#advanced trading tips

[forex368]

Website: http://forex368.com/

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[cryptonewscentral]

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[mytradegenie]

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[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[xiaowhore]

hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!

premise. in which you manage to make neuvillette feel better at the expense of your dignity. (a fair trade, really.)

word count. 1.5k

note. do umbrellas exist at teyvat. i really don't know.

You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to dramatically brood in the rain when he gets sad, but to be fair, you don't know much about him at all.

You clutch onto your umbrella, contemplating. So, uh... Are you supposed to approach him now? Shield him from the rain with your umbrella? That doesn't sound too bad, actually. But then what? Ask him if his pet fish died and now he's mourning his loss? That's hardly appropriate to say to the Chief of Justice... But it would be creepier to just stand there without saying anything, right?

You could leave and pretend you didn't see anything. Of course, that's an option too. It's possible he prefers to be left alone when he's unhappy.

But sulking while standing in the rain just gives “I want someone's attention” vibes, doesn't it?!

With a fit of reckless courage and a “fuck it” mindset, you advance your way forward to where he stands.

Regretting something as soon as you do it is on-brand for you, you realize as you soon come to learn you have to be on the tip of your toes to have the umbrella barely raising over his head instead of hanging from him. You must make a pathetic sight, attempting to shield both yourself and this hulking tower of a man from the rain with a tiny umbrella.

“...What are you doing?” Neuvillette turns around, taken aback when you're in much closer proximity than he expected. Panic flares in his eyes, and like the gentleman that he is, he steps back to create some distance. His head presses against the edge of the umbrella.

“Hey, you shouldn't move away!” You follow his movements, closing the gap. His head is now safely within the umbrella's reach, but you're an inch away from being pressed up against his chest. “I miscalculated. This thing's too small for us.”

When the initial shock wears off, his shoulders slump, a sign of him lowering his guard. “If you know that much, you should use it for yourself and go home.”

That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Appealing, even. You've never felt so silly in your entire life and the option to run away is looking more enticing with each second that ticks by.

Still.

“It's dangerous to walk alone at this hour. Won't you accompany me, sir?”

...Not the best excuse you could've come up with, but your mouth runs faster than your brain. Neuvillette, being the considerate person he is, actually takes some time to think about it, and you hurry to say, “If you leave me alone now, you could have another disappearance case in your hands tomorrow. Would you really like more work on your desk rather than some company tonight?”

He gives you a long, suffering stare that looks suspiciously like the one he gives to Lady Furina when she disappoints him, but he doesn't say no. His hand wraps around the umbrella handle, overlapping with your fingers. It takes another two seconds of that stare before you get the message and you let go, finally able to rest the balls of your feet on the ground as you stand on normal footing.

“I hope you don't make a hobby of coercion,” he hums as you walk together, your shoulders brushing every so often. “Or else I'd see you as a criminal suspect tomorrow instead of a victim.”

“I see that jokes aren't your strong suit, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You laugh awkwardly, your nervousness spiking to an all-time high throughout your entire interaction with him. It's been barely ten minutes.

Silence ensues.

“Do you like showers, sir?”

You should've just kept your mouth shut, damn it.

“I like them the same amount as the average person, I suppose.” The ridiculous question doesn't phase him, and you don't know how he's able to keep a straight face while saying that.

You decide to push your luck. “...Do you prefer bathing with cold or hot water?”

Finally, you draw out a light chuckle from him, the sound deep and pleased. It almost makes playing the fool worth it. “I've been told I'm not the best with small talk, but you seem to be worse than I am.”

Your head snaps up to look at him, affronted. “It wasn't a bad question!”

“Certainly not as bad as talking about the weather. Do you want me to praise you?”

Was the Chief Justice always this sassy? “You're making fun of me,” you point out the obvious, turning away and crossing your arms. “I asked about showers because you were standing in the rain.”

“You thought I liked showers because I was in the rain?”

“Well, I didn't know for sure. That's why I asked.” Even you can tell you're sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute. Was your house always this far? You can't wait to dive to your bed and pretend this encounter never happened. “I think I'll just shut up now.”

“Really, now?”

“Every time I open my mouth around you, I embarrass myself further. I think it's for the best.”

You hear another chuckle as heat crawls up to your cheeks, spreading to your ears. “For what it's worth, you did put me out of my terrible mood. You're quite funny.”

“That's a nice way to say you think I'm being strange.” You hide your face with your hands, peeking at Neuvillette's expression between your fingers. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he looks straight out of a painting, even with wet hair and drenched clothes.

You've never seen him up close, never even dreamed of standing next to him. Now, you're exchanging jabs at each other like it's the most normal thing in the world, like you weren't just thinking he was someone out of reach when you watched his court trial in amazement. Now, he's so close that you can almost feel the heat from his body, so much more tangible than just a figure you admired from afar.

“But I do have your strangeness to thank,” he admits, looking off into the distance. The stars shine bright in his eyes. “Had it not been for you squeezing me under your umbrella and forcing me to walk you home, I'd surely still be under the rain.”

“...Couldn't you have phrased that better?”

“In court, I only state facts.”

You laugh dryly. “You could spare me some dignity by embellishing the story a bit... Oh, we're here.” You were so occupied defending yourself from his witty comments that you didn't realize you had already arrived home until your door was right at your face. You glance at Neuvillette, who then nods towards the door. If he's disappointed to have the stroll cut short, he doesn't show it.

“Go in. It is rather late.” He closes the umbrella and offers it back to you, a gentle smile on his face. The sight is almost like a reward for your efforts; the small upturn of the corners of his lips makes all the difference, his sharp, cold gaze softening into something more affectionate. The rainbow after the storm. The gratitude for a small kindness.

“You have to get home, too,” you utter, pushing it back to him.

“The rain stopped a few minutes ago,” he insists, gesturing behind him. You blink owlishly, observing the still pools of rainwater. You didn't even notice. Why didn't he say so? You didn't have to squeeze together under such a tiny umbrella, then.

“You should still keep it.”

He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive. “Why?”

You unlock your door, stepping inside, but still not closing it shut. “Well, it gives you an incentive to see me again.” You grin at him mischievously, like you thought of a genius plan. “I work at the cafe in the main street. I'm sure we have some tea that will strike your fancy. Make sure you're not moping next time we meet, yeah?”

Not for the first time, he seems taken aback. But his gaze softens once more, his expression molding into something pleased. “Very well.”

And so, he leaves with a small umbrella in his hand, a smile on his lips, and the clear skies over his head.

The next time you see Neuvillette, the sun is high in the sky. Compared to that night, you can see him a little better now.

That's how you notice he looks unusually shy with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a pink blush high on his cheeks. “...Good afternoon,” he starts, his lips curving to a beginning of a smile. “The weather is great today, isn't it?”

You stare. You stare some more. And when the sight finally processes in your mind, your twinkling laughter rings in the air, as sweet as the aroma of freshly baked muffins. “And who stooped so low to talk about the weather this time, huh?”

Neuvillette can't even pretend to feel bad about it, not when you're jumping off the seat in the counter to show him a table for two. “Your silliness is infectious, it seems.”

“Hey!”

(You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to be smart-mouthed, the type to be indulgent to your whims, the type to be romantic towards the person he's interested in—

But now you have all the time in the world to get to know him better.)

[theplotmage]

How to Get Started with Worldbuilding for Fantasy Writers

Hey fellow writers!

Worldbuilding can feel like a Herculean task, but it’s one of the most rewarding parts of creating a fantasy novel. If you're getting stuck, Here are some tips that have helped me, and I hope they’ll help you too!

Start with the Basics

Geography

- Map out the physical layout of your world. Think about continents, countries, cities, and natural features like mountains, rivers, and forests.

Climate and Ecosystems

- What are the climate zones and ecosystems like? How do they shape the lives of your inhabitants?

Create a History

Origins

- Dive into how your world came into existence. Are there creation myths or ancient civilizations that set the stage?

Major Events

- Outline key historical events. Wars, alliances, discoveries, and disasters can add so much depth.

Develop Cultures and Societies

Cultures

- Craft diverse cultures with unique customs, traditions, and values. What do they wear? What do they eat? How do they express themselves through art?

Social Structure

- Define the social hierarchy. Who holds power? What are the roles of different classes or groups?

Establish Magic and Technology

Magic System

- Set the rules and limitations of magic. Who can use it? How does it work? What are its costs and consequences?

Technology

- Decide on the level of technological advancement. Is your world medieval with swords and castles, or does it have steampunk elements?

Design Political and Economic Systems

Governments

- Create various forms of government. Are there kingdoms, republics, or empires? How do they interact?

Economy

- Define the economic systems. What are the main industries and trade routes? How do people earn a living?

Build Religions and Beliefs

Religions

- Develop religions and belief systems. Who are the gods or deities? What are the rituals and holy sites?

Myths and Legends

- Craft myths and legends that influence the culture and behavior of your characters.

Craft Unique Flora and Fauna

Creatures

- Invent unique creatures that inhabit your world. Consider their habitats, behaviors, and interactions with humans.

Plants

- Design plants with special properties. Are there magical herbs or dangerous plants?

Incorporate Conflict and Tension

Internal Conflicts

- Think about internal conflicts within societies, such as class struggles, political intrigue, or religious disputes.

External Conflicts

- Consider external threats like invading armies, natural disasters, or magical catastrophes.

