Witchcraft is only for harmful magic and potions, or worse, that they are two words that mean the same thing. We cannot let this happen. Please, instead of shopping at the nearest Wizard Tower, instead go to your local forest hut. Support local businesses.

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 8)

Ohhh, it felt so good to write again. My hands were itching to get back to the keyboard, especially knowing in advance which chapter was next ¬‿¬ As I've mentioned before, this little snippet is a two parter; too big to fit in just one chapter. I hope to work on the next part next week and get it out asap ໒(⊙ᴗ⊙)७✎▤ Thanks guys! I hope you enjoy ꨄ

Synopsis: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You want to get more exotic ingredients for the hotel but it's too dangerous to go along. Alastor offers his assistance and you both go out to the market. Word count: 5.2 k Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Something on your mind my dear~?”

You were swirling the whisky in your glass, staring at the bronze liquid sloshing side to side but eyes not exactly focused. Alastor watched you from his seat, quirking an eyebrow as his head tilted. You were both sitting in the radio tower, sharing a glass of liquor and conversing like you always did after a show. Usually you were very attentive to the deer demon’s thoughts, and would give some solid advice for the next segment. But Alastor noticed something was off today; he didn’t seem to have your full attention. And he wanted to know why. You look up to the deer demon in question, blinking back your stupor before giving him a sheepish grin. 

“Ah… Sorry Al. Just thinking. But it’s really not important. What were you saying?” You lean forward in your chair and smile warmly towards your friend. But that didn’t trick the Overlord; he knew something was bothering you. And if it pulled your attention away from him, then he didn’t like it one bit. His ego wouldn’t allow it. 

“Come now dearest,” he prodded, leaning forward so he was eye level with you, “I know something is wrong. Tell me.” He still had his signature grin, but his eyes were sharp and serious. That wasn’t a suggestion. You knew he wasn’t going to let this go until you confessed. You sighed.

“It’s nothing, really,” you disclosed, “I’m just trying to figure out how I can get my hands on certain ingredients is all…” You trailed off, hoping that was enough to satiate the demon in front of you. To your disappointment, it had the opposite effect. His grin widened as he leaned forward, his eyes shining in delight.

“Well goodness me, it’s about time.” he sang, “I was wondering when you’d finally cave and go back to your sinster ways!” He chuckled darkly, looking at you with a sense of pride. He was practically on the edge of his seat; all smiles and sharp teeth. You tilted your head in confusion. 

“If you're looking for special ingredients, I can hook you up with my dear friend Rosie. She can get you the best cuts of meat in Hell.” 

... Oh. You understood the disconnect. Your eyelids fell flat, giving him a jaded look. But he didn’t notice, mind flooding with ideas and different options. 

“Or, if you wish to go hunting yourself, I’d be more than happy to-!” 

“Not that type of ingredient, Alastor.”

The Radio Demon’s crimson eyes popped open as a record sound came to a screeching halt. You couldn’t help the upward curl of your lips after watching his expression slowly sour in realization. Alastor eventually slid back into his seat, crossing his legs and ears falling flat on his skull. A bored expression crossed his features as he looked to the side. 

“Hmm. Pity. I was craving some Enchiladies. Or maybe some Bratwurst…”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his disappointment (and terrible puns). Alastor’s pupils slid back to you as his lips eventually curled up mischievously at the sound of your laughter. It was hard to stay upset in your company, he was always happy to get a smile or a laugh from you. His chest puffed out like a proud bird for a moment before turning his head back to you.

“Well then my dear,” he began, quirking up an eyebrow at you, “If you’re not in the market for that type of ingredient…” he tilted his head, “Then what is it that you seek~?” Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and now he had to know everything. Realizing you really weren’t getting out of this, you shake your head in defeat. 

“Well… I’ve heard of this wild mushroom that only grows in the Gluttony ring. Apparently it can enhance the taste of any dish you cook it in.” you began. Alastor’s gaze never wavered from you, his face furrowing in fascination. 

“It’s a really hard plant to harvest, and I heard a rumor that there’s a shipment coming to the Pride ring on Saturday.” Your eyes were shimmering with excitement just at the thought of it, making the Radio Demon’s pressed smile curl up ever so slightly.

“Certainly sounds intriguing,” he mused, pausing to take a sip of his whisky. He couldn’t help being entertained by your passions, and for something so simple in his eyes. After feeling the liquor burn down his throat, he spoke again.

“So tell me then, what seems to be the problem?” 

Whatever sparkle in your eye seemed to cloud over, your shoulders visibly sagging. “I heard it’s only being sold in the Black Market.”

Not that piqued Alastor’s interest.

Everyone knew of the famed Black Market. The term was quite popular in the human realm, and was quickly brought down to the depths of Hell. It was a large bazaar deep in the city of the Pride Realm, where booths and trade stalls were set up and demons and imps alike could scrounge through to find rare and unique items. And although it was quite popular, it was also in one of the shadiest parts of town. Although Hell was known for all of its illegal activity, the Black Market was acclaimed for it. Looking for weapons to kill an Overlord? Or drugs so strong the effects would last for a week? It would be found there. 

“... I still don’t understand what the problem is, my dear.” Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed in visible confusion. You eventually regarded him with a similar face, not understanding how someone so brilliant didn’t seem to understand the stakes at hand. You took a deep breath, palms pressed together as if praying for patience before giving him a serious look. 

“Al.” You spoke tartly, your pressed hands now pointing to him, “I know something like the Black Market would be, like, a walk in the park for you.” His eyebrows raised in amusement before you continued, “But if I went? A lone female with no means to defend herself?? I would become a blood smear on the wall.” You lifted your arms to the wall beside you before flopping your arms down in defeat. You sighed and gave him a weak smile. “Trust me, as much as I want to get that ingredient, it’s not worth risking my life for it.” 

Alastor stared at you intently for a full minute.

Then burst into laughter.

You had to blink back your surprise at his sudden reaction, albeit a strange one. You honestly didn’t expect him to find joy in your death. Then again, he always found pleasure when it came to killing. Maybe you were just too naive to think he wouldn’t enjoy yours as well? You weren’t really too sure how to respond, but thankfully Alastor spoke up before you had the chance.

“Ohhh my dear,” he sighed happily, “Is that all? Now really, there’s no need to fret over something that has such a simple solution!” Alastor set his glass down on the table, then clasped his hands together in his lap as he sat up straight. 

“If you don’t wish to go alone, then allow me to accompany you.”

You immediately perked up at his words, almost unable to believe it. You had to admit, the thought had crossed your mind. But you knew how busy Alastor’s weekends were, and you didn’t want to waste his time on something so silly. Besides, you knew the dangers of the Market; the horror stories you had heard over the years. You knew Alastor could defend himself, but still… You didn’t want to take any risks. Not when it came to him.

“No, Al,” you started, “I couldn’t ask that of you. I don’t want to put you in any danger-!”

You were immediately cut off by one of the demon’s long fingers pressing up against your lips. The Overlord leaned in close to you, grin snarled and eyes closed tightly. 

“Trust me, mon passereau,” he chuckled darkly, “If anyone were to ever try anything…” his scarlet eyes immediately flashed open, his pupils now black and shaped like dials as the static in his voice distorted, “ł₮ ł₴₦'₮ ₥Ɏ ₴₳₣Ɇ₮ⱠɎ ɎØɄ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ ฿Ɇ ₩ØⱤⱤłɆĐ ₳฿ØɄ₮.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as the lights flickered, radio waves screeched and the controls behind him clicked and flipped. And in a snap, the room flipped back to normal as Radio Demon sat up straight again, eyes once again crimson and smiling as if nothing had happened. 

“Besides~!” he continued, his voice now unsettlingly chipper, “It’s been at least a decade or so since I’ve last been to the famed Black Market. It would be intriguing to see how much has changed!”

You watched him carefully and felt your heart-rate begin to increase. Ever since you had heard of the toadstool, you had been dreaming of using it in your cooking. And now for this dream to be so close; you could almost taste it… But you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Not yet. You felt like such a broken record, but you had to be certain. You looked up at him shyly, feeling your fingers fidget nervously. 

“Alastor… Are you sure about this?” 

Said demon looked down at you, eyes flicking from your face to your hands, then back. Finally, he began to shake his head mirthfully, reaching over and giving your head a gentle pat.

“My dear,” he tutted, “I wouldn't even be offering if it was something I truly did not want to do. I insist.” He then rose from his chair and towered over you before extending a hand.

“I promise I can guarantee your safety. That is, if you’ll have me.”

You looked at his hand in awe before lifting your head up to him. There you were, already crestfallen with defeat and ready to give up. But then Alastor came along, and he wanted to help make your silly little dream a reality. Your heart bloomed in warmth for the man standing before you. Seriously, you were so freaking happy he was in your life. With a tender smile, you extend your hand and place it in his outstretched one.

“Of course Alastor. Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of the clothes you wore around the hotel weren’t that flattering.

For starters, you didn’t want anything with excessive frills or cloth that could potentially snag in a cupboard or catch fire over a stove. Also, you didn’t ever want to wear anything nice in case it gets torn or stained in the kitchen. Most of the time, you were in either jeans/stretchy pants, and a t-shirt/tank top. Because if it got ruined at work, it was no biggie.

