#my crimes are being spread regardless

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you do angst of ford x reader, where reader was Fords assistant and instead of Stanley pushing ford in, reader does while being possessed by bill.

Stanley is still there and they work hard to repair the portal but when Ford does get back he's really upset at reader because he still thinks that they themselves pushed him in and betrayed him. Ford won't let reader explain themselves, he just tells them to "get out his house"

Part 2 is right here

You didn’t want this.

Then again you weren’t the one to push him, Bill was after tricking you into making a deal with him. You should’ve known better than to put any amount of trust in that chaotic dream demon.

You screamed and shouted for either Ford or Stanley to notice the weirdness in your behaviour, the weirdly inhuman smile that spread across your face, anything as you were forced to watch yourself shove Ford into the portal.

‘BILL!’ You screamed but the demon possessing you acted as though he couldn’t hear you as he relinquished control of your body and let you back in it, just so that the last thing you saw of your dear friend was the look of betrayal upon his face as he disappeared into the portal forever.

‘FORD! No! IM SORRY! IM SO SORRY! IT WASNT ME!’ But Ford couldn’t hear you. He was gone thanks to bill you and you knew they no one would ever believe if you were to tell anyone that a demon did the deed. All they saw was what looked like you but not you in any other aspect that counted; However the fact that you were seen doing the crime was enough to fuel their biases against you regardless, fuelled but their needed to be right in everything, and it was difficult to change a persons mind once it’s made up.

‘It wasn’t me…’ you softly murmured to yourself as you collapsed on the floor of the laboratory as a seething Stanley stood behind you.

‘You pushed my brother.’ He snarled. ‘I saw you.’

You only stayed silent, it was better the beer the brunt of the blame then look like a madman trying to plead as to why they wasn’t true, and besides he wouldn’t believe you even if you did manage to make Bill confess before an audience that he had been the one to push Ford while possessed as you. The demonic bastard was far gone now, cackling at the ridicule you were receiving for his actions.

Stanley, not liking that you were silent, pulled you to face him by the collar of your shirt but before he could berate you further, he caught sight of your defeated face and tear stricken cheeks. ‘Go on, blame me because you would be believe me if I were to tell the truth.’ You said with a voice void of emotion. ‘Blame me all you want but I’m the only person who can help you get the portal up and running again. I’m willing to do so but not for you, but for Ford and in hopes of explaining myself to him and pray that he believes me.’ You add and without warning Stanley drops you on your arse and says in a voice equally devoid of emotion;

‘He’ll never believe you, he’s not that stupid.’

And after that interaction you and Stanley spent the next thirty years of your lives together rebuilding the portal, while Stan still blamed you for pushing his brother into the portal, he’s become more lenient as and when he would remind you of the reason you were doing this in the first place; more specifically during arguments after failed test runs of getting the portal open where he’d say to you in the best of the moment:

‘If it wasn’t for you my brother would still be here!’ Before storming upstairs while you remained in the lab, wasting away the midnight oil because you didn’t believe you deserved sleep after all that. You had grown numb to being Stan’s verbal punching bag, and would often times ignore his attempts to forget what happened and make peace with you, for you knew it wasn’t genuine because after you get his brother back you were more then likely to be kicked out of the shack for you had served your purpose for your crime.

So the relationship between yourself and Stan was never good and you tended to only act civil in the presence of Dipper and Mabel, two kids whom you have grown rather fond of during their stay. You remembered the first night they came here and were in high debate on whether they should stay with Stan or leave, you were quick to intervene and said;

‘Your Grunkle Stan is a wonderful man with a big heart despite his rough exterior. So please give him a chance instead of letting first impressions sway your thinking, you’ll be surprised as a result if you do and besides life is meant to be lived without regrets.’

You were literally the reason they decided to give Stan a chance and stay, but you knew you were never going to get that thank you from him, you were the person who pushed his brother into the portal remember? So you just carried on building the portal with him in awkward silence until the day finally came.

The day that Ford came home.

The day should’ve made you happy, ecstatic even but you knew that wouldn’t be the case for you as the moment Ford came out of the portal your blood ran cold.

He was glaring.

He was glaring at you with such a silent rage that you swore that you could’ve been killed by a state like that. But it was also a stare that told you of the damage your betrayal had caused him, he would never forgive you and that was your biggest fear this entire time, a fear that Stan knew and now it was proven true.

‘Ford-‘

‘Stop.’ He told you, breaking your heart. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuse.’

‘But-‘ you tried again.

‘I said no!’ Ford roared as everyone held their breath, even Stanley who had never heard his brother shout, in that moment he actually felt some remorse for you, some.

‘You’re the reason I was trapped in that portal for THRITY YEARS!’ Dipper and Mabel gasped as they too were now looking at you with hurt in their eyes, which made tears appear in the corner of your own.

‘Is it true Grunkle/graunt y/n?’ Mabel asked as dipper glared at you while keeping his sister as far away from you as he could.

‘No Mabel I-‘ you tried to take a step towards her but Ford was quick to cut you off and level you with a glare. ‘Stay away from my grand niece and nephew.’ He growled and you knew there was no point looking back at Stanley, who had kept uncharacteristically quite this entire time.

‘It’s wasn’t me-‘

‘Then who was it who pushed me then y/n?’ Ford asked.

You remained as silent as the day you let Stanley accused you of the same thing. There was no point in making your case when everyone’s minds have been made up, you were the monster in their story and now they were going to be rid of you once and for all.

‘Who?’ Ford asked again as he seethed, his eyes searching your dead ones for answers that have been in his mind for the past thirty years. You were his friend, he thought he could trust you but he guessed wrong, and now he couldn’t look you in the eyes without seeing the very person who shoved him in the portal with a sicken smile across their face.

Ford couldn’t trust you in the presence of Dipper and Mabel, no one was safe with you as far as he was concerned and he wanted to keep his family safe, even if it meant being rid of you once and for all.

