#everyone is in on it. money changes hands. no one has any intention of following through

[swordsmans]

I am very, very curious about your opinions on ZoSanLu or ZoLawLu 👀

omg this is a deeply loaded question... partially because i have very specific dynamics that i like(???) for these ships that--now that i think about it, are actually the same dynamic. just.... zolu + a third pathetic man in love with luffy, basically. i don't really vibe with zosan in any serious shipping context, but i do love one-sided sanlu purely for the melodramatic potential of the world's most depressed rat pining after the monkey d. luffy. zolawlu has similar a foundation imo (zolu + loser), but i also could see that ship working as like a... friends with benefits thing. the in-universe politics of two captains in an actual relationship still makes lawlu pretty unbelievable for me, but again... one-sided pining? i'm absolutely here for that. i eat that shit up. my fave. incidentally, this is also the worst (funniest) possible context for sanlaw to happen. real pathetic4pathetic energy from two guys desperate for someone brilliant and unattainable.

in my beautiful world, everyone is a little bit in love with luffy and also a little bit heartbroken that he's sharing a brain with zoro 24/7. pretty much everything else revolves around that lol.

[jakei95]

This will be the last update about the accusations against Nyx and me from last year and recent months.

VERSION EN ESPAÑOL:

I cannot force everyone to forgive or believe us, but I would like to provide a closure from our part on the events following Hopeless Peaches' false accusations last year, and a few more that have been reappearing this year, once more.

In recent months, we resumed communication with CrystalFlame, one of the victims of the Glitchtale server. Crystal acknowledged that the accusations against us for allegedly being sexual towards minors and bribing her to remain silent about our "crimes" were entirely fabricated by these people. It was never our intention to hide our past mistakes with money. The separate donations Nyx and I gave to Crystal were solely intended to help her.

Regarding the conversations on Skype in 2017, neither Nyx nor I ever forced the minors present to engage in sexual behavior for our entertainment, nor did we sexualize them in any way. There were inappropriate conversations between adults, in which they should not have been involved, and we recognize our mistake in being negligent and not caring enough about them. I must admit that Veir also disgusted me, and I reacted foolishly by not confronting him or by saying things he liked just to make him leave me alone. I deeply regret this. Although we have apologized to Crystal for this, I also want to apologize to the minors who were there, even if they don't want to know about this anymore, and to the entire community for this huge mistake. Since Nyx and I stopped using that chat short after our irl meeting that same year, plus our detachment to the members of GT, we have changed our views significantly both in public and in private, creating a healthy community for everyone. I will add more details later regarding my experiences with NSFW material, for which I have also been accused of being a depraved person.

I disagree with how Nyx tried to explain how these behaviors were so normalized, but he never intended to endorse the toxicity and unpunished crimes occurring in Latin culture. Nyx acknowledges this, and we discussed it again privately with Crystal. We apologize once more to our Latin members who might have been offended by this take, which could have been better explained. Nyx and I said a lot of things out of fear and frustration, which caused more harm and distress rather than solutions due to the explosive harassment we faced because of the false accusations by Hopeless Peaches and their group. I won't go into too many details because I have chosen to keep my mental health private, but this wave of harassment severely impacted my mental and physical health, and I am currently undergoing treatment to manage the aftermath.

However, I want to take full responsibility for causing Nyx to act out of emotion rather than with a clear mind in a desperate attempt to protect me, as Crystal ended up in a very complicated situation during the harassment wave created by Peaches, making her believe that our lives were in her hands and dependent on her choices. This was not only inappropriate but also unfair, considering Crystal was going through a lot at that time. Nyx and I poorly worded many things both publicly and privately. We should never have let our emotions take over while trying to defend ourselves. We could have handled the situation more maturely. None of these mistakes will be repeated ever again. Crystal has also admitted her mistakes. Many things would have taken a different path if dialogue had been the first option instead of public statements, but both sides have learned a lot.

With all this, I don't want to hear anything about Glitchtale, its creator, or its still-active members. Nor do I want to hear about Hopeless Peaches or their community, or what's left of it. My purpose on the internet is to entertain people with my art, and on the rare occasions I interact publicly, to maintain a calm and healthy environment, as I have been doing for years. My boundaries with fans are very strict and defined. It may sound ambitious or silly to many, but for a long time, I have wanted to make a difference and show that not all artists with a large audience are people who hide dark secrets and seek to harm others. I just want to tell stories and brighten people's days.

People have become used to seeing random individuals or public figures being exposed daily for horrible acts and behavior, which is very depressing. However, when those accusations are false, it is sometimes too late to undo the damage. No one likes to be pointed at and accused of something they didn't commit, especially when those accusations are serious, like harming another human being.

Some people today are confused and believe that I am actually Camila, and that Nyx is Veir, that my husband has been dating minors despite us being married, and that I defended my "pedophile" partner and protected other groomers. People are not only mistaking us for other individuals, but we also don't have anything to do with that other than the 2017 Skype chats. We have been put in some sort of black list from parts of the fandom due to misinformation or because some people seek an excuse to justify their dislike for us by wishing we had harmed real children. This is sickening, sickeing and frustrating if you actually think about the victims not only in fandoms but everywhere. So, please, I beg you to distinguish between names and what has actually happened. Even if you don't like us, don't seek or wish for us to be monsters just to feel proud of yourselves.

I feel I could regain some peace in my heart by having the opportunity to talk to Crystal about all what happened and ending in good terms. This should be the end of the whole controversy regarding the Skype Chat and the GT Server.

Now I would also like to take the opportunity to talk about other accusations still aimed at me to this day, which I once explained on a Twitter thread that was eventually deleted due to unnecesary arguments between fans. I'm being accused of being a horrible and irredeemable person for drawing a comic in my early years in the fandom that insinuated a non-consensual act between Cross and Dream.

Before any explanation, I want to emphasize that I still feel immense regret and shame for creating that nsfw comic, even if I didn't feel comfortable doing so, I still made the decision as an adult and shouldn't have done it in a space where there were minors and people who might find that material triggering. Even though it happened many years ago, it was not right, and I will apologize as many times as necessary.

I haven't had any contact with the creator of Dreamtale since 2017, so I'm unaware of her current viewpoint about this topic in general, but one thing is certain: both of us don't want to be associated with that ship between our characters and want to move on. We want it as far away from us as possible. I don't want anybody to harass her over this situation.

During that time, I was in an unstable relationship with the creator of Dreamtale, with whom I used to roleplay privately. This, along with being pressured to make the ship "canon", led me to create the comics for that ship. Among them was the infamous scene for which I'm accused of supporting rape. This content and private interactions reached a point where the entire situation made me uncomfortable, along with the toxic attitudes in our relationship, I ended up closing the blog, though not before writing a summary of what would happen next in the story -that didn't have any other sexual moments, to clarify-, simply a closure for those who enjoyed the comic. Not long after, we broke up.

After this experience, I began to realize that any NSFW content, both fictional and real, made me very uncomfortable. This is connected to future members of the fandom, like Veir, who tried to sexualize me, and later, ex-friends whom I wanted to please for their support during my growth as a content creator by drawing them private NSFW commissions. I ignored my discomfort, believing I was doing the right thing and that I could trust them, but what happened later finally made me understand that I personally cannot tolerate any of this content.

This group of people shared these private commissions among themselves. One of these people was someone I considered a close friend and was even my Discord moderator but began abusing their power towards other members, trying to escape the consequences just because of our friendship. They even tried to offer me money to remove a character from another artist who would appear in my animation as a cameo, just because they both had personal issues. I decided to end our friendship because I saw no changes or improvements on their part and I felt i was being used as a power tool for them.

It wasn't long after this that I found an alt account of them, posting these private NSFW drawings, tagging me to attract attention as a form of revenge for cutting ties with them (They also got Nyx's phone number to trying to get in contact with me despite what they were doing). These images spread last year among a few people who, unaware of the background, used them as a reason to question me as an artist. However I explained the rest of the story before it became more public, and I appreciate that they listened to me first, however, the damage was already done.

In March of this year, I made a thread on Twitter explaining this and my reason for not supporting or consuming NSFW content. I want to stay away from this whole debate. I don't want my words to be used to attack others. My reasons for not enjoying this are because I had people around me who caused me a lot of harm with this matter, it triggers me, and I don't like any sexual topics around me, even as an adult reaching my 30s. I simply don't like it, I'm not interested, and I want my feelings to be respected. I'm very aware that more than half of my audience are minors, and I know how to behave and what to show in my art, but there are still others looking for any excuse to call me or my husband horrible things. It has happened before with accusations of transphobia for making Frisk and Chara from Xtale male instead of non-binary as they are in the canon version. I have been called a pedophile for portraying Frisk and Muffet from XTale in an innocent romantic context, even though there is no age difference, just because is not following, again, the canon (which with all honesty, I'm not aware if it has been confirmed she is a child or not). I have been accused of racism because of the characters' skin color, and so on.

Being hated in a fandom as an artist with a big following is supposed to be normal, but, to what extent?

I know I should ignore those comments and move on, but I still don't understand why it hurts so much that people want to discredit my efforts as an artist and as a person by believing they have found some dark secret in me… I really can't understand, I just want to live in peace.

My art is my only escape from negative thoughts. Nyx is my only support in real life. I have been working on how to deal with online criticism and harassment, but it is really hard when people tell lies in order to ruin a life, especially when those lies try to make us look like disgusting human beings. This puts me in a lot of distress, mostly because I hate conflict and prefer to be left alone. I want to be a role model in this community by not getting involved with problematic people and toxic environments. Even if there are people who don't like my work, I want to show that there is still a bit of decency and common sense in the art community.

For this reason, this will be the last time I talk about this because I want to focus on what makes me, my husband, and my audience happy. I want to set an example, and I want people to read this, try to understand our position, and give us a chance.

Once again, we deeply regret the mistakes we made in the past.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light in |One-shot [1]|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader | Dewey Riley and Fem!Reader

One-shot: A Classic Whodunit

Summary: Moving to Woodsborro was certainly not your willing decision. Change has always been hard for you, so what better way to cope than to make everyone else's life almost as miserable as yours?

Warning(s): Swearing, & mentioned family issues (?)

Notes: Finally got around to re-writing this and I definitely prefer this version. There's more Tara x Reader stuff and a little more details regarding R's past. Still based off this scene from Gilmore Girls and takes place when R just moved to town. This'll still be the last thing I'm able to post for one my stories for a bit, but I'm glad it's still something

Masterlist

The fall breeze hits you as you walk out of the school building. You continued reading from your book as you walked with your head hung low paying no mind to your surroundings, too engrossed with the words you read. That was until you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye, your brief suspicions immediately being confirmed when the person spoke. 

Dewey—who was previously leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed—began to follow you, uncrossing his arms. “Hey,” he nodded at you and you didn’t reciprocate, only turning your head to look at him briefly before turning your attention ahead of you while putting your book in your back pocket. “How was school?” Dewey immediately followed with. 

“Great,” you couldn’t help the blatant disinterest in your tone. 

“Learn anything good?” You could already tell he was amping up to something. There was a certain eagerness in his voice. An eagerness to segway into what he truly wanted to talk about. 

“Oh yeah, tons of things. I got gold stars plastered all of my forehead,” you remarked with as much sarcasm you could muster at the moment. 

“I got an interesting call today. Wanna know who it was from?” He asked and you couldn’t care less. 

“Not really,” you answered honestly, your tone still showing anything but amusement.

“So Mr. Collier—you know he owns the local market?”

“If you say so.” 

“Said you came in today.”

“He did?” You rhetorically asked; you looked both ways before you and Dewey now walked alongside a road. 

“And he said you took some money out of a little donation cup to help repair the roads. I told him he was crazy, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t a thief, that he was just trying to start trouble and then I hung up on him.” Most of what Dewey was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You’ve grown good at tuning people out, intentional or not. Still Dewey continued. “Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging up on Mr. Collier. The guy’s nothing but a jerk—and he is crazy. But I was just wondering, if maybe, any of the other things were true.”

“What do you think?” You questioned with annoyance at the edge of your voice. You were starting to grow more and more impatient as he continued to yammer on. 

“I think if you tell me that what he’s saying is not true then I’m going to believe it’s not true,” he elaborated.

“Okay. It’s not true.” 

“That doesn’t sound very convincing—”

The two of you were now on a dirt path as you stopped in your tracks and finally turned to face Dewey. While one hand moved as you spoke, the other one was clenched into a fist to your side. “—Look, what exactly do you want from me? First I get forced to move here, now I’m stuck with you most of the time. I’m put in this place—now in a school that has us doing the pledge of allegiance in six-different-languages! I’m supposed to be this happy-go-lucky person after being taken away from my home, my friends—and now you want what from me?!” 

You didn’t need this. You were fine living in a crappy apartment. You were fine knowing the city you lived in like the back of your hand. You were fine having your best friend within walking distance. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Your father had no right to ship you off just because he couldn’t take his precious image being ruined. He was on the verge of sending you to military school before your mom stepped in. Their marriage had been falling apart for some time but this was definitely the nail in the coffin. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Dewey sighed as his own patience was beginning to grow thin. Dewey knew about your complicated relationship with your father. He knew what led to you ending up in Woodsborro. He knew things about you before you even knew them. He just wanted to protect you, shield you from harm. Even if he knows where that has gotten him in the past.

“Well stop trying. Stop talking to me, stop following me, and stop asking me questions! Just stop!” You waved your hands in aggravation as you spoke, your temper and annoyance taking over you with each second. You were pissed and upset with every aspect of your life. Unfortunately, Dewey found himself being on the receiving end of your frustration. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what you really want?” He wasn’t yelling but his voice grew louder with his second question to match your own tone.

“Yes,” you spoke with more conviction. 

“Fine. You got it, kid!” Dewey said as he threw his hands up.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You both continued walking, both of you walking tensely as you stepped onto the bridge that went over the lake that was not far from where you two were previously standing. You each refused to look at the other as you walked along the bridge. When you were halfway on the bridge, you suddenly felt yourself being shoved. In a blink of an eye, you go from standing on the bridge to standing in the lake soaking wet. You pushed your hair back to look at Dewey who was still walking with his back facing you. He didn’t pay the person he just shoved into a lake any mind. 

Great.

By the time you successfully lifted yourself up and got back on to the bridge, Dewey was gone. Nobody liked soggy socks but maybe you deserved it. Maybe. Even if you were far too stubborn to admit it. 

—

The next day people were crowded around Mr. Collier’s store. He was ranting about something with his hands going up and down as he spoke angrily. When Tara walked closer she finally saw what all the ruckus was about. 

Apparently someone had drawn the outline of a body right outside of his store and put up caution tape. It was obviously just a prank.  If there was actually a murder, the police wouldn’t let it hit daylight. Let alone bring attention to it by drawing an outline of the body with white chalk. They weren’t living in the interwar period. But Mr. Collier refused to see this as he argued with Sheriff Hicks, eyes flickering back and forth from the sheriff and the outline as he yelled. 

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a dead body right in front of my store!” 

“No. You have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store,” she said as a matter of fact. “One of my guys is doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then just sit tight? This is probably just some prank done by one of the highschoolers.” She sighed before walking away from the dramatic man. 

Tara couldn’t help but laugh as she looked over at the outline again. Nothing good ever happened in Woodsborro. Other than the fact that a few murders from the 90’s are practically a part of their school curricula, it was a boring ass town. So one should never take entertainment like this for granted. 

Sheriff Hicks came back just a few minutes later and informed everyone—mainly Mr. Collier—that everyone had been accounted for and it really was just a prank. 

“But it looks so real! Where’d they get the police tape?” The man was still in disbelief if his tone was anything to go by.

“Kids have their ways,” Hicks shrugged, resting a hand on her hips. She had gone through ghostface before and even her ptsd wasn't flaring up from what was in front of her. The man needed to relax.

“Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?!” 

As if on cue, Tara’s eyes found you leaning against a light pole across the street as you wore a devilish smirk. It shifted into a small smile when you met her eyes. You looked away for a moment then back at her before you walked away. 