But now, as you were getting ready for your outing with Alastor, you were quickly realizing just  how much of a biggie it was. 

You tore through your drawers frantically, trying to find something that didn’t have holes in it, or a previous stain, or heaven forbid, a cringe worthy graphic printed on it. Fuck, you really wish you had taken up Angel’s offer earlier that month to go on a shopping spree. You made a quick mental note to ask him about it next weekend. If he saw your wardrobe now he’d disown you as his bestie. 

As you raked through your closet, you felt like a complete dumbass. For God’s sake, you were just going to the market with your friend. It shouldn’t matter what the Hell you wore; it’s not like this was a formal outing. Nevertheless, you decided you still wanted to look nice for once. This was the first time the two of you would be together outside of the hotel. And that felt like a special enough reason to dress up and not look like a fast food worker after a 12 hour shift.**

Eventually, you managed to find a simple, short black dress tucked in the very back of your closet. You could work with this. After scrounging through your bathroom drawers, you manage to find an old metal hair stick and use that to wrap your locks into a cute messy bun. And with some modest jewelry to help accent, you were finally satisfied enough with your appearance. Given what you were working with, this was the most presentable you were going to get. With a final nod in the mirror, you grab your purse and lock the door behind you. 

You make your way down to the lobby where you had both agreed to meet up. As you exited the elevator, you could see Alastor’s proud profile already standing by the front doors, microphone in hand and back straight. He seemed to be looking towards the side, but as you approached him, his scarlet eyes slid over to your form. You come to a stop and look up at him, your hands clasped in front of you and waiting.

His eyes flicked over your body, his face unchanging as he took in your appearance. For a moment you felt your face getting hot, and had to look away from embarrassment; was this too much? Maybe you should’ve just stuck to your regular pants and t-shirt… 

“From chef to charmante, you truly are a sight for sore eyes my dear.”

You looked up to him again and blinked in surprise. His expression was pleasant as he stared at you; his smile soft and genuine. You felt your heart leap into your throat at the compliment, and couldn’t help the warm smile creep up your face. And it was peaceful between you both for a moment…

Before the Asshole decided to ruin the moment.

“And here I was beginning to think you didn’t know how to dress yourself. How relieved I am to be wrong for once…” he teased, his soft smile twisting into a mischievous grin and eyes crinkling with impish delight. 

Your hand moved quicker than light as you lightly backhanded his bicep, your face scrunched and glaring daggers at him. The Radio Demon snickered as his static buzzed happily, not at all flinching at the assault and most likely already prepared for the blow. After having a good chuckle to your dismay, Alastor stood up straight again and dusted off his arms, his smile still wide and wicked. 

“You’re lucky I enjoy your company y/n,” he stated, straightening his jacket, “If any other demon were to strike an Overlord, they would never see the light of day again.” He looked down and quirked an eyebrow at you, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe that grin off his face.

“Honestly, between getting ridiculed daily or being slaughtered, I’m not sure which is the worse fate…” you huff, straightening up and crossing your arms. Alastor chuckled at your quip, and eventually, you felt your shoulders relax and smile betray you. As his sniggers died down, he took a step towards you, his expression once again calm as he looked down at you.

“Well my dear,” he mused, “Now I can understand why you would want my protection for our little outing...” His pupils fell to your body, scanning slowly all the way to your legs. You swallowed a lump in your throat. Eventually, his scarlet eyes flicked back up to your face, and you couldn’t dismiss the hunger behind them. 

“The wolves would be more than happy to ravish such a delicacy.”

??!??!?!!

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Suddenly breathing was something you had to think about. Your mouth felt so dry, and you knew for a fact your face was probably beet red. What the actual fuck was that. Alastor had given you compliments before, but that… That was at a level you had never experienced before. Did he actually find you attractive?? Jesus Christ, was this friendly outing actually a date??

... Fuck, did you want this to be a date??? 

You could feel your brain short circuiting.

Alastor’s smile curved upward at the sight of your reddened cheeks. He bent down at his waist in a bow and extended a hand, making your eyes focus back to him.

“Shall we be on our way dearest?”

You looked at his clawed hand, then back to him. He had to be teasing you. There was no way he had actually meant what he had said earlier. This is what he always did; this was what your friendship was basically built on. You mentally scolded yourself for actually falling for his goading. 

Please. As if. 

You sighed and shook your head, feeling a smile creep up your lips at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t going to fall for it. Not this time. Finally, you look up at him and extend your hand, gently placing it in Alastors. You give him a calm, yet cocky look. 

“Lead the way.”