When you didn’t say anything to save yourself, Ford points upwards. ‘Get out of my house, I don’t want to see you ever again. You’ve already done enough damage to this family as there is.’

You didn’t have the energy nor fight left in you to scream, shout or anything, you just swallowed the lump in your throat and moved out of the lab as Mabel and Stanley looked at you sympathetically; whereas Ford and dipper only glared at your retreating back.

‘Grunkle/ graunt y/n?’ Mabel called out to you weakly. You only shot her a small smile and mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ She was always your favourite twin but it was time to say good bye and without another word, you pulled off the bracelet that Mable had made for you and threw it on the floor in front of her.

Mabel looked at the bracelet, then back up at you. ‘I made this for you.’ She tells you with tears in her eyes.

‘You deserve better than to put your trust in me my sweet shooting star, I’m a monster in your grunkles eyes,’ you shot a look towards Stan and Ford who were still staring before looking back at Mable, ‘It’s best that you start seeing me that way too because I only cause pain apparently to some.’ You replied and with that you left the shack and the pines family behind, venturing off into the pathway through the woods with nothing but a hole where you here should’ve been.

There was no point fighting your case to Ford, he wasn’t going to hear it, for he was no batter than everyone else and he just pointed the finger at you without second thought. So much for him being unique when he was just like the rest of them, so much like the rest of them that you find it almost laughable.

You’ll gladly stay out of his life, for whatever Stanford pines wished for, you’ll happily oblige as you were only ever the assistant that betrayed him in the end; a traitor.

[eyeheartboobiez]

-> 𝗃𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖽 𝗑 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

-> 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝗎!

-> 𝖺/𝗇: 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 5 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾!! 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼. 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒🫶🏿

liked by cass.cain, rred_hood, and 4,105,018 others

@y/nforeal: GUESS WHO JUST WON A GRAMMY!!! fr tho i couldn't be more thankful for how far i've come as not only an artist, but an individual. now that award szn is over, imma take some time off from making music, because these next few months are gonna be busyyy.

again, thank you to all my friends and everyone who's stuck by my side through everything. i love yall🥹🫶 #grammys2023

View all 15,675 comments

user1: WE LOVE U TOO QUEEN

user2: what does she mean by busy tho??

⤷ user3: fr like is there a baby on the way or sumn💀

cass.cain: SO HAPPY FOR U BABES !!

⤷ y/nforeal: THX GIRLIE😘

⤷ user4: idc how delusional i look i still ship it🤷‍♀️

user5: been a fan since day one, couldn't be more proud🥹

user6: not jason liking her post...

⤷ y/nforeal: right like im confused too

⤷ user7: LMAOO she so real😭

Grammy winner Y/N Y/LN going to court?! From ruined careers to ruined relationships, here's the rundown that led to all this. (1/10/2023 11:54 AM PT)

Since August of last year, fans have been talking nonstop about the leaked track that's been trending all over the internet. With its romantic lyrics and suggestive imagery, the song — Fantasize — made its debut surprising not only the listeners, but the artist as well.

Renowned singer Y/N Y/LN was more shocked than anyone to find that one of her unreleased songs had been spread around online. Even moreso, when the culprit behind the act was none other than rival singer, Artemis Grace.

Which begs the question: Why would Artemis care to leak Y/N'S music?

Well last summer, her ex boyfriend Jason Todd was alleged to have been in an intimate relationship with the grammy winner. Ever since paparazzi caught the two kissing outside of Y/N's Malibu home, they’ve been rumored to have been seeing each other in private.

Supporters of the singer were more than ecstatic to see the two together, and were happy to see that both stars were getting their well deserved happy ending.

Especially Jason, who had spoken up in past interviews about his ex’s abusive behavior. Stating that the redhead was “more than controlling” throughout their relationship.

Unfortunately the so-called Fantasy was short lived, when the gothamite was seen outside of a nightclub with the toxic ex. Once the news broke headlines, while fans were more than devastated, they were just as quick to come to Y/N's defence.

Regardless of the heartache, many speculate that Y/N may have used Cassandra, Jason's sister, as a bit of a rebound! In fact, the tension between the two was more than noticeable in the interview they did together with Glamour.

As usual, fans jumped to the conclusion that their collaboration is what drove Jason to like Y/N's most recent post on instagram (an action that even she was skeptical about).

Back to the present, it seems that the redhead was also caught red handed. After TMZ investigators revealed Artemis as the culprit of the crime, Y/N made the smart decision to press charges.

On account of copyright infringement, as well as causing emotional distress, the offender had been served an official notice of the legal proceedings being taken against her.

However, because she failed to appear before the judge last week, Artemis was forcibly taken in by the authorities just this morning. The embarrassing encounter with law enforcement was seen by many in the area, and spectators did not hesitate to record the interaction and post it online.

Despite all the drama, fans are overjoyed to see the ex finally being held accountable for her behavior. And who knows, maybe the tragic story between star crossed lovers will get its happy ending after all!

end notes: so what do we think, yay or nay?

taglist: @din0o0o @cipheress-to-k-pop @bonnie-tz @phatnyash420

[thedeepmiracleperfection]

As most are already aware, Neil Gaiman has been accused of sexual assault by two women. The nature of this news is horrific in and of itself. Assault is a disgusting and abhorrent crime, no matter who it is committed by, and the victims deserve healing, peace, and justice, regardless of public awareness of the crime. It is already extremely difficult for victims to come forward about their abuse in the most normal of circumstances. If you add on the fact that the abuser in question is a well-loved public figure, then I imagine that these women are going through one of the most difficult periods of their lives at the moment. I wish them safety, and I sincerely hope that they are well supported during this time.

There has been some discussion on whether talking about the affects this news has had on the fandom is insensitive to the victims. I believe some people feel that Good Omens fans have been too quick to focus on the ramifications for the show rather than the affects the public allegations will have on the victims themselves. While I do think there is a conversation to be had there, I want to remind everyone that fandom is the reason this case is relevant to so many of us in the first place.