Use Maps and Visual Aids

Maps

- Create maps to visualize your world. This helps you keep track of locations and distances.

Visual References

- Use images or sketches to inspire and flesh out your world.

Stay Consistent

Consistency

- Keep track of the details to maintain consistency. Use a worldbuilding bible or document to record important information.

Feedback

- Share your world with others and get feedback. Sometimes fresh eyes can spot inconsistencies or offer new ideas.

Let Your Characters Explore

Character Perspective

- Develop your world through the eyes of your characters. How do they interact with their environment? What do they know or believe about their world?

Be Flexible

Adapt and Evolve

- Be open to changing aspects of your world as your story develops. Sometimes the best ideas come during the writing process.

Worldbuilding is an ongoing journey, and it’s okay to refine and expand your world as you go. If you’re stuck or need specific advice, drop a comment or message me. Happy worldbuilding! 🌍✨

Feel free to share your own tips and experiences below. Let’s build some amazing worlds together! 💫

By the way, if you’re looking for a tool to help you keep track of all your worldbuilding details, check out my worldbuilding bible on Etsy! It’s designed to help you organize every aspect of your world, from geography and cultures to magic systems and conflicts.

I poured my heart into creating this, and I hope it inspires you as much as it has inspired me. Writing is such a beautiful journey, and having a structured way to keep your ideas organized can make all the difference. So go ahead, dive deep into your imagination, and let your creativity flow. You’ve got this! 💖📝

Happy writing, friends!

[reverie-starlight]

sakusa is the number one guy to have an eye on you. If you so much as sniffle, he's pulling out he emergency scarf...

So he absolutely knows when you go on your period, but he tries to phrase it in a way that makes it kess obvious that he knows.

"is it that time already?"

how fitting is it that when I started writing this, my period did too? 🥲 sorry this took so long dira, I’ve been busier with school than I thought I’d be 😭 your other requests are in the works!!

gn!reader that menstruates, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff. FLUFF. cuddly reader that's somewhat shy about affection. attentive kiyoomi. making this part of my MSBY!manager!reader mini-series as a little add-on :3

sakusa swears he can pinpoint the exact moment the switch flips in your brain and you succumb to the PMS feels.

you’re cuddling with him on the couch as a movie plays in the background when you shift a little. he glances down at his chest to see you resting your chin on his sternum, eyes wide as saucers and showcasing the familiar look of affection.

he sighs fondly and rests his hand on the back of your head. "someone feeling a bit needy?"

of course you are. he's been keeping track of your cycle since the beginning of your relationship, he has everything down to a T by now. he knows your symptoms, your usual cravings, how many days in advance he'll need to stock up on supplies... and it's never brought up, because you know he'd get a bit embarrassed if he were to be called out on it, but there's an unspoken understanding that he's tuned in to you and your body.

so obviously he knows that you're PMSing. even if he hadn't been tracking things, he'd know just by the way you had to keep yourself from clinging to him at practice earlier.

for whatever reason, you seem to become almost touch-starved just before your period, despite the constant stream of physical affection he gives you everyday.

so when you nod, he just smiles down at you softly and traces a heart on the apple of your cheek. “you did so well at practice today, manager.”

he thinks back to how you made it through the day despite waking up with a bad back and some sore thighs. another clue that tipped him off about your oncoming period.

you look up at him curiously, making his heart thump a little faster at how cute you look with your cheek smushed in his palm. “shouldn’t I be the one praising you for your performance today, actual athlete?”

he snorts, something he only ever finds himself doing around you. “I hear it enough everyday. How often do you get to?”

you nuzzle into his chest and he pretends that he doesn’t notice the shy smile you’re sporting. normally he would tease you, but he finds himself feeling much, much softer for you when you’re like this.

he rubs your lower back a bit and you whine at the relief it provides. “can I get you anything, my love?”

“kiyo, if you even think of getting up right now there will be hell to pay.”

he grins and scratches your scalp with his free hand. “of course, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

you lean up for a kiss and he happily obliges.

and so you stay like that for another ten minutes, the serene silence only broken by your stomach growling. “I’m not letting you go hungry. Let’s get you something to eat, come on.”

he picks you up and helps you wrap your legs around his waist before making way to the kitchen so he can fix you a snack. he works one handed, the occupied one settled under your thighs to support you, and listens to whatever you have to say.

needy as you may be, he wouldn’t trade getting to care for you for the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hope you enjoyed!

some tags: @emmyrosee @luvring @aayo-whatt

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How a billionaire’s mediocre pump-and-dump “book” became a “bestseller”

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/15/your-new-first-name/#that-dagger-tho

I was on a book tour the day my editor called me and told me, "From now on, your middle name is 'Cory.'"

"That's weird. Why?"

"Because from now on, your first name is 'New York Times Bestselling Author.'"

That was how I found out I'd hit the NYT list for the first time. It was a huge moment – just as it has been each subsequent time it's happened. First, because of how it warmed my little ego, but second, and more importantly, because of how it affected my book and all the books afterwards.

Once your book is a Times bestseller, every bookseller in America orders enough copies to fill a front-facing display on a new release shelf or a stack on a bestseller table. They order more copies of your backlist. Foreign rights buyers at Frankfurt crowd around your international agents to bid on your book. Movie studios come calling. It's a huge deal.

My books became Times bestsellers the old-fashioned way: people bought and read them and told their friends, who bought and read them. Booksellers who enjoyed them wrote "shelf-talkers" – short reviews – and displayed them alongside the book.

That "From now on your first name is 'New York Times Bestselling Author' gag is a tradition. When @wilwheaton's memoir Still Just A Geek hit the Times list, I texted the joke to him and he texted back to say @jscalzi had already sent him the same joke (and of course, Scalzi and I have the same editor, Patrick Nielsen Hayden):

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/still-just-a-geek-wil-wheaton

But not everyone earns that first name the same way. Some people cheat.

Famously, the Church of Scientology was caught buying truckloads of L Ron Hubbard books (published by Scientology's own publishing arm) from booksellers, returning them to their warehouse, then shipping them back to the booksellers when they re-ordered the sold out titles. The tip-off came when booksellers opened cases of books and found that they already bore the store's own price-stickers:

https://www.latimes.com/local/la-scientology062890-story.html

The reason Scientology was willing to go to such great lengths wasn't merely that readers used "NYT Bestseller* to choose which books to buy. Far more important was the signal that this sent to the entire book trade, from reviewers to librarians to booksellers, who made important decisions about how many copies of the books to stock, whether to display them spine- or face out, and whether to return unsold stock or leave it on the shelf.

Publishers go to great lengths to send these messages to the trade: sending out fancy advance review copies in elaborate packaging, taking out ads in the trade magazines, featuring titles in their catalogs and sending their sales-force out to impress the publisher's enthusiasm on their accounts.

Even the advance can be a way to signal the trade: when a publisher announces that it just acquired a book for an eyebrow-raising sum, it's not trumpeting the size of its capital reserves – it's telling the trade that this book is a Big Deal that they should pay attention to.

(Of all the signals, this one may be the weakest, even if it's the most expensive for publishers to send. Take the $1.25m advance that Rupert Murdoch's Harpercollins paid to Sarah Palin for her unreadable memoir, Going Rogue. As with so many of the outsized sums Murdoch's press and papers pay to right wing politicians, the figure didn't represent a bet on the commercial prospects of the book – which tanked – but rather, a legal way to launder massive cash transfers from the far-right billionaire to a generation of politicians who now owe him some rather expensive favors.)

All of which brings me to the New York Times bestselling book Read Write Own by the billionaire VC New York Times Bestselling Author Chris Dixon. Dixon is a partner at A16Z, the venture capitalists who pumped billions into failed, scammy, cryptocurrency companies that tricked normies into converting their perfectly cromulent "fiat" money into shitcoins, allowing the investors to turn a massive profit and exit before the companies collapsed or imploded.

Read Write Own (subtitle: "Building the Next Era of the Internet") is a monumentally unconvincing hymn to the blockchain. As Molly White writes in her scathing review, the book is full of undisclosed conflicts of interest, with Dixon touting companies he has a direct personal stake in:

https://www.citationneeded.news/review-read-write-own-by-chris-dixon/

But this book's defects go beyond this kind of sleazy pump-and-dump behavior. It's also just bad. The arguments it makes for the blockchain as a way of escaping the problems of an enshittified, monopolized internet are bad arguments. White dissects each of these arguments very skillfully, and I urge you to read her review for a full list, but I'll reproduce one here to give you a taste:

After three chapters in which Dixon provides a (rather revisionistd) history of the web to date, explains the mechanics of blockchains, and goes over the types of things one might theoretically be able to do with a blockchain, we are left with "Part Four: Here and Now", then the final "Part Five: What's Next". The name of Part Four suggests that he will perhaps lay out a list of blockchain projects that are currently successfully solving real problems.

This may be why Part Four is precisely four and a half pages long. And rather than name any successful projects, Dixon instead spends his few pages excoriating the "casino" projects that he says have given crypto a bad rap,e prompting regulatory scrutiny that is making "ethical entrepreneurs … afraid to build products" in the United States.f

As White says, this is just not a good book. It doesn't contain anything to excite people who are already blockchain-poisoned crypto cultists – and it also lacks anything that will convince normies who never let Matt Damon or Spike Lee convince them to trade dollars for magic beans. It's one of those books that manages to be both paper and a paperweight.