Alastor’s eyebrows shot upward amusingly as he raised his other hand. And with a snap of his fingers, you both vanished from the lobby.

~~~~~~~

You couldn’t contain your gasp of amazement when you laid eyes on the Black Market.

It was everything you could’ve imagined. There were dozens of rows crammed full with booths and vendors stretching as far as the eye could see. Tall skyscrapers framed the entire bazaar, yet were covered from sight by the tarps, blankets and open umbrellas hanging overhead to provide shade. The market was bustling with all creatures of life; demons, imps, and hellhounds alike. Either trying to sell their wares and cheat someone of their life savings, or excited buyers chittering away and browsing all that was offered. 

“How exhilarating~!” the Overlord grinned, looking out at the spectacle with bright eyes, “I had forgotten how appealing this place was. This is going to be quite the escapade.” Alastor happily turned his head to you, extending his elbow to you and giving a cocky grin. You looked between him and his arm, unsure of his intentions. His smile widened. 

“I guaranteed your safety during this outing did I not? We don’t want to risk separation in this maze. Now then,” he leaned in closer, stretching his arm out further, “Shall we~?”

You couldn’t help the smile spread across your face; always ever the gentleman. You looked to him pleasantly, looping your arm in his and giving a determined nod. And with that, Alastor took the lead as you ventured deep into the market. 

The variety of items for sale was incomprehensible. Antiques, produce, jewelry, weapons, and of course, second hand items. And boy, did you desperately want to peruse it all. But of course, you came here for one reason and one reason alone. And as thrilling as this all was, you knew you couldn’t be too charmed by the wonders of the market. This was how the ne'er do wells prayed on their victims. It would be easy for a demon to go missing amongst all the busyness and exhilaration. In this place, dark deals were struck and souls were either sealed or stolen. And you couldn’t be distracted by frivolous things. 

Get in, get the mushrooms, and get out. 

At least. That was your initial plan.

Alastor seemed to have other ideas.

This mother fucker strolled through the booths as if it was a Sunday afternoon, guiding you along and stopping on occasion to peruse. He would converse with the various sellers and happily turn to you, either showing off what he found or telling stories when something reminded him of a memory. He kept a firm grip on your arm, meaning you had no choice but to follow along with his meandering. 

At first your nerves were on edge, eyes darting around anxiously, body tense, and flinching at every obnoxious sound. Alastor seemed to notice, and at some point, gave your hand on his arm a gentle pat. It was a simple gesture, and when he did it, he wasn’t even focused on you, instead speaking with another vendor. But you appreciated him acknowledging your nerves and attempting to calm you without drawing attention. The action and thought behind it was more than enough to comfort and assure you that you had nothing to worry about. 

Eventually, you could feel your muscles relax once you realized no one would lay a finger on you with the Radio Demon by your side. As time trickled on, you became more confident, and even began to enjoy yourself and forget about any potential dangers. This was probably the only chance you’d ever get to come to the Black Market with as much protection as you did, so you might as well milk it for what it was worth. 

At one point, you let go of his arm to toss on a pair of crazy glasses and throw a feather boa over your shoulders, striking a pose and cracking a joke. The Overlord seemed impressed with your new found confidence, and was more than happy to join in on the banter. And immediately tease your new look. 

“If this is what you consider a correction for your fashion sense, perhaps my little songbird is more of a dodo~” 

You tried to place an old fedora on his head and force him in on the fun, but the party pooper wouldn’t allow it. Snarling at the wretched thing and not even wanting to know how many disgusting sinners it had been on. And honestly, you couldn’t blame him for that, but you knew despite the venom in his smile, his eyes were dancing. 

It wasn’t long until you were the one leading the way, zipping from booth to booth like a child on Christmas as Alastor followed closely behind. He had noticed you had dropped your guard, which was honestly what he had wanted all along. You had been working so hard, you deserved a fun day out on the town. He was glad to see that by demonstrating how safe it was, it would allow you to relax and fully enjoy the experience. 

But now it was his turn to keep watch, his back straight and eyes carefully scanning. Of course, the Black Market was nothing but child's play for him. But for a simple sinner like yourself? He could understand why you were hesitant to come. Especially given your radiant personality; one that could attract sinners and imps alike like a moth to a flame. 

And of course, as you practically beamed through the lanes, it didn’t take long for you to capture the attention of others. Eventually, you became so carefree, you didn’t even notice the times when certain demons would eye you up and down hungrily. Or the one hellhound who even attempted to snatch your purse. 

But they were dealt with swiftly; black tentacles impaling, slashing, and ensuring that no one would ever dare lay a finger on you. 

At one point you turned to him and noticed his smile was sharper than before and his scarlet pupils shining with glee. You had asked what he found so entertaining, but he simply patted your head and assured you it was nothing, quickly changing the subject by distracting you with the wares of the next booth over. 

About an hour or so into your adventure, you were a couple of steps ahead of Alastor when one booth in particular caught your eye. Filled with mugs, kettles, spoons, and coffee machines, you were instantly reminded of your deer friend and your wonderful morning chats. Especially the one you had that very first morning, it was honestly the very beginning of what would become your close relationship. You vaguely remembered him mentioning not being able to brew that perfect cup…

An idea popped in your head.

You whipped your head around to quickly look behind and caught Alastor making his way towards you. You didn���t have enough time to peruse and find something, and you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. You’d have to find an opportunity later to come back in secret. But for now, you had to distract him.

You jog back to the Radio Demon and casually mention wanting to focus on the search for the mushroom stall, using the guise to pull him along further and away from the particular vendor. Alastor cocked an eyebrow at you, but eventually agreed that it was time to start looking for the rumored toadstool. He linked his arm with you once more and continued walking forward, unaware of you taking mental notes and memorizing landmarks. 

Finally, after about twenty minutes of serious searching, you were able to locate the booth with the mushrooms. You recognized them by their iridescent blue shimmer, similar to what you had seen online, and your heart leapt with delight. You were practically bouncing on your feet, pointing excitedly and rambling like a dork while Alastor smiled in amusement. A line had started to form; clearly you weren’t the only ones aware of their magical properties, and you immediately zipped to the back, Alastor casually strolling behind.

“Well my dear,” he mused, leaning to the side to look ahead, “Given the amount of demons ahead of us, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait a little while.” He looked back at you expecting you to be crestfallen or pout, but you happily shook your head.

“Trust me,” you smiled up at him, “I’ve waited years already to get my hands on one of these things. Another fifteen minutes is nothing.” You glanced at the line ahead of you and did some quick calculations. You would likely be waiting for fifteen, twenty minutes? Would that be enough time to perhaps…? 

As much as you were excited to be so close to achieving your goal, your mind was focused on something else. This could be your chance. This might be the only one you get today, and it could be the perfect opportunity… You had to take it.

“Actually…” you drawled, “I saw some really nice clothes in one of the booths we passed… could you wait here for me while I check it out real quick??” Alastors eyes immediately narrowed and brows furrowed.

“I wouldn’t recommend that dearest,” he stated, eyes flicking around his surroundings before focusing back on you, “I know we’ve had a lovely afternoon, but I must remind you of the shadows that lurk in the darkness. It wouldn’t be wise to leave my line of sight.” 

Shit. You were afraid this would happen. And you knew deep down he wasn’t wrong. But you felt so strongly about this, and it would only be for a few minutes. What was the worst that could happen? You hide your inner turmoil with a cheeky grin.

“Al, you straight up said I need new clothes,” you razz, raising a brow at him. To this, the Overlord huffed.

“I would hardly call second-hand filth an improvement…” he muttered, nose wrinkling at the sheer thought. You couldn’t help the snort escape your nose, but you pressed on.

“C’mon Alastor, please??” you were practically begging at this point, “I don’t want to lose our spot in line, and the booth was just around the corner. I promise I’ll be super quick.” You gave him a pleading look in hopes to help convince him. 

Alastor’s face scrunched up in disgust at your soppy expression, but soon softened to contemplation as he looked at you. His eyebrows were tight in thought, clearly thinking hard about his answer and how to proceed. A good minute passed before the deer demon finally sighed and his head fell. You felt your breath catch in anticipation. His head rose to meet your gaze, his eyes sharp and serious. 

“Take this with you.” He stated, lifting his left arm and offering you his microphone. You felt your eyes widen in surprise, eyes flicking between the staff and him. You knew how important his mike was; it was always on his person or a conjuring away. You had never known him to be without it.

“Al… Are you sure?” you breathed, completely thrown off guard by this gesture. But he lifted the staff closer to you, emphasizing his words with this action.

“I would feel better knowing I have direct contact with you should anything happen.” he spoke, “If for whatever reason you need me, simply say my name into it. And I’ll know where to find you.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Now you felt completely awful about lying to your friend, especially if he was entrusting you with this. But you really wanted to do this. It was for him. And now, with this added protection, you knew you would have nothing to worry about.

You slowly raised your hands and gently grasped the staff, feeling the power practically buzzing through it. You were just about to pull it away when Alastor suddenly yanked it towards him, making you gasp in shock as you were pulled closer to him, now only mere inches from his face. Your heart was beating like a drum as his piercing eyes bore into you.

“Don’t make me regret this decision y/n.”

Whether this was about him entrusting you with his staff, or about letting you venture off on your own, you weren’t sure. But his tone was firm, commanding. Either way, you knew he was dead serious. You would’ve been scared if it weren’t for his grim eyes softening for a fraction of a second. Your heart bled for a moment before giving him a determined nod, acknowledging his statement. With a blink, he rose back up to his full height, his expression now calm, but his smile weak. You pulled the microphone tight to your chest, your smile cheek to cheek with enthusiasm. 

You took a second to dig through your purse and place some money in his clawed hand, in case he reached the front of the booth before you returned. He protested for a moment, claiming he could very well afford to buy produce, thank-you-very-much. But you ignored his grumbling, insisting that they were your mushrooms, therefore you would pay for them. After making sure he had enough, you turned to run back to the previous stalls. But before you could make it far, you turned back and cast one final glance at the Radio Demon. Alastor was still watching you, his brows furrowed and grin tight. You smiled and called out to him, giving a reassuring wave.