Before I go further, I will make it clear that I believe and support the victims. Like I said above, even if this was a random case of assault between completely average individuals, the crime would still be disgusting, and the victims would still be deserving of support. The abuser in this case being a public figure doesn't change that. However, the fact that the abuser in question is the creator of the very pieces of media that this fandom centers around is the only reason many of us know about it. Unless you are personally involved with any of the people in this case, chances are the only reason you know about this case in particular, is because the abuser involved has a direct affect on the media we consume. That is not to say that this case is only important because the abuser involved is high-profile. It is important because it is a crime and should not have happened. I would feel the same about any case of sexual assault I knew about. I'm just saying that the reason we know about it to begin with is because of fandom involvement. For most of us, the fandom is the only connection through which this case is at all relevant in our lives. I truly believe we would be concerned about any sexual assault we were made aware of, but the level of disruption this case has caused within this online space is a direct consequence of the notoriety of the specific person involved.

All of this is to say, I resent the messages others have been spreading, saying things like, "if two people have been assaulted and the only thing you're talking about is your fave show then you're heartless and disgusting." Babygirl the only reason I even know about any of this is because of my fave show! The show is the connection through which this news is relevant to me. And the same is true whether you know Neil Gaiman from this show or any of his other works. This case is public because he is public, and he is public because we consume his works. It's only natural that I'm going to want to discuss the direct consequences it will have in my life. Like, if I received news that my dentist had assaulted two women, my first thoughts would be in sympathy for the women and in hoping that my dentist had been brought to justice. But then my very next thought would be "But now I have cavities that need to be filled, and no dentist, How will this situation affect me personally?" Like! I don't think it is inherently cruel to wonder how the actions of another person will affect our own lives. It is a bit fucking silly to complain that we are taking too much about our faves on the "talking too much about your faves" webbed site. The reason we are here in this community in the first place is because we have an invested passion in this particular media. I don't think it is cruel to be concerned on some level about the future of this community. And the fandom wondering about the effects on the fandom doesn't mean that we don't care about the victims involved. Two things can be true at the same time.

I think it is important to remember that this fandom has had a profound effect on many people's lives. Some people rely on this community to make a living selling art and merch. Others rely on it as the only form of connection and belonging they have. For me personally, the characters of Crowley and Aziraphale have been greatly influential on my queer identity and journey of self discovery. Fuck's sake people have gotten married because of this show! It has a huge place in many of our lives. It is not selfish to want to discuss how and in what way that might change!

Also important to remember: what people post online is not the entirety of their opinions. I have many thoughts and feelings regarding this situation that don't make it onto tumblr.com because I am a whole ass person outside of what I post. It can be tempting to say that blogs which post only about how the show will be affected by Gaiman's actions are only concerned about the show. But that is just because that is what is publicly available online. You do not know what private thoughts and conversations people have had on the matter. This is the Good Omens fandom, we're going to talk about how this news affects the Good Omens fandom. If that upsets or disgusts you, you need to be responsible and leave this online space for another. That's not even broaching the subject on whether or not we can morally continue consuming this media, which is a whole other discussion with heated opinions on both sides. I'm talking about the people who think it is wrong to be focused on Good Omens at all during this time.

Like I said before, I truly feel that we as a fandom would be concerned over any case of sexual assault we were made aware of. It's just that this particular one has an influence on our community, therefore there is more discussion surrounding it. We can absolutely support the victims while also discussing how to move forward as a fandom. The two are not mutually exclusive, and to suggest otherwise is not helpful to any meaningful discussion.

[bludhavenbooty]

The Djinn’s Reward (Submission!)

Nightwing had seen a lot of weird things in her career as a supervigilante - aliens, monsters, mad scientists - but at the end of the day, she was a human being and she specialized in stopping human crimes. When the communicator on her wrist pinged a silent alarm at the Gotham Institute of Antiquities, Nightwing leapt into action expecting art thieves.

The break-in hadn’t been subtle. Sneaking in through the broken skylight, Nightwing found the Middle Eastern gallery being prowled by the villainous Baron Geld and his dimwitted minions. The gold-obsessed gangster normally targeted jewelry stores and auction houses, but Nightwing didn’t question what he would want here before ambushing Geld’s muscle. She effortlessly sapped one from behind with an escrima stick, then delivered a kick to the gut and a smack to the skull on the second. The last one got to raise his fist and take two steps forward before Nightwing effortlessly deflected his arm with one escrima stick and drove the but of her other between the thug’s eyes. That left Nightwing facing down Baron Geld himself - a unimpressive dandy dressed like the bad guy from an old Robin Hood movie. He grinned with an annoying amount of confidence, regardless.

“Ah, Nightwing, Bludhaven’s own lady of the night, you’ve grace we humble men with your presence.”

The boyish superheroine spun her escrima sticks, cocked her hips, and smirked at the costumed criminal. “Humble is one way to put it, Geld. You didn’t even bring enough men to make it a challenge.”

“Yes, good help can be so hard to find,” Baron Geld held up a simple glass bottle, taken from the museum display. With a flourish, he pulled out a stopper. “But I think I found a new henchman I can depend on!”

There was a bang and then a cloud of thick white smoke. Nightwing reached for her gas mask, when the smoke impossibly reversed course and seemingly congealed in the center of the room. Dixie stared in shock as the smoke resolved into a figure of a gigantic man.

“Ha ha ha, I’m finally free!” The djinn bellowed with joy. He grinned at Baron Geld. “As I swore centuries ago, I would shower the man who freed me with all the riches of the world. Gold, jewels, a harem of beauties… All of it will be yours, sir!”

“A harem? Great, a harem! Then her!” Baron Geld pointed at Nightwing with a smile of vicious triumph. “Make her my first harem girl!”

Dixie’s eyes went wide. She didn’t know what to do about a magical genie, but she wasn’t going down without a fight! Nightwing clenched her sticks and charged at Baron Geld, determined to grab the bottle. But the djinn snapped her fingers and Dixie fell flat on her face as her combat boots dissolved, along with her uniform and her weapons and her mask. Instead, Dixie now wore a golden belly dancers outfit.