Of course it was you. This had your name plastered all over it. You might as well have been posing at the scene of the crime. She should have known better. You have been wreaking havoc from the moment you stepped into town. Nothing good ever came from that stupid smirk she’s become all too familiar with. Everything about you annoyed her to no end. There was just something she couldn't put her finger on. It was driving her insane. You were going to drive her insane. 

—

The next day, Tara returned to the market so she could fulfill her duties as the snacks retriever for tonight’s movie marathon with the others. After seeing that everything—your mess—was cleaned up and Mr. Collier was less frantic, she made her way inside the market. While inside, she bumped into Wes. They talked for a few minutes as she continued shopping. Wes was nice, but romance wise? Tara didn’t know how to feel. Wes is kind, good looking, a gentleman—what was stopping Tara from going out with him?

“I’m going to ring these up but I’ll meet you outside?” Tara said to Wes and he nodded with a smile. Tara returned it before checking out the things she bought and waited outside the store for Wes with her plastic bags full of snacks in hand. She suddenly felt a light tap on back before she turned around and saw you.

“Should you be standing around here all alone? I heard this is a pretty dangerous corner,” you teased while emphasizing the word ‘pretty’ by motioning with your hands. Tara looked at you then immediately looked away as she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said—trying in a nonchalant tone.

“Feeling succinct today?” You looked her up and down, noticing her tense demeanor.

“Pretty much.” She refused to give you anymore than that. She was not going to buckle. She was not going to fall for your witty remarks or snide comments.

“Hm,” you said while lightly nodding. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Me? No.” Now she was finally looking at you, meeting your eyes.

“Good.” 

“You might wanna ask that same question to Dewey though.”

“Meaning?” You raised your eyebrows as if you didn’t have a single clue.

From your facial expressions to your tone—how were you so unbothered? How could you be so clueless? So dense? Fuck it. Maybe she was going to buckle and fall but you were just too irritating to resist the temptation. “You’ve got this whole town coming down on him,” Tara’s voice became more defensive.

“Reeeally? How’d I do that?” You feigned a look of surprise and concern, matching your conceited tone

She was going to punch you.

“You know how you did that,” she replied because you couldn’t be that dull. You just couldn’t. 

“I’m quite familiar with the bluebook laws in this town so you’re talking about a lot of things. Dropping a gum wrapper, strolling arm and arm with a member of the opposite sex on a Sunday,” you satirized with that vexing voice of yours.

Maybe you were that dull. Tara pointed down with both her arms at the chalk you both stood on. They were able to clean up the police tape no problem, but the chalk was going to take more elbow grease. 

You looked to where she was pointing before saying, “Ah.” You moved your feet off of the outline before continuing, “What about it?”

“You did it,” Tara said. “Everyone knows you did it. They had a meeting about it.”

“You actually go to those bizzaro town meetings?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. You shook your head, “God those things are so To Kill A Mockingbird.” 

“My friend’s mom is a sheriff, so she’s the one who went. And Dewey went. When he got there everyone ganged up on him. They all want you gone,” Tara told you with no remorse.

“Wow. Bummer.”

“And he’s standing there, yelling at everyone, and defending you—now he’s a pariah for the shit you’ve caused in just a month of being here.” You looked down to the side, processing what you were just told. You wore a look Tara wasn’t able to read. “Of course you don’t care about any of this,” she rolled eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” you said. 

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she waved you away with her hands, shooing you, before looking away.

“Fine…” You started to walk away but Tara’s frustration got the best of her and you stopped and turned back around when you heard her speak again. 

“You’re an asshole!” 

“Got a second wind, huh?” You tried to hide the displeasure you suddenly felt.

“You’re making his life hard. And for what? For your own amusement? You’re sadistic.” You could tell she had been holding that in. You also wouldn’t comment on how you found the pout she was wearing a little cute. “Second wind over.”

“I didn’t realize they were coming down so hard on him…”

“Funny, I never pegged you as clueless,” Tara remarked, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“I get it…” She gave you a look. “No no no, I do, I get it,” you lightly nodded at her. Contrary to your previous tone, your voice now held interest and understanding—and so did the look you gave her. Your eyes flickered between her and the chalk outline before asking the question that’s been in the back of your mind, “Did you at least think it was funny?”

Tara tried to fight the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but this time rolling them in a more playful manner. “That is so not the point!” She hoped you didn’t hear the laugh that threatened to come out. 

“Yeah… you thought it was funny,” you said proudly. 

“Shut up.” She could no longer meet your eyes, now looking back at the ground.

Before either of you could say anything else, the door to the market opened and Wes walked out with a few bags of his own. “I got the—oh hey,” Wes cut himself off to greet you.

He didn’t know you personally, just that you already had a few run-ins with his mom in just a month of being here. Did that make him weary of you? Sure. But you weren’t the first kid at his school to have run-ins with his mom. Your reasons were just more… creative. 

“This is Wes,” Tara introduced the two of you. Looking between you both as you two made eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” You asked without looking away from Wes.

“No! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “No. Not boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” was all you said as a reply while you continued to stare him down. “How you doin’?” 

“Good. Yeah I’m good,” Wes responded with a tightlipped smile. 

“Okay see you around,” Tara quickly cut in before this awkward interaction could go any further. 

You finally turned your attention back on Tara, looking at her. “Seems to turn out that way. Doesn’t it?” Your tone was underlined with something Tara couldn’t place. Before she could respond, you turned around and walked away to who knows where.

You were truly something. 

—

You let Tara’s words sink in as you made a detour to Dewey’s trailer. Deep down you knew Dewey didn’t deserve the way you were coming down on him. Especially when you could probably say he’s done more shit for you than your father has. 

Moving to Woodsborro was definitely not at all ideal. You hated change and everything that came with it. All it did was bring more anxiety into your life. So when your mother informed you you would be leaving Brooklyn to move to some town in California, you didn’t handle the news well. You still weren’t handling it well. There were a few reasons as to why you moved, your father being the root of each one. But although you understood part of it, what you didn’t understand is why you had to move so far away. Maybe that’s part of why you’re so hard on Dewey. If your mom was moving and starting fresh, it makes sense she would want to start it surrounded by close friends. But did she have to pick one that lived so far away?

You didn’t know a bunch about her dynamic with Dewey other than the fact that they met in 1998 during the ghostface attacks. They eventually got close and became friends. They must have been great friends considering she made him your Godfather. 

You also knew Dewey was a former Sheriff. A former Sheriff that’s aware of your trip of a track record. He always made sure to keep an eye on you and it was extremely annoying. A nunsense really. It’s like you couldn’t breathe for five seconds without him hovering over you.

Your mom was a nurse, you didn’t get to see much of her. She always took as many shifts as she could, more shifts meant more money. More money is definitely something your family could use. Since your mom was always working, you often found yourself stuck with Dewey. You quickly grew sick and tired of him. But now here you were, making your way to Dewey’s trailer as you went over everything in your head. You knew you were the asshole in all this. Dewey was just trying to help you. He didn’t need you making it harder for him than it already was.

You knew what you had to do, even if it meant forcing out the words. Apologizing was not one of your specialties. You went over the exact words you wanted to say, sighing, before knocking on the door to Dewey’s trailer. 

Dewey answered the door, already knowing who it was. “Hey, kid,” he greeted just a second after he opened the door for you.

“Hey. Mind if I…?” You pointed to the inside of his trailer with raised eyebrows and he nodded before letting you inside. “So uh…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as you looked around as if you have never been in his trailer before. As if you hadn’t already spent most of your nights sleeping on the beat up mattress that was now leaned up against the wall. Dewey looked at you with his arms crossed and expression warm. You felt like he always wore a warm expression no matter what. “Hey,” you finally said once you realized you lost your train of thought.

He chuckled a bit before saying, “You already said that.”

“Right, well I wanted to…. Apologize,” you said while looking at the ground, playing with the fabric of your pockets.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Dewey replied as he took a seat on his futon.

“Oh, that was actually the apology.”

He hummed before inquiring, “For…?” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. 

You exhale, tilting your head back as you look at the ceiling. You finally looked back at him before saying, “I’m sorry for making things harder than it needs to be.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“No problem,” you give a brief smile before you begin to turn around. But before you’re able to leave Dewey’s trailer, you hear his voice again. 

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I know your mom’s working tonight and Stephen’s off at a friend’s house. What do you say?” His offer caught you off guard. You certainly weren’t expecting that after all that you’ve put him through. But you also didn’t feel prone to declining it like you usually would be. 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice, actually,” there was still a bit of reluctance in your voice but it still held honesty. You were feeling something indescribable. You don't think you have ever felt it before, or maybe you just never felt it often. Dewey cared about you. He wanted to be there for you. It was a strange feeling, but not a dreadful one. 

You spent the remainder of your night in Dewey’s trailer; you talked and joked with one another as you ate leftover pizza with the television playing in the background. You always ate dinner alone. No one was ever around to eat with you and it didn’t take long for you to get used to it. It was different eating dinner with Dewey. To have someone to share a meal with. It was just a matter of whether it was a good or bad difference. 

Maybe for once you shouldn’t dread on your spiraling thoughts and enjoy the moment.

The next morning, you woke up to Dewey cursing at his toaster. You lazily pushed yourself up by your elbows, leaning forward and rubbing your eyes with one of your hands. “Damn toaster!” You heard Dewey curse before you heard something clattering. You pushed your blanket off of you before rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor then got up to see what was going on. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked once he saw you before continuing to whack his toaster. 

“No. You’re good,” you yawned. “But—uh, why are you assaulting your toaster?” You looked between him and the toaster with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve had this hunk of junk for ten years and suddenly it just stops working,” he answered with a huff as he continued to hit the toaster's side. 

“I don’t know if ten years is suddenly.”

He waved his hands up in the air, purposely dropping the screwdriver he had on to the counter in the process. He let out a defeated sigh as he said, “Forget it,” pushing the toaster away from him. “I have to grab a few things. Are you going to be fine here or do you want me to drop you off?” 

You looked at the toaster as you thought to yourself. “I”ll be fine,” you said and he patted your shoulder as he made his way towards his keys. 

“Breakfast is on the table—I shouldn’t be out long!” He called out before leaving through the trailer door.  As soon as he left, you went for his tool box. You remembered seeing it the first time you came over. After grabbing the tool box, you grabbed the toaster and got to work. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was just some tightening and cleaning that had to be done. By the time you finished, you had a little over ten minutes to spare before Dewey was home. It wasn’t until later that night he noticed something was different about his toaster.

“My toaster works,” he said with shock. This toaster was complete garbage just a few hours ago. What happened? He looked over to see you with your nose in your book, not paying him any mind. Then it dawned on him and he couldn't help the smile that grazed his face as he looked at you. “Thanks, kid.” 

“Didn’t do anything,” you simply replied before getting up from your mattress and grabbing your light jacket. “I’m going for a walk,” you reached for the handle before pausing. “I'll be back in a few,” you then added before leaving.

Dewey was still admiring his toaster when you returned.

-----------

A/N: tara and r are both sarcastic little shits in different fonts

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga @rroyale-109 @alliecavell

[meaningofaeons]

Hi there my pal my buddy!!! It's ya boi anon again here! ✨

I was wondering if I can go for a cat cafe visit with your local businessman scammer ✨Sampo Koski✨ on my hands, oh and also I has slight anger issues slash denial /that I have crush for Sampo/ attitude when going with him /ᐠ - ˕ -マ/ oh we gone there to play with both orange Himalayan and Abyssinian cat, ended our time with drinking hot cocoa!! 😋 ((I HOPE I WRITE IT RIGHT 😭😭😭))

I think that's all, congratulations for your 500+ followers once again (you deserve that and more ngl!!💕) and thank you so much in advance!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ not quite so slick

⊹ character(s) - sampo koski ⊹ word count - 1.0k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluff, silvermane guard!reader, belobog story spoilers, sampo being his dumb silly self as usual, sad pathetic pining on his end we love him here

⊹ katze's 500 follower writing cat-baret

HII!!! thank you for the sweet ask omg <3!!! you wrote it correct dw!! yes our favorite businessman def not a scammer....... huhu Σ(;Φ ω Φ) I hope you enjoy your "cat cafe date" with mr cold feet, mr koski himself !!!

Ever since the order to seal off the Underworld had been rescinded, your job had gotten a lot more hectic.

Well, that's not to say you were alone in that. Many of your fellow guards had been made to take on more work to pick up the slack after the crisis, and you were all spread thin.

However, Supreme Guardian Bronya had deigned to send you to the Underworld, of all places.

And a certain blue-haired "merchant" could not be happier about your newfound assignment.

"Well, isn't this just peachy! If it's any Silvermane Guard down here, I'd want it to be you, Y/N!"

"Enough with the flattery. I'm on shift, Sampo."

"Oh, come on, now! When do we get the opportunity to spend some quality time together like this? When the order was initially given, I was heartbroken—"

"Sampo, you were able to come to the Overworld anyways!"

"Doesn't change my feelings, my dear! I missed seeing your sweet face, and..."

You were forced to sit through hours of the infamous Mr. Koski buzzing around you.

Even when you changed positions, moving from one end of Boulder Town to the next to keep watch, the man followed you like a puppy, eager to talk your ear off and aggravate you to death.

Of course, this is just how he was. Schmoozing up to anyone he could, trying to avoid culpability for some scam or another that he ran only a few hours (and sometimes even minutes) prior.

And clearly, he was beginning to think of you as an easy mark. You silently considered making it clear that you were far from it.

But when you bumped into Natasha of Wildfire, she seemed to have a different idea on why Sampo was so insistent on staying by your side.

"He's quite obvious, isn't he?"

The lovely woman chuckled, folding her arms over her chest as she watched Sampo scamper off after another verbal lashing from you.

You knew who she was, and you were thankful of her efforts in the Underworld. However, without being properly acquainted and only knowing each other's names, you were still wary. You turned your eyes onto her, assessing her intent in approaching you before speaking up yourself.

"Yes, as much as he loves touting his skills in his trade, I fear that it's all too clear when he's trying to worm his way out of something."

The surprise on Natasha's face caught you off guard.

"...What?"

"Oh, my apologies. I just thought you knew."

"Knew? Knew what?"

The woman giggled, stifling it with a polite hand over her lips.

"Dear, he's quite smitten with you."

As much as you wanted to scoff at your words—and truthfully, a huff of disbelief did leave you—the sudden confession made you turn red as a cherry.

"That's ridiculous. He's like that with everyone he's trying to wring dry of money. Or with every Silvermane Guard. I'm no exception, he just thinks I'm easy."

Natasha smiled, clicking her tongue.

"Y/N of the guards, right?" You nodded. "I'd be remiss to not tell you the full truth, but I've never heard Sampo Koski rave about anyone as much as you. When he mentions other guards or people he's flattered, he's always very lackadaisical, if he even mentions them at all. Trust me, he has eyes for you."

You paused.

Then, you started walking away, as speedily as you could without seeming hasty.

"Y/N?"

"I-I'm going to give him a piece of my mind! If that really is true, then I'm telling him to fix his delusions this instant! Good day, Natasha!"

The woman only laughed, shaking her head and turning back to head into her clinic.

When you finally found Sampo after a few minutes of searching (truthfully, you had noticed the way you could find him quicker than any other, despite the fact that he evaded the other guards so well), he was whistling a tune, holding a bouquet in his left hand.

Right. Now that trade had opened back up between the upper and lower portions of Belobog...

You shook your head, stomping up behind the man. He turned to meet you, emerald eyes sparkling.

"Heeey, Y/N! I was just about to come find you again! So, guess what I got for y—"

"Is it true?"

His unflappable grin faltered, and he tilted his head, chuckling nervously—almost in the same way he did when a client was getting cross, but not quite.

"W-Whaddya mean? Did my favorite Silvermane Guard get some weird hearsay put into their pretty little hea—"

"I spoke with Natasha. So, is it true?"

Sampo stopped in his tracks, the barest hint of pink seeping into his cheeks as he laughed anxiously.

However, he didn't miss the way your eyes hardened, how your fist clenched as though anticipating a negative response.