“Thank you Alastor! I’ll be back before you know it!!”

The deer demon said nothing in return, simply giving you a single nod. His expression made you worry for a moment, inner fears pricking your mind. Was this really a good idea? But you thought back to everything Alastor had ever done for you. The laughter and thrill he brought into your previously dull afterlife. Your grip on his staff tightened; you knew you would be safe. Just holding the microphone was enough to make you feel more confident. You wouldn’t be alone; a piece of him was here with you.

Everything would be ok. 

Before you could think about it any further, you turned on your heel and ran, disappearing into the crowd and venturing off on your own.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**For all my fast foods working peeps, this is not at all a dig on you. Y'all are the real ones, we stan' the fast foodies out there! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ I used to be one myself, and trust me, anyone who's worked in that kitchen knows how gross it feels to be sweaty, stinky, and feeling all the oil sticking to your clothes and skin. It's not fun nor pretty (*￣∇￣)

........ ¬‿¬ ((Thanks for reading folks! Please feel free to comment and interact!)) FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine ((Only one for now LMFAO but lemme know if you wanna join the tag list for updates!! ꨄ ))

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

hi derin! i’ve been following you for a little while, and also bemoaning the nature of publishing fiction (indie or trad) for a little bit longer than that, and i only just realized today that…of course web serials are a thing i can also do!

i really love the idea of publishing serially (though i’m not totally sure i CAN, i’d like to try), so while i add this to my list of potential paths, do you have any advice for getting started? building an audience? marketing? figuring out if writing/publishing this way will work for you to begin with?

i know that’s a lot of questions, and you don’t have to answer all of them! i’m throwing spaghetti at a wall out here. i hope you have a good day though, and thanks in advance!

Getting started in web serial writing

Web serial writing has the lowest barrier of entry of any major method of publishing your story. You can literally just start. There are two steps:

start writing your story

decide how/where you want to publish it

The writing part, I assume you have handled. The important thing to note here is that you gotta see the project through. Start and don't stop until you're done. For publishing, you have a few options:

1. Publish on a website designed for web serial novels

There are a few of these around, they're usually free to publish on (although most offer a paid account to give you ad space or boost you int he algorithm or whatever), and your best choice generally depends on which one happens to gravitate to a niche that best suits your kind of work. The big names in this industry are Royal Road and Scribblehub, which, last I checked up on them (about a year ago) tended towards isekai and light erotica respectively. (You absolutely can publish outside these niches on these sites, it's just much harder to get traction.) Publishing somewhere like this comes with multiple advantages. Firstly, there's a writing community right there to talk to; there's usually a forum or something where people gather to talk about reading or writing on the site. Second, the site itself is designed specifically to publish web serials, and will come with a good layout and hit trackers and 'where you left off' buttons for the reader and all that; generally all you have to do is copy-paste the text of a chapter into the page and the site will do everything else for you. Third, there's an audience sitting right there, browsing the 'latest arrivals' or 'most popular' page of the site; if you can get high in the algorithm, you have to do little if any marketing.

The downsides of such places usually come down to the same things as the advantages. Such sites are a flooded market. Your story absolutely will drown in a sea of other stories, a great many of them terrible, and most of them with the advantage of catering to the site's niche. Gaining an audience there is often a matter of trying to game an algorithm, and the community can be... variable. Some of these places are nice but most of them are a bunch of authors trying to tear down everyone around them to make their own work look better by comparison int he hopes of poaching audiences for their story instead. If you go this route, I'd recommend shopping around for a site that fits you personality and writing style (or just posting on many sites at once; you can also do that).

These places also tend to get targeted by scrapers who will steal your story and sell it as an ebook, which is very annoying.

2. publish on another site

Plenty of people publish web serials here on Tumblr. I do not know why. This site is TERRIBLY set up for that. It makes tracking stories and updates a pain in the arse (people end up having to *manually tag every reader whenever they post an update*), building and maintaining archives are annoying, community building is surprisingly difficult for a social media site, and it's just generally far more work for both writer and reader than it needs to be. You often do have a ready-made audience, though.

This does tend to work better on other sites. Reddit has multiple communities for reading and writing various types of fiction; publishing on these is a bit more work than somewhere like Royal Road, but not very much, and many of these communities are very active. There aren't as many forums around as there used to be, but you might be able to find fiction hosting forums, if that's what you prefer. And of course, many writers who simply want to write and don't mind not being paid choose to write on AO3.

These sites are a good middle ground compromise for people who want a ready-made community and don't mind putting in a bit of extra work.

3. make your own site

This is what I did. You can make a website for free, giving people a hub to find you and all your work, designed however you like. You can also pay for a website if you want it to be a little bit nicer. This option is the most work, but gives you the most control and leaves you free of having to worry about any algorithm.

The obvious downside of this is that there's no community there. If you host your work on your own website, you need to bring people to it. You need to build an audience on your own. This is not an easy thing to do.

Building an audience (general advice)

Here is some general advice about building an audience:

1. Consistency. Consistency. Consistency.

If you want people to read your writing, the best piece of advice I can possibly give you is have an update schedule and update on time, always. If you need to take a break, give people as much warning as possible and tell them exactly when you will be back, and come back then. Do not take unnecessary breaks because you don't feel like writing. (Do take breaks if you get carpal tunnel or need time off for a major life event or something -- your health is more important than the story.) If you're taking a lot of breaks to avoid burnout, you're doing it wrong -- you need to rework your whole schedule from the start and slow down updates to make these breaks unnecessary. Two chapters a month with no breaks is a billion times better than four chapters a month with frequent burnout breaks.

Consistency. Consistency. Consistency.

A reliable schedule is the #1 factor in audience retention. If readers need to randomly check in or wait for notifications from you to check if there's an update, guess what? Most of them won't! They'll read something else. You want your audience to be able to anticipate each release and fit it in their own schedule. I cannot overstate the importance of this.

2. If you can, try to make your story good.

We writers would love to live in a world where this is the most important thing, but it actually isn't. Plenty of people out there are perfectly happy to read hot garbage. How do I define 'hot garbage'? It doesn't matter. Think of what you would consider to be just a terrible, no-effort, pointless garbage story that the world would be better off without. Someone is out there writing that right now, making US$2,500/month on Patreon.

It is, however, a real advantage if you can make your story good. At the very least, it should be worth your audience's time. Preferably, it should also be worth their money, and make them enthusiastic enough to try to get their friends into it. Managing this is massively advantageous.

3. Accept that you're not going to get a big audience for a really long time. Write consistently and update on schedule every time anyway.

It took me over a year to get my second patron. For the first year, I updated Curse Words every single week, on schedule, for over a year, and had maybe... four readers. One of them was a regular commenter. One of them was my first patron. There was no one else.

My audience has grown pretty rapidly, for this industry.

You're not gonna start publishing chapters for a big, vibrant community. You're just not. And you have to keep going anyway. These days, I have a pretty good readership, and those couple of loyal readers (who I appreciate beyond words) have grown into a much larger community, who hang out and debate theories with each other and liveblog and drag in new readers and make fanart. My discord has over 550 members, with volunteer moderators and regular fan artists and its own little in-jokes and games and readers who make a point of welcoming newcomers and helping them navigate the discord, all with very little input from me. I start crying when I think about these people, who do the bulk of my social and marketing work for me just because they want to help, and my patrons who, after writing for over 4.5 years, have recently helped me pass an important threshold -- my web serial (via patreon) now pays my mortgage repayments. I can't live off my writing alone, but boy is that a massive fucking step.

You're not gonna have that when you start. You're gonna have a couple of friends. And that's it. Maybe for a year. Maybe less, if you're good at marketing and lucky. Maybe longer.

You have to update on schedule, every time, anyway.

Building an audience (more specific advice)

"Yeah, that's great, Derin, but where can I find my fucking audience?" Well, if you publish on a web serial site, then the audience is there and you jsut need to grab their affention using the tools and social norms offered to you by the site. I utterly failed at this and cannot help you there. You can still use these other tips to bring in readers from off-site.

1. Paid ads

I've never paid for ads so I can't offer advice on how to do it. I've Blazed a couple of posts on Tumblr; they weren't helpful. This is, however, an option for you.

2. Actually tell people that your story exists and where they can find it.

I used to have a lot of trouble with this. I didn't want to bother people on Tumblr and soforth by telling them about my personal project. Unfortunately you kind of have to just get over that. Now I figure that if people don't want TTOU spam, they can just unfollow me. If you're like me and want to just politely keep your story to yourself... don't. You're shooting yourself in the foot doing that.

You need to mention your story. Link your story in your bio on whatever social media sites you use. Put it in your banner on forums. Make posts and memes about it. Eventually, if you're lucky, extremely valuable readers will start to talk about your story and meme and fanart it for you, but first, you need to let them know it exists.

It will always feel weird to do this. Just accept that people can unfollow you if they want, and do it anyway.

3. Leverage existing audiences and communities

Before I started doing this web serial thing, I used to write a lot of fanfic. The original audience that trickled in for Curse Words comes from AO3, where I was doing a full series rationalist rewrite of Animorphs. They knew how I wrote and wanted more of it. Nowadays, I still occasionally pull in readers through this route. Most of my new readers these days come from a different community -- people who follow me on Tumblr. Occasionally I bring in people who don't follow me because we'll be talking about how one of my stories relates to something different, and fans of that thing might decide they want to check my stories out.