And yet…it's a New York Times Bestseller. How did this come to pass? Here's a hint: remember how the Scientologists got L Ron Hubbard 20 consecutive #1 Bestsellers?

As Jordan Pearson writes for Motherboard, Read Write Own earned its place on the Times list because of a series of massive bulk orders from firms linked to A16Z and Dixon, which ordered between dozens and thousands of copies and gave them away to employees or just randos on Twitter:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7emkx/chris-dixon-a16z-read-write-own-nyt-bestseller

The Times recognizes this in a backhanded way, by marking Read Write Own on the list with a "dagger" (†) that indicates the shenanigans (the same dagger appeared alongside the listing for Donald Trump Jr's Triggered after the RNC spent a metric scientologyload of money – $100k – buying up cases of it):

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/21/books/donald-trump-jr-triggered-sales.html

There's a case for the Times not automatically ignoring bulk orders. Since 2020, I've run Kickstarters where I've pre-sold my books on behalf of my publisher, working with bookstores like Book Soup and wholesalers like Porchlight Books to backers when they go on sale. I signed and personalized 500+ books at Vroman's yesterday for backers who pre-ordered my next novel, The Bezzle:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53531243480/

But there's a world of difference between pre-orders that hundreds or thousands of readers place that are aggregated into a single bulk order, and books that are bought by CEOs to give away to people who may not have any interest in them. For the book trade – librarians, reviewers, booksellers – the former indicates broad interest that justifies their attention. The latter just tells you that a handful of deep-pocketed manipulators want you to think there's broad interest.

I'm certain that Dixon – like me – feels a bit of pride at having "earned" a new first name. But Dixon – like me – gets something far more tangible than a bit of egoboo out of making the Times list. For me, a place on the Times list is a way to get booksellers and librarians excited about sharing my book with readers.

For Dixon, the stakes are much higher. Remember that cryptocurrency is a faith-based initiative whose mechanism is: "convince normies that shitcoins will be worth more tomorrow than they are today, and then trade them the shitcoins that cost you nothing to create for dollars that they worked hard to earn."

In other words, crypto is a bezzle, defined by John Kenneth Galbraith as "The magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it."

So long as shitcoins haven't fallen to zero, the bag-holders who've traded their "fiat" for funny money can live in the bezzle, convinced that their "investments" will recover and turn a profit. More importantly, keeping the bezzle alive preserves the possibility of luring in more normies who can infuse the system with fresh dollars to use as convincers that keep the bag-holders to keep holding that bag, rather than bailing and precipitating the zeroing out of the whole scam.

The relatively small sums that Dixon and his affiliated plutocrats spent to flood your podcasts with ads for this pointless 300-page Ponzi ad are a bargain, as are the sums they spent buying up cases of the book to give away or just stash in a storeroom. If only a few hundred retirees are convinced to convert their savings to crypto, the resulting flush of cash will make the line go up, allowing whales like Dixon and A16Z to cash out, or make more leveraged bets, or both. Crypto is a system with very few good trades, but spending chump change to earn a spot on the Times list (dagger or no) is a no-brainer.

After all, the kinds of people who buy crypto are, famously, the kinds of people who think books are stupid ("I would never read a book" -S Bankman-Fried):

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/11/29/sam-bankman-fried-reading-effective-altruism/

There's precious little likelihood that anyone will be convinced to go long on crypto thanks to the words in this book. But the Times list has enough prestige to lure more suckers into the casino: "I'm not going to read this thing, but if it's on the list, that means other people must have read it and think it's convincing."

We are living through a golden age of scams, and crypto, which has elevated caveat emptor to a moral virtue ("not your wallet, not your coins"), is a scammer's paradise. Stein's Law tells us that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop," but the purpose of a bezzle isn't to keep the scam going forever – just until the scammer can cash out and blow town. The longer the bezzle goes on for, the richer the scammer gets.

Not for nothing, my next novel – which comes out on Feb 20 – is called The Bezzle. It stars Marty Hench, my hard-driving, two-fisted, high-tech forensic accountant, who finds himself unwinding a whole menagerie of scams, from a hamburger-based Ponzi scheme to rampant music royalty theft to a vast prison-tech scam that uses prisoners as the ultimate captive audience:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Patrick Nielsen Hayden – the same editor who gave me my new first name – once told me that "publishing is the act of connecting a text with an audience." Everything a publisher does – editing, printing, warehousing, distributing – can be separated from publishing. The thing a publisher does that makes them a publisher – not a printer or a warehouser or an editing shop – is connecting books and audiences.

Seen in this light, publishing is a subset of the hard problem of advertising, religion, politics and every other endeavor that consists in part of convincing people to try out a new idea:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/04/self-publishing/

This may be the golden age of scams, but it's the dark age of publishing. Consolidation in distribution has gutted the power of the sales force to convince booksellers to stock books that the publisher believes in. Consolidation in publishing – especially Amazon, which is both a publisher and the largest retailer in the country – has stacked the deck against books looking for readers and vice-versa (Goodreads, a service founded for that purpose, is now just another tentacle on the Amazon shoggoth). The rapid enshittification of social media has clobbered the one semi-reliable channel publicists and authors had to reach readers directly.

I wrote nine books during lockdown (I write as displacement activity for anxiety) which has given me a chance to see publishing in the way that few authors can: through a sequence of rapid engagements with the system as a whole, as I publish between one and three books per year for multiple, consecutive years. From that vantagepoint, I can tell you that it's grim and getting grimmer. The slots that books that connected with readers once occupied are now increasingly occupied by the equivalent of the botshit that fills the first eight screens of your Google search results: book-shaped objects that have gamed their way to the top of the list.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

I don't know what to do about this, but I have one piece of advice: if you read a book you love, tell other people about it. Tell them face-to-face. In your groupchat. On social media. Even on Goodreads. Every book is a lottery ticket, but the bezzlers are buying their tickets by the case: every time you tell someone about a book you loved (and even better, why you loved it), you buy a writer another ticket.

Meanwhile, I've got to go get ready for my book tour. I'm coming to LA, San Francisco, Seattle, Vancouver, Calgary, Phoenix, Portland, Providence, Boston, New York City, Toronto, San Diego, Salt Lake City, Tucson, Chicago, Buffalo, as well as Torino and Tartu (details soon!).

If you want to get a taste of The Bezzle, here's an excerpt:

https://www.torforgeblog.com/2023/11/20/excerpt-reveal-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

And here's the audiobook, read by New York Times Bestselling Author Wil Wheaton:

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_459/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_459_-_The_Bezzle_Read_By_Wil_Wheaton.mp3

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So, reader is a huge softy that has many talents in various carework, for bots and kids. They are hired as the new Daycare Assistant/Handler and/or jack-of-all-trades for the Pizzaplex and the first interaction they have with any of the bots is respectful and kind. Reader has no judgement on them for not being human and considers them just as much a person as anyone else.

This includes every Staff bot they meet. They call them by their serial code (Hey there, M-1056!) or a nickname if they know them well enough. They help any Staff bot they see when the bot can't do it by themselves, with prior consent ofc. Getting magnets unstuck to them, helping clean up with them, even helping Map-bot with handing out maps. So, when some parent that isn't listed on the pickup list starts yelling at the reader and getting aggressive towards the increasingly uncomfortable Reader, the Staff bots are...displeased. Their AI isn't as developed as the glamrocks or the daycare attendant, but that is their friend. Their honorary handler. So, imagine the shock when some of the staff bots did their best to push the aggressive parent back from Reader and get Reader to safety. Security flashlight beams into their eyes, mop tripping them over, the works. After everything, the Reader is just so happy because "I didn't expect to gain such good friends!"

You can add whatever other bots that react to it happening in front of them/told to them later, but I'd like Sun's and Moon's reaction if you could. Thank you.

It was late in the evening when the Attendant needed some extra help cleaning up Superstar Daycare. But lucky for him, you were working tonight and provided him with some STAFF bots to assist.

You didn’t exactly program them to do that, but rather asked them politely. Of course it was their duty as janitors, guards, and many other things, though you still treated them as if you would the Glamrocks or any other advanced animatronic.

Your respect towards robots goes beyond the superstars of the Plex--that especially included the STAFF bots.

Because of this, you became the sort of “jack of all trades” handler. From helping a Glamrock get ready for a birthday party to assisting a Map Bot who’s passing out maps by elevator....you could do it all.

Sure, the STAFF bots didn’t have very eccentric personalities or voices, nor were they configured to have complex thoughts or emotional processes. But they all seemed to enjoy your presence--getting tasks done for you faster, saying “thank you” for helping them out of sticky situations, and more.

Some coworkers didn’t know why you cared so much about those “blank slate” bots, considering they replaced a majority of their friends and colleagues. Though nobody ever got on your case about it.

Even management noticed how you’ve kept them in tip-top shape, helping the company cut back on repair and/or replacement costs.

It turns out they needed you more than you needed them.

So you were quite content with your role.

In the daycare tonight, you had a few Mop Bots and a pair of Security Bots to sweep the place while you stayed at the security station, looking over the pickup list on the computer and finding only one child remained on it. She was with Sun, who would keep her entertained with a puppet show while waiting for her parent to arrive.

Soon enough, someone did and approached your desk. 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my daughter.”

Looking up, you smiled at them. “Good evening. May I just have your name, please?”