He swallowed thickly.

"U-Uhm, I mean, not that I know what you're talking about exactly, but, uh—" Your brow furrowed, and Sampo rushed out his remaining sentence. "If it's what I'm thinking of, and that could be many different things—"

"Koski!"

"Yes, it's true!"

You both stood in silence, until the blue-haired con artist began rambling away.

"I thought, 'Hey, Sampo Koski is a subtle guy! Maybe that subtlety would be lost on a lovely guard like Y/N, and he oughta put his best foot forward in being upfront and obvious!' But then, you weren't quite picking up what your old friend Sampo was putting down, and—"

"Sampo Koski."

He hadn't even noticed you approach, standing right before him as he endlessly jabbered.

"Well, Miss Nat told me to go ahead and be 'forward and open', but you know I'm not that type of guy, haha, and—well, ah..."

He looked down at you, dangerously close to his face. His smile became lopsided with nerves.

"And... and, um... Would you..." The man clasped his hands together, expression turning sheepish. That slight flush in his cheeks had spread across his face.

"Would you hit me if I kissed you?"

"I might if you don't."

And before he could say another word, your lips were pressed firmly against his.

[gravitysaint]

okay okay okay, i’m on my premium bullshit today. take a seat and grab a coffee because this is gonna be a long one

i have a theory for the Magnus Protocol, and I am so not normal about it that I need to rant. Spoilers ahead for literally any part of the show from ep. 1 to ep. 23

Okay so, with this latest case, i think the supernatural shenanigans of Protocol have less to do with the Fears and more to do with self-image and identity

A bunch of cases have been about this—I won’t go on about all of them, just a few that i think either really point towards this or that i think can be seen as decently convincing when looked at another way.

The most obvious ones, to me, are Episodes 2, 16, and 23.

In 2, ‘Making Adjustments,’ the artist is literally reshaping herself to fit with her image of her “ideal self.” She’s pushing the “her” she wants to be out into the real world. It doesn’t escape my notice that Ink5oul is involved—don’t worry, I have words about them later.

In 16, ‘Anti-Social,’ Madam E (another Ink5oul victim/canvas) becomes wrapped up in her online identity and image—comments physically affect them, and when those turn into a stream of hate… well, it breaks her heart.

In 23, ‘A New You,’ I barely feel like I need to explain. The whole case is Alesis pursuing and following through with a means to become her ideal self. She goes through the entire process willingly and with the express intent to become the person she wishes she could be.

As for the ones that will need some more explaining, I’m mainly thinking of 10 and 13.

‘Saturday Night’ reveals everyone’s favourite children’s mascot/government hitman, Mr. Bonzo, and gives some background on him. Mr. Bonzo was a gag character in Nigel’s late night show. Not only did someone in a Bonzo costume do some murdering, but… Bonzo himself took over Nigel’s show and ‘imprisonment’ in the comedy dungeon due to his popularity. Perhaps this sort of thing got to Nigel, and he saw his life—because the show did seem to be his life’s work—being taken over by the mascot, and then saw that same mascot with blood on his hands. Perhaps Nigel made a monster out of Bonzo in his head, and that monster was made manifest… somehow. Or maybe some kid who loved and idolised Bonzo saw the murders and felt like a monster themselves, spiralling until they became Bonzo a la Episode 23, then attached themselves to Nigel because, well… Nigel and Bonzo were always together.

‘Futures’ is a bit simpler, I think. Darrien wanted to be rich again. He saw himself as “one of the elite,” as evidenced by his attitude and the company he kept when his experience started. His desire and ideal of richness lead to him throwing himself into worse and worse situations for more and more money… until, i think, he realised he needed to stop. He realised that his life had just turned into destroying himself for money, and he was ready to stop that… so he stopped seeing himself as “someone doing whatever it takes to get rich” and instead saw himself as “someone destroying themselves.” And the money stopped, just like that.

Now, for Ink5oul and alchemy. Every Magnus Institute case (the ones from their records/research, anyways), has mentioned the terms “subject,” “agent,” and “catalyst.”

These terms are pretty generic, but we pretty much know the Institute was deep in alchemy, and alchemy is, in essence, the art/science of transformations.

Transformations based on self-image and identity, perhaps.

The subject is what changes (Madam E, Daria, Alesis). The catalyst is what starts/actualises/accelerates the change (Ink5oul’s tattoos, Alesis’s “piece”). The agent is what sets things in motion to change in the first place (Ink5oul is the current main example of this).

This is already really long and I’m basically just rambling at this point, so I’ll stop. This could be the most surface-level take or a complete swing and a miss, but I like thinking about things like this, so oh well

[brujitaadinbo]

This image does not belong to me… it is from Sopita Pog and you can follow it on Instagram.

If there is something that as humans identifies us as such; It is the fact that thanks to our emotions and feelings we can recognize our own humanity. A person in constant growth must know that this is elementary. This and the fact that being sociable beings and living in a community (it's not my thing, look for related information and you'll have to agree with me) we have that tendency and need to live in groups, live with others, relate technically.

All this forms that inevitable process; growing up And although this is palpable, it has been part of many stories, part of the narrative from reading, cinema, series, etc… I explain this so that you understand my point. If we live it, it is nothing out of the ordinary, it is not wrong, nor is it bad, that growth is experienced by the characters that we like so much. A growth that allows them to improve or worsen. In the case of Din, Grogu and Bo, it's a blessing that this growth goes straight to something positive.

It irritates me that they want to deny that possibility to these characters and continue pigeonholing them into "I'm the tough one, the tough one, the one who's never going to get better and that's fine."

It is definitely throwing away the entire process experienced in the seasons or the content. It is not understanding that "being someone powerful" does not only consist of an important position, having a lot of money, causing fear in others, etc etc… the true intention of having power, of being powerful, of feeling fulfilled is to be happy, to live a change, having friends or a partner or family, not always ending up alone, having others who contribute to you, and that you know that empowers you, enriches you, not only materially.

Well, it is appreciated that Din and Grogu are together because that was always the purpose, denying Grogu or wanting to throw him away is ruining the series, it is wanting to spoil Din and his new path. Now to say that Bo Katan, they only want to pigeonhole her into being Din's girlfriend or just being Grogu's mom… it seems ridiculous to me and a pathetic and meaningless argument.

If you know Bo's story, everything she has experienced and that she has always been surrounded by war, you will understand her point when she said it in "Clone Wars" "I would like to be good at something else, not just fighting."

I said it before, I say it now and I will continue to say it; If by her own decision she wanted to continue as Mandalore, retire, be alone, or be with Din, her right is and she has it and has earned it. Taking care of Grogu, being his friend and betting on the role of mother does not make her weaker or less important; on the contrary, the desired motherhood is a blessing, a right that many people like to minimize. A very important act of love and responsibility, a high position that not everyone fulfills and the fact that she decides and applies it does not make her any less and it is very wrong that people take it that way, interpret it that way and want to impose it. as such. Mothers have an important role in our lives, in our environment, obviously in this content, if you don't believe me, just go check out this great character from Hera Syndulla. I applaud the fact that this line of growth is visible.

I applaud you for bringing Din and Bo closer and making the possibility of them being together, walking and continuing to grow together visible and palpable. Because growing is an internal process but there is always the option of not experiencing this process alone. And with Grogu by the hand, what better

[creepyalienghost]

First Christmas Back

Not even a year ago Sammy and Norman were two of the many ink prisoners in Joey’s wacky cartoon world before they were saved by Henry and a woman they never seen before. They had stayed with Henry for a while to talk over plans but after a few days of talking about it everyone had decided to try to forget that chunk of their lives and move on. Sammy and Norman was no different and after their goodbyes to the others and a bit of money from Henry, the two of them have chosen to leave together. They night of they boarded on a buss and went to whatever destination it headed. They lost contact with with the rest of the group after that but they had no intention to ever get back with them.

Norman remembered thinking on that bus’s that things wouldn’t be so bad anymore. After over 30 years of killing or being killed and darkness and ink all that was over now. But he didn’t think about the consequences of being left out of the world for that long. But it wasn’t long before he had realized he had been mistaken. The world has In fact moved on without them. Many things had changed since they were last in it. New technology that was to advance for them that they needed to learn. Groceries and houses were much more expensive then before and everyone is different. They way they dress was now days and the way they speak was a culture shock to Sammy and Norman. The challenges though were only beginning with winter coming.

Norman sat at the table in their little apartment thinking. Outside the snow gently floated down the night sky. The apartments and the houses in the neighborhood next door all had Christmas decorations up outside there place. Some went big with ever itch covered In Christmas lights others went small with a blow up snowstorm or a reindeer. However there’s was empty. No lights. No blow up decorations. Nothing. There was no money for them to get any. They barley had enough for bills,let alone food to.

Norman felt bad for Sammy. This was there first Christmas since they came back to the world and Norman wanted it to be special. Filled with fun and happiness. He wanted to get them a tree and have lights everywhere. He wanted to have a great meal for him and Sammy and spoil him with presents. He would have to get a better job to give Sammy this.

—

“I can get a better job” Sammy suggested. “Maybe your boss will give me one there.” He said. His icy blue eyes were full of concern and worry. “I need to find a better job anyways. Mine doesn’t pay Will enough.”

Norman shook his head. “My love. You love your job and I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“But that means you won’t be home much…” Sammy replied with a frown.

“That’s true…” Norman nodded. “But it’s only going to be a month.” He walked over ti Sammy and cupped his warm hands on Sammy’s cold pink cheeks. The cold had always made his cheeks and nose soft pink color. “After that I’ll be home more often like before.”

Sammy gives him a smile so he wouldn’t know how afraid he was to be alone and a nodded. “Alright.” He leans in and kisses him softly. “But please be safe.”

“I will love.” Norman kisses him back.

——-

He had replied for the job that very night once Sammy went to bed. An assistant for 20 an hour? Not bad. Probably just need help with some work and a coffee run from time to time. That doesn’t sound so hard, plus he gets great benefits and more then his job at the bar. Better then what Joey gave them. Three days later he was called in for an interview for the next day and had agreed to come in. The following day he had gotten on his best suit, kissed Sammy goodbye and headed out to the job.

Once he arrived there he looked up at building. It was a typical tall skyscraper next to many others. There was no lights on this one nor was it a cool shape like some others just a boring office building. The inside was a different story. The places was covered in Christmas decor. A big beautiful tree stood in the middle of the lobby with red and silver decorations. Rows of red ribbon line the ceiling with little bow ties every few feet. And the classic Christmas music played in the speakers. It gave off a warm cozy feeling to look at but soon he had to leave it behind.

He walked over to the desk where a woman was sitting at. “Hi I’m Norman polk i have a meeting with Mr. Allen“

“One moment, Mr. Polk.” she replied before picking the phone up and calling a number. “Mr. Allen do you have a meeting with a Norman polk?” Norman waited patiently for a minute before she hung up. “ 27th floor, Mr. Polk. And good luck.”

“Thank you ma’am.” He headed over to the elevators and clicked the button for the 27th floor, the very top floor. The first time he notice was a little Christmas decoration here. A small tree in the corner by the window and a few rows of lights on the wall. He smiled thinking this job would be a good one but time will tell. After all nothing would be worse then joey drew.

There was only one path way from the elevators that leads to Mr. Allen office. He follows it and was buzzed in by another lady at a small table. He walked in and was greeted by him. “Hello Mr. Polk!”

The interview wasn’t long with just a few questions he needed. Like “Are you able to work computers” which he was. Not well but he was able to. Or “Are you able to work long hours.” Norman was, thank to his old boss. He didn’t need no college degree or need to have already been an assistant which Norman was glad for that. But the last question surprised him a lot. “When can you start?” He ask.

“I can start tomorrow!” Norman replied with happiness.

“Great! Your hired” Mr. Allen replied. “Be here by 8am”

That night, once Norman told Sammy the knew, Sammy hugged him and congratulated him on the job. The two wanted to celebrate Norman’s big win but didn’t have the money of big stake dinners or lots of shots at the bar. Plus Sammy didn’t even drink. They had decided to on hot chocolate and some s’more by their fireplace, since it was cold outside it was the perfect way to both celebrate and warm them up.

——

It had been three weeks of Norman’s new job and he still was getting yes to vary early mornings. It was hard, specially that his boss was an ass hole. But he could handle an ass hole just find since he dealt with a cultist psychopath before. He glanced over to his right and saw Sammy sleeping on his side. He must of just gotten to sleep since he got off his job 2 hours ago. He rubbed his head slowly got up so he wouldn’t wake him.

It had been hard on Sammy as well. He had supported Norman though out these weeks and helped him by making his lunches for work or bringing take outs, he made sure he had his suits and ties ironed and ready for him the next morning in and clean up most of the house. He didn’t mind to. Norman helped some when he was home before going to bed.

But the people were there schedules. They were the opposite of each others. When he was at work at night shift Norman was at home. When he was at home Norman was at work. It grew lonely here sometimes. Some nights worst then others. But Sammy knew it wasn’t going to be like this forever and they do leave notes for each other. Sometimes it would asking the other to pick something up or bring them a certain food Norman wanted from the dinner. Other notes were cute messages to each like - have a good day, love- or - you are so loved. - The notes put a smile to Sammy’s face every time and made him feel better.

Some mornings he could hear or feel Norman get up and ready for work and when he was finish he would come and check if Sammy was asleep or not. If he was awake he would give him a goodbye kiss before leaving work. Sammy had to fight the urge to pull him back in bed many times, instead he cuddled Norman’s pillow and counted the days.

——-

Late! He was running late again. His stupid smug face boss just needed a huge breakfast at the most popular place in town. It took him half an hour to get throw the line and longer as he waited for that meal, plus the time from there to the job. He was nearly an hour late and three calls from that jack ass.

Once he arrived in Mr. Allen’s office he stanched the food out of his hands. “Late again Norman.” He told him smugly as he gets the food all settled.

“My apologies Mr. Allen.” Norman begins, keeping his annoyance deep down. “There was a long line and a-

Mr Allan holds up his hand, stopping Norman. “I don’t need to hear your excuses Mr. Polk. You should do better anyway.” He gives Norman a look. “You lucky I’m giving you yet another chance.”

Norman nodded. “Thank you sir. And I will”

Mr Allen wasn’t finished though. “You know Norman. You owe me a lot of over time hours. Which I’m now giving you today.”

This made Normans annoyance grew to anger but he just smiled. “Yes sir. I’ll stay to recover the hours.”

Mr. Allen nodded. “Yes. You will.�� He replied then took a bite of his eggs and immediately spits them out. “Yuck! This are cold! Thanks to you I have to trash them.” He slides all the food and coffee into the trash beside his desk. “Now Norman. Go get me some hot breakfasts and don’t fuck it up this time.

———

Sammy came home from the diner, disappointed from Norman having to stay late again, to find a few packages on his door step. He was surprised and picked one up, checking to make sure they were at the correct address and they were. There was a total of five of them, two big boxes, one medium size box and smaller boxes.

He brought them inside and started to open them to see what was inside. The big boxes were first. The first was good size Christmas tree and the second was ornaments of all colors for the Christmas tree. Sammy smiles looking at the colors. All this loneliness and struggles was finally being worth it. They could have a good Christmas. He looked at the other three boxes and opened the medium one. It was full of Christmas home decorations. Some Lights, a Santa doll, an elf doll and a few reindeer. Sammy was amazed at how much decor was in this box and he got curious at what was in the small boxes. He opened both of them at the same time and found some Christmas movies in one and some Christmas snacks in the last one.

He picks up one of the candles and looks at them. “This looks good. I can’t wait to try them together.” He mumbled. Then he gets an idea. He should surprise Norman With the apartment being decorated.

Immediately he got to work. First he works on the tree to get the must biggest thing out of the way. He decided to place the tree next to the front window and started to put it together and fix the lights on there. Once all the lights worked he places red and red ornaments around the tree and finishes it with the star on top. He was getting tired but wanted to finish this for Norman. He’s been working hard for this so Sammy can suck it up and decorate for one morning.