Your first readers will come from communities that you're already in and that are already interested in something similar to what you're doing (people reading my fanfic on AO3 were already there for my writing, for instance). Keep these people in mind when you start out.

One additional critical source of existing communities is your readers themselves. A huge number of my readers are people I've never been in any group with -- they were pulled in by their friends, relatives, or community members who were reading my stories and wanted them to read them too. This is an absolutely invaluable source of 'advertising' and it is critically important to look after these people. enthusiastic readers, word-of-mouth advertisers, and fan artists are the people who will bring in those outside your immediate bubble.

4. Your "where to find me" hub

If you're publishing on your own website, you can simply link everything else to your homepage, and put all relevant links there. For example, I can link people to derinstories.com , which links out to all my stories, social media I want people to find me on (you don't have to link all your social media), patreon, discord, et cetera. If you don't have your own website, you're going to have to create a hub like this in the bios of every site where you garner audiences from. This is the main advantage of publishing on your own website.

Monetisation

There are a few different kinds of monetisation for web serials, but most of them boil down to 'use a web serial format to market your ebook', which to be honest I find pretty shady. These authors will start a web serial, put in enough to hook an audience for free, and then stop posting and release an ebook, with the intention of making readers pay for the ending. Now, to be clear, I am absolutely not against publishing and selling your web serial -- I'm doing exactly that, with Curse Words. I am against intentionally and knowingly setting up the start of a web serial as a 'demo' without telling your audience that that is what you are doing, soliciting Patreon money for it, and then later yanking it away unfinished and demanding money for the ending.

Monetisation of these sorts of stories is really just monetisation for normal indie publishing with the web serial acting as an ad, and I have no advice for how to do that successfully.

Your options of monetisation for a web serial as a web serial are a bit more limited. They essentially come down to merchandise (including ebooks or print books) or ongoing support (patreon, ko-fi, etc.) Of these, the only one I have experience with is the patreon model.

This model of monetisation involves setting up an account with a regular-donation site such as patreon, providing the base story for free, and providing bonuses to patrons. You can offer all kinds of bonuses for patrons. Many patrons don't actually care what the bonus is, they're donating to support you so that you can keep writing the story, but they still like to receive something. But some patrons do donate specifically for the bonuses, so it's worth choosing them with care.

The most common and most effective bonus for web serials is advance chapters -- if people are giving you money, give them the chapters early. You can also offer various bonus materials, merchandise, or voting rights on decisions you need to make in the future. 'Get your character put in the story' is a popular high-tier reward. If you're looking for reward ideas, you can see the ones I use on my patreon.

Patreon used to offer the ability to set donation goals, where you could offer something when you were making a certain amount total or had a certain number of subscribers. They recently removed this feature because Patreon hates me personally and doesn't want me to be happy, so you kind of have to advertise it yourself now if you want to use these goals. I release chapters of unrelated stories at donation goals, and I found this to be far more effective than I thought it would be.

The important factor for this kind of monetisation is that it's ongoing. The main advantage of this is that it makes your income far more regular and predictable than normal indie publishing -- your pledges will go up or down over a month, but not by nearly as much as book sales can. The main thing to keep in mind is that it's not a one-time sale, which means that however you organise things, you want to make sure that donating keeps on being worth it, month after month. Offering bonuses that aren't just one-time bonuses, but things that the patron can experience every month, helps here. So does making sure that you have a good community where patrons can hang out with other patrons. (Offering advance chapters does both of these things -- the patron can stay ahead in the story and discuss stuff with other patrons that non-patrons haven't seen. I've found that a lot of my patrons enjoy reading an emotionally devastating chapter ahead of time, discussing it, and then all gathering a week or two later to watch the unsuspecting non-patrons experience it for the first time.)

Whatever method you use for monetisation, rule #1 is (in the words of Moist Von Lipwig): always make it easy for people to give you money. The process of finding out how to give you money should be easy, as should the process of actually doing it. And, most importantly, the spender should feel like it's worth it to give you money. This is a big part of making it easy to give you money. Make your story worth it, make your bonuses worth it, make sure that they're happy to be part of your community and that they enjoy reading and supporting you. And remember that support comes in many forms -- the fan artist, the word-of-mouth enthuser, the person who makes your social hub a great place to be, the patron, all of these people are vital components in the life support system that keeps your story going. And you're going to have to find them, give them a story, and build them a community, word by word and brick by brick.

It's a long process.

Good luck.

.

[justagalwhowrites]

Cinema: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

It's your boyfriend Javi Gutierrez's birthday and you know just how to celebrate him.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author was paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Plus Sized!Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :D Unprotected P in V sex. No use of Y/N. 18+ Only MINORS DNI

Length: 3.4k

A/N: It's sweet, it's smutty, it's Javi G. being Javi G. (I hope!) Enjoy :)

You would call it a meet cute. 

It might be the one of the best parts about how you met Javi. It would be the best part if it was how you’d met anyone else but this was Javi. Regardless, you’d never had anything quite like this happen to you before. 

It was like something out of a movie. 

There had been a lot on your mind that day half a year earlier. It was the first day your theater was open to the public, months of work finally coming to fruition. The place had a lot of meaning to you. You’d been a lover of film your entire life, the most comforting place you could find a theater seat with a bag of popcorn on your lap. You wanted to be a part of it but you didn’t want to make movies. That, you thought, might ruin the magic of it. No, you wanted to be that source of comfort, a place where people could get lost in stories and adventure and wonder. 

You’d bought the old theater in your small town just outside of LA. It was old, lacking all the fancy upgrades that the movies had now, but it was where you’d first fallen in love with cinema. Your parents had taken you there to see your first movie as a girl - it was a dollar theater then - and you’d never wanted to leave. 

Now, you didn’t have to. 

You’d put a lot of work into your theater when you bought the place. It had been closed for a few years so you scrubbed it, top to bottom. You replaced upholstery and repainted walls and spent more than you really should have to get the best projector on the market. It had to be perfect, a haven for real cinema in the face of all the mass market bullshit that made you roll your eyes when looking at what was playing at the megaplex near your house. 

Everything was perfect the day of your soft open. Your niece and nephew were manning the concession stand, your best friend was working the ticket booth and you were running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to work out all the kinks that came with opening your own business. 

You didn’t exactly have a flood of people your first day. You screened an Indie movie you’d loved that hadn’t quite been a festival darling but had gotten picked up by a distributor. There were only a dozen people across the two screenings you had that day, just enough to get the kinks out and get a feel for what you’d need for the busier days you hoped were right around the corner. It was just after 9 p.m. when you sent your friends and family home and you stayed behind to do the last of the clean up and indulge in watching your favorite movie on the big screen. 

You were making yourself a tub of popcorn and adding the perfect amount of butter - real butter, none of that oil bullshit - when you looked up to see a man peering into the lobby, his face pressed to the glass of the door near the ticket booth. He saw you notice him and he smiled, a wide and bright smile that reminded you of a puppy, something so unabashedly filled with joy and framed by beautiful dark curls and golden tan skin. He gave you a wave and you smiled, too, in spite of yourself before going to unlock the door. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, still smiling. You couldn’t really help it, the man in front of you seemed just so… happy. “But we’re closed for the day…” 

“Oh,” his face fell a little. “I just saw the movie on your marquee and I just had to stop, I missed it at Sundance and had been hoping to see it somewhere around here. Real cinema doesn’t seem to be very important anymore, though…” 

“Right?” You said, leaning against the doorframe, door propped on your hip. “You’d think LA would be the place for it but I can never find the movies I really want to see playing anywhere. That’s why I opened this place…” 

“This is your cinema?” He asked, his already wide, brown eyes growing wider. 

“It is indeed,” you smiled, running your hand lovingly along the door. “Today was the soft open. That’s why we’re closed now, I’m worn out. I was just about to put on my favorite movie to unwind before heading home. But if you wanted to come back tomorrow…” 

“What movie?” He asked. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“What movie is your favorite?” He asked. “You can tell so much about a person by their favorite movies.” 

“Raising Arizona,” you said. “The Coen Brothers comedy with Nicolas Cage? Tell me a better combination…” 

That wide smile broke across his face again, so broad and bright and all encompassing that it threatened to make you melt.  

“I love Nicolas Cage,” he said. “And Raising Arizona? One of my favorites, so underrated…” 

“Right?” You said. “It needs more of a following… anyway, I was just about to start it up…” 

The man drew his smile in and nodded. You could tell he was trying not to look put out but he was doing a shit job of it and you couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint him, not when he looked so good when he was happy. 

“Would you want to maybe join me?” You asked. “You’ll have to deal with me saying half the lines but I was definitely a little ambitious with the tub of popcorn I just made for myself. No charge, of course.” 

“I would love nothing more!” He thrust his hand toward you. “I am Javi.” 

You introduced yourself in return and you let Javi inside your theater, locking the door behind him. 

Javi was the dream person to have come to your theater on opening day. He took in everything with a look of awe and total admiration on his face. He sat next to you in the theater, his hands all but glued to his knees and his eyes all but locked on the screen in front of you. His hands only strayed to take a handful of popcorn from the bucket on your lap, his fingertips hesitantly brushing against your skin as he did, and you caught him stealing glances your way as the movie played out in front of you. But he was as enthralled with the film as you were and you were surprised to find that watching the movie with him was even more fun than watching it on your own, his presence bringing that sense of magic that you’d treasured into the theater. 