They told you exactly that, but much to your confusion..the name they gave didn’t match what was on the list. You checked the date and sure enough, it was today’s, so you were looking at the correct one.

“Ah, unfortunately I have a completely different name listed here.” You told them, seeing their slight frown. 

“Really? I could’ve sworn I gave it to that stupid grinning robot...” Their eyes flickered to Sun. “Unless it glitched and changed it entirely.”

You noticed he was silent now, staring over at you both. While you didn’t take too kindly to this person calling him “stupid”, you stayed calm. “I can assure you that’s not possible. Our Daycare Attendant has the highest level of security and protects the data of all visitors-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah I don’t need you to explain it to me. Can I just get my kid over there?” They huffed, suddenly having a thin amount of patience. “It’s a school night and I got here late, so I’m kinda in a rush.”

“Sure thing, could you just confirm her name for me?”

And they did just that, too, but you were still adamant about releasing them to this person. Glitches that completely changed somebody’s name in the daycare’s database simply didn’t happen. 

So you decided to ask them one more question to be sure. “And for safety reasons, may I also ask what school she goes to?”

They immediately looked at you with disgust, caught off-guard. “Why? Do you need to know every little thing about her? Does this place need her blood type, too?” They sneered.

“...no, but every parent is given a form to fill out, and they’re required to include their child’s school.” You pointed out. “I would assume you did that when you dropped her off today.” 

“.....ohh, uh..I-I’m actually just a family friend.” They abruptly changed their entire story, looking a little nervous as they did so. “Her parents asked me to pick her up so I didn’t sign any form.”

You just stared at them like they were the dumbest person on the planet. Did they seriously think you’ll believe that?

As uncomfortable as you were, you tried to stay calm. “I’m sorry but your name isn’t listed anywhere on the child’s emergency contact list, so I can’t release her to-”

“God what is this, Fort Knox?!!” They suddenly snapped. “I didn’t drive all the way to this shitty place just for you to hold her hostage!! Just call her goddamn parents and they’ll be able to tell you!”

You flinched slightly. Even Sun and a few STAFF bots began looking back your way, though you did your best to get this guest out of here asap. You’ve rarely dealt with irate parents, so your nerves were getting worked up. “Hey, there’s no need to use that language in the daycar-”

“Sorry. It’s just....look, I get it,” they huffed. “This company has a history of kidnappings and shit, but you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“..and it’s for that exact reason that I can’t let you leave with her. You telling me you’re her parent, and then a family friend is just a little suspicious. You can’t be both-”

“Jesus..am I gonna have to snatch her from that robot myself?! I see why they replaced you all with those stupid machines..they wouldn’t give me all this crap!”

At this point, your hands were growing shaky as you reached for the security button. This person was clearly attempting a kidnapping, only getting angry because they got caught in a lie.

Meanwhile, Sun was extremely concerned over the aggressive guest, especially since the little girl didn’t seem to know that person at all. At that point, he was ready to let Moon take over so he could deal with this “parent” himself.

Though before any of that could happen, he noticed all the STAFF bots in the play area suddenly cease their duties, making their way over to you.

Now that they were more in-tune with human emotions, they could sense your discomfort and the guest’s growing hostilities. And seeing you being harassed was..displeasing to witness.

You were their friend. Their handler. You treated them all with the utmost respect.

You didn’t deserve anything less than that.

So they came to the rescue, as a Security Bot tapped the guest on the shoulder and spoke in a rather annoyed monotone voice. “Hello, friend. Profanity and aggression towards staff are against our rules-”

“Don’t touch me you-!!”

But as the stranger turned around to scream at the bot next, they were met with a bright light shining directly in their eyes. They yelled in slight pain, going completely blind for a moment as they backed away from your desk.

Then a Mop Bot positioned themselves behind them and “accidentally” stuck out their broom too far, making them trip and fall onto the mat, sending some party canister crashing down.

“OW! Son of a--what’s wrong with your damn robots?!” They shouted in panic, getting up and rubbing their eyes right as two more Security Bots took them by the arms. “HEY! Let go!! This is j-just a misunderstanding, alright?! I-I didn’t mean to shout at your employee!”

They looked to you, hoping you could give them another chance. But you simply smiled and waved as they were forcefully escorted out of the daycare.

Only when the large doors slammed shut did you breathe a sigh of relief.

‘Thank god that’s over..’

“Are you alright, [y/n]?”

Looking to the Security Bot now standing by you, you smiled and nodded. You couldn’t believe they came to your defense so quickly--without even being ordered to. “I am now. Thank you, S-0032.”

“Head of security has been notified. This guest will be permanently banned. Effective immediately.”

“Amazing..I’ve never seen them be so..protective before.”

You saw Moon jump onto the desk, gazing down at you curiously. But his smile seemed a lot bigger now. “I got a mess to clean up..but I’ll let you slide. Just this once.” He wagged a finger at the bot, before leaping away to attend to other matters.

In the meantime, you just laughed, seeing a Mop Bot approach you as well.  “I didn’t expect to gain such good friends. That was a great one, M0-1056.”

“Always happy to help, [y/n].” They nodded respectfully.

Even though neither of them could smile, you had a feeling they would be if it were possible.

[fandomworld9728]

Random headcanons about the sins and their relationship with Luci and Charlie? Maybe Lilith too?

(Since there's no AU/fanfic attached to this, I'm going to assume you mean from the canon show. Since there isn't much that we know about Lilith I'm only going to do Lucifer & Charlie)

(Also, I'm sorry this took me so long to respond to!)

Beelzebub:

While not actually related, treats Lucifer like he's her precious baby brother

Is the only one who makes a drink strong enough to get Lucifer drunk (And finds any excuse to get him to get him totally wasted, loving how he finally relaxes and cuts loose)

Totally threw the baby shower when it was announced that Charlie was going to be born

The fun Aunt who tries to show Charlie how to have a good time (Especially with her being high strung like her father)

Sends the two lots of goodies from her Ring. Doubly so when she knows they've had a rough time/bad day

Helped get Charlie get ready for prom with Lucifer, Lilith & Asmodeus

Asmodeus:

Acts like the older brother/father figure to Lucifer

Always ready to wingman for Lucifer be it during his marriage to Lilith or after when Lucifer tells him he's ready to get back out there

Always keeps a table or two open at Ozzie's for Lucifer & Charlie just in case they wanna bring a date to the Lust Ring

Definitely tag teams with Beelzebub to help Charlie & Lucifer threw heart break and to dress them up for parties/special events

Most supportive of the Sins on the two Morningstars' crazy ideas (And often the voice of reason)

Mammon:

Used to be close to Lucifer until he ripped off Lulu World

While it is his Sin taking over, the other side of it is that he is very much the living embodiment of imitation is the sincerest form of flattery with Lucifer (He doesn't know how to properly express it and is heavily influenced by his Sin that he doesn't know how much damage he is actually causing) (Please someone smack some sense into this guy)

Absolutely loves Charlie to pieces and teaches her all his favorite tips and tricks of the trade

Easily breaks under Charlie's famous puppy dog eyes

Satan:

Is like that brother who looks for any reason to fight. Finding any excuse to punch Lucifer in his face (Mainly the face because he finds it amusing whenever Lucifer screams not the face)

Whenever Lucifer visits Wrath he greets him by using his lasso to capture and tie him up

Just loves bullying Lucifer in any way possible & complains about him 24/7 (Yet misses him when he doesn't visit)

Despite his willingness to cause harm to Lucifer, he would lay down his life for him and especially for Charlie

Was the one who taught Charlie who to control her emotions so her demonic form & magic didn't go haywire

Feels most at peace whenever he's around Charlie. Something about her sooths his Sin

Leviathan:

Sees Lucifer more like a father than a brother

Uses his hypno-eyes as a form of hypnotherapy on Lucifer when he's at his lowest

Envious (shocker I know) of how much Lucifer loves Charlie

Despite that he very much loves Charlie like she was his younger sister

Belphegor:

Lucifer is her favorite patient since he only ever comes in for sleeping pills (when he finally took her advance to use them for his shitty sleep schedule

Will sometimes just appear in Lucifer or Charlie's bed and have what she calls a Nap Party or Group Nap

Only goes to parties at Beelzebub's when Lucifer drags her (no she doesn't have favorites) (even though she totally does and it's him)

Is Charlie's only doctor and will accept nothing else on the matter

Was the one who delivered Charlie when she was born

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Celtic Helmet Is the Oldest Ever Found in Poland

Unearthed at the Łysa Góra archaeological site, the artifact, some 2,300 years old, is a prime example of Celtic metalworking

Archaeologists in Poland have unearthed a horde of 300 artifacts dating back to the fourth century B.C.E. Found at the Łysa Góra site in the region of Mazovia, near Warsaw, the trove includes iron axes, scissors and, most notably, a rare Celtic helmet.

A team from Warsaw’s State Archaeological Museum and University of Warsaw’s Department of Archaeology has been excavating in Łysa Góra since the spring. According to a statement by the team, the helmet was buried in a charcoal pit, along with four iron axes.

Though it was damaged by age, researchers determined the “spectacular” helmet was originally shaped like a cone, possessing a separate curved neck piece and decorated with etched lines. Its discovery has changed the team’s perceptions of the Celts—a group of Central European tribes who thrived during the Iron Age, from 1200 B.C.E. until 50 C.E.