“Are you sure you want her, sir?” The djinn laughed down at Dixie. “She’s a fine specimen of a warrior, but for a concubine-?”

“If you can make improvements, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Wait-” Dixie tried to beg, but the djinn clapped his hands twice and Dixie’s body convulsed with vulgar heat. She starred in helpless confusion as her muscle melted away to give her a slender physique, while her breasts swelled into round globes. Dixie bit her plumping lips as her hair inched down her neck and back. It felt amazing. It felt like an orgasmic full-body massage as a tan spread over her and make-up blossomed on her face.

“Mmmmm, what have you done to me?” Dixie moaned sensually. She didn’t sound like herself. She didn’t fell like herself. It was like struggling to stay awake, stronger than any drug Dixie had experienced.

“Shall she have a new name, sir?”

“Hmmm… Aurora.” Geld licked his lips and stared into her eyes. A chill passed up Dixie’s spine, barely noticeable under the sexual heat. “The first of Baron Geld’s new treasures.”

“Very good, sir.” The djinn clapped his hands again. “Rise, Aurora, and serve your master.”

Dixie blinked and Aurora opened her eyes, feeling her self-righteousness and fear fall away. Hunger and pride took their place. She was Aurora, who lived to please her master, the Baron Geld, as one of his golden treasures.

(Thank you @parasex-jamboree​ for the very hot submission!)

[shuenkio]

Admire not from afar | Enha Hyung line

Paring: hyung-line x male!reader

Genre: Suggestive.

Cw: swearing, fantasize.

Pov: Co-workers having obsession admire at you.

Wc: 400+

Non proof read/ English is not my 1st lang.

Lhs: Nerdy-quite guy who would stalk your social media, having your face on his wallpaper, while bragging to his friends that you're his one and only boyfriend, even though it's not true.

 

It's getting out of hand when you realize that he's the one who left those unknown, randomly given gifts in your locker every single morning. Eventually you started to ignore and avoid him at all costs, to the point that when you went home from work one day, you found him there, sitting while crossing his leg as he lean against the wooden chair inside your apartment. 

 

"Hello, baby boy, I see you avoiding me, so I'd like to pay you a visit. How do you like that?" 

Pjs: Everyone praises him not because of his potential or talents in the workplace; it's because he's related to the CEO of the company. You hate people who are overpowered by their money and not their own work, so you're brave enough to say what comes to mind when they make a mistake. 

 

Finally, you just got yourself into trouble; however, since he liked you enough to spare your life, he had another plan. 

 

While going to the bathroom to wash your dirty hands, you suddenly feel a pair of hands grab your forearm before pulling you inside the bathroom stall, locking the door at instant. 

 

"You've been a really bad boy lately, Mn! How dumb are you to not realize I'm your crazy secret Santa? Now you're going to pay for your consequences, darling." 

Sjy: The happiest guy is everyone's lifesaver and lover. Whenever there's a problem in the company, he'll always be there to fix the issue using his sexy brain in a blink of an eye. As a new employee, you were impressed at how much the other workers liked him, and the answer is quite obvious. 

 

Little did you know, not all good guys are innocent and nice; Jake also had his dark side too. He likes to take advantage of new employees like you, and at the end of the day, he'll throw them out as if they were some pieces of used trash. 

 

Nevertheless, when he laid eyes on you, it seemed like he couldn't stop thinking about you; you're that special to make him head over heels for you that bad. 

 

Late at night, as you take the elevator to the ground floor, Jake is also in the elevator, and you never know what will happen. 

 

"Mn, you might think I'm all bright and amazing, but did you know that every time I see you, I love fantasizing about you being under me?" 

 

Psh: This guy was cold as ice; no wonder he's the best employee of the month almost every single time, despite how hard he's working alone. Regardless of being friends with him for so long, you still don't know his personal life, his daily routine, or his inside. You couldn't care much since you respect his decision to keep himself.

 

But the reason why he won't let you visit him at his apartment is because all your pictures that he's captured every chance he's gotten were pinned and spread all over his room like a crime detective investigation. Not only is he obsessed, he already had plan B if you said no to his confession one day. 

 

"I'd give up heaven if I had to make you mine, little man." 

 

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to all pics&dividers

🗣️ I can't imagine makenae line going to work like what 🤓 Anyway this is my last updated this week, since I have another exam next week, so I'll come back once I'm alive again!

[dysphoricangell]

my two sense on trans ideology as someone with sex dysphoria :O

ヘ(^_^ヘ) ヘ(^o^ヘ) ヘ(^_^ヘ) ヘ(^o^ヘ) ヘ(^_^)/

trans ideology is a direct attack on women, gay people, gender nonconformity, and children. the fundamental beliefs of trans ideology/“trans rights activism” are antithetical to basic human truths (such as women are adult human females, and homosexuality is exclusive same-sex attraction). it’s such an incredibly unappealing ideology that I cannot fathom being able to support it without feeling the least bit guilty about the bs I’m spreading.

and now because of this regressive ideology, we have a good portion of young gay people thinking they’re “bigots” for not being attracted to the opposite sex— women in prisons having to share an already traumatizing space with MALE RAPISTS because TRA’s have proposed legislation to make that happen— literally every single-sex space that feminists have fought for women to be able to occupy has an open door policy for males (regardless of if they call themselves women or not) due to similar legislation being enforced— male fetishists pressuring lesbians into liking their dicks (literally conversion therapy)— gender nonconforming lesbians/gays being groomed by TRA’s on the internet into believing they are somehow men/women (another form of conversion therapy)— and many many more pitfalls that I won’t be able to get into too much or else this post will be a decade long. but here’s a list!— funding big pharma, enforcing sexual stereotypes and gender, supporting the misogynistic and racist cosmetic industry, mass chemical castration of gender noncomforming children in the name of “gender affirming care,” doing everything in their power to the destroy the public’s perception on the LGB, so much medical malpractice against women (any male doctor that has destroyed a woman’s genitalia through gender affirming “bottom surgery” should be shot in the back of the head), politicizing language (“misgendering” someone is considered a crime in multiple places around the world), as well as warping language to fit their ideology without any empathy for how it affects the vast majority of society (“birthing person,” “non-man loving non-man,” “uterus haver,” etc)…

It affects literally every facet of life, and none of it is good.