“You said you would be open tomorrow?” He said as the two of you left the theater, Javi staying to do a final check of everything and hold the dustpan while you swept the last stray kernels of popcorn off the floor.

“We will,” you smiled. “And, with any luck, just about every day for the foreseeable future.” 

“Will you be here tomorrow?” He asked, tone hopeful before he caught himself. “Not that I am trying to stalk you or anything like that, of course I am not, I was just…” 

“I’ll be here,” you smiled, cutting him off. “And I’d love if you came by again, Javi. You still have to actually see the movie you came to see after all.” 

“Yes, right!” He said. “I do. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

And he did come see you tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that, too. It took him more than two weeks of coming by the theater almost daily to actually ask you out, though, his usually beamingly happy self serious and almost strangely vulnerable. 

The six months since had been a dream. Javi was far and away the best boyfriend you’d ever had. He was unfailingly kind, caring and more than happy to share your passion for film. You’d become closer to him than you’d ever been to anyone else you had ever dated, sharing everything with him. Including stories about the months in middle school that you insisted on going by Arizona after watching Raising Arizona a few too many times, Javi turning an embarrassing anecdote into a charming pet name. 

Javi meant so much to you that you wanted to do something special for his birthday. You’d been planning for weeks, both to make it exactly what you pictured but also to keep it a secret from your boyfriend - something easier said than done since the man wanted to know everything about how you spent your days. 

“I think we’re all set,” you said, stepping back to look at your handiwork as Javi’s friends from LA and even a few from Majorca filtered in. “Alright, I’ll be back with the guest of honor in just a few minutes! Make sure you find your hiding place!” 

Javi’s house wasn’t far and he was standing at the end of his long drive, waiting for you in an emerald green suit that looked way too damn good. Seriously, how did he always look that good? His curls were slicked back and beautiful, his eyes warm and soft, a crooked smile dimpling his cheek when he saw your car pull up, just like he always did when he saw you. 

“Javi, you didn’t have to wait outside for me!” You said, getting out of your car to wrap your arms around his neck. You couldn’t resist. Even though you’d just seen him that morning it felt like far longer. “I would have come to the door…” 

“I know,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But it did not feel right, having you pick me up and come to my door. I am not sure I like doing things this way, Zona, I am not treating you the way a man should, having you plan things and drive me…” 

You silenced him with a look before putting your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“You are always treating me the way a man should,” you said. “Let me do something for you for a change, OK?” 

“Whatever you say, my love,” he said. “But you are not opening your door, you have to at least let me do that.” 

You laughed but allowed it, Javi carefully helping you into your car, his eyes ranging over you with a hungry look before he took his place beside you. 

The confusion on his face as you pulled up outside your theater was enough to tell you that you’d done a pretty decent job of keeping the surprise a surprise, something you were proud about. 

“What are we doing here?” Javi frowned as you parked out front. 

“I forgot something in my office,” you said. “I’ll just run in and grab it, you can wait here…” 

You went to open your door, hoping that he’d do exactly what you expected. 

“I have not seen you all day,” he said, all but throwing his door open. “I will come, too.” 

You managed to hide your smile. 

“Whatever you say, Javi.” 

He helped you out of the driver’s seat and held the door to the theater open for you, too, you barely catching a glimpse as someone ducked behind a pillar in the lobby as you came in. 

“Zona, why is it dark…” 

“SURPRISE!” 

The lights flipped on and everyone jumped out from their hiding spots, a cluster of people behind the snack bar, others off to the side with a sheet cake with a picture of Javi and Nicolas Cage in the icing. 

Javi looked around, wide-eyed for a moment, before smiling that big, beautiful smile of his you’d come to love so much. 

“What is all this?” He asked, giving you warm, enveloping hug. “My birthday is not for two days and you said…” 

“I had to throw you off the scent,” you laughed, giving him a squeeze. “But I couldn’t just take you to dinner for your birthday, I had to do something…. Well, a little more you.” 

You pulled back from him as another key person came to greet the guest of honor.

“Hey, Javi. Some woman you’ve got there.” 

***

Javi wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier. 

He’d thrown himself some great parties over the years - there had to be some benefit to the position he’d been stuck in in Majorca, right? - but this was something else. 

To feel so seen and known and celebrated by the woman he loved was entirely new and he was almost in awe of it.

Of course, he spent a lot of time in awe of you. From the moment he’d first set eyes on you he’d been in awe of you. You were the most beautiful thing Javi had ever seen. The way you leaned against the frame of the door of the theater, the confident - but not quite cocky - smile on your lips, the passion in your voice when you spoke about movies. 

He’d gone home that night a man obsessed. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the full and lush shape of you, the sparkle in your eye, the sound of your voice as you whispered your favorite lines of the movie in the dark beside him. 

It would have taken a miracle to keep him away from your theater after that. 

And now, you’d thrown him the perfect birthday party. A Nicolas Cage retrospective at your theater - one of his favorite places in the world - with Nicolas Cage himself in attendance? It was better than he could have ever dreamed. 

You’d started with Leaving Las Vegas - a good choice, Javi thought, a true showcase for Nic’s talents. Of course, he would shine in any film, that’s part of what made him so great. 

Then you went with Face/Off, one of his all time favorites and one he was happy to get to watch on the big screen again. 

Then, you finished with Gone in 60 Seconds. Javi held your hand the whole time, the feeling of you close and knowing that you’d done so much for him intoxicating. 

“She really is something,” Nic said as they sipped champagne between movies. Javi watched as you mingled with guests, making sure things were settled and that people had what they needed before the next movie started. 

“Oh, I am aware,” Javi said, trying to think of something besides untying your wrap dress and running his hands over every soft curve. “She inspires me. I will have to send you the screenplay I am working on, I haven’t felt this drive to create since we worked together. You know, I think I have the perfect part for you…” 

“We can talk about it when the time comes,” Nic said, clapping him on the shoulder. “In the mean time, take it from someone who has a few ones who got away… hold on to that one.” 

Javi laughed a little. 

“I intend to.”

Javi stood by your side and thanked everyone for coming, shaking hands and hugging friends he hadn’t seen all gathered together in so long. He felt almost guilty for wanting to rush out the door to get you home.  

“I have one more thing for you,” you said as you locked the door after the last guest left. 

“But…” he began but you didn’t give him a chance to properly protest. You took his hand and pulled him along behind you toward the theater. 

You stopped him at the door, a mischievous smile on your face. 

“I need you to give me just one minute,” you said. “No peeking.” 

He did his best to be patient until you called out to him, a seductive tone in your voice. 

Javi found you waiting inside the theater, a giant bean bag easily big enough for two sitting at the front of the room below the screen, the title card for Raising Arizona the only light in the room. 

“Thought this would be better just the two of us,” you smiled. 

“Oh Zona,” he smiled back, going to pull you into his arms, holding you close and tight as he kissed you deeply. “This is perfect. You are perfect.” 

The two of you settled into the bean bag and he did try to watch the movie, he really did. But you felt so good pressed against his side, so warm, your whole body so soft and all he could do was think about sinking into your tight heat. 

When he kissed you, you kissed him back, your lips eager on his. He tried to not smile against your mouth. You expected this. You wanted this. 

Your hands deftly removed his suit coat and ran over the buttons of his shirt. He untied your dress and slipped it off you, unwrapping you like the gift you were. He moaned as he let his hands range over you, your body so exquisitely beautiful. You reminded him of ancient statues that were meant to embody love and beauty with the softness of your stomach and the roundness of your hips. You looked so good in the glow of the theater screen, felt so good below his hands. It took all he had to not come from just how you ground yourself against his thigh. 

“Javi,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

“I want you, Zona,” he pressed his lips to your throat, kissing down to the swell of your breasts. “Please, please, I need…” 

You squirmed out of your panties at his begging and he freed his cock from the confines of his pants, stroking his length. 

“I need you, too,” you whispered and he adjusted you so you were below him. He trailed his fingers over your wet seam and moaned, his already firm cock growing even harder as he thought about being inside of you. 

He lined himself up at your entrance, catching just how your tight hole was going to swallow him in the flickering light of the movie, and pressed inside, slow and aching. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he was almost panting as he stretched and filled you, marveling at how perfectly your body held his. “So, so good.” 

You just moaned below him, arching up into him and he pressed himself closer, loving how you felt against him. 

He fucked into you, slow and forceful, your body jerking with his movements as he thrust into you and he watched you take him, enthralled by the light and shadows from the screen on your skin. 

Javi reached down and teased your clit with this thumb, pressing against it and rubbing up and down, slow and firm like how he was fucking you. Your pussy started to tighten around him, your breaths coming in quick and needy little pants. 

“Thought of one thing you can give me, my love,” he said, trying his hardest to not come before you did. You moaned. “You can give me your pleasure. Want you to come for me, want to feel how good you feel, please…” 

He kept working your clit and felt you get tighter and tighter around his cock until you gasped, your pussy fluttering over him. 

“Javi!” You moaned as you came and he followed you over the edge, letting himself fall into his own orgasm as yours peaked, filling you with pulse after pulse of his come. 

He collapsed on you for a moment when he finished, catching his breath, before he adjusted you so that you were on top of him and the two of you were all but enveloped in the bean bag. He ran his hands over your bared skin, enjoying the feeling of you on him as you settled into his chest, the warmth of your breath on his skin. 

“So,” you said, your chin resting on his chest. “Good birthday?” 

“Oh, Zona,” he said, thinking about everything you’d done for him not just that day but for the whole of your relationship. “It has been the best one yet.” 

A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first journey into writing Javi G! He was so fun to explore and pairing him with a sexy and confident film lover was a blast.

Thank you for reading!

[watchnrant]

Quake: Veil of Deception #1 – Shadows of Madripoor