With the tree finish he moved on with the lights and lined them up around the wall in the living room. From there he put the Santa and elf doll on a shelf below the tv and finished with the reindeer at different places on the small bookshelf. He was finally finished and couldn’t wait to see Norman reaction.

He decided to put on one of the new Christmas movies to watch as he waited and snuggle in a blanket. However sammy didn’t make it 10 minutes before he was fast asleep.

It was another 20 minutes before Norman came home and stopped right at the door, looking around. The decision looks so simple yet it gave the house a looked of magical and wonder. Sammy must have found the boxes and decorated. He had always been good at that and made there houses or office rooms a place to feel comfortable and at peace.

Norman had walked over to turn off the tv and found Sammy on the couch, out like a light. He yawns himself and smiles at how cute sammy looked. The two of them haven’t got to spend much time together and he missed that, but that things will go back as before soon. Christmas is coming real soon.

Norman yawns again and scoped sammy up in his arms. Sammy mumbled something in his sleep as his head rested on Norman’s rest. “Shhh my love.” Norman kisses the top of his head. “Get some well deserved sleep.”

—-

Christmas had finally arrived after what felt the longest week norman life. All those late nights and dealing with his boss had been worth it. He knew that once he saw Sammy’s face lit up that morning once he came down the hall and hugged him. “Merry Christmas Sammy.” Norman kisses him and hugged back.

“Merry Christmas Norman!” He smiles looking around. There were presents under the tree, music playing and the smell of French toast. “What should we do first?”

Norman watched him gaze around and smiled. “Hmm. How about breakfast, presents then we go out and see what we can find?” He replied looking at him.

Sammy nodded. “Sounds like the perfect plan!” He follows Norman into the kitchen for their start of the wonderful day.

[bonetrousled]

VILLAINMOTEL BACKSTORY MASTERPOST idk if i’ll update this if i change anything but here’s everyone’s bullshit. spoilers i guess if it ever becomes anything

the city of NEW NEW JERSEY is the hottest superhero and tech hub in the entire country! housed in the state of the same, most heroes (and villains) who travel here want to make it big, and for the state’s original residents, that’s no exception, either.

one group of self-proclaimed supervillains lives together in the formerly-bustling verbena motel, a bed and breakfast that scrapes by using the New New Jersey Supervillain Education Clause which states that a villain cannot be arrested in an educational building (which the motel technically counts as since it houses a library).

MOTEL RESIDENTS

nurse hurtem: medschool drop out who became an underground boxer. originally started boxing to make money for student loans, but found out she liked it more than becoming a doctor. grew up with absent business-minded parents who tossed her into various schools for troubled youth since she would act out for attention. unofficial leader of the verbena motel villain team! sarcastic, snarky, and quick to anger, but sisterly at heart

trajothaddeus “traj” captio: nepobaby alien crashing here to hide from intergalactic authorities on fraud charges. heir to the throne of a vast scrapping empire (but unwilling to get his hands dirty), he was taught from a young age to let others do the work for him. talks big game about receiving checks from his father, but refuses to reveal that he’s been excommunicated. surprisingly good inventor and engineer! currently running influencer scams despite having three followers. stuck-up, dramatic, and organized

misery: psychic delinquent teen child of famous abstract fashion designer parents. sent to a school for troubled youth after an incident where they exploded a salad bar with their mind at school. has the ability to speak to spirits and manipulate shadows, along with telekinesis. weirdgirl supreme. always staring at people. usually has bugs in pocket. doesn’t talk often or emote outwardly, but their intentions are in the right place. offputting, genuine, and quiet

KEVIN LASTNAME: amnesiac deity of ultimate destruction. during an incident roughly a year ago where a group of teens summoned him on accident and he was attacked out of fear in his fragile, freshly-formed state, he was injured severely and staggered in the night until he came across the motel. knocking on the door and seeking refuge, he was then concussed a second time at the door because hurtem saw a twelve foot tall skeleton thing and was scared. on coming to, he had no idea of any aspect of his past or where he came from. scared of modern technology. too strong for his own good, resulting in being the muscle of the team. incredibly loud, blunt, and frankly stupid as rocks, but he tries his best. powers include whatever i think is funny

the lobotomizer: co-founder of the motel with her mafioso wife, betty bundtcake. used to date big tech mogul franka richter, but was murdered by her after seeing something she shouldn’t have. she qaunlived out of sheer spite, piecing herself together until she was whole again- at the price of her sanity. she and her wife made the motel out of necessity for those needing a little help hiding from the law (or anyone really) or just a place to stay. means well and cares for those she loves, but can be (always is) unethical in her studies and experiments. good-natured, humorous, and slightly off-kilter. has a zombie wiener-ish dog named frankie.

NNJ JUNOR HERO LEAGUE

secret admirer: a programming and engineering whiz, along with having healing powers and enhanced speed, she's a shoe in for the NNJ junior hero league. cares deeply about her teammates and hopes they're able to stick together once they all graduate into the big league. caring, passionate, but tends to be too modest for her own good

high roller: has the power of supernaturally high luck. originally put this to use at the big casino in the city, but was caught and recruited to the junior league as an alternative to legal punishment. found out she likes the attention from hero work more than the pay (which is still rather decent) and has been on the right side of the law ever since. a little bit of a show off, good-spirited, and witty

screwloose: former quantum physicist permanently altered after an experiment gone wrong. now abides by toon logic and physics and has gone completely insane. loose cannon of the group, forcibly entered into the league by the hero council of the city due to the potential danger they could put the city in with their powers. they only stay because it's entertaining. unpredictable, snarky, and irresponsible

phenomenon: also entered the league willingly. general generic superstrength type hero, though he's got a huge heart, for better or for worse. along with this he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he always lifts all of his teammates up and to victory! kind, sensitive, loyal, and a little oblivious

adam "the intern" subtract: who is this guy?? whatever. he can make more or less of certain objects. kind of sucks ngl

MISC. CHARACTERS

wilbur "riff" captio: older brother to traj. got the short end of the stick nepotism-wise and received poor treatment on the job and all through life in general. his father tested a workplace-boosting energy drink on him that left him permanently scarred and prone to transforming into a giant beast, so he packed his shit and left. was hunted by traj for years on a mission from their father to drag him back to work, but has managed to evade capture since traj was exiled. currently working as a con-man selling bullshit outside of casinos and in those little kiosks in the middle of mall aisles

megabyte: vampire computer virus supervillain, and 1/6 of the NNJ Official Villain Council (which is not legally recognized by the government). feeds by draining electricity and data from machinery, and can infect other mechanical beings or devices to sap energy for her for limited periods of time. has a little lightbulb themed cronie named wattson. incredibly cheesy, snooty, and not actually that evil

franka richter: born without powers, she had to scrape to the top through will alone, all while battling the unexpected heart failure of her young adult love, laura albrecht. current founder and CEO of PHYSM, a company that makes basically everything in the area and sponsors the hero league- though they're most famous for smartphones and home assistants a la google. known publicly as a major philanthropist and community pillar, though that couldn't be farther from the truth. retired heroes keep going missing or being found dead. nobody is investigating. everything is fine.

[credince--writes]

Reflection, Resistance

MORALITY

AO3

Jason Todd x Fem!OC(Camile Ford)

A/N:

Hello everyone! Coming in with a new chapter of Morality and i am SO happy to be writing on it again. This chapter is kind of going to be marking where I feel like is the 'reset' point. My style of writing has changed a LOT, plot is going to be the same but I just felt like doing a lot of reflection before I start moving back onto plot again just to give everyone a little bit of buffer space.

It was innocent.

It was meak.

It was pure-

At least the thought of the intentions being so.

The thought of her standing in the world, was as if it was destiny in a way.

To be a good little girl, always follow instructions and make sure that it was done well.

Make sure she was pretty while doing it.

Maybe it was her mother that taught her it, to be good and follow orders as she’d shrink back as a child listening to the verbal altercations. Scamper up the stairs into her room and close the door in that manner she’d practiced so many times to make sure it shut silently.

So that she’d give no reason for their attention to be diverted to her.

Maybe it was genetic, to be a fucking doormat.

It seemed like every woman she had known was like one, would roll over and take it after swallowing her pride and accepting it to just be that way.

God forbid they rise up, and actually do something about it.

Strive for a better fucking life.

It was this horrible catch-22.

This demon suppressed inside of her, at the threat of being held down by chains and the insane amount of fear crippling her personality.

She had watched the men, all of her life.

She knew, down to the fiber of her being what the flick of their hand caused their wife to immediately dismiss the conversation and shut her trap meant. The silent but always-understood language in the world of violence.

Didn’t mean it had to be physical, no.

The violence of stripping a woman of her value- the soft parts of her soul she would expose in love so easily accessible and taken.  

But maybe that silly little part of Camile thought that she could be strong. 

Like a man.

To stand up for what is right- even though she knew deep down a man wouldn’t do that without some overlying promise. Praise. Acceptance. Maybe to make some pussy more accessibly lured into his bed.

So when she first realized the inconsistencies. The poorly photoshopped receipts- the outright lies on paperwork and the showboating presentations where you knew his watch was fake. There was no way it could be real with his salary- but everything was a game of presentation and if he just slicked back his hair with enough grease he could convince the room to allow him to manage twenty-five million dollars worth of assets to throw at something to see if it makes anything of their ‘play money’.

Maybe she just didn’t realize that money needed to be cleaned.

That it needed to be processed in different ways to make it look less suspicious. 

That the man who owned this company didn’t actually own this company. 

And maybe she knew better.

Or maybe she didn’t.

Maybe she wanted to feel as if she had power in the room as if she really amounted to something and could stand over a man in a position of power and stare him down and really make him know what it felt like to be weak.

The kind of weak she felt every day in that God-forsaken office. The kind of weak where she would peel the skin off of her lips with her teeth, the familiar taste of blood seeping out and onto her tongue as she bit down to pull off more.

Or maybe it was an ego.

They say your daughter is most like her father.

Maybe that is why men are always so adamant to push them down. Suppress any flame that flickers inside of them because they know just how much of a monster she could be if allowed to run freely.

So men would try to do anything to snuff if out.

Make a pretty little housewife.

One that would make a fine little assistant or secretary.

“Never train your downfall. No offense dear, but you don’t exactly scream the type to be gunning for someone’s position. It makes you perfect for this transition. Someone quiet and willing to do the work assigned without the gusto to steal the rug from under them- if that makes much sense. It’s a compliment under all of those layers.”

Never train your downfall.

But she would sit, as if she were a child pressing her cheek up against the cold glass and staring up into he night sky in hopes that the clouds would thin just enough for her to be able to see the stars. She would fantasize about that moment when she would be able to prove herself- show off just what a monster she could be.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

There was a line you needed to draw to be human.

To know what was right and wrong and to know how to keep the two sorted. To not cause harm to others in the ways that came so easy to a man. Their morals are being shifted like a flag in the wind of their crusade. Where she stood, staring down at the events of her life and trying to understand where exactly she should put the line if they were constantly stepping over it without any regard as to where it was placed. How they could so easily excel in their lives and careers because the concept of the cruelty they exuded onto another behind them didn’t pay them any mind.

 The switch.

Just how easy it was for her to accept Broadstock for something- anything other than a wolf in sheep's clothing the first day she met him. Never coming to think of the circumstances that led him to be placed in Malory's position. Anything met with resistance was immediately removed and then replaced with something easily malleable for whoever was plotting from above. How she accepted him and trotted along his side like a fucking puppy excited to have a fresh face and thinking that it was on the up.

But it was not just the cruelty- she could take it. She was used to it. She could recognize his attempts to strip her down as if she were not equal to him. And the knew the steps he would take to continue- even if the mere sound of him raising his voice caused that pit in the bottom of her gut to fill with dread she would stand and take it to prove that she could. Just because she could stand and finally muster the courage- or gather the stupidity to snap back at him. As if she were a dog finally cornered to her limit she would lash back out, even it if meant it would result in beatings.

The fragility of her personality was highlighted in the fact that hot, angry tears would spill over her cheeks any time a man would yell at her. As if they should be granted the right- the pleasure to cause her to cry? And why? Only because she had been conditioned her whole life to roll over, beg and plead for forgiveness if she had done something that her master had not liked?

Maybe it was her fault. If she had only been smarter about the situation around her.

“I appreciate your attention to detail, but this really isn’t necessary.” Broadstock lets out a light chuckle, reaching across the table and grabbing the notepad.

“I don’t understand.”

If only she had said, “Oh, of course. I understand! How foolish of me I’m just blowing this out of proportion.”

Then it would be all ok, would it not?

If she had just turned a blind eye to it and continued to work.

The second she broke that facade of the perfectly obedient dog for him his personality shifted just as fast. Understanding that her resistance was not purely out of innocence. 

“Well you obviously are pretty stupid, you haven’t been understanding much.” He quips.

The way his lips had curled up into that evil snarl. The way the glint in his eyes changed and how he so softly set his pen back down on the desk.

“I am telling you to do your job.”

But what was her job? As a woman, would it be to become the perfect, obedient little wife for someone to enjoy and tote around as if she were a trophy? Or would it be to become the perfectly placed land block approving fraudulent paperwork she knew she was signing off on that if it were criminally investigated she would take the fall on, because, in theory, he had never looked at the documents?

That was her job.

It was like a perfectly executed dance- everyone put into their places to follow their set of movements, moving and exchanging but some never interacting with each other but still having an impact on the outcome of its performance. 

But how could she? Morally? Professionally? At this point, she had already killed one career in doing the right thing. Standing up against what was seemingly the exact same thing happening all over again in front of her and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. What would be the point in taking a stand and throwing herself like a lamb to the slaughter if there wouldn’t even be anyone to watch in protest? Even her standing up against him, alone in his office was enough to make the bottoms of her feet feel like they were lead.

Make her feel like she was a little girl all over again being scolded for not wearing the right color tights with her skirt- doing something wrong once again that would make her parents look bad. How dare she do this? How dare she act this way while she carried this family name? Did she not know who she represented? As if the preaching being crammed down her throat in that shitty little church with the too-big gravel parking lot that accumulated all of the holes would be any indicator of how much they ignored what should’ve been important. How could she watch them listen to what they were ‘supposed’ to be doing as the righteous and holy people they tried to convenience everyone they were while they simultaneously threw it out, poured it down the drain, and swallowed it allowing the burning liquid to roll down their throats and into their stomach.

Maybe it all melted down to that.

The feeling of the alcohol in her system blurs out the fear she would be eaten alive. She would no longer be that horrified shell of a girl- the one who was so softly-spoken and well-behaved. Oh, how they always complimented her behavior as a child. So mature for her age. That flask hidden away inside that drawer in her desk at work, where she’d crumble down onto her knees with the door slammed behind her where she’d open up that little metal trinket and suck the contents of it out and down her throat. Knowing that if she could just feel the buzz in her brain, that light fuzzy feeling when she started to get too scared that it would all be ok.

Manufactured bravery.

Because she knew she was not brave.

She was not a brave girl.

She was scared.

She was gentle.

She was not cut out for man's work.

A man's job would be to disregard the morals one would carry- cross any line that needed to be crossed to reach that goal.

But a woman? Oh, she was already too used to jumping through hoops and dragging her fingers across walls while she navigated the complicated world in hopes of not angering anyone or stepping on any toes. 

But it came with its own terror. To not be afraid of those lines anymore when the alcohol clouded her judgment. Those walls that she found herself stretching her hand out to so many times were no longer there- as if the playing field had been leveled when her mind was silenced. The thousands of voices screaming their rules- criticizing her actions were silenced when the comforting buzz fogged her mind.

And it scared her even more because then she thought she would never be able to be brave without it-

That it would be her crutch.

And she’d fall into the claws she had seen so many other people fall victim too. How they would grip around their throats and tug them down. The poison becomes the crutch to everything- as if it were their insulin. But they had it to begin with- the alcohol flooding their system with some kind of synthetic so it no longer believed that it needed to produce anymore. That it was obviously was in a surplus and as the posion kept flooding into their system to try and reach that same level of confidence. The warm and fuzzy feeling pulsing through their blood and into their brain makes them feel like a happy, confident, strong person again.