٩(⊙‿⊙)۶

[pastadoughie]

incase 1 of you needs 2 hear this :

a)

ai art is shitty and explotative, and while i dont think that neural networks are bad as a concept, they can be done ethically, but at this point every single large company that has ai shit is doing it in an extremely shitty way. art that is posted on the internet isnt yours to steal and make profit off of. you do not get to take the art of unconsenting random internet users, throw it into a shredder, and sell 7.99 a month subscription packadges for people to be able to eat some of the dust it spits out.

while i previously was more lax on people on reposting my art so long as they credited me, i ask that you not fucking repost my art, under any circumstance if you are on a platform that is scraping art, or on a site that is not properly set up to deal with scraping. the only acception to this is commisions where you have explicitly asked me.

this includes tumblr.

b)

reposting without credit is always bad, even if you dont know who to credit. you should under no circumstance be posting artwork that isnt your own without giving people a way to see the artist, and you need to link it in a way that is ACTUALLY USEFUL, give multiple links to multiple platforms, do not use 3rd party link shorteners, include mirrors and archive captures, provide a plain text spelling of usernames for every platform you link to, ask for explicit permission of the artist, opt out of any ai generation tools. or if you are on a platform that does not allow for this do not post it at all, and you have to have all of this very clearly visable and easily readable

if that is too much effort for you then you shouldnt be posting it. with literally zero exceptions.

c)

biological sex is not real and people can do whatever the fuck they want with their own bodies, even if you deem it as "self harm". under no circumstance should you take away peoples bodily autonomy, someone could literally be sawing their arms off for funsie wunsies and i would still say they need to have freedom and privacy, and it is ultimatly THEIR call what they do with themselves.

gender is similarly also not fucking real, people can dress however they want, fuck whoever they want, and use whatever words to describe themself with that they want. and if you think that boys wearing dresses or some shit is somehow harming you then you are ligitimately fucking pathetic. if i fucking ran a political campain saying everybody wearing a scarf was a pedo and a rapist and we need to ban scarfs forever would you fucking vote for me? are you that scared of people being able to? do what they want? jesus.

d)

genocide is bad. regardless of who does it.

regardless of the scale of cruelty, there is nothing that a group of people from a certain state, ethnicity, religeon, ect, can do that justifies murdering civilians. there is never a justification for genocide.

implying, under any circumstance, that someone is somehow evil for their background, appearance, religous beliefs, country of origin, sexuality, gender, ect. is shitty or worthy of violence because of that is, and i cannot stress this enough, fucking disgusting. nazi shit. even.

e)

i do not support zionism. i do not support antisemitism. i do not support racism.

also the iof is actively commiting a genocide. you should donate to a relief fund for people currently suffering from this, as well as call your house and senate members. as have i.

f)

people often times claim that people they dislike, largely minorities, are pedos or rapists or something of the sort. this is something that has been happening for, and i cannot stress this enough. all of fucking history. people were fucking saying these exact points, verbatim, to argue in favor of SLAVERY okay? if you are spouting the exact same shit as fucking nazis and colonizers and slave traders, then consider, you are a horrible fucking person.

you have to be EXTRODENARILY SKEPTICAL when accusing a minority of a serious crime, and spreading information about it. because if a bigot can just say "oh theyre a pedo" and you believe them at FACE VALUE then guess what? you are just as much of a bigot as they are. minorities are people, and people do terrible things, but just like you should be doing with EVERYBODY, you should be actually looking into things before you accuse someone of being a shit person, and often times, you are not knowlagable enough about someone to make those kinds of claims anyway.

[8flix]

Before you go. Any comments on byler? 🎤

Ah, yes. The byler predicament. Allow me to muddy the waters even more.

But first, a disclaimer: to be clear, I have no conclusive/confirmed information about season 5. What I know are inferences made from previous leaks, combined with what we now know as fact.

A little more on that before I get to Byler:

The leak came from outside of Netflix; a third-party private company that offers closed captioning services (as confirmed by Forbes, then eventually Netflix). The leaked videos of Heartstopper Se3 and Arcane Se2 are low resolution (640x266 / 640x480) encodes of unlocked edits (ie: edits that are subject to change at the network's discretion), and devoid of VFX. If you're a fan of either show, don't waste your time because it will only spoil the finished product.

That being said, I doubt that there is any video of ST5 episodes 1 through 3, as purported by the so-called "hacker" (I use that in "quotes" because any schlub with an email address could have accessed the server without restriction -- the login app had no restrictions to the inhouse videos).

So, aside from the fact that Netflix will aggressively pursue civil and criminal charges against the source (if they ever find the person) -- a threat that any legit hacker would certainly ignore (unauthorized access to a computer network is already a federal crime, regardless of whether or not something was "taken" and/or released publicly) -- I think there won't be any video of ST5 leaked because it doesn't exist.

A legit hacker would have released it already, defying both Netflix and the FBI, and in such away that would make tracking them down impossible. What is there to lose? Nothing for a legit "hacker." And let's be honest: this wasn't a "hack" of top-secret government documents. And the "hack" will not cause long-term financial damage to a publicly traded company like Netflix. In an election year, the Feds have more important cyber criminals to go after than a scriptkiddy looking for notoriety in the Fortnight Discord app.

Realistically, it's doubtful more than a cease-and-desist letter from Netflix to that Twitter influencer dude, and perhaps firing the IT guy who forgot to flick the privacy toggle on the login app at the closed-captioning company, will come to fruition. And like I said, a legit hacker has zero fucks to give, so threats of a civil lawsuit or prison time would mean nothing to them because their OPSEC would be 100%.