The helmet is the first artifact of its kind to be found in Poland, as excavation leader Bartłomiej Kaczyński, of the archaeological museum, tells Science in Poland’s Ewelina Krajczyńska-Wujec. Before, only one other, much newer Celtic helmet had been discovered: a first-century piece found in the southern village of Siemiechów. The Łysa Góra helmet is at least 2,300 years old.

“At first we thought it might be some kind of ancient vessel, because bronze vessels are much more common on Polish soil than helmets,” Kaczyński tells Science in Poland, per Newsweek’s Aristos Georgiou. Then, the artifact’s neck piece—an arched plate near its edge—prompted archaeologist Andrzej Maciałowicz to suggest it could be a helmet.

Based on the artifact’s shape, and the fact that its tip was held together by a double knob, researchers concluded the piece is an early La Tène helmet. The Celtic culture of La Tène—French for “the shallows”—is named for Lake Neuchâtel in Switzerland, where researchers first found La Tène objects in the late-1800s, per ARTnews’ George Nelson. The culture formed around the fifth century B.C.E., about when Celts came into contact with Etruscan and Greek people from south of the Swiss Alps.

The La Tène style of metalworking developed between the fourth and third centuries B.C.E., and examples of it are “very rare,” per Science in Poland. While 1970s and ‘80s excavations at Łysa Góra revealed some small La Tène artifacts, researchers assumed they ended up in Poland via trading.

The recently discovered helmet, on the other hand, is an example of “the most advanced Celtic metallurgy,” Kaczyński says, and the piece was seemingly owned by a Celt, per Newsweek. The La Tène helmet’s presence in northern Poland changes researchers’ perceptions of the reach of the Celtic world in the pre-Roman period.

The other artifacts the research team found illustrate the ancient Celts’ proclivity for animal husbandry and farming: Blades from shears might have been used to cut sheeps’ wool, and scythes might have cut grain or grass. According to a statement by the archaeological museum, the researchers also found a collection of glass, amber and stone artifacts, including jewelry—bracelets, ornate necklaces and rings.

The helmet was taken to the State Archaeological Museum’s conservation department, where an expert in iron and bronze artifacts will spend several months conserving its pieces. As Kaczyński tells Science in Poland, the research team began excavating Łysa Góra to help construct an educational trail through the site. But the team’s “multitude of discoveries” indicates they may have more archaeological work to do than they thought.

By Sonja Anderson.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lord Devlon x Illyrian!reader: Give Me What I Want.[*]

A/N: I thank you so deeply for making this request and opening my eyes to this male, oml—

Warnings: slight brat taming (woah!), wing play, dom/sub dynamics (kinda)

Arms fly over his shoulders, gripping to steady yourself as you jerk your knee upward, aiming at the soft organ between his legs.

A low snarl rips from his chest, a broad, calloused palm biting into your thigh, keeping you from slamming it home. He twists your leg to the side, pulling it up over his hip, stepping into you so you’re tipping backward—forced to desperately cling to him to keep from falling to the kitchen floor.

“Let me go, brute,” you hiss, digging your nails into the muscle cording his shoulders, hanging from his strength. “I would sooner sleep outside this winter than visit your blasted brother again. He makes a pass at me every time you look away.”

“If you’d stop seducing him with those eyes of yours, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he growls, free arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you within his warmth. “I can’t take you anywhere without something happening.”

“You’re putting this on me?” You snarl, arms aching from holding him so tight, having spent the afternoon drying the various pots and pans from lunch, then immediately switching to preparing dinner, which is laying untouched atop the table. “Don’t you feel any sense of protection for your wife? Your own brother is trying to steal me out from right beneath your nose, ‘Lo. Aren’t you embarrassed? Ashamed? I’m not some common whore to be traded about, no matter how you like to say so.”

Rough fingertips splay across your ribs, skating beside your breast, possessively. “He knows what would happen to him if he so much as touched something of mine. If advances have been made, you have only yourself to blame, temptress that you are.”

“That’s your answer?” You hiss. “That it’s my fault your brother keeps trying to take liberties with me? You should train your dogs better.”

Devlon growls in warning. “He is my brother, and you will show him the respect he deserves. He is a fully fledged warrior, and you will do well to treat him as one.” He pulls you tighter to his body, your back straining with the curve, gritting your teeth against the ache. “Or do I need to remind you of your placement in this world?” You snarl your disagreement, hands raising to the thick, dark locks of his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. “I will submit to my husband, and my husband only. If you know so thoroughly that I am yours, why tolerate any other male attempting to put his hands on me. Do you have no sense of possession? As your wife, I would expect more aggression from you, but clearly this brother of yours has something over you if you’re at his mercy—”

“I will not have you sewing discord within my family, witch.” Lip curls at the title, hands lowering from his hair, trailing down his back, just grazing the great wings—

The second you do, Illyrian instinct kicks in, and he goes for the throat. Muscle tenses, then you turn soft and pliable in his arms. Calloused fingers stroke over the sensitive skin placatingly, as if calming a beast through scratching behind its ears. Heat flushes your cheeks, legs trembling, arms turning weak and limp as the stimulation settles in the pit of your belly.

“Don’t… Quit it, ‘Lo,” you pant, shooting him a scathing glare. He can’t just do this every time you have an argument. And yet it always seems to end with you flipped on your back, a larger pair of wings hiding you from the world, your fingers running through his hair while his hips grind against your own.

Hands fall away from his wings, instead pulling to your chest, attempting to squirm out of his dominating hold, feeling all of a sudden as though his hands are all over your body, touching the curve of your hip, the softness of your waist, the hollow of your throat. “We aren’t done with this argument,” you manage, heat already pounding between your legs.

“Argument?” He pulls you tighter to his chest, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you speak of a children’s sparring match like it’s a war.”

Grit your teeth. “Stop infantilising me. You don’t give me proper attention, or the topics I bring up. A good husband listens to his wife.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively, though his hands have slowed on your wings. You’re grateful for the reprieve.

“You’re being dense,” you snap, regaining enough to control to steady yourself with the one leg that’s still planted on the floor. “I would’ve though as warlord you would understand when to pick your battles—you’re always saying that makes a good warrior.”

“You think we were battling?” He sneers, pulling your thigh tighter over his hip. “You’d be on the floor painted black and blue if we were.”

“This house is my battle ground,” you hiss sharply, anger flaring in your blood at the nonchalance he spoke about hurting you with. “As your wife, home and family are my designated areas. You don’t hear me asking what you spoke about during those meetings of yours, because I know my place. And I don’t expect your help in the kitchen other than perhaps giving me coin to buy the necessary materials, because that isn’t your place. Your brother’s actions are an attack on our family, and as a relatively dignified male, I expect you to defend it.” You finish, keeping your attention locked with his sharp hazel eyes.

Dark brows furrow as his attention pierces into you, the edges of his mouth twisted in an almost permanent frown. You fight to keep from shifting in his hold as he judges your points.

“Unnervingly sound reasoning, as usual,” he mutters, relenting at last. Lips quirk in triumph, making him shoot you a dark glance, fingers biting into your thigh. “I suppose it’s not acceptable for him to put his hands on my wife, even if provoked.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you snap, heat finally receding enough for you to be rational. “Where did that idea even come from? I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.” He snarls roughly at that, hips pressing into your abdomen. “Don’t lie to me, wife. Do you even understand the strain you put on me to resist taking you before our wedding night?”

Lips part as heat flows between you, something hard and stiff pressing into you, the shape of his arousal more prominent that it was before. “What are you talking about?” You breathe, his mouth poised to devour your own. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and you can feel the strength contained within his warrior’s body seeping into your own. “You know what I’m talking about,” he growls. “You are female. You should hold no power over me.”

You can do nothing but stare up into his hazel eyes, two siphons glittering on either shoulder, blazing storm-cloud grey. “And yet every day drove me deeper into madness. Every day I was denied you, deprived of you.” Lips brush over your own, a roughened promise whispered in secret. “I could have killed on our wedding day, with how intense that strain was.”

He had seemed ill-tempered—you’d assumed he was simply innately miserable, rather than it being out of impatience. “‘Lo…” you plead, softly, breathlessly.

“It should not be me that feels that way alone,” he growls, hand sliding up between your wings, your spine arching. “I should not be the one subject to you.”

“Yet here you are,” you manage, wishing he would shut up and put his mouth over your own already. He snarls, silencing you. “Can you even comprehend the need I have for you? Understand a fraction of the longing I feel for you? How my bones groan to have you near?”

The world around him falls away, negative space. “Show me,” you breathe, “show me.”

Hot lips press over your own, hand releasing your leg in favour of sliding beneath your ass, hauling you upward. Thighs wrap tight around his hips, your hands cupping his jaw as he groans up into the kiss, head tipped back to go deeper. Fingers thread through the thickness of his dark hair, rolling your hips against him, hands dipping lower. Skating over his shoulders, down his back.

He snarls into your mouth as your nails graze the base of his wings, the tendons shuddering beneath the feather-light touch. His hold loosens, allowing you to slide down a little, his arousal pressing flush to your centre. Hips buck as you attach your mouth to his neck, your Lord stalking from the kitchen, prowling through your house so he can bed you. Teeth scrape over a pulse point, hands squeezing your ass in response, shifting you in his arms so your centre rubs over him.

Forearm slides beneath you, hand gripping the nape of your neck, unlatching your mouth from his throat. Siphons burn the colour of thunder-clouds, hazel sharp as it pierces into you. “Hands and knees,” he grits out. “On the double.”