But what if she had never had the confidence to begin with?

That is what she would use to justify it.

Her mother said that it would start like this.

That you’d have a reason to need it.

And if you would justify it- that means its claws were already too deep inside you, and that it was too late for you.

She’d argue it too, with herself, when it proved time and time again to be her crutch on the days she would get home after the hard days, the days it was the only thing filling the void of her sorrow and regrets.

But then there were the days when it became too much.

The anger.

Anger isn’t becoming on a woman. It isn’t a flattering emotion to walk into a room with. But you can only put so much deep down inside, locking it away and shoving it down any time it unearths in those hot, angry tears that seep out.

And it comes out in rebellion, no matter how small it may start.

“I am not signing off on this paperwork.”

“Then fine, I will find a new assistant who will do what they are told.”

Camile's eyes narrowed.

“Your paperwork is sloppy too, you know.” She states.

“What was that?”

“Your paperwork is sloppy too.”

She didn’t know where the words came from.

It was as if she were a teenager again, the hormonal spite raising up in her throat when she finally felt as if she had some ground to stand upon and call out the wrongdoings that had been passed down from generation to generation and were just lolled over. The words leaving her mouth before she could understand what she said-

And there it was.

The flicker.

The look in Broadstocks eyes was because he wasn't expecting her to bite back. He wasn’t expecting much at all from her really. Just expecting her to agree with him as he bared his fangs and made himself known as the wolf he was. Expecting the little sheep she was to wail in fright and accept her fate.

It was so small, she almost didn’t see it.

But it was as if she saw a glint of an oasis so far away she would never reach it. The water glimmered in the harsh sunlight pounding down on her from every direction. Where she knew that she’d have to summon all of the strength buried deep down even into her soul to reach there.

But blinking, only to realise it was a mirage and her hope to be gone.

But she’d think of that mirage. When she lay in bed, staring up in at the ceiling thinking of all of the different scenarios that could’ve happened if she had just had the confidence to stand up for herself and actually say something- do something and be someone.

But as soon as she would see the oasis she would crumple down to her knees, exhausted from the travel.

All to stand and watch the complacency strip her of the confidence she had thought she mustered.

Malory sighed. “I’m sorry sweetheart.”

It wasn’t good enough.

He was supposed to be the one in charge- and to see him sitting in silence- complacency to his words stung.

Camile's breath was shaking as she calmed herself down, quietly sniffling. “I’ve never been a pretty crier.” Camile lets out a small laugh, wiping her eyes. “What happened to basic ethics? I mean you can’t expect me to criminally involve myself with signing off on this garbage!” She exclaims.

“I don’t expect you to.” He sighs. “I wish this turned out differently. I thought it was going to be better.” He stood up, turned out, and looked out the window.

“You know when I first got into this office, this office gave me a sense of hope. I felt like this room was going to be the laboratory of great things.”

“Has it not?” She asks.

“It was. At first. But now it has become something else.”

Camile looks at him, as he quirks his head over to look at her.

“It’s become a tomb. And it’s going to be yours too.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Then how do I stop it.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Do what I did.”

“What did you do, Malory?”

“You need to get rid of any of those ‘ethics’ you thought you should have to be a good person. It will only get you hurt in the end.”

Ethics.

To be a good person?

But she wanted to be a good person.

She wanted to be the one that extended help to those in need. She wanted to be the one to nurture those weaker than herself. To discard the morals and the ethics of who she was would be to disregard herself as a person. To rid herself of the humanity that made her better- in her own eyes than them.

But it was a burden.

A chain.

A chain that was tethered around her neck and tied to the ground.

But how could she consider herself good?

She was complacent.

She was allowing this all to happen.

Maybe they were right- that all of the goodness dies in you when you come to Gotham. Anything that makes you human is stripped from you in this fucking city.

That you can’t come here and expect to be the same, because the air that this place makes you breathe is different. It changes you. It makes you the monster that you try not to think of yourself- or it makes you the prey.

“Ah, yes thank you for coming! Come, come!” He waves for Camile to come forward and take a seat in front of his desk. “I hope the ride over was good?”

Camile gave him a light smile, “Of course, thank you for having a driver pick me up.”

Roman nodded. “So I hope that folder isn’t full of confetti… correct?”

Camile let out a small laugh. “No, I can assure you that these were the documents that you requested.” She set the folder down on his desk, pushing it forward to him.

It was as if she was standing in front of a demon, sliding paper working unknowingly over to him.

Roman leaned forward and grabbed the folder, sliding it to the side of his desk before putting his body weight down on his hand and leaning forward, obviously staring at Camile's face while he spoke.

“So how are you liking working with Broadstock?” He questions.

“Broadstock is a very efficient man when he puts his mind to something,” Camile states, trying to rid her tone of any distaste she had for the man.

“That’s good to hear, couldn’t help but notice our financial document approval has been quiet slow lately. Would you happen to know anything about that?” His eyes meet hers.

“Just being thorough. It is what makes us the best to work with.” Camile tries to give him a smile, hoping he would break his sight from her.

His face was like stone, frozen in almost a pout as he stared at her trying to drink the emotions from her face, and in a blink of an eye, he completely changed. Smiling again he let out a chuckle as he brought a hand up close to Camile’s cheek.

“You know Camile, you have gorgeous skin…” 

And he spoke to her in a way only a man could’ve. The kind of way that immediately stepped over any lines just because he could. The kind of man that would request financial documents and then toss them into the fireplace right after because he didn’t really need them, no. He just wanted to see her face. Just wanted to lightly graze his fingers across the soft skin that adorned that timid- no, that gentle face of hers as she so complacently protected Broadstock even though he had done nothing but cause her pain.

Because that was her job.

But the fear. The anxiety that she would feel as her heart pounded in her chest that made her feel like she was skating around on a thin sheet of ice and could feel it cracking under her. That she knew if she moved the wrong way the ice would give way underneath. That in reality- she had no idea how to control the way her body moved on the ice- she was living on a whim. The ice would break out from underneath her at any given time and she would have no say in the matter. She would only sit on top of it and act as if she had some knowledge in the matter and think that she had control of the situation because that was what mattered.

The false sense of security that layered a warm blanket over her shivering anxieties. 

That when her heart was pounding against her chest the auditorium of her mind would also be silent.

That she’d be standing on a stage, staring out into the crowd finally being able to hold of the mic and say exactly what her mind conjured up- deep from the depths she had tried to lock away.

“Fine.” Camile said, sweeping the thumb drives into her hands and placing them in a basket. “I’m leaving for the day.” She stands up and walks out her door.

“Why are you leaving?” Broadstock calls after her. “It’s only 5:45!” He raises his voice.

“My shift ends at 5!” Camile yells back, walking into the elevator.

That she’d be able to fight back- within her fight or flight response. As if the adrenaline pumping in her veins was enough to numb the feeling of fear and allow her to pretend that none of the strange things in her life had happened. That Roman’s comments didn’t make her feel like she wanted to crawl out of her skin- drag her nails across her flesh so they would scar so that she wouldn’t be so pretty anymore.

That when it rained, it poured.

Because one, after the other things kept spiraling.

Because if she had told herself a year ago that a masked vigilante would’ve seen her as someone important enough to know something?

She would’ve laughed.

But now?

She wanted to cry, grip the cold ceramic of her sink and sob. Begging to God to wonder what she had done to deserve all of this? Why couldn’t her life just be normal?

“I don’t even know what you're talking about! Why are you in my house!” She raises her voice, and the Red Hood grabs her head and pushes a finger up to her lips. “You wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear us having our little talk, would you?” She shakes her head no, and he lets go of her head.

“You met with him today. The Black Mask. Come on sweetheart you haven’t gone many places today.” The man explains, and you pause.

“Mister Sionis?” She responds back, and he claps his hands sarcastically.

“Oh! So she does know.”

“...What did you call him a second ago?”

“The Black Mask, do you watch any news, at all?” He questions.

“...No… It’s too depressing.” She answers. “Am I going to be in trouble for talking to you?” She asks.

“Not if you don’t have anything to hide.” He retorts.

To hide?

No.

But she couldn’t help but feel something in her click.

She wanted to know.

As sick as it was- the concept of the man interrogating her because she was important enough- strong enough to know something evil? Be involved in something that stepped over so many lines, that she was able to dance with fire.

And it made her think-

Of the masks.

Could she not make herself a mask? Could she not create herself a persona, as if she were nothing akin to something like him?

So she laughed.

“Everyone has something to hide, big man. How about we start with you?” 

She had practice. She really did.

She was a young woman now- blossoming and becoming her own person. The strain in the back of her throat as she held that dead expression on her face as she stared into the face of her father as he screamed at her. 

To show emotion in this situation would be not the close your door quietly enough. It would be to give the can of gas a match. He can’t react to your reactions if you have none. What would the pleasure be of stripping down the confidence and bravery of the little girl he was so afraid of growing up into a monster that could ruin his life- ruin his reputation? There is no pleasure when there is no response.

Do deprive the fire of its fuel.

“You aren't fooling me with this ‘I'm not scared’ gimmick you’ve been trying to pull.” He leans in. “Your heart is trying to beat out of your chest and I can just smell the fear radiating off of you.”

“Yea? What's it smell like then, red boy?”

She wanted him to say sour. Like a rotting corpse- like how she felt on the inside. As if she were decomposing acting as if she had any ounce of control when she really didn’t.

“It smells sweet on you, but on all the other men I get the pleasure to visit it is sour, and rancid.”

And it stirred something in her.

She entered the office building, hands shaking. She could feel her stomach churning with the nerves of the day, she felt like a failure. The room was caving in around her. The burning feeling of anxiety filled her middle. Making her way across the office building and walked into her office, eyes laying a daring glance at her desk. She blinked a few times and shook her head, opening her office door and looking around the floor. Her eyes made contact with the restroom door and she quickly made her way to it. Slamming and locking the door behind her. She made her way to the sink where she gripped the sides and stared into the mirror.

“You’re weak.” Camile spit at herself.

“You can’t be weak anymore.”

“Pick up the fucking pieces Camile, this is your last chance.” She gripped her nose, leaning her head back and looking at the ceiling.

“Just be the bitch. Be mean. They don’t care about you- stop caring about them- stop being so fucking weak!” She slapped her hand on the mirror in front of her, staring at herself in the reflection.

 “You have to grab the room by the balls, Camile.” Tina explained. “You think you can just sway your ass into a room and expect to be gain their respect? These men are dogs. They have the mental capacity of dogs, that's why they are so easy to control. They keep an eye on a bone, but become so clouded in their own ego and thinking with their dick. That's why they put women in charge, Camile. Get your shit together and learn how to step up, or you will be stepped on.” Tina finished. “Now leave.”

“I’m not going to be weak anymore.”

"I want to be in charge." She stated. "I'm sick of this being pushed around and not knowing whats going on. I want to be in charge of something, I want to be the one making the commands."

“You need to get rid of any of those ‘ethics’ you thought you should have to be a good person. It will only get you hurt in the end.”

She could be a good person and walk that line. She would play the game- even if she was made of porcelain and cracked along the way. She would be able to take the pressure- she would be able to prove herself and prove that she can and will take what she really wants if she put her mind to it.

Would she not be able to wear her mask and create her own persona just as Red had? To harden her exterior in a way that she could build herself in the vision that they tried so hard to destroy all her youth?

Camile's chest puffed up. "I don't exactly see why you care. We don't know each other, all you are is some asshole who keeps breaking into my house and demanding information.

"Yes. That's how interrogations work."

"Well, I am a woman of business. Give me something I'd like to know and I'll get you anything you'd like."

She could have morals, and walk the line. 

“I can’t say I was expecting a call.” Red states.

“Would it be business if I didn’t get my end of the deal?”

“I suppose not.”

“I need you to work your magic for me, big boy.”

And she would build it up, slowly. Brick by brick every night that she went home and hse would coach to herself in the mirror as if she were creating an entirely new human. But she wasn’t. She was just looking back into herself, digging through the mountains of memories and emotions and remembering every action- every combatant they would have against her and her own actions, and how she could turn it against them.

Why would such a pretty, innocent face ever work in a way to make the clients angry?

She had been doing her job in the fucking useless market that Real Estate was. And she had been walking the line better than she had even known she could. Using her sweet voice to talk to the property owners, the old woman who owned the shop. The desperate son of a cripples factory owner. Shere she would have Sammy behind her holding a checkbook and asking them to name a price.

Any price.

And she would buy up their property and make their problems go away in the best way that was possible.

With cash.

And she built her portfolio, playing the game as the gentle woman with a firm attitude that would get what she wanted as she purchased property. Calling out the blatant issues that they weren’t expecting her to say. Demanding pennies on the dollar for properties and slowly buying some fo the worst areas of Gotham.

And when the properties had a problem?

She would make them go away.

Not by herself, of course. She was a good person. She was the good person in this scenario, not allowing Red to fall into too much debt to her, and cleaning out the city slowly as she acquired properties to the massively building acquisition portfolio she was building- and impressing upon the clients during the meetings.

Standing in front of the projection of the wall explaining the acquisitions moving at such a fast rate that they were over a year ahead of schedule, and why would that be?

Maybe it was because of his soft, gentle voice.

Maybe it was because the men would stare at her ass while she left and watched the way her lips moved as she spoke. Maybe it was even a day they could see her breasts perked up in her blouse.

The exterior interactions built her confidence, providing her with the equipment to build the walls up, creating a facade that was stronger than any relationship she had seen in her life. And she was succeeding in it too. Keeping her morals, staying good.

Being a good person.

Choking down copious amounts of alcohol every night because of the tension in her heart- the pattering of it against her chest because she knew when she was in the threshold of her home she could allow it to fall. That she was crumbling under the pressure of the weight she built onto her shoulders.

And it made a bitter, vile substance seep off of her.

When she had first felt it, she had been disgusted in herself. Wondering where she had gone wrong-

But as she stared at the venom that dripped out of her pores she realised what it could be used to do, and dare she say she’d scrape the venom off of anywhere she could find and store it for later. 

Would that be crossing the line?

“I wasn’t aware this was going to be a formal meeting, Mister Malory,” Camile spoke, breaking the silence of the moment.

“It's not a formal meeting Camile, sit down,” Malory spoke, motioning for her to sit down next to him.

She made her way across the room and sat down. Making eye contact with Broadstock at the end he shot her back a wicked grin.

“Hello Miss Camile, we did have to organize an emergency meeting in reference to one of our accounts, so sorry the meeting couldn’t have been better arranged,” Broadstock spoke to her, with a false tinge of concern in his voice. 

It would be like the pepper spray she kept attached to her key chain, the dinky little plastic the weak attempt to protect herself if need be. And she’d clutch it in her hand as she walked alone in the dark.

“Hmm.” Camile responded back. Looking at the two other men, holding her eye contact as evenly as possible between the two other men in the room. “And what exactly is the issue here?”

Even if she cowered internally. She would hold it close.

Broadstock stood up and slammed his hand down on the table, as the disfigured man folded his hands on the table watching the interaction unfold in front of him. “Thanks to the stunts you’ve been pulling with incorrect numbers, we have had three investors pull the carpet from under us in the last twenty-four hours.” He snaps.

“How is that my fault?” Camile quirked an eyebrow, watching Broadstocks confidence quickly falter.

“Because of you! Because of what you said at the meeting!”

“That… the numbers I used were wrong? The same ones that have been vetted with our third party accounting group when yours are under contest for falsehoods?”

“You know what you did! Your actions spoke for you!” Broadstock yelled.

And that was when she let the venom- as weak as it was let loose.

“No, you had investors pull because they realized that if you were giving faulty numbers to your management team, you are hiding things from the investors. Just like the ROI. And you know what that makes me think Broadstock?” Camile questions, standing up from her seat and elevating her position in the room. 

“I think you’re trying to hide your negligent mismanagement and embezzlement, and I'm sure any half-witted accountant could find evidence of the theory.” She looked at Malory. “And you. You’re retired. Go home, see your wife. You shouldn’t have to mediate him throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m going home.” She finishes.