Also, it's my belief that no videos of ST5 will come out because of how TV series are made. Principal photography of ST5 is around 12 months (December 2023 - December 2024). That's a 5-day work week, 16-hours per day. Not including holidays, reshoots, and unforeseen delays, about 48 - 50 weeks in total -- so, about 250 - 300 days of shooting (a movie is often 30 - 120 shooting days). Post production -- which includes editing, music, VFX rendering, ADR, etc. -- will take at least 6 months. For a $200 million series like ST5, 4 - 6 weeks of per-episode-editing is not unheard of. Stranger Things is arguably a Netflix legacy. It's not only going to be protected, but perfected.

Season 5 is being released in two-parts. Part 2 will likely still be in post-production when Part 1 is released. To give you an idea of how close producers come to hard deadlines for series: I watched (legit) screeners of Locke & Key Se2 -- the final two episodes -- before they were complete -- 2 weeks before the world premiere. It's that close.

ST5 shoots chronologically, with some exceptions. Meaning, they film in order of episode. (Movies, on the other hand, film according to scene and schedule -- scenes that take place in the same location, but spread throughout the movie and take place on different days, are shot consecutively). The leak happened in late June (apparently), which would mean that episodes 1 through 3 would have been shot and edited by May. That's not realistic. Like, at all. If I were a betting man, I'd say that episode 1 is still being edited as I write this. There is still 4 months of principal photography remaining.

My expectation is to see trailer #1 during the Super Bowl in February. And October 31, 2025 as a release date for Part 1.

My expectation is a December release for Part 2.

Hardcore hype and teasing for 10 months.

This is my guess; based on personal experience with shows and movies that are not Netflix properties.

Okay, so, Byler...

If you believe the 2022 "definitely not leaked Se4 scripts" are definitely real... then Will is "fully resigned to knowing that he’s just ripped off the Band-Aid." #Byler, as we know it, will never come to be and #Mileven is endgame.

Or, if you believe the "definitely not leaked Se4 scripts" are definitely cap, then Byler is, in fact, the real endgame.

Given the circumstances, I am obviously the former. And, as much as I hate to say it, Will and Mike will never be a couple. 99% confident about that one.

Whichever side you take, in the words of Dr. Emmet Brown, "You're not thinking fourth dimensionally." (hint)

Will Will find love? No. There are bigger plans for Will. Conversely, there are plans for El that go way beyond teenage love. Again, if you believe the fake scripts to be real, then it will become apparent in ST5 that Will and El share a unique connection. My inference is that they are related. If not in the current timeline, then in the alternate timeline and reality (that will be revealed in Se5). "Young versions" of "Will, El, Mike, and the others," have already been cast to appear in Se5. But, IMAO, they're not the "young versions," but the alternate timeline/reality versions. Back to the Future, and Terminator are huge influences. As is the JJ Abrams movie "Super 8" (watch the movie, there are so many similarities with it, and Stranger Things).

I'll also add that there were scenes filmed in 2020/2021 that were meant to be included in season 5. I think -- if memory serves -- it's in or at a church and touches on the theme of "occult murders". So, I wouldn't be surprised if Eddie Munson makes an appearance.

In my professional opinion as a writer (excluding what I may or may not know about ST5): regardless of what scripts you've read -- official, unofficial, fake, real -- the series endgame has already been revealed on screen. I'll explain:

In general terms, for any television series with a definitive finale, and a pre-determined ending, writers follow a blueprint: specific plot points that must revealed along the way so that the story makes sense to viewers -- even to those with conflicting opinions.

If the writing is done correctly, then (for example) when something is revealed in episode 25, viewers will experience a lightbulb moment: "Oh yeah, I remember the references during episodes 2, 5, and 15."

So, using the Byler vs Mileven plotlines, it's plausible that either outcome is still possible. That's the brilliance of Stranger Things' writers' room (I say that sincerely).

Clues have been dropping since episode 101. Spoken dialogue, secondary dialogue, music selection (read the lyrics), character names, specific dates, shooting locations, pop culture references, carefully choreographed shots and scenes, numbers, dates, background props... Everything contains a piece of a puzzle that reinforces what is already known, and reveal what will soon become obvious.

Seriously, I don't know the ending of ST. And honestly, in my experience, it's more likely than not that only the Duffers and a small handful of Netflix/21 Laps execs know the real ending. For a series as big as Stranger Things (with an estimated season 5 budget surpassing $200 million), don't be surprised if more than one ending is filmed. Certainly, more than one has been written. It's not uncommon to leak misleading (but highly plausible) information on purpose. Netflix marketing peeps are top in their field, and outside-the-box thinkers.

What I do know is that the endgame -- be it canonical or other -- will completely blow you away and go down in history as Netflix's most watched finale.

Or, it will be the biggest let down since The Sopranos ending -- the first one AND the do-over.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hi, so um... I don't know if this is considered rude or ignorant (please feel free to yell at me if it is) but I promise I only have good intentions with this.

Okay... I just want to say that it most certainly was not Robespierre's Reign of Terror. The Reign of Terror was more of a group project and Maximilien Robespierre did not have the tyrannical power that Thermidorian propaganda often credits him with having. He was never the leader of France, rather one of twelve members of the Committee of Public Safety. He wasn't bloodthirsty, he actually hated violence and tried to have the death penalty abolished in 1790 (however the National Assembly had already accepted a different proposal a year before for a more humane form of execution, so they went with that instead). He never tried to start a cult around himself. The Festival of the Cult of the Supreme Being was more of his attempt to bring the country together in a celebration of the Revolution and denounce the hardcore atheists who called for the violent abolition of all religion. And he was nicknamed The Incorruptible for a reason, might I just add. He wasn't perfect certainly, what with the Law of 22 Prairial and I'm sure he could have done more for women's rights, but he wasn't a tyrant either. He didn't execute anyone who disagreed with him, rather that's not even how the Committee worked. They could sign arrest warrants, but their prosecution in the Revolutionary Tribunal was out of the jurisdiction of Committee members. Not to mention that Robespierre signed the least number of arrest warrants out of all 12 Committee members. Robespierre was relatively quite a decent person (as was Saint-Just), at least in comparison to say... Collot and Billaud, who were responsible for some of the worst atrocities of the Terror. After Robespierre was executed (without a trial!) by the Thermidorians, they needed to justify killing him, so the Thermidorians began spreading mass propaganda about him and used him as a scapegoat for their own crimes. (Then the White Terror happened).