Neither of you dare waste a second. The moment he releases you, ties are loosened, clothes are strewn across the floor, wings flare for balance as you’re practically shoved onto the bed. Feel the heavy weight of his cock between your legs, one arm sliding down your front, calloused fingers plying you apart enough so you’ll be able to take him. “‘Lo, please…” you pant, tightening around his digits as they slide in and out, curling softly against spots he knows you like.

Pleasure weakens your muscles, lowering onto your forearms, wings twitching near their tips, shuddering as heat pulses between your legs. “I need you relaxed,” he grits out, your spine curving at the rough drag of the syllables. “I am relaxed,” you pant, “do it.”

Your Lord curses under his breath, then pulls away; you whine at the emptiness. It’s transformed into a moan when the tip of his cock presses to your entrance instead, poised to fill you up—if he would just push his hips forward. You hiss, telling him to get on with it, but he only slides in the first inch or so, nowhere near enough yet. “What are you doing?” You manage breathlessly, attempting to shift to peer at him, but he holds you still.

“Do you feel how badly you want that?” He growls, pulling out a little more. You could scream at him to slam in, but it won’t get you anywhere, so you nod your head instead, choosing compliance over disobedience. “Imagine constantly feeling that need every time someone so much as walked in the same room as you. Do you see how cruel you were?” A moan slips from your lips, his hand rising from between your legs to grip your breast, thumbing at the sensitive peak of your nipple. “I’m sorry, ‘Lo,” you pant, practically trembling beneath his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he snarls. “Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?”

Swallow thickly, heartbeat spiking at the vulgar language. “Please, ‘Lo. Please, I need you.” Fingers pinch the sensitive skin. “Of course you do.”

Then he slides in, and you’re pressed forward, making room for him until his hips are tight against the backs of your thighs. Eyes roll with pleasure, harsh pants of relieve spilling from your lips as you clamp down on him. Words blur and fumble, a strange mesh of pleading sounds pouring into the air, the duvet doing nothing to muffle them. “That’s better,” he groans, drawing his hips back in favour of slamming in. You cry out, pleasure rocking your mind as he sets a punishing pace, hips smacking against your thighs, cock touching those previously stimulated spots, having you tighten around him.

Canines scrape over the junction of your neck and shoulder, finding the part he likes, where you’ll struggle to conceal the mark. Teeth bite down and you moan, wings fluttering in pleasure as he presses against them, pinning them to your back. Vision blurs with the stimulation, tears brimming along your lashes, bursting with the need to have him this deep inside you at all times, to be so utterly and completely full there’s hardly room for breath.

Your husband pulls away, gripping you by the hips, slamming you back against him in time with the rough pace he’s chosen. Cries spill helplessly from your chest as he puts his weight behind each thrust, grinding his hips against you so he’ll touch more of the lovely, mouth-watering places inside you. You try to cover your mouth but he’s having none of it, one hand fisting in your hair as he tugs you upright, forcing your spine to curve to his will as he pounds into you.

Waves of dizzying pleasure crest over your skin, a scream whimpering from your mouth as you flutter around his cock, sending him over the edge. He snarls as it hits him, release spurting into you, feeling the thick liquid spill deep inside, filling you up and stuffing you full. Eyes slide shut, pushing tears down your cheeks while muscles spasm from overstimulation. The last waves finish, and his grip loosens on you, allowing you to collapse down into the mattress, exhausted.

The bed dips to your left as he settles beside you, one great wing splaying across your back, tucking you beneath it. Take your time to regain your strength, before rolling closer, your own wings folding to allow you to press into the sturdy heat of his side. “What about supper?” You question quietly, eyes still shut as you bask in the aftermath. He grunts noncommittally. “We can eat later.”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, hunger beginning to make an appearance now your mind is unoccupied. You groan, brows narrowing into a frown before you sigh, making to push up from the bed. His wing presses you down, keeping you laying comfortably on your front. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, standing and moving to kitchen.

When he returns, you’ve burrowed under the covers, closer to his side than your own, eyes shut, breathing deep and even. He rolls his eyes, setting the plates down on the tables either side your large bed.

You’ll wake up in an hour or so, once you’re sufficiently rested.

Then it’ll be time for round two.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

[megalony]

Burning Fever

This is a Prince Eric (The Little Mermaid) imagine requested by the amazing @fangirl-tothemax​ I hope this is what you were wanting hun. Anymore requests just keep sending them in. I hope everyone likes it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts​ @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps

Masterlist

Summary: When (Y/n) gets sick, Eric is there to look after her and help her get better.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Eric, not again-"

"Mother, please, don't take this out of proportion." Eric's shoulders slumped down and he dragged his hand over his mouth and chin, trying to keep the placid smile on his face but he was finding it hard to stay upbeat.

She didn't understand.

She was never going to understand Eric's need- no, his primal desire to be anywhere but here. It was wired into his DNA to want to be out on the open sea, voyaging to other places to see their cultures and make his own kingdom modern and relevant. His mother might be content to stay in the same place, stuck in the same time loop, but Eric couldn't do that. He couldn't wait around and watch the whole world pass him by, he was too tempted to go out and be part of that world than stay here and ignore it.

For the past two years Eric had done as his mother had requested, he had limited his explorations like she'd asked him to. He didn't go too far afield, he stayed close and kept the travels small, no more than three weeks away at a time. When he and (Y/n) got married just over a year ago, he barely left the kingdom and he knew it had been the happiest he had ever seen his mother.

Right up until she realised (Y/n) would journey on Eric's voyages too and that meant (Y/n) would spur Eric's love for the sea instead of tame it.

"It's a two week journey, somewhere I've been before just to get supplies."

Eric laid his fork on his plate and pushed back in his chair, feeling a headache forming behind his eyes. This wasn't a new travel to an unknown, unchartered country, this was an Island only a six day journey from here that had more advanced medicines and books and herbs and foods. It was a new ally to trade with, it was far safer than many of the other voyages he had been on in his time.

He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth but when he lifted his eyes to look across the table, his lips curved into a small smile and his dimples appeared in the creases hof his cheeks. (Y/n) was smiling at him.

She didn't even have to do anything and she had Eric's full attention. His eyes raked over his wife sitting across from him, watching how she swirled the tip of her finger around her glass like she was trying to make music with it. And when her head tilted to the side, he noticed how her hair fell against the nape of her neck, effectively hiding the mark he had put there last night.

Eric knew (Y/n) had only come down to dinner this evening because she knew he was going to have this discussion with his mother and (Y/n) knew how well it would go down. She hadn't been feeling well and she wasn't hungry but the thought of leaving Eric to argue with his stern mother didn't seem like the best idea.

"Please do not tell me that you're going as well?" His mother looked over at (Y/n) who tried to smile, murmuring a quiet 'no' in response.

Shaking his head, Eric banged his hands down on the table and stood up with a groan.

"Now you know I wouldn't take such a risk. This is the last trip, you have my word." Eric slowly walked over to where his mother was sat near the window that looked out onto the sea that was calling his name. He didn't know why she would even have to ask when she already knew the answer.

Eric wouldn't take such a high risk of bringing (Y/n) along on any kind of trip or expedition when she was pregnant. (Y/n) knew the moment she told Eric about the pregnancy that it was the end of their shared expeditions for a few years at least. From the moment they got married, any trip Eric went on, he took his wife with him. He barely let her leave his side when he went anywhere on any business, official or not.

Now it was different. If he went on the trip and the seas became rough or they hit a storm or a bad tide, Eric was risking the safety of his family and he couldn't have that playing on his mind. It meant that until the baby was born, (Y/n) was grounded, so to speak.

And after the baby was born, Eric could already foresee that he was going to be having a battle with his mother when he wanted to take his little family with him on an expedition. Eric himself had started going on ships when he was only five and if their child was anything like Eric and (Y/n), they would be desperate to be out on the sea. And Eric wasn't sure how he would be able to go on any trips when he knew he would be leaving behind his wife and child.

"Good," His mother's voice was quiet but something softened in her eyes when Eric rested his hand on her shoulder before he looked out the window.

He had to take this trip now because there wasn't going to be another opportunity for months. Eric couldn't take the risk of going on this trip in two or three months time in case something happened while he was away or (Y/n) went into early labour. He had to be here, his wife needed him.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) slouched back in her chair and rubbed her forehead, wishing the migraine behind her eyes to disappear. She couldn't even read one of her books this morning with how awful her head felt and being around food right now wasn't doing her any favours. She had eaten as much as she could but now she just felt sick to her stomach.

"I was thinking, what if-"

"Eric?"

Turning away from the window, Eric looked over at (Y/n) when her strained voice echoed through the room. He felt his heart jumping up into his throat when he looked at his wife.

He could see the faraway look in her eyes that weren't even in focus anymore and with her hand over her mouth, he thought for a moment that she was going to be sick. But his body jolted and shivered when (Y/n)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her head lolled backwards.

When he saw (Y/n)'s body start to fall from the chair, Eric moved quicker than he could register. He rounded the other side of the table and went down on his knees beside his wife's chair just as she slumped down. (Y/n)'s head flopped onto his shoulder and her weight fell on his chest but he coiled his arms around her waist. Leaning her back so she stayed seated on the chair with her upper body resting on him.