And she saw it.

Her first glimpse.

Her first true glimpse.

If even only for a moment- for she could not turn and relish in the feeling of the man's fear dancing around in his eyes.

Malory nodded. “Have a good night, Camile. I think this meeting has resolved itself to the original goal.” He stood, and so did the man with the blood-red tie. And for the first time in the whole meeting, he spoke. 

“Really, Broadstock? Forging documents?” He laughed. “We are going to need to discuss these concerns with upper management.” Broadstocks eyes bulged, and he began to beg and plead for him to reconsider- he would never hurt the company.

And she wallowed in it as if it were the oasis in the desert. Even if it were only a drop.

But as the night would age on, the bottle in her hand would grow heavy.

She would understand his words.

“You are in over your head.” He cuts her off. “And I don’t necessarily want to see your brains getting sprayed off the pavement.”

“I think that could be arranged, but you-” he points at her. “Need to watch your neck. You don’t know what fire you're playing with.”

And she would start to crumble in under the weight of herself. And she’d end up out there, with the hard compressed dirt surrounding the chain, the circumference of the dogs life. It didn’t leave that circle. There it got food from passersby, and a shitty little dog house to sleep in. The dog would run in circles for the rest of its life, never feeling real grass. And she would become that dog- running feral until it was caught because it was too cocky. It thought it was fast enough, strong enough.

And it would stare up to the stars at night dreaming of freedom.

Suddenly the collar gave way, slipping over the dog's head relieving it of the collar wrapped around its neck, sending it falling towards the ground. After it landed, it scuttled away, running towards the fence gate, running out into the street and into an alleyway.

“Ha! Yes! Run!” Camile yelled after it. “Run away!” 

“Oh…” She sighed happily, bringing up her bloodied arm to rest it on her shoulder, resting her forehead against his chest plate. “Freedom.”

“What?” He questioned hysterically. “You are fuckin’ bleeding everywhere, you fought a street dog!” 

“I freed it.” She corrected.

Freedom.

She’d need power to acquire it.

[halliescomut]

So I never really know who is on multiple platforms. Like I get/find KinnPorsche content all over, some here, some TikTok, some Insta, and I do have a Twitter, but I very rarely go there, even before the chaos of the last few weeks. But apparently the KP authors, who are terrible people, have been extra terrible. IDK if it's info that's made it's way here, but they said at some point that during the VegasPete NC scene the audio was cut because it was too realistic, which is why that scene is only music. Sure whatever. Then on TikTok (though it started on Twitter) a clip of that scenes audio started going around. It first popped up months ago soon after that episode, but it's been making the rounds again, but it is a fan made clip. A very talented fan essentially ADRed/Foleyed the VP scene, and then posted it online. But apparently Daemi has been going around and harassing people commenting or sharing the clip saying the BOC and the actors are mad it got leaked, and blah blah blah. There's been no statement from anyone at BOC about the clips, since they know it's fake. But I keep getting videos on my FYP on TikTok saying don't follow the authors, not even for the drama, you need to just block them. And like, if I go on Twitter I might, I'm not against it they're awful, but I just never go there.

But one thing I really love about fandom in general is that when it's good, the fans will band together to exile any terrible people trying to fuck things up. It happened to a small extent with JKR. Everyone I know who's still into HP almost exclusively reads fics, and only buys merch from small shops, never anything officially licensed, which takes all the money out of JKR's hands. It's not universal in that fandom which is a bummer, but it's a pretty reasonable victory. I've also seen it with fans of the Whedonverse, where that man's thoughts and opinions don't matter in the fandom anymore.

So I never know exactly what people will have heard/read/learned about, so I'll give a brief explanation. There's a concept called 'Death of the Author' which relates to an author having no control over a piece of work once it's been sent out into the world. Once something is published or released, the intentions, beliefs, ideas, of the author no longer have bearing on it's interpretation by the consumer. Often these beliefs and ideas are subtextual, even possible accidental, since we all have inherent prejudice and biases that will appear in creative works. Sometimes those ideas are overt and purposeful. But once that work is out, the fan can change the narrative to whatever they want, and the author has no say. One of my favorite examples of this is the fan theory over Ron Weasley being trans, since JKR is a massive terf.

Now in general this will only apply to completed works, so it wouldn't apply to Daemi, who is still actively right the KP story. But they've been so terrible that KP fans have decided that they no longer desire to wait for that death, but instead have decided to take it up on themselves to wrest all control of KP from them by force. What I've decided to call Murder of the Author. Which is shockingly appropriate considering the genre of their work.

So...bottom line, don't support the authors of KP, they're terrible humans. If you see them on social media you should block them. They also do have separate KP merch that they sell, so if you are buying merch make sure it's from BOC. And I really enjoy being part of a fandom that has decided "we don't care if you created this story, you're being awful in real life and so we are confiscating it."

Daemi if you see this:

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

THE HAUNTING (1963)

This movie is based on the Shirley Jackson novel “The Haunting of Hill House” (1959).  I read it after watching the Netflix series of 2018.  That series made a number of significant changes to the plot, to expand it out to a multiple episode series, to make more money.  This movie is closer to the novel.

Basically, old man Crain built “Hill House,” but it was evil from the start.  Now, in the 1960s, a certain Dr. John Markway wants to perform a paranormal investigation by inviting a bunch of people who had past paranormal encounters.  Out of a whole list of candidates, the only people who show up are Theo, a lady with ESP, and Eleanor (Nell), our protagonist.  As a girl Nell experienced a poltergeist event, but more recently she’s been caring for her ill mother.  Well, mom just died and now she’s looking for a chance to live her own life.  She’s sensitive and emotionally fragile, and her inner monologue will follow us throughout the movie.

We follow the characters for three days and three nights as they live in the house.  During the day they talk a lot, mostly about the nature of the paranormal, but also we have bickering between Nell and Theo.  Theo keeps needling Nell, and then Theo says “Just kidding can’t you take a joke?  LOL!”  Nell, for her own part, is extremely sensitive over any slight and has a temper.  Anywho, the main set pieces are the three nights at the house.

NIGHT ONE: Nell awakens to the sound of pounding on the wall.  She runs over to Theo’s room, and they listen as the pounding moves about the house, ending up right at their door!  I think it’s a good scene, starting with a distinctive, almost mechanical thumping, and then becoming a frantic pounding against the women’s door.  I think the scene might suffer a bit because there’s no visual clue of the pounding (i.e. the door rattling in its frame), but based on a later scene this is probably intentional, so I can live with it.

NIGHT TWO: Nell and Theo are sleeping together (for safety, although there are hints that Theo is a lesbian), and Nell awakens to the sound of voices and laugher and crying in the next room.  She grabs Theo’s hand for comfort, but then she sits up and realizes that she’s no longer in the bed!  She’s in a settee on the other side of the room.  “Oh God,” she says, “Whose hand was I holding?”

NIGHT THREE: The climax, so a lot happens.  First off, Dr. Markway’s wife, Grace, appears, and Nell thought maybe she had a chance with the man, so she goads the woman into sleeping in the most haunted room in the house, the nursery.  Everyone else sleeps in a drawing room on the main floor for safety, but they all wake up when a door slams shut on its own, and then they all listen as the strange pounding starts to sound around the house.  Then the pounding is at their door, and when it stops they see the door push inward toward them.  They next hear the pounding above, them, at the nursery, and Nell runs out through another door to offer herself to the house, to spare Grace whatever fate may await her.  Everyone eventually reaches the nursey, but Grace is not there!  Nell wanders off by herself and thinks, “I want to stay here always.”  Nell ends up in the library, which has an old rickety staircase.  She climbs to the top as the other try to convince her to descend.  She reaches a top balcony, and Dr. Markway climbs up after her and stops her from throwing herself to the floor.  As he’s taking her back down she sees Grace in the attic above and passes out!

We next see that Nell has been dressed and Dr. Markway is sending her home.  She doesn’t want to leave.  “I’m the one who’s supposed to stay here.”  “The house wants me,” she says, and then adds, “I’m fine now.”  They put her into her car, even as she’s insisting that the house wants her.  She drives away, but then the car seems to start driving itself, and she thinks, “I knew it.  Hill House doesn’t want me to go.”  She begins to panic but then thinks, “Something at last is really, really happening to me.”  She then sees the figure of Grace and the car crashes into a tree!

The others arrive at the crash, locate Grace, and find that Nell is dead.  Theo says, “It was what she wanted, to stay here.  She had no place else to go.”    

This was…good!  It’s much more than a simple “haunted house” or “ghost story.”  It’s the tale of the mental disintegration of a fragile woman.  The characters are sympathetic - you just want Nell to be ok and happy – and the spooky set pieces are mostly successful.  I didn’t even mention above the Dudleys, a couple who take care of the house, but, as Mrs. Dudley explains, “I leave before the dark comes.”  She lives away in the town, and “no one lives any nearer than town, no one will come any nearer than that, in the night, in the dark.”  Then she gives the best smile and walks out of the room.

[lostberet]

⤹˚˖♬୭ ₊˚✧ ﾟ. HEARTBURN prologue | kim taehyung x min yoongi (m)

୨ৎ synopsis: You knew, since the very start, that the end of your relationship would come, yet, even after 2 years, you never thought it would end like it did. So, why are you emotional? Now, you stand face to face, and your heart burns.

⋆.˚ genre: contracted love, one-sided love, family drama, Secret relationship, eventual smut, heart-break, boss x employee. ⋆.˚ disclaimer: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of child negation, assault, violence, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything. ⋆.˚ a/note: Hello cuties! I have officially started this series! But i will also be making over one-shorts and be taking recommendations! like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this! it would really help me a lot!

|| bts masterlist || entry || << teaser, Heartburn i >>

Monopoly. 

An illegal way to earn money, status and power in the business world. Even the purest organization has the dirtiest undergrounds, the ugliest starts. It all started with Kim Wonshik, Kang Chungae, Min Bongtae, and Choi Jo Young. Arguably, the four masterminds of the businesses in Korea. Building the finest Hotels, Airports, Hospitals, technology, law firms, you name it. 

Yet, a group cannot handle too many all-stars. Too many ideas, very different perspectives. 

And so, the friends were divided into four rivery groups, yet, it soon turned into three thanks to the marriage between the Min Family and the Kim family. Kim Wonshik, married one of his two children. His prized possession, his princess, his only daughter into the Min family, Min Bongtae accepted, marrying his only son as well, creating a treaty and friendship between the two families. They shared their riches, and soon enough, they all became an actual family. 

From those two families, children came into the light. Kim Wonshik welcomed his grandchildren into the family, Kim Seokjin, followed by Kim Namjoon and lastly, Kim Taehyung. 

Min Bongtae welcomed his own grandchildren as well, Min Yoongi and Min Ji-hoon, Woozi for short. 

“Grandfather, with all respect, I really do not see the point of all of this?” Seokjin stepped forward. The rest of the grandchildren sat on their own couches. Kim Wonshik looked up at his eldest grandchild. “Seokjin, I have built an empire, one in which you will have the honor to have. Along with everyone else in this room.” He started, “what makes you think no one will want to take that away from you?” 

Seokjin silently nodded his head, taking his seat. Wonshik then looked towards the Mins, “Yoongi, Woozi, what I am going to say, your grandfather Bontae will take charge of that. It does not make you less than the Kims, understand? Because at the end of the day, your mother is also a Kim!” Wonshik exclaimed, throwing a fist in the air.  

Yoongi and Woozi just gave a short nod, Woozi eyeing his older brother for any form of support. Yet, Yoongi only stared at his grandfather. 

“Times have changed, my boys.” The elder started, “you all need protection, and I’ve assigned someone to each of you.” 

The elder signaled the man standing next to him to hand each of his grandchildren a file. Woozi looked around, his eyes landing on Taehyung, the youngest Kim. “Grandpa, Tae doesn’t have one.” 

“That’s intentional.” Wonshik commented, making Taehyung’s eye twitch, his gaze on his grandfather hardening, “He’s a special case.” That’s when Taehyung stood from his seat and left the room. 

Each grandson was assigned an assistant-made-bodyguard. In the eyes of the public, they were seen as assistants, and yes, they did complete those tasks. Yet, they were hidden bodyguards, making sure the heirs were safe, sane. By rule, each of the assistant guards were to wear a face mask, to keep them also safe, but to not make them recognizable to anyone, at times, not even their own bosses.  

“Goddammit, Taehyung, this is the 5th assistant this month!” Taehyung’s father, Taegeun, commented, rubbing his forehead in frustration. Taehyung only remained quiet, leaning back on the couch. Wonshik let out a sigh, “This shouldn’t be so hard Taehyung, son, just accept them as they go.” 

“You gave me the option to choose, you are letting me pick and that is what I am doing.” Taehyung bluntly stated, “We’re not talking about that.. I was talking,” Taegeun dropped his hand, pointing his finger at Taehyung before he yelled, “about the damn assault cases!” 

Taehyung only groaned, turning his head away from his farther, “Stop fucking throwing shit at people!” His father hissed. His face was flustered, he looked pathetic in Taehyung’s eyes. “Stop fucking telling me what to do.” Taehyung hissed back. 

“You ungrateful son of a-” 

“Enough! Both of you.” The elder groaned, rubbing his eyes with his thumb, “and you wonder why your wife hates.. no, despises you..” Taehyung whispered, his father’s brows frowning in anger before he threw himself at his own son. 

“Taegeun! For fucks sake!” The grandfather yelled before rushing over and pulling him back from his youngest grandson, “Get the hell out of this room!” 

Taehyung fixed his suit, eyeing his father as they both shared a look of hatred. Yet looks nor words would ever express their sour hatred for each other. The room fell silent once the click of the door closing echoed in the room. Yet, silence never brought Taehyung peace.  

“You.” The grandfather said, turning to look at the grandson, “you will go to your office and interview this new assistant, and you better not throw shit around.” 

That’s how Taehyung found himself bored looking at the files in front of him, unbothered to read them as he only picked a page and set it down on another amount of pages. Anger slowly built up on him with each turn of a page, his hands shaking from wanting to punch, to throw things around. 

“You’re not even reading them.” A soft voice snapped him back from his boring habit, his eyes meeting big doe brown ones, “what.” 

“You’re not even reading the files.” you stated once again, voice soft in question, tilting your head. You stood a few feet away from his table, hands behind your back, “If you’re not interested, just say so. Don’t waste your or my time.” 

Your voice was calm, and smooth, as if giving him advice. He only stared at you before he stood up. He walked to the little bar next to his table and poured himself a drink. He didn’t bother answering you. You rolled your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek as he drank his tequila. Once he finished his drink, he turned to look at you. 

He gave you a small smile. Yet the empty and wicked emotion in his eyes never matched his beautiful smile. And just then, he threw the empty glass cup at you. Dodging the cup out of instinct, the glass breaking on the bookshelf behind you. You turned to face him, eyes wide in confusion, “Wh-”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, got it?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, biting back an insult before taking a deep breath through your nose and clearing your throat, “got it.” Yet, your eyes threw dodgers at him. Your jaw locks at the small smirk on his lips.

You walked out of the office cursing under your breath as you walked over to the elevator, heading to Kim Wonshik’s office, “5 fucking years of training for this shit?” Your hand reached for the button, and before you pressed it, a hand grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand back. You turned to see the same lunatic stare into your eyes. 

“I don’t know if anyone has told you, but you have very pretty eyes.” 

And maybe then, you should have yanked your wrist away. Maybe then, you would have saved yourself. 

─── Ξ © LOSTBERET, 2024. << teaser, Heartburn i >>

building taglist..

@piercidh34rts,..

[nx-communicato]

Just another day-old cheeseburger in paradigms.