Also Robespierre had autism and this is a proven fact. There is no way that fruit tart obsessed, 5'3 man didn't have autism.

Anyways, I think I'm done here. Very extremely sorry about all this but I couldn't help myself. I'm just trying to be helpful because a lot of misinformation surrounds Robespierre and it does annoy me whenever I happen across it. If you have any questions, I would be happy to answer them. Regardless, I hope you have a very wonderful day (and again, I am very sorry if this comes off as being rude or indignant).

Oh my gosh thank you so much this is very cool??? Fuck my year 10 history textbook ig 😭😭 I mean I didn't expect nuance from it but I did hope it would at least, well, have some commitment to spreading information (not sure why I expected that) (clearly it didn't)

And don't apologise 😭 I promise you that I am well aware of my lack of awareness (hehe irony) and I love finding out new stuff and this is very very cool <3

I looked it up and here's an article from Britannica if anyone wants more detail :) If you have any other information I'd love to hear it

[virtuouswhitehatorganization]

Heroes And Villains Who Totally Would Have A Big LGBT Fanbase (Even If They Are Not LGBT Themselves)

Heroes

Goldheart

Given he has a big fanbase I wouldn't be surprised and many speculate about his sexuality to the point it ranges from thinking he's gay to pansexual. Also the tons of shipping people have had between him and Flug despite being archnemeses. And again I totally see him getting into LGBT activism for both clout and because he secretly is a member.

2. Miss Heed

Given how popular she is through social media, I like to think she would be open about her status of about what canon sexuality she has (which I think is bisexual). She probably uses her status to get clout when it's pride month and proclaims how active she is in being a good LGBT activist. Also she loves to pander to anyone who can give her love and attention from any source.

3. Omega Nuclear

He's just straight ally incarnate he just would be the best supportive person he can be from my oc sidekick of his, Green Rod to his fellow former partner, Miss Heed, before he brainwashed him. He totally has a LGBT fanbase who again probably are bara fans and he doesn't mind them unless they are pairing him with Coyote.

4. Airlock

Probably isn't in tuned with her fanbase, but I do think some would find her an icon due to her butch look. She probably would be apathetic and ignore it and would probably do something mean to them like she did with that PEACE agent forcing them to give them their belongings to her.

5. Sunblast

Like Omega Nuclear, he's total bara bait for many people. I like to think before his capture by Penumbra he really loved to pander for the LGBT fanbase for clout and didn't really think much about being an ally except it can boost his image.

Villains

Flug

Why the bagged top scientist of Black Hat because seriously he was Goldheart's arch nemesis and again you know people were shipping them? Also people wonder what is under that bag and like to think there is a cute face. Also we all totally think he's into guys in addition to girls. He probably gets flustered he gets this kind of attention.

2. Miss Valdoom

Given she's called the "Evil Queen" I think she would love attention from any source. I like to think she would love to be admired by her beauty by both men and women. Also this line here they mention how it's laughable she would fall for Heed, so it indicates that Miss Valdoom is attracted to women. And again Illuminarrow was going all starry eyed at her so totally has a LGBT fanbase.

3. Coyote

I see this guy as straight, but I totally see him having a fanbase of LGBT people who are into the bara scene and he fits the image. Also again you can't go wrong with a guy who does leather. I do think he would find it an ego boost he's got some sort of notoriety with a specific crowd it gives more villain cred. However, like his archnemesis, Omega, he probably doesn't like being paired with him. I also think he would be a straight ally and encourage the "Be Gay, Do Crime" rebellious thing.

4. Demencia

Even though she's obsessed with Black Hat, I don't think that would stop her from having admirers in the villainous community. I totally see her as bi with a target on Black Hat (who she totally would love regardless if he was presenting himself male or female). She's probably indifferent since they aren't Black Hat, but probably calls them perverts who get off her kicking ass and taking names.

5. Metauro

Straight ally with a huge LGBT fanbase which comes with the same reason as his fellow villain Coyote which is he's bara bait. I like to think he's very interactive with his fanbase and also makes jokes about himself and why they would find him attractive. He also tries to use his fanbase to spread awareness about cruelty to bulls and how to prevent it.

[curekibouka-writing]

Howdy do~! I’ve got a fluff/angst headcanon in mind: The dorm leaders’ (including Jamil’s) fem! s/o suddenly wakes up screaming in the middle of the night because of a traumatic nightmare of them Overblotting. As she wakes up, she tearfully tells them she’s scared of losing them a second time. How do they comfort her? Please and thanks!

A/N: This was a request sent to me more than a few months ago, and considering my upper limit being 4 characters per headcanon, I assume this request wants me to write Riddle, Leona, Azul and Jamil?

For Raven's TwstOBer day 5: Dream

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is quick to brew you a cup of herbal tea to help ease your mind and hold your hand as he asks you what’s wrong. 

You tell him you were dreaming of his overblot, the way he lost control and demanded obedience, the way his choker bled onto his pale neck as if it’d cut through. You tell him you fear it happening again, that you’d lose him to the monster raised by the same mother. 

Riddle sits next to you and looks into your eyes very seriously, he reassures you with great certainty, “It won’t happen again. I’ve changed, well, I am trying my best to change.” 

The world he thought to be absolute was only so because he knew nothing of the outside. The world he thought was wrong has expanded into so many colours, so many experiences, so many people, and so many hours beyond that small window. Every day, he’s learning something new. Every day, you’re teaching him something new. He could never return to being a thoughtless doll now that you are in his world. Likewise, he could never return to treating the world like a doll house, thinking that everything can be defined by absolute and ironclad standards. 