The neon-soaked streets of Madripoor pulse with an eerie, unnatural glow, casting long, ominous shadows over a city steeped in corruption and danger. To Daisy Johnson—perched atop a crumbling rooftop—those shadows are more than just darkness; they’re a manifestation of the doubts and fears that gnaw at her soul. Once a proud agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Daisy now stands alone, haunted by the fall of the organization that was her family. But despite the darkness within, she’s driven by a singular mission: uncover the truth behind the Power Broker, a figure whose influence is spreading through Madripoor like a cancer. For Daisy, this isn’t just about stopping a villain—it’s about proving that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s legacy still matters, even in a world that’s forgotten its heroes.

A soft chime interrupts her thoughts—a secure, encrypted message from an old ally. It’s a brief, cryptic note, but the implications are vast: advanced weapons are flooding the black market, and Madripoor is ground zero. Daisy’s objective is clear: infiltrate, investigate, and dismantle the operation before it escalates. Yet, doubt lingers. S.H.I.E.L.D. was her backbone; without it, can she truly stand against the looming darkness?

As she prepares to descend from her perch, her gaze catches a fleeting reflection in a nearby window—a flash of blonde hair, a shadow moving swiftly through the neon glow. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but something about it unsettles her. Shaking off the unease, Daisy leaps from the rooftop, cushioning her descent with a focused pulse of vibrations that ripple through the cracked pavement. The city seems to breathe with malevolence, each shadow a potential threat. But she presses on, her senses razor-sharp, until she’s cornered by a group of mercenaries—hardened, ruthless, and eager to prove themselves.

But Daisy is not in the mood for games. With a flick of her wrist, she sends a tremor through the air, disorienting the thugs. Before they can recover, she’s on them, her voice a low growl as she demands to know who sent them. One mercenary, trembling, spills a name—a broker who deals in secrets at an exclusive club frequented by Madripoor’s elite. It’s a lead, but in a city built on deception, Daisy knows better than to take anything at face value. Still, with no other options, she heads for the club, her mind already working through the layers of lies she’ll need to peel back.

Disguised and ready, Daisy steps into the club, the air thick with the stench of wealth and vice. The patrons are a who’s who of Madripoor’s criminal underbelly, each more dangerous and unpredictable than the last. As she navigates the room, her eyes scanning for potential threats, she fails to notice the figure watching her from the shadows—Sharon Carter. Once an ally, now something far more sinister, Sharon is the Power Broker, her ambitions having twisted her into a formidable adversary. She observes Daisy with a cold, calculating gaze, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. There’s a moment, just before Sharon approaches, where Daisy’s instincts flare—an almost imperceptible tightening of her grip on the glass in her hand. But the moment passes, and she dismisses it as nerves.

Sharon approaches with the practiced ease of a predator, offering assistance cloaked in seemingly benign intentions. Her words are laced with subtle manipulations, each sentence a carefully laid trap. But Daisy, focused on her mission, fails to pick up on the undercurrents, her desperation blinding her to the danger at hand. She accepts Sharon’s help, unaware that she’s being drawn deeper into a web of deceit.

The investigation intensifies, with Daisy chasing leads through the maze-like alleys and labyrinthine corridors of Madripoor. Each new clue seems to bring her closer to the Power Broker, but the truth remains frustratingly out of reach. The neon lights reflect her internal turmoil—flickering and distorted, much like her sense of self as she struggles to reconcile her past with the person she needs to be. Occasionally, as Daisy pushes forward, she notices the lights flickering more intensely, as if they’re echoing her growing doubt and the ever-looming threat she faces. This symbolism ties the city’s corruption to her own internal struggle, making Madripoor a living representation of Daisy’s state of mind.

Eventually, her search leads her to a dilapidated warehouse on the city’s outskirts, where the air is thick with the scent of salt and decay. Inside, rows of crates stand ominously, filled with advanced weaponry that once bore the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. The sight of them stirs a deep ache in Daisy’s chest—a reminder of what she’s lost. As she moves through the warehouse, a sudden memory surfaces—an old S.H.I.E.L.D. project she once overheard in passing, something classified, something called “Project Quake.” The name was cryptic, but the urgency and secrecy surrounding it had always bothered her.

But before she can process the gravity of the situation, the shadows around her come alive. She’s ambushed, and a fierce battle ensues. Her opponent is skilled, a mere pawn sent to test her mettle. Each strike Daisy lands is fueled by her doubts, her fears, and her lingering grief. But she refuses to yield. Even as the fight pushes her to her limits, her resolve only hardens. The Power Broker may be elusive, but Daisy is determined to see this through.

After the battle, Daisy stood alone in the warehouse, battered but unbroken. She knew she was being played, but she was no longer the same agent she once was. The shadows might be deep, but Daisy Johnson was prepared to face them head-on. Just as she began to catch her breath, a sudden realization hit her—among the crates, there was a hidden compartment. Inside, she found an old S.H.I.E.L.D. file with her name on it. The words “Project Quake” were scrawled across the cover in a familiar handwriting, one she never thought she would see again.

Daisy paused, her heart pounding, and for a moment, she felt the weight of the world pressing down on her. The mission, the shadows, the corruption—it was all converging, forcing her to confront not just the external threats but the internal ones as well. She was changing, hardening, becoming someone who could survive in this new, darker world. The neon lights outside flickered one last time, and she knew there was no turning back.

Meanwhile, somewhere nearby, Sharon watched in silence, her confidence wavering as she realized just how dangerous Daisy truly was. The game was on, and in this deadly contest, there could only be one victor. But now, a new question lingered in the air—what exactly was “Project Quake,” and why did the Power Broker have it?

[mariacallous]

When former US president Donald Trump announced a plan to establish a national “bitcoin stockpile” if he is reelected, the crowd at the Bitcoin 2024 conference in Nashville, Tennessee, erupted into a fit of celebration. The frontrunner in the upcoming election was speaking their language.

“For too long, the government has violated the cardinal rule that every bitcoiner knows by heart: Never sell your bitcoin,” said Trump during his speech on Saturday, pausing briefly to bathe in the applause. “It will be the policy of my administration to keep 100 percent of all bitcoin the US government currently holds or acquires into the future.”

The US government is reportedly sitting on upwards of 210,000 bitcoin—worth around $14 billion—seized from hackers and through various law enforcement activity. That stash, said Trump, would become “the core of the strategic national bitcoin stockpile.” Republican senator Cynthia Lummis, of Wyoming, later proposed legislation that would see the US government amass 1 million bitcoin under Trump.

Any stockpiling plan would benefit bitcoin owners, if only because it would stop the US government depressing the price of the cryptocurrency by flooding the market with its coins in a sale. Trump implied that stockpiling bitcoin, an asset considered by its proponents to be anti-inflationary by virtue of its capped supply, would also help the government to “end the inflation nightmare that this administration [led by Joe Biden] has created.” Senator Lummis later spelled out his thinking, saying, “We need to create a brighter future for generations of Americans by diversifying into bitcoin.”

But stockpiling bitcoin has little merit, economists say. “I see no [economic benefit],” says James Angel, an economist at Georgetown University specializing in financial markets. “The tangible benefit is that it will get bitcoin maxis to vote for Trump. If you believe in Trumpism, that would be the benefit.”

The idea that an investment in bitcoin will offset losses in spending power to inflation is contingent, says Angel, on two shaky assumptions: that the price of bitcoin will rise and, second, that the government would be able to at some stage sell bitcoin back into US dollars without tipping the market into a nosedive. “The government will push the price up by buying bitcoin, so it will look like it has made a lot of money, but the minute it actually starts to sell the bitcoin to take profits, it will push the price right back down again,” says Angel.

Though Trump is initially proposing a moratorium on selling bitcoin already in the possession of the US government, he loosely implied the US would increase the size of its position over time, too. If Trump were to expand the bitcoin stockpile, he would need to locate funds with which to acquire the additional coins. But the readily available options—to increase taxes, take on debt, or print US dollars—are incompatible with the ambition to drive down inflation and national debt, or pledges made by Trump to reduce taxation. Senator Lummis is reportedly set to propose that purchases be funded partly using money that will be added to the US central bank’s balance sheet after the valuation of gold stores is updated to reflect the going market rate. “The money has to come from somewhere,” says Angel.

Even if Trump were to restrict the reserve to bitcoin seized through law enforcement activity, his administration must also weigh up the opportunity cost associated with holding onto bitcoin. Whereas some assets such as bonds generate a consistent income stream for holders, bitcoin does not, making it expensive to hold.

“The question comes down to what the government would get out of the hoards of bitcoin it would be holding,” says George Selgin, director emeritus for the Center for Monetary and Financial Alternatives at the Cato Institute, a US think tank that promotes libertarian principles. The US government has periodically auctioned off the bitcoin confiscated through law enforcement activity. But in choosing to sit on the bitcoin it possesses, “it is failing to realize the market value, which it could apply to any number of other uses, from writing down the federal debt, to paying for other government programs,” says Selgin.

Though Selgin is a proponent of bitcoin for its independence from state control, he opposes the US government speculating on its price on behalf of citizens. “Governments are not particularly astute investors,” says Selgin. “Having the government act on behalf of citizens as some kind of investment trust or mutual fund doesn’t make much sense.”

During his speech in Nashville, Trump namechecked a range of high-profile bitcoiners, including Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss, who founded crypto trading platform Gemini, thanking them for their guidance. Afterward, Tyler took to X to celebrate Trump’s plan and congratulate the organizer of the conference for having “orange-pilled” the former president.

But while it is popular with holders of large amounts of bitcoin and industry executives, the ambition to establish a bitcoin stockpile could come at a cost to most everyone else, particularly if the government were to expand its existing holdings, says Michael Green, chief strategist at asset management firm Simplify.

“The only possible way for the US government to buy bitcoin is from existing holders,” says Green. “But if the government uses tax revenues [or issues bonds] in order to buy bitcoin, it creates a situation in which the taxpayer is subsidizing an extraordinarily small subset. Ultimately, you’re talking about creating exit liquidity for a small subset of the population.” It would be like the US government promising to pay over the odds for real estate in California, says Green, but no other state. “This is not materially different,” he says.

The larger the government’s pot of bitcoin, meanwhile, the more beholden it would become to those who maintain the underlying network—the bitcoin mining companies—whose job is to process transactions and shield the network from attack. Effectively, the bitcoin mining industry would become “another special interest group,” says Green, “that the US government would have to step in and bail out” in the event that the sector—renowned for its sensitivity to various factors beyond its control—were to wobble.