I am not a gambling man. Some are and that’s fine. I don’t gamble because it has never been enticing to me; mainly due to a lifetime observing how my luck usually plays out. Now some will say there’s no such thing as karmic luck, others advise that a man makes his own luck with deliberate decisions and conviction! While this is good advice and should be encouraged, sometimes in life thin9s happens. You should always do what you think is best, but irregardless of desire and despite good intent, in the blink of an eye outside forces may influence how things play out. So what can you do, but play with the hand you’re dealt. It is what it is. But it’s going to be impossible to win or make any money if you don’t know the directions of how to play or even what the game is. Which’s how I feel always. I would like to describe a thought experiment.

Two adults meet for the first time. One had been told as a child that the color of grass is green, and their whole life this was reinforced with everyone in agreement that the color of the grass is green. But the other adult was told in their childhood that the color of grass is blue, and for their entire life it was so. Now they both have been looking at the very same color, but one knew the color was called green and the other knew it to be blue. We all know grass is green and if we had just met someone who said it is blue we would call them crazy (or at the very least, we would just politely think in our heads how wrong they are). But consider that the blue person is having the exact same experience. How would you feel if you were the one all blue looking over the fence at the greener side of thought? Would you continue believing what’s been right in your mind, or change what you think because of what someone else says is wrong? Most people (green or blue) would hold to their understanding especially because it’s been reinforced as common knowledge. But imagine if instead of two meeting randomly, what if one person (let’s just say blue) were to move for whatever reason, and find themself in a community where everyone has an agreement that the color is called green. How would Mr. Blue feel about his understanding of things when everyone is in opposition? What would the community reaction be towards a person whose knowledge was contradictory? There are no right or wrong answers here, just reflecting on viewpoints and how different understandings, beliefs, and perceptions are affected by numbers.

**** I want to clarify that I wrote this with no particular groups in mind and certainly do not want to segregate anyone on their values just because they’re from Kentucky.

I am ιertain that you’re tired of reiteration, and I must admit I too have grown weary of hearing the same. Many scoff and groan over what I do or have done, or how can I keep asking for answers and never solve anything for myself. I know. I’ve seen and heard many things about what I should do from many sources all with their own beliefs about the right way to handle things or what is left still to do… never clearly enough to understand anything. I have learned that there are a lot of ways to look at things differently and that I have disappointed almost all of them. But relentlessly I have tried to find answers when none were offered, and searched for clues high and low. I have in various ways deciphered meaning from cryptograms, and tried to follow along with my best intuition of what was wanted of me. I have blazed forward unafraid into unknown territories and gone against my own preferences (and way outside of comfort zones). I have not backed down but rose to each challenge attempting to understand and succeed when I had no understanding or chance of success. I’ve taken chances, gambled and lost - repeatedly. I will continue to do so as best I can, but I have not the health, stability nor resources to sustain much anymore. I haven’t for some time in fact, which has prevented me from extending too far and by cause made me unable to do everything as was asked though I still endeavor. Constantly under pressures beyond normal scope I have out of necessity not desire and a lack of success not logic continued trying until I found counter-intuitive solutions to problems when no other rational option was to be found. Flexibly accepting, yet I never gave up on my convictions or abandoned hope.

I understand that from a different perspective, another may paint my canvas in a different light. I am okay with that. Seeing is believing after all, but also (as with any truth) identifies equally inverted as believing is seeing, because one cannot perceive a thing unless one believes at least that there is a possibility of its existence. Several times over the last couple years I have discovered things that went beyond what I knew was possible and thereby forced me to alter the framework of my established paradigms. My whole life I’ve heard it broadly reinforced that I think outside-the-box, or perhaps that I look at things differently. My beliefs do not require you to believe in them for me to. Some of them seem to not even require my consent to remain in existence. I’ve discovered how difficult it can be to unbelieve that which you can’t unsee; trying to realign my paradigms to exclude some beliefs I’d seen by accident while thinking outside-the-box… they don’t exist within the scope of the standardized social parameters and I wanted to be more conformative, but they were fairly persistent and evidently resisted my denunciations. Life is dynamic - that which does not change, or adapt to evolve instead only grows weaker, wilts and withers away. In all aspects of Life (be they physically, mentally, etc.) one should embrace any opportunity to expand or evolve. I am more than willing to change (even desperately so in hoping for some things to change), but not frivolously. I have through various sieves of observation established my knowledge of what I consider true or false, and whenever receiving new information I force it through a fairly cynical gauntlet to separate out select elements (like panning for gold) before anything is incorporated or allowed to alter what’s already been established. If I am proven wrong then so be it… I will accept as such and make necessary corrections, but I have great difficulty in just accepting something that goes contradictory just because someone says so - unless it is logically proven at least possible first. I suffer from rigid Newtonian lawful adherence paradoxically by simultaneously being an unstoppable force and the immovable object. I guess that means I’m relentless jugg- or not? The cards have been dealt and everyone’s anted in… if I only knew to hold ‘em or fold ‘em.

[libramonthlyhoroscope1]

Exchange-traded fund

When choosing any exchange-traded product, it is essential to exercise proper discipline, but this is especially crucial when dealing with leveraged and inverse exchange-traded funds (ETFs). Despite the fact that ETFs and ETNs come with a plethora of benefits, investing in them is not without its dangers. There is no such thing as a completely risk-free asset, but among ETFs, SDOW is among the riskiest. Before you make any trades, you should be sure that you have done extensive research on the ETF. Consult a financial advisor if you have any questions or concerns regarding your finances. Despite the fact that these cautions exist, if you have a strong intuition that the Dow will drop in the near future, SDOW may be able to assist you in capitalizing on that intuition.

Demands an astute understanding of how to time the market: Historically speaking, stock prices have increased throughout the course of time. There are times when prices are lower, and SDOW can show you how to capitalize on these moments of lower prices. The SDOW investor, on the other hand, needs to have reasonably specific and accurate estimations regarding when the markets would collapse; failing to do so will result in financial loss. That's a lot simpler to say than it is to do. Any adverse movement has an effect that is amplified on the portfolio, as follows: Any change in the Dow Jones Industrial Average will have a greater effect on SDOW because it is leveraged. This indicates that if you make an incorrect prediction on the movement of the Dow, you run the risk of seeing substantial losses in your account.

Exchange-traded fund

Replicating an index is possible with standard exchange-traded funds (ETFs) by purchasing the same equities in the same proportions as the underlying index. For instance, if the Dow has "X" amount of "ABC" company, a conventional ETF such as DIA will likewise contain "X" amount of "ABC" company because of the correlation between the two. The SDOW exchange-traded fund is not like other ETFs since it is both leveraged and inverse. In order to generate those returns, SDOW maintains a varied portfolio that includes complex financial instruments such as swaps, Treasury bills, and cash. With the use of these swaps, SDOW is able to take bearish as well as leveraged positions, which is something that would be hard to accomplish with direct ownership of equities that are either on or off the index. Due to the nature of swaps, SDOW is a product that has a high level of risk because it is dependent on the fulfillment of an agreement by other parties.

Less risk than going short on a stock: To engage in shorting is to sell a security that you do not own with the intention of later purchasing it again. This puts you at a huge risk because you will have to buy it back at a later date, despite the fact that the price of the asset may have increased substantially. Because you buy the underlying product outright when using short ETFs like SDOW, your potential losses are capped at the amount that you initially invested in the ETF. Facilitates taking complicated positions by streamlining the process: In addition to the inherent dangers, shorting is also a complicated position to hold. You will need to find a brokerage that is prepared to provide you with leverage, and gaining access to this kind of account is not something that comes easily to everyone. It is possible for anyone to buy SDOW shares so long as they have a brokerage account.

 It's possible that the average investor shouldn't put their money into leveraged or inverse exchange-traded funds. When trading inverse and leveraged financial products, you expose yourself to a significant amount of risk. Even though 3x returns have the potential to result in a greater payment, it also has the potential to result in a larger loss. The single-day returns of this ETF are determined by comparing one computation of its net asset value (NAV) to the subsequent one. These daily returns accumulate, which means that the total returns over a period of time won't necessarily be the same as the results from a single day. Timing the market correctly is a component of trading that is notoriously challenging to master, and it will be largely responsible for determining whether you make or lose money.

An inverse exchange-traded fund known as the UltraPro Short Dow is designed to capitalize on price movements in the opposite direction of the Dow Jones Industrial Average. To accomplish the inverse price impact, inverse exchange-traded funds make use of leverage, often known as debt, swaps, and other risky sorts of investments. In order to profit from the UltraPro Short Dow, you need to carefully time the negative swings and reversals in the market. Can You Explain What the UltraPro Short Dow30 Is? The ProShares UltraPro Short Dow30 ETF (SDOW) follows the Dow Jones, but in contrast to other exchange-traded funds (ETFs) (such as SPDR's DIA), which aim to precisely mirror the performance of the Dow, SDOW is leveraged and works in the other direction. This means that it is designed to move in the opposite direction as the Dow, which is referred to as the "inverse" movement. In addition, it is designed to magnify the amount of daily movement by a factor of three ("leveraged"). To put it another way, if the Dow has a loss of one percent on a particular trading day, the SDOW should, in principle, increase by three percent.

 Although your risks are confined to the price of the ETF, holding SDOW is a position that is analogous to shorting the Dow while utilizing leverage. If you have a bearish outlook on the Dow and believe that stock prices will drop in the near term, you should buy the SDOW. Although there are major risks associated with holding an inverse or leveraged ETF, you can use this product as a hedge against dips in the stock market. However, you should be aware that this product is both inverse and leveraged. Quick Information Regarding the UltraPro Short Dow30 ETF Ticker ProShares Index is the provider of the SDOW ETF. ETFs that track the Dow Jones Industrial Average (DJIA) and have inverse and leveraged investment strategies. The date of inception was February 9, 2010, and the expense ratio was 0.95 percent. A bear market was established in the DJIA in March of 2020 when the index underwent a historic price fall. As a result of the decline in the DJIA, there was an increase in the price of SDOW.

However, the benefits of those advances did not last very long. Any investors who continued to hold SDOW through the subsequent months would have ultimately seen their gains evaporate as the Dow staged a partial recovery from the severe drop it saw in March.

[babybluesquid]

Consequences of Karrnath Session 17

The Child of Winter

Our Players this week:

Dagne, Vengeance Paladin, an undead soldier with the curious property of acting like a living person. Trusts nobody and acts as the leader. Has a skeleton horse mount from Find Steed named Coffin.

Vaeren, Swarmkeeper Ranger, a Deathguard sent to investigate Dagne’s nature. They’re the quiet one who helps keep everyone in line.

Ro, Circle of Spores Druid, a Talentan halfling who survived The Mourning and won’t go home. They tend to not take things seriously.

In the morning, the party heads straight to the Children of Winter circle, located to the south of Greenheart. However, once again, the group is at a loss in the unfamiliar place. Unsure who to even approach, Ro loudly proclaims in the street that she is a Child of Winter. One passerby decides to respond, in druidic, “have you seen any of the signs?” Ro switches to druidic as well, “I bore witness to the Mourning.” The stranger’s eyes light up, “do you have any special knowledge of the event, especially concerning its cause?” “No, I was only just able to make it out.” Only mildly disappointed, the stranger continues, “why have you come to our circle? I haven’t seen you before.” “I need a guide through the secret paths of the Gloaming.” Intrigued, “why do you need to traverse the Gloaming?” Not wanting to divulge too much, Ro only says, “we need to get to Droaam fast.” The stranger accepts the answer and tells the party to follow them.

They lead the party to someone’s home, a ranger named Winter who they say spends most of his time in the Gloaming. Then, they warn the party not to argue doctrine with him. He knocks on the house’s door and is answered by a shifter man wearing darkleaf armor. “Who are these people?” Winter asks. “Oh, uh, they’re people who need to go through the Gloaming to get to Droaam quickly,” they explain. “And why would I lead them through the secret paths? They don’t even look like Reachers.” Dagne reaches into Nux’s pack and pulls out a crown fashioned of sticks and leaves, showing it to Winter, “Melvira sent us.” In an instant, Winter’s expression changes from hostile to surprised, “well, in that case I’ll have to take you even if I’m not partial to… most of you look like city folk. People out here can’t afford that kind of armor,” he rambles, “and there’s nowhere to get it.” He looks over the party, glaring at Dagne, Vaeren, and Syv, but face seeming a bit softer when he turns his attention to Nux and Ro.

“Are you a Mask Weaver?” He asks Ro. The stranger helpfully jumps in, “oh, she’s a Child of Winter!” “Well,” he looks Ro up and down again, “if you want some more fitting attire, I know where you can get this armor. They can make a set for you.” Staring intently at his darkleaf armor, Ro only has one question: “where?” “Helisent Neri is the best darkwood crafter in Greenheart, probably the whole Eldeen.” Winter leads the party up a tree to her house and opens the door. She’s carving a branch of darkwood with a sharp, curved knife.

Not looking up, Helisent says with some exasperation, “I’m working, so I would have appreciated it if you’d knocked. What do you want, Winter?” “I,” Winter grins, “have a customer for you.” This gets Helisent to look up, her face scrunches up as she looks at each member of the party, “which of you wants to buy something?” Ro says that she would, and shows Helisent her equipment. The crafter says she’ll be able to make Ro armor, as well as a new club and shield, all out of darkwood. Also, she would be able to imbue the objects with power, if Ro could afford it. Altogether, the cost would be 3,800 golden galifars.

Ro immediately turns to Dagne and asks them to lend her some money. Dagne tells Ro to hand over all her dragons and galifars. A bit reluctantly, Ro complies and watches Dagne count out the sum to pay Helisent. Satisfied with the payment, Helisent takes Ro’s measurements on the spot, telling the party that everything should be ready within three weeks, since she has no other commissions at the moment.

When the party leaves Helisent Neri’s shop, Winter asks when they want to head out. The answer is now. As soon as the group gathers their belongings from The Verdant Hearth, everyone sets off southward. The Gloaming is a horrible swamp, and the trek through it is slow-going and confusing. The secret paths wind in nonsensical ways, avoiding ground that seems firm and safe in favor of wading through pools of water at times, other times avoiding the water completely. Once, Winter steps into a tree and then somehow steps out of another, dozens of yards away. The rest of the party has no choice but to follow suit, despite the absurdity of the action. In additional to being slow, the journey is also dull. Winter seems disinterested in talking to the group, and intra-party conversation only goes so far.

Finally, a few days into the trek, Winter finally starts a real conversation, picking Ro as his target. “I didn’t know there were Children all the way out in the Plains.” Ro glares at him, “I don’t associate myself with the Plains.” “You are from there though,” he says more that asks. “Correct.” “So is there a circle out there?” “No. My family was Mask Weavers.” While this was evident, Winter acts as if it’s surprising, “how’d you come to the Children, then?” “I was there for the Mourning. I ran into the Children of Winter while searching for an explanation.” “Well, even we haven’t been able to explain it yet. I think it’s a sign though.” Ro rolls her eyes, “it was definitely a sign of something.”

Unbothered by her dismissal, Winter continues chattering, “if the cause of the Mourning we to be ascertained, it could be repeated to bring about Winter and an end to the corruption on Eberron’s surface.” Ro glares at him, “I think it’s a sign that we should avoid doing that.” “Do you not want the scourge of the settlement to end? Much of the heartland has been turned to city or farmland, that is, destroyed.” “I don’t think we should cause the destruction of civilization.” Winter shrugs it off, “in any case, most would not survive. The magic that sustains their civilization would collapse.” Ro scoffs, “so you would cause it without preparing?” “We’re already prepared!” He exclaims, “if we bring it about now, everything we hate would be destroyed! And of course, after Winter comes Spring, new life, and that is worth any cost. If Winter doesn’t come, which it may not if we don’t bring it, the world could fall victim to the infection and die. That is what should be avoided.”

She sighs, “Winter is inevitable. Just be patient.” “How do you know it will happen on its own?” “Do you have any evidence that the Mourning didn’t happen on its own?” “The Mourning was not Winter.” “It was a sign.” “How do you know it happened by itself? Couldn’t it have been caused by the Cyrans building their heights upon the land in hubris?” “In that case, won’t civilization grow until an inevitable collapse?” Winter pauses, “maybe, but we must start Winter sooner so it will be less severe. Now, there is less civilization to remove that your hypothetical tipping point, so the process will be shorter and less painful, and Spring can come sooner.” “What if we can’t trigger it?” “Then we’ll have to wait,” he admits, “but because of the benefits, we should figure out if we can. And of course we should wait for the signs, as we always have done.”