“I think with my own head now,” he promises you, “I am here by your side on my own accord, just to raise an example. Regardless of whether it is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, I will stay here. That is how I know now that no one is or needs to be absolutely correct, not me, not mother.” 

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona doesn’t want to give anything a damn in the middle of the night but he will sit straight and listen to you until he knows you’re fine, so you’d better start talking so he can get back to sleep. 

You tell him you were dreaming of that magift tournament, that time when his laughs cut deeper than his claws, that time when he gave up on everything, everyone, and himself, once again. You recall the despair that made up his roar reverberating in your veins, you recall the sand and dryness that evokes a sense of helplessness, you recall the crimes he almost committed. You tell him you don’t want to lose him to the monster that everyone makes him out to be. 

“Tch. And what can we do? What can you do? Can you crown me king? Can you change what my own people say about me?” Leona almost scoffs in his reply, cynical as always, though you shouldn’t be surprised, “Fact is, life’s not fair. There are things I can’t change no matter what I do, let alone you, herbivore.” 

He doesn’t sound especially comforting with a frustrated hand at his temple, but you’ll have to understand his reassurance in his language, “But there are still battles I’ll have to take head on, and when I do, I want all the chess pieces at my disposal,” he gestures at himself, “be it a king,” while his tail points to you, “or a pawn.” 

He was born to lead, it was just never made known to him. If you choose to be his kingdom, this time he won’t abandon his people that easily. 

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul pulls up a chair and sits in front of you looking the best he could in the middle of the night. He begins to calmly and soothingly ask you questions that would guide you to tell him what’s wrong. 

You tell him you were dreaming of breathing in the sea, losing your breath over seeing his true form, in awe, in fear. He was not like himself, all his grievances bursting out as spilling ink, dark and spreading. You stared into his constricted pupils, crazed and furious and blue like the ocean, blue like ice, blue like tears. You tell him you fear the monster he always hid inside him, you fear that anger, that vengeance would take over him again. 

Azul grimaces briefly. The implication that he would stoop to something which he so meticulously hid isn’t pleasant for him, he values his benevolent and sophisticated image after all. However, since it has happened once back then, and he certainly has not forgiven or forgotten how he had been wronged, so he at least acknowledges that your fear is well-justified. 

“How rude of you, to accuse that I’d revert to being who I used to be?” he puts on his fake sad face which quickly transforms to all the confidence and charisma he has when roping someone into a contract. “I’ll have you know I am a changed man. Have you not seen the Mostro Lounge’s profit this month? Have you not seen my performance in the previous practical alchemy exam? No one here can make light of me.”

You silently note that he is still using achievements to “measure” his worth. But you sigh and relent, this will take time. And if anything happens while he’s still fragile, well, at least this time he won’t be alone. 

Jamil Viper:

Jamil rushes in, alerted and concerned, but he runs a hand though his hair in relief when he finds you in one piece. He was about to excuse himself if you were fine, but he does notice the cold sweat running down your forehead. 

In response to his worried questions, you answer that you were dreaming of the winter holiday, of being blasted to the ends of the dimension and your heart pounding with every icy breath you take because every second you waste on getting back was one step he edges closer to death. You were dreaming of his maniacal laughter, of all the things that were so raw, so violent, and yet so true. Not that you want to hold him back but… you’re afraid of losing him to the monster he’s capable of being. 

For freedom, Jamil would give quite literally anything, and that hasn’t changed. He knew there would be prices to pay, sacrifices to make, he always knew, but the weight of those prices sank in for the first time after his overblot. He had a narrow vision, thinking that if he’d lose them anyway, what good is there in searching for treasures? 

But after almost losing everything, it’s different. If he’s gonna be stuck here anyway, laying the groundwork for a better, smarter scheme, then why not take what he can to make this cage a little less miserable? The path he has to take before arriving at a destination can surely be paved into valuable memories too. 

He places a hand on yours, “There… are things that I don’t want to risk in the life I’m living now, I can’t afford to be desperate like last time. But I will find a way. I will obtain everything I want. One day I’ll be free, not as a monster, but as me.” 

[butch-reidentified]

Every new fracturing discourse topic upsets me so much because men will go to bat for each other regardless of quite literally everything else all that matters is that they're men. Religion doesn't matter. Crimes don't matter. Political stances don't matter. Relationship status doesn't matter. Ethnicity sexuality history nationality still matter to some extent but they'll still find a way to be together to the detriment of women. Men will side with fictional men and men they haven't even met when women speak of their own experiences. All that matters is that they're men and from that point on they will find reasons to relate to each other and to find parts of each other to befriend and relate to. I'm so fucking SICK of women not understanding this and dividing ourselves further.

YES exactly. the extent of my engagement in this has rly been just me begging women to stop & listen, to clarify what I (& my wife) are saying bc theres so much assuming, misinterpreting, misunderstanding, etc being spread and that's like, one of my personal biggest bothers (being disbelieved when I'm being honest, specifically, which is why I make it a point not to lie, but relatedly, being misunderstood/misrepresented). it's like my one genuine trigger in life. and so this has been like my worst nightmare in terms of that, just totally out of control misrepresentations of me being spread beyond any damage control i could attempt.

my one real trigger (legit gets to me more than many of my actual traumas have) worst nightmare interpersonal scenario, and I am STILL trying so so hard to lead with sisterhood and grace toward other women. to the point I've chosen to stop actually even engaging and allow such a triggering situation to continue, allow such misrepresentations to spread & worsen, just bc i want to prioritize female liberation, like i said the other day. it's not easy. it's really really not. but i am NOT gonna go to war with other women, god ESPECIALLY radfems/rad-leaning. whywhywhy are we focusing on this???

i actually think it's a great irony that the post that started all this was me saying (paraphrased), "if you're not into female-exclusive/feminist witchcraft stuff, i don't get it, but it's totally cool