Neither Trump nor Lummis responded to a request for comment on the criticisms made against the bitcoin stockpile plan.

Whether Trump intends to carry out the plan to establish a bitcoin stockpile is a separate question. “Trump is a master demagogue, appealing to the emotions of the crowd. It’s pure electioneering,” says Angel. “I think the plan will probably go the way of Trump Airline, Trump Casino, and Trump University.” That is to say, nowhere.

The members of the bitcoin industry were not blind to the fact that Trump was making a pitch for their vote. It is “historic” for Trump to consider bitcoin important enough to warrant campaigning around, says Jameson Lopp, an early bitcoiner and founder of crypto custody business Casa, who attended the conference. But “the way he spoke to us was pretty clearly pandering,” he says. “It felt like he was kind of speaking down.” Though Trump has previously dismissed bitcoin as a “scam,” he has now “realized that it can be beneficial to him,” says Lopp. “He can gain a new, potentially substantial bloc of single-issue voters.”

Trump was not the only person courting bitcoin fans with promises to take a semipermanent stake in the market. At the same conference, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who is running against Trump in the election as an independent, presented a more gung-ho plan: The country would acquire 4 million coins—practically 20 percent of the total supply—if he were president.

In that context, the pledges in Nashville were of greater significance as a signal, says Selgin, than for their actual contents. After a period under the Biden administration in which crypto businesses have been targeted, they claim unfairly, by regulatory bodies in the US, the pitches by Trump and others were an attempt to send the general message, says Selgin, “that bitcoin is no longer the enemy.”

[soon-palestine]

Yesterday, during my shift, there were no ORS saturation solutions in the entire hospital, which, by the way, is one of the basic treatment options for dehydration, in an attempt to reduce its complications, which have become death ambushes for children! Knowing that we are experiencing an ongoing epidemic wave of multiple gastrointestinal diseases! This hospital is the only one left, covering the needs of one million displaced people!

The little ones have not eaten any proteins for nine months. They grow in a polluted, overcrowded environment, without potable water, or even polluted water for daily use, in a saturated environment of instability, bombing, and news of death and loss that has turned them into clear targets of the occupation?

Remember, there are those who waged a visible war against our children, annihilating an entire generation, and exposing those who survived to imminent death! There are those who count your calories in order to save themselves in front of those who always believe that Israel does not starve anyone… does not kill anyone.

There are those who think that malnutrition boils down to a child whose bones appear without meat? This is one picture , a slow picture of starvation and gradual loss. There are other pictures that I only saw during this previous genocide. Young children of an acceptable weight or greater, but they are considered malnourished.. kwashiorkor. The lack of any source of protein, and reliance on carbohydrates that flooded the market with canned goods!

[jenoslutie]

the (real) fake boyfriend

genre: fluff, fake dating au, youtuber au

wc: 1500

warnings: none! just kissing (barely)

a/n: HI THIS FIC IS FOR THE neosecretsanta event for @flowerboykun! uhhh this is very late. also, this didn't come out as good as i envisioned and seems a little rushed but i hope u enjoy nonetheless.

Day 1: The Plan

Ever since you started your Youtube channel, you’ve been pretty stress-free, with no school, no worrying about grades, and no worrying about having to be on time for a job. Life was going smoothly for you - until now

You were on the run. 

On the run from being used as a marketing scheme. Your management wants you to announce your relationship with Mark Tuan, a fellow YouTuber who makes gaming content. It was every girl’s dream to be with Mark. His Youtube comments are flooded with girls swooning over his every move. However, you decided you’re not falling for that. You're not even romantically associated with Mark. 

The only way to get out of this was to suddenly announce to your manager that you have a boyfriend that you haven’t told them about yet! So your only option now was to bribe your best friends/assistants to find you some candidates for your fake boyfriend. 

You explained everything to Jaemin and Miriah over what was supposed to be just an innocent best-friend lunch date. “Okay, Here’s the deal. I’m gonna need both of you to help find guys that can be my fake boyfriend,” Miriah’s face lit up as you explained but after thinking for a minute, she scowled in Jaemin’s direction. “You want him to find you a boyfriend?” Jaemin opened his mouth to protest but Miriah cut him off before he could even say anything. “He can’t even get himself a girlfriend. How about this? He finds the candidates, I’ll help interview them with you and then one of us can make the contract” 

“Sounds good to me” 

_________________________________________________________________________

Day 2: Interviewing The Candidates

“Okay,” You adjusted things on your makeshift interview table “Send the first one in” 

The first candidate was Johnny, he was tall with a lot of muscles, brown eyes, a sharp jawline, and soft cat-like features. 

The second candidate was Jaehyun, also tall, also had a lot of muscles, brown eyes, a square-ish jawline and he had soft peach-like skin. 

The third (and final) candidate was Jeno, he was slightly above average height (Miriah assumed around 5 '9 - 5' 10), was very muscular, had an adorable eye smile, and was very sweet. 

Jaemin popped inside your office room as soon as Jeno walked out. “That was the last one” You nodded, looking down at the notes you had taken on each guy. “I liked Jeno” you finally spoke. “Me too but I don’t know, he was sweet but something wasn’t clicking” Miriah admitted while she texted her boyfriend, Samuel, giving him all the details of all the candidates. 

“Hey, Miriah?” Jaemin narrowed his eyes at her, which went unnoticed by Miriah who was too busy tapping away at her phone 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t recall you being the one looking for a boyfriend here! We didn’t ask if he clicked for you or not” 

“You know wha-” 

“SHUT UP!” You interrupted their bickering before it went too far. “Jaemin, is there anyone else?” He thought for a second before calling someone on his phone and stepping out of the office. 

“That little bitch” Miriah grumbled. 

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Day 3: #NewBoyfriendCheck 

When Jaemin introduced you to the only other option he had left, you didn’t expect it to be Haechan, Jaemin’s other best friend. 

“Hi, I’m Donghyuck, but everyone calls me Haechan” 

“I know. I’ll be right back” you excused yourself before stepping out to where Jaemin was supposed to be standing. Instead, He was leaning on the door, trying to hear whatever he could from your conversation so as soon as you opened the door, Jaemin almost came tumbling on top of you. “Jaemin! You little fucker!”  He sheepishly smiled at that. 

“So? How’d it go” 

“He’s the one Jaemin!” You were beyond happy at the thought that you would be free from having to announce Mark Tuan as your boyfriend now. “Wait! hold on, I have to go tell him” And you left Jaemin standing confused. 

“Okay! You’re fit for the role of my on-screen boyfriend or whatever. I just need to you sign this contract” You handed him the contract which consisted of basic details about the purpose of your arrangement and rules. 

Rules

Be honest. Be open and honest with each other

Restrict your feelings. In other words, keep your feelings to yourself. 

No dating anyone else (even if it's real) 

You can sleep with other people.

This is a business relationship. No feelings involved.  

“Oh wait! One more thing before you leave?” Haechan cranes his head to look at you, smiling slightly before you continue “So considering we will be in a ‘relationship’” You start, doing air quotes with your fingers at the word relationship, “That’d also require you to move in with me for a bit. You know so that my manager is convinced it’s real and I'm not making it up” He looked taken back for a second before he flashed a genuine smile and nodded. 

“Okay, when do you want me to bring my stuff over?” 

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Day 6: Internet Famous

“And he moved in???” Your manager shrieked, his head in his hands as he paced around anxiously. You frowned “You literally wanted me to date Mark Tuan for publicity. Why are you so fussy about my actual boyfriend living with me?” 

“Well living with your boyfriend is going to lead to I don't know! Babies or some shit” 

Haechan scoffed from where he sat next to you with his arm thrown over your shoulder. “We’re smarter than that, we use protection” 

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at him considering you both have not even done as much as a kiss. Your manager’s expression matched yours but he seemed more disgusted than you “You know what, do what you want. Just no babies…please.”  

Ever since you posted Haechan on your Instagram, your popularity shot up immediately, your comments filled with everyone complimenting how good the both of you looked together and such. Of course, there were some rude comments but you didn't really pay any mind to them, you were just happy about the outcome of a single post. 

“You know what we should do?” You started, looking over at Haechan once again “Start an OnlyFans together?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at you, making you shove him away from you in faux disgust “No you freak! I was gonna say record a YouTube video together” 

“Oh, That works too” 

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Day 7: First Kiss?

You sat down on your bed editing the Youtube video you shot yesterday, across from Haechan who was currently sitting in front of his laptop, playing some game with Jaemin. You kept replaying the part where Haechan “accidentally” stole a kiss from you as you were doing his makeup, something about the way he just grabbed your face and kissed you as you worked on setting his brows with a brow gel gave you butterflies, no matter how many times you watched it over and over again. 

“Jaemin! Can you stop fucking shooting me you freak” Haechan whined from across the room, interrupting you from watching the clip for the millionth time in the past hour. “Haechan stop screaming please, I’m trying to edit,” Haechan whined louder when you said that. “No one loves me here!” You groaned loudly, shutting your computer and throwing it beside you on the bed. “What will it take for you to shut up?” He pretended to think for a bit before he heard Jaemin scream “Make her kiss you!” from his headset. “Hmm, I’ll shut up if i get a kiss” He tried to make it more convincing by pouting at you “Ew, never mind, keep screaming” You picked up your laptop and walked out to the living room to continue editing. 

“I don’t know how long I can do this”

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Day 8: Double date 

“I don’t like that Samuel guy” Haechan scoffed as soon as you parted ways with Miriah and her boyfriend after your double date for your YouTube video. You nodded as the both of you walked over to your favorite coffee shop. “I don’t get why Miriah is still with him, I’m a better boyfriend than he is” Haechan walked into the coffee shop behind you before throwing his arm around your shoulders, “I think you agree” you shrugged his arm off your shoulders “Dude, you’re my fake boyfriend” 

“Tryna change that?” 

“I mean…” 

“Dude, I’m tryna rizz you up” He frowned, placing his arms on both of your shoulders and touching his forehead with yours,

“You should be mine”  You failed to hold in your laughter, “If you want to kiss me that bad, just say so” 

“I do” 

“Do it, pussy” and with that, he pulled you in for a soft kiss, he slowly slides his hands across your body and then rests one hand on your cheek giving you butterflies. 

And that was, the most perfect kiss was with your new (actual) boyfriend