Ro sighs, “it’s hubris to believe we can control Eberron. That’s the fault of civilization.” Winter throws up his hands defensively, “I don’t believe ‘control’ is the right word, more ‘ask.’ We know Eberron lives. Why hasn’t she brought about Winter yet?” “Maybe she’s waiting for the right moment.” “We can’t speak to Eberron directly, so that’s what we must figure out. We must learn how to ask her why she’s allowed civilization to continue. We’d be fools to just wait,” Winter’s voice is becomingly increasingly animated. “We aren’t just waiting,” Ro counters, “we trust she will do it and we’re being patient.” “What has patience brought us? Everything is getting worse,” his frustration is obvious. “Maybe it needs to get worse,” she says calmly. “Why?!” “We need to trust her.” Winter refuses to take that answer, and continues to rant about the state of the world. Ro doesn’t respond to him anymore. Nobody else in the party dares to discuss the subject with him. Once he’s done, the rest of the day is quiet and awkward.

The next day, the more perceptive in the party notice that they’re being stalked by another group The party’s luck has run out. Winter tells the party that the pursuers are swamp ghouls, which can more faster in the water than the party can hope to run on foot. They have no choice but to fight them off. The terrain is disfavorable, with many pools of water and narrow strips of land. As the party watches the pools, they notice seven figures under the water’s surface. Winter draws a bronzewood sword and dirk, then shifts. He blinks, and his pupils become vertical slits. His hair and teeth grow, and he begins to growl. Vaeren draws their bow and fires two arrows into the water. A ghoul shrieks as dark blood rises to the surface, both arrows found their target.

In an instant, the ghouls react. One swims up to the shore by Vaeren and surfaces! It runs for them, snarling and baring clawed and webbed hands, “meat!” Aelrie emerges from their spirit idol and blocks the ghoul with her shield. Stunned, the ghoul slips back into the water. Meanwhile, the ghoul they shot dashes between pools to reach them. It grabs onto their leg and begins to pull, but Vaeren stands their ground. Another ghoul, this one larger with a white coloration, a ghast, grabs Ro and drags her under! She manages to activate her symbiotic entity a moment before she’s submerged. Another ghoul grabs onto Winter and drags him into the swamp water as well!

Submerged, Winter stabs the ghoul holding him to little effect. In desperation, he bites down on the thing’s neck. Three more ghouls close in around Winter and begin to claw at him. Red blood fills the water as they swarm. Dagne dismounts and, not hesitating for a second, leaps into the pool to help him. They stab twice at a ghoul with their spearpoint and then bash it with their poleaxe’s end. It sinks to the bottom of the pool, dead.

Vaeren places a hunter’s mark on the ghast and shoots it. Ro watches two streaks of gold impale the ghast holding her. The ghouls once again try to drag Vaeren down as well, but Nym, Pyral, and Aelrie stand in the way, giving Vaeren a chance to scramble back from the water’s edge. Then, they hurriedly mount Coffin. Ro desperately avoids the claws of the swarming ghouls, but one manages to break through her shield. Stinging swamp water mingles with her blood and she grits her teeth to avoid losing her breath. She elbows the ghast and just manages to roll out of its grasp, then swims for the surface, avoiding the grasping webbed claws trying to drag her back down. She breaks the surface and gasps, scrambling up the shore. Vaeren takes her hands and helps her mount Coffin behind them.

The ghoul holding Winter bites back at him, but he twists his body aside to avoid the teeth. He drives his dirk into the ghoul and slashes at it with his sword. Its grip loosens, then breaks, and it begins to sink. Before another ghoul can grapple him, he scrambles out of the water and runs to stand behind Coffin. The two ghouls left in the pool, able to sense that Dagne has no meat to speak of, surface to attack the living. They stab one on its way out. One ghoul leaps for Vaeren, but they turn the horse around and it misses. The second slashes at Ro with its claws, but she blocks it with her shield.

Then, Dagne climbs out of the pool. Dripping with water, they slash one ghoul vertically across the back, then across the second’s stomach. The opposite end of their weapon comes round and hits the second ghouls so hard in the skull, its head comes off. Vaeren spots the ghast’s yellow eyes through the water. They draw back and fire, one of the bright points winking out of view as the arrow strikes. The other eye dims as the ghast sinks. Then, they hurriedly draw their rapier and slash the ghoul before them. Showing that even Mabaran creatures have a sense of self preservation, the two ghouls in the water swim away. Ro takes her shillelagh and bashes the last remaining ghoul’s skull in.

Winter cleans his blades and sheaths them, returning to his normal state as well. He spits on the ground, “I have the taste of rotten meat in my mouth. I think I may get sick.” Ro stares at him in disbelief, “why did you bite it?!” He sighs, “you know big cats, how they bite down on the necks of their prey? It was the impulse of the beast within, and I listened to it.” “I can cure you of illness,” Dagne offers. Winter nods and they use some of their lay on hands to stave off the potential disease. Then, Winter announces that it’s about time to set up camp. The party should head to a drier patch of land and make a bonfire to keep the monsters away.

Syv and Nux go to sleep first. Winter takes the first watch. Dagne sits a bit apart from the group, and as they reflect, they remember something. Ro stays up for a while, staring into the bonfire. Abruptly, she speaks, “Syv is so annoying.” “That’s not fair,” Vaeren replies. “She’s so perfect, I can’t stand it. Once we were pranking this soldier. We had snuck into his room and we melted his empty armor together. And just as we were leaving, he came back. But we didn’t get in trouble because Syv charmed him, giving us enough time to book it. Not enough time for him to remember our faces. It’s unfair that she can talk her way out of any situation, with her pretty face and cute smile,” as Ro explains, a smile creeps across her face, and her cheeks grow a bit pink. Vaeren doesn’t respond, considering her words.

Finally, the party emerges from the Gloaming and reaches the lakes. They find a boat to carry them across, and at that point, Winter leaves the group to go back home. The boat quickly takes the party to the border of Breland and Droaam, from which point they’re able to enter the nation of monsters. Knowing they’ll need another guide, the group takes a road to Greywall, and finds the journey totally uneventful. The city is unlike anything in Karrnath. The architecture is strange, and the streets are winding, but seem inorganic, planned that way. The streets are filled with races normally considered monsters, the kind of people one would rarely, if ever, spot back home. Gnolls, trolls, and harpies walk about freely, and the party even spots one medusa.

Ro sets to work trying to locate a guide in this foreign place, and she heads to a tavern in the Calabas. Inside, she spots a gnoll who instantly strikes her as a potential guide, based on attire and mannerisms alone. She’s so confident in her judgement that she takes a seat next to the gnoll.

“We need a guide to Chaar Mur,” she tells them ”Why would you want to go there?” Is the gnoll’s response, in a high pitched, but also gravelly voice. “None of your business,” she says bluntly. “That is totally fair. I’ll guide you lot for ten Galifars.” “I don’t have that,” Ro says pointedly. “Do you have an axe or something? I take payment in goods.” “I’ll pay,” Dagne says, and hands the gnoll the money, adding, “we set out today.” The gnoll nods, “I just need to gather things from my room.” A bit suspicious, Ro watches the gnoll do so, just in case they get some ideas about running off with the payment. However, there is no need. The party sets off with the guide, who upon prompting, introduces themselves at Toryc. The trip from Greywall to the ruins of Chaar Mur takes only two days. Toryc, for their part, refuses to enter the place with the party, and warms them of horrible creatures inside, before telling them to try not to die.

——————

Highlights:

Winter has such an energy to him. He appeared and stole the show like Minroy back in sessions 2 and 3, just by talking about the things he cares about. And it didn’t even come off as a Children of Winter doctrinal infodump from the DM, because he’s a Bringer extremist.

Vaeren was the real winner in the fight against the ghouls because they’re the only one who didn’t end up in the water.

Dagne being the party bank this week was so funny. Also it was really sweet of them to pitch in most of the cost of Ro’s equipment upgrades, they didn’t have to do that.

Now this was a Ro spotlight session! The player isn’t always the most comfortable in roleplay, but being able to talk to druids really brought them out of their shell. It was amazing to see. Also, Ro seems to be softening at the edges, which is so exciting.

Session 18.

[comeandreadawhile]

Clone Social Media : Hobbies

The phenomenon starts with the intention to show the civilians of the Republic the men behind the armor, as well as an encouragement for the men to do the things they enjoy when they have the time to in lieu of sitting around cleaning weapons for a third time that day.

Scratch that—the phenomenon starts with High General Kenobi, on a rare day of leave, teaching his Marshal Commander how to bake. Said Commander’s men were happy to taste test the flurry of experimental confections that pervaded their leave days in the following months. News spread fast of Marshal Commander Cody having a knack for baking, and so followed the spread of troopers attempting to make their own treats and/or branching off into other things the civilians called “hobbies” whenever what they could get their hands on afforded them.

The phenomenon kicked off when Padawan Commander Tano began a social media account with the intention of using it as a public diary, her first post was a picture taken of some of the 501st—with permission, her caption says—as they went about retouching paint scuffed in their most recent battle. The men are relaxed, some with paint smeared on their hands and cheeks and seemingly reacting to some joke or story told outside the threshold of the camera, and it’s an almost startling difference from the image of rigid lines of men, faceless in their full kits of white plastoid, that the civilians are used to. Tano’s second post is a video clip of one Captain Rex, with one General Skywalker sitting on his back counting reps, doing push-ups; the video was captioned “Another day in the G.A.R., restless in hyperspace.”

The digital diary continues from there, videos and pictures of specific locations posted only after reaching a safe distance to do so, never sharing anything mission critical—past, current, or hypothetical future. Eventually she shows the men under her how to make their own accounts, and other Jedi and their own troops follow suit. The 212th then takes it upon themselves to post pictures of the little cakes their Marshal Commander has gotten so proficient at making, and, when General Kenobi creates a joint account titled “command_212”, convince Cody to post pictures of things he bakes before they are distributed—even in the process of baking, if the fancy strikes him.

So Marshal Commander Cody shares pictures of his experiments, of recipes he finds that turned out well, of recipes that didn’t because of some error or other that he’s determined to give another go, with the occasional cryptid picture of General Kenobi taking his tea in the barrack’s kitchen. As time goes on those pictures shift to Obi-Wan covered in flour, or a shot taken from several feet away of Cody sneaking batter captioned “caught red-handed in the red velvet”.

As Marshal Commander of the 212th has taken to baking to relieve stress, the Commander of the 104th has turned to needlecraft and yarnwork.

The 104th retaliate the populatrity of the 212th’s command account with the domesticity of their own, despite the vaguely threatening possibilities of knitting and sewing needles. Boost and Sinker run the majority of the account, although all OG members of the 104th have access to it; they post pictures of the things Wolffe makes them, of General Plo covered in the lengths of scarves he’s received, of Comet in the ever-growing swath the gifted blankets with the current tally in the caption (his toes were off the floor by blanket burrito 6). The holonet at large loves Plo almost as much as his men, and once a week they post him saying some piece of sage wisdom—or utter nonsense, as the mood strikes—as the war goes on. After months of asking for a face reveal and requests for the patterns people are sure Wolffe uses, they make the most Force-forsaken tutorial videos as an all-in-one series.

“HOLY **** HE’S CASTING ON 12 TO START—“ “WHAT A MAD MAN!”

“So when you get to this row here you’re going to knit 3, purl 3–“ “TRANSCENDENT!” “—yes, thank you, and then keep doing that until you reach the end of the row...”

“Oh, OH MAN HE’S GONNA DO IT!” “HE’S GONNA CHANGE COLORS!” “Holy **** man he’s gonNA YOOOOOOOOOO!”

Cody is then issued a challenge by the holonet to learn to knit. He learns to crochet. Because Obi-Wan knows how to crochet. The holonet loves video snippets of them progressing on projects together. They also love the videos Ahsoka posts of Cody attempting to teach Rex, and praise the absolutely completely unrelated hat she later posts a picture of; it covers her Montrals with enough room for a few years’ growth. Anakin gets yarn stuck in his mechanical hand because he forgot to put his glove on before attempting to craft.

The real throwdown happens when the account for the Coruscant Guard posts videos of Fox aggressively tatting while venting about the lack of funding for proper security and surveillance tech.

Each posts sees a comical increase in the surfaces covered in lace doilies and runners, as well as a new topic for Fox’s venting.

A picture of an pillow embroidered with “Kriff the Seppies” is briefly posted to the 104th’s account before being taken down and replaced with a censor bar. Rumors begin to circulate when Senator Chuchi posts a picture wearing a gifted lace shawl; Senator Amidala comments on her confusion being resolved as to why Riyo kept bringing little baskets of crochet thread with her before a senate meetings.

A competition for ship nose art starts up, many votes going to the 501st, and the holonet’s heart once again melting at “Plo’s Bros”. Personal art begins popping up soon after. Fives starts posting spray paint tutorials, Rex and Hardcase become popular for clean graphic art. Bly gets his hands on metallic paint and the crowds go wild. Kix has taken his clean haircut game to the next level.

And then Colt and Shaak Ti make an account to post art the Littles make, most of them representations of their older brothers with wishes of safety and good luck, and of the only Jedi they’ve ever known, sometimes creatures they studied in their preparation for worlds outside of Kamino. Of batches passing their final tests with a congratulatory post.

Suggestions and instructions are sent out for clones who want to take and sell commissions, allowing them to finally make some money; most Jedi are more than happy to help make sure the finished work mails out properly to the buyers.

Ships of the non-nose art kind surface on the holonet. It’s generally agreed upon that command_212 is run by husbands, and Aayla is the protector of the 327th and Bly’s heart, even if she’s a clumsy menace around his artwork (caf spilled over a drying watercolor can be interesting or terrible depending on the circumstance). No one can agree whether Skywalker is married to his captain or Senator Amidala, but everyone agrees that Ahsoka is their baby. The holonet declares Plo to have Big Dad Energy. Shaak Ti’s Big Mom Energy is a friendly rival. The Jedi council has made no official statement denying or denouncing these attachments.

Public interest begins to shift from producing more soldiers to making sure the ones the Republic has stay alive, when the realization hits that within a couple of years the children posting art and losing teeth would probably be losing blood and brothers on some far away planet. Of making sure the men are eating well instead of just surviving. Well certain account-holders don’t post for a while, grieving a loss, posting again to reassure their followers they’re alright, the public questions what’s being done to keep the men emotionally and mentally well outside of the hobbies the public knows them for. “Born to handle any stress” is very much the wrong answer.

Pressure is put on the Chancellor to let the Separatists sucede, no one quite sure anymore why allowing them to would be harmful when at worst new trade agreements would need to be brokered; if they want to leave so badly, let them. And let the men have their hobbies.

(Sad thoughts ahead)

Sometimes commissioners never receive their orders, simply a refund with a letter from that clone’s Jedi after the latest battle ends. Any money they’d made would be split however their closest brothers decide.

The channel that always posts pranks and spray paint tutorials makes a post saying they’d be away to look after their sick little brother. It’s the last post they make.

The Coruscant Guard’s account stops posting a few nights later.

After Order 66 goes out, a new account goes up posting any pictures and cute videos of Aayla. Reposting old ones that the public is sure they’d seen somewhere before, posting new ones of funny faces and ridiculous videos of silly dances. The last one is the only one captioned, “she wasn’t a traitor.”

The account is deleted the same night, and the one of the 327th’s adventures never posts again.

Wolfpack_104 does not post, but is still there.

Command_212 is deleted almost immediately the night of the order.

Years go by, almost sixteen, and only after Vader already knows she’s alive does Ahsoka post again. It’s a picture of her, and Rex and Wolffe onboard the Ghost in hyperspace captioned “Was never a traitor. Always the little sister even if I’m four years older. In case you’re wondering, Rex still draws and Wolffe still knits when we can nab the string and flimsi.”