"Sweetheart, are you with me?" His hand moved to cup her cheek and he smoothed his thumb beneath her eye to try and get a response but all he got was a small murmur. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, clicking his tongue when he felt her skin that was burning to the touch.

Eric took a deep breath and pushed up a little higher until he was level with the chair. He moved an arm under (Y/n)'s knees and the other stayed around her waist so he could pick her up when he stood to his full height.

"Grimsby, could you fetch the doctor please?"

"Of course, sir." Grimsby held the dining room door open and watched Eric slowly head down the corridor before he moved in the other direction to call for the doctor.

By the time Eric almost reached their room, he noticed (Y/n) beginning to stir in his arms. Her head nuzzled against his shoulder and he could feel her hand fisting his shirt tight enough that the buttons almost started to pop. He pressed his lips to her burning forehead and nudged open their chamber door with his hip.

"Eric?"

"I'm here, sweetheart." Eric gently lowered (Y/n) down onto the bed and moved his hand to hold the back of her head and his other stayed around her back. He leaned his head down, burying his face in her hair when she kept tight hold of his shirt and pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his scent.

They stayed like that for a few moments and Eric's mind began to run away without him for a while. But his eyes opened again when (Y/n) let out a small groan. He slowly pulled back and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed beside her but when he saw her hand move to cover her mouth, he quickly scanned the floor around him.

He grabbed the bowl hidden just under the bed for morning sickness and emergencies such as this and held the bowl out just as (Y/n) threw up. Eric moved his free hand and tangled his hands in her hair, moving the strands from her face.

"It's alright, let it out, love. Grimsby's gone to fetch the doctor."

Eric bit down on his nail and tightened his arm around his waist. His back was pressed up against the wall next to the chamber door and his knees were bent outwards as he watched the doctor anxiously.

It hadn't taken long for the doctor to arrive at the palace and (Y/n) had come back around properly by the time he arrived but it didn't stop Eric from worrying. He watched the doctor check (Y/n)'s pulse, take her temperature, check her vitals and do a small assessment before he turned around to look at Eric.

"Is she alright?"

"A mild fever your highness, but she should be fine. I'd just like to take some blood."

"And the baby?"

"Perfectly healthy sir, with rest and medicine her highness will recover in the next few days."

Eric felt like he could have fainted but a timid smile graced his lips and he nodded in relief. When he saw the doctor getting a needle and vile out to take some blood, Eric advanced towards the bed and sat down next to (Y/n). He could see she still didn't look herself, she looked like she was about to faint again and she was flushed and starting to sweat even though he had opened the balcony doors to let in great gusts of air.

When he sat down beside her, (Y/n) smiled and let her head loll onto his shoulder. She could feel his arm wrapping around her shoulders and she moved her head down a little until she was leaning on his chest instead so she could hear his heartbeat.

It felt like there was a drum inside her head that was constantly being hit and her ears were thudding but it was the heat surrounding her that felt the worst. Her body was on fire like she was lying on hot coals and she was sweating through her dress but she wanted to be as close to Eric as possible. He didn't seem to mind and (Y/n) smiled softly when she felt the back of his hand against her temple once again.

It had to be the fifth time he had tried to check her temperature in the last hour or so but it was sweet. He seemed to be praying that he could wish or kiss away her temperature.

As soon as the needle pushed into the crease of her elbow, (Y/n) felt herself becoming lightheaded and her stomach churned.

"Sweetheart?"

Eric looked down at his wife leaning on his chest before a sigh passed through his lips when he realised she had fainted again. Needles were never her strong point, he couldn't count the times he'd seen her blackout or faint when having her bloods taken.

He let himself relax back into the pillows and laid back, easing (Y/n) back into his chest with his arms loosely looped around her waist. At least this way she was going to get some rest for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And just what are you doing?"

A tired smile formed on (Y/n)'s lips when she felt a pair of familiar, rough hands resting on her shoulders and a chin placed on top of her head. She could feel Eric's bare chest pressing up against her back and she didn't have to turn around to know his hair was wet and stuck up at all angles.

Eric had just come out of the bath and when he walked back into their shared room, something spiked in his chest when he couldn't see (Y/n) anywhere. He had left her lying in bed and when he came back she wasn't there. But when his eyes scanned round their room, he saw her standing at the balcony doors.

"Getting some fresh air." (Y/n) leaned her head back on Eric's shoulder when his hands moved down from her shoulders and along her arms before finally securing around her waist with his hands on her bump.

"You're supposed to be resting, you still have a fever you know." Eric could still feel the heat radiating off of her and soaking through his skin. She wasn't as flushed or sweating through her layers anymore but she was still burning.

"And you're supposed to be setting off tomorrow."

"How can I do that when my lady isn't well? The trip can be postponed for a week. It'll keep my mother happy too."

(Y/n) knew better than to try the subject with Eric, she knew he wasn't going to entertain the idea of leaving in the morning if she wasn't one hundred percent herself. He was only going to go if he could be assured next week that she was back to her normal health and not at risk of getting worse or becoming ill again. It would be the same if it was Eric who was ill, (Y/n) wouldn't leave him behind.

"Come on now, back to bed." Eric pressed a kiss to the side of (Y/n)'s head before he slowly steered them around and walked back towards the bed, (Y/n) still wrapped up in his arms.

(Y/n) could feel her head spinning when she laid back down but her lips curved up into a bright smile when Eric hovered over her. His hands pressed into the pillow on either side her her head and his knees pinned her legs between his thighs, caging her beneath him.

With him hovering over her and the bright sunshine cascading into the room creating a glowing aura around him, he looked like some kind of angel above her. His smile made his eyes crease and the dimples flare out on his face and his cheeks puffed out. (Y/n) could stay like this forever just staring up at the man she married like he was the only person in the world worth looking at.

"What's so funny?" A smile worked its way onto Eric's face but he didn't know what his wife was quietly chuckling at. Her smile was infectious even though he didn't know why she was smiling, he couldn't help it when he looked down on the beautiful girl beneath him.

"Someone likes the sound of your voice."

It took a moment for Eric to realise what (Y/n) was talking about until he felt her reaching up to grab his hand that was resting next to her head. He leaned his weight onto his left hand so his weight didn't drop down onto (Y/n) and he let her guide his hand down until his palm was resting on her lower stomach. After a second, Eric pressed his hand a bit firmer on her stomach but his lips parted when he felt the small movement of their baby.

"They know their dad's voice." The smile on his face couldn't of been prouder.

[doctordeathawaits]

my ask got eated I finks...

tips for transidol, kpop idols specifically:D? thankuuuu~

- @transvirtualangel :p

TRANS K - POP IDOL . . .

For the basics , learning Korean is obviously a good start ! There are lots of online free courses for that !! :D

Familiarize with Korean beauty standards ( if you haven't already ! ) - by being in the kpop community you can already learn a lot , but following korean influencers can help too !

Learning dances - there are lots of tutorials on Youtube that gently teach you popular kpop dances - there is a range of difficulty , from beginner to advanced , and even disability friendly ones that we personally had lots of fun trying out ! :D

Taking up dance classes can help to cultivate your skills ! There are dance classes specifically based around kpop - whether irl meet ups or online courses !

Invest in vocal coaching / singing classes ! These can help so much to help you practice - there are many free personal courses , but also YouTube videos for at home / do-it-yourself coaching ! Tips ; learning how to rap gives you lots of point for when you may try auditioning ! So try learning in english and korean !

Invest in Korean skincare - it's defiantly god sent , but kpop idols value their skincare , so taking care of yourself is also very good !

Euphoria tips ! ↓

You can record yourself dancing and edit them on simple editing apps , like capcut or velocity , to appear like fancams !

Try doing korean makeup ! There are lots of tutorials on Youtube or you can follow korean influencers that do their makeup tutorials !

You can take pictures and print them out as photo cards ! If you have friends who are into kpop - you can propose the idea of all taking pictures and ' trading ' eachothers photos for fun ! ( whether or not you aren't out as transidol !! :D )

Write your own songs ! There are lyric websites that can help you get some inspiration + simple song makers like Soundtrap where you can create the music !

Join kpop dance groups ! There are online groups dedicated to meet up somewhere and to record group dances - which can make you feel like you have your own group !

Hope this helped - good luck transitioning and stay safe !

[watchnrant]

Quake: Veil of Deception

Series Concept:

Quake: Veil of Deception continues from Matthew Rosenberg’s Secret Warriors, centering on Daisy Johnson, aka Quake, as she navigates the complex world of espionage and hidden threats in the wake of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s collapse. The series integrates the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, particularly the Power Broker storyline, while maintaining the mystery of Sharon Carter’s true identity as the Power Broker—known only to the audience.

Premise:

Following the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Daisy Johnson is drawn into a dangerous new mission when she uncovers a growing black market for advanced weapons and technology, spearheaded by a mysterious figure known only as the Power Broker. Daisy’s investigation takes her to Madripoor, where she must navigate a world of criminals, mercenaries, and rogue operatives. Unbeknownst to Daisy, the Power Broker is Sharon Carter, a former ally whose true motives remain hidden from everyone but the audience.

Plot Outline:

Arc 1: The Shadows of Madripoor

After receiving intelligence from an old S.H.I.E.L.D. contact, Daisy learns of a new threat emerging from Madripoor—a city now under the control of the enigmatic Power Broker. Daisy’s mission is to infiltrate the criminal underworld and gather information about the Power Broker’s operations. However, she’s unaware that the Power Broker is Sharon Carter, who is carefully orchestrating her plans while maintaining her cover as a simple arms dealer.

Throughout this arc, Sharon appears to Daisy as an ally, offering her assistance in navigating the treacherous environment of Madripoor. The audience, however, knows that Sharon is manipulating events from behind the scenes, ensuring that her true identity remains concealed while she uses Daisy to eliminate her rivals and secure her position.

Arc 2: The Broker’s Web

As Daisy delves deeper into the Power Broker’s network, she begins to uncover disturbing evidence of super-soldier experimentation and the illegal trade of S.H.I.E.L.D. technology. Suspicion grows as Daisy notices inconsistencies in Sharon’s behavior and the way events seem to play out to the Power Broker’s advantage. Yet, every time Daisy gets close to uncovering the truth, Sharon skillfully redirects her suspicions elsewhere, maintaining her facade.

Sharon, as the Power Broker, strategically feeds Daisy just enough information to keep her off balance, leading her into conflicts with other criminal organizations in Madripoor. All the while, Sharon’s endgame—control of a new breed of super-soldiers—draws closer to fruition.

Arc 3: Unseen Enemies

Daisy’s investigation uncovers a deeper conspiracy involving the remnants of Hydra and rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agents working for the Power Broker. The tension between Daisy and Sharon builds, as Sharon’s cover begins to show cracks under the pressure of Daisy’s relentless pursuit of the truth.

In a twist, Bucky Barnes arrives in Madripoor, having been tipped off by an anonymous source (Sharon herself, unbeknownst to him). Bucky’s arrival complicates matters further, as he and Daisy team up to track down the Power Broker, both unaware that the person they are looking for is right under their noses.

The audience is treated to moments where Sharon, under the guise of helping Daisy and Bucky, subtly manipulates events to ensure her plans stay on track. Her duplicity adds tension to every interaction, with the readers aware of the looming revelation that could shatter Daisy and Bucky’s trust.

Arc 4: The Shattered Mask

In the final arc, Daisy closes in on the Power Broker’s operations, forcing Sharon to take increasingly drastic measures to protect her identity. Daisy discovers that the Power Broker’s true objective is not just power, but the creation of a new order where those like her—those with enhanced abilities—are under her control.

As the confrontation draws near, Sharon is forced to confront the possibility that she can no longer keep her identity a secret. The arc culminates in a high-stakes showdown at an old S.H.I.E.L.D. facility in Madripoor, where Daisy, Bucky, and Sharon face off against the Power Broker’s forces.

During the final battle, Daisy comes within a breath of uncovering Sharon’s secret, but Sharon manages to maintain her cover by making a calculated sacrifice—destroying evidence and framing a third party as the Power Broker, leaving her true identity intact for now. The audience is left on edge, knowing that Daisy has been deceived, but also aware that Sharon’s secret is hanging by a thread.

Arc 5: Reflections in the Dark

In the aftermath, Daisy reflects on her mission, troubled by the lingering mysteries and the sense that something is not quite right. Sharon, meanwhile, returns to her dual life, continuing her work as the Power Broker, but now with a heightened awareness of how close she came to being exposed.

The series ends with a promise of future conflict—Daisy is more determined than ever to uncover the truth about the Power Broker, while Sharon, watching from the shadows, knows that her greatest challenge is yet to come. The closing scene hints at a new threat emerging, one that could force Sharon to reveal her true identity or risk everything she has built.

Characters:

Daisy Johnson/Quake: The central protagonist, driven by her sense of justice and her complex feelings about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s legacy. Her journey is one of discovery, both external and internal, as she seeks to uncover the truth about the Power Broker.

Sharon Carter/Power Broker: The secret antagonist, whose true identity as the Power Broker is known only to the audience. Sharon’s dual role adds layers of tension, as she carefully maneuvers to keep her cover intact while pursuing her own goals.

Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier: An ally whose involvement complicates the narrative, adding depth and history to the story. Bucky’s presence forces both Daisy and Sharon to confront their pasts.

Supporting Cast: Various characters from the underworld of Madripoor, former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and new allies who add to the intrigue and complexity of the story.

Tone and Style:

The series maintains a dark, espionage-driven tone, with a focus on character dynamics and psychological tension. The duality of Sharon Carter’s character, combined with Daisy’s relentless pursuit of justice, creates a narrative rich in suspense and moral ambiguity. The art style would reflect this, with a noir-inspired aesthetic that underscores the shadowy, often deceptive nature of the world in which these characters operate.

[darkdemeter]

NOT FOR SALE

✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | Horsemen x Female Watcher!Reader

NOTES 🗯️ ↳ Ha! I forgot that I posted this clipping on AO3.

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As a keen observer over the Horsemen, it is your duty as their watcher to keep them in line. To ensure that the siblings don’t meddle in causings of trouble. That nothing that they do conflicts with the Council’s standard beliefs.

But half the time, it’s them that watch over you. After all, you are rather comparable to War in regard of your age, even noted as maybe being younger than he is. And because of your lack of experience in the realms beyond the Council, it’s not entirely surprising that an encounter with the demon trader, Vulgrim, is an advance taken as something of an offence. His arrival had been hauntingly forthcoming, springing up from the serpent hole with a vigour of green mists that reek of the foulest smells the void has to offer. Humans were fortunate that the smell of souls was something beyond them – an invisible odour – however that fortune didn’t extend to beings like yourself and that of the demon before you.

“Greetings, Horsemen,” he purrs wickedly with a bow of his horned and cowled head. “It has been quite some time since we last… exchanged business.” A wide, lipless mouth full of fangs contort into a gruesome grin and his beady eyes shrink further into a thin fashion of perverted intrigue. His taloned hands clink together with a merchant’s contemplation. The plotting thoughts of a bargain and demise.

The Horsemen in your so-called charge each have a past’s moment of reflection with their own dealings with such a loathsome creature, and each of them held little to no absolute soft place for the trader. “What do you want, Vulgrim?” Death finally rumbles beneath the pale shell of his mask, amber eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I merely heard your approach and thought it best to lend my wares… for the right price, that is.” Vulgrim’s answer is nothing but trouble, his tone is low and venomously tricky, laced in a cocoon of self-gain and hungering profit.

Then his eyes turn to you fully and his attention is absorbed. With a noise akin to a feral infused growl, he reaches a hand forward, finger just catching the fainted wisps of hair atop your head. His nose – or the hole where one should be – drags your scent inwards. “Your Watcher would most certainly do,” he coos with a dark, throaty chuckle, fingers rapping against his worn and bony palms. “That scent… so young… so spectacular!”

You shrink away behind the Horsemen just as his clawed fingers attempt to reach for you again, to curl around you and drag you forth into his grasp. Both Strife and War can feel the intensity of your shadowed form quivering behind their backs. “She’s not for sale,” War says with a hardened glare and snarl. Strife then interjects quickly with a tilt of his head, “And that’s a whole new level of creepy, man.”

The soul trader appears to sigh in his agitated disappointment but is swift to conceal it. “Very well, be puppets to the Council at her hands, but that is not my concern. Now, I trust you have… other souls to trade then?” “For information of the demon tyrants,” Death attends to clarify sternly before any form of transfer can be complete. Vulgrim nods with an exhale passing the decayed gums between his fangs. “Of course.”

With a confirming nod, you watch the whirlwind of souls come to, their screams are hollow and faint at first before they’re consumed by the merchant, his hunger a sight that churns the pit of your stomach awfully. To think of those souls, be them the innocence of humans, the holy of angels or the evils of demons; all are absorbed into the maw of Vulgrim.

“The troublesome band of demons you hunt passed through this barren wasteland only days ago. They make their way to their den… to slumber… to regain themselves before their next traversal.”

Fury steps forward with a pearly glare, the steel tip of her heel buries into the crusty dirt beneath her unspoken threat. Her hand is idle, but it looms dangerously over the hilt of Scorn. “Where is this den?”

Vulgrim rumbles deeply and the sound echoes to the point it shakes you, and you fearfully dare to peer between the towering shoulders of War and Strife, only for your eyes to meet Vulgrim’s. His grin is still present and terribly wicked. “Are you sure she’s not for sale— aggh–!”

Vulgrim claws at the coiled chain wrapped around his neck and that threatens the thread of his own soul, Fury’s temper flaring behind her growl, “The den!” “Fury, stand down,” orders Death. His sister scoffs at the order but eventually relents and Vulgrim tends his fingers to the assaulted area, like a mangy hound licking its plague-infested wounds.

“Not too far from here. A day’s ride that a-way.” He points in the direction of East before he gauges the Horsemen’s reactions. Indeed, none of them were flinching in their resolve. You were nothing of a trading chip. Unsellable. With a less formal exchange of farewells, your group ventures in the direction Vulgrim directed. You feel his eyes on you as you pass, a whimper trembles in the chasm of your hollow throat when you hear him sharply inhale again, fingers snagging hold of the shadow curls of your hair, but not for long before each of the Horsemen make to unsheathe their weapons upon him, he’s quick to slink some distance away from you.

“Ah, ah,” Strife tuts gruffly, finger plucking at the trigger of Redemption. “As we said, Vulgrim… she’s not for sale.”

Death’s words were meant as a warning to be heard once. If the Horsemen so much as found him leering at you again, then they’d have a less civil encounter the next time. For their little watcher, a silent ghost of them, is not for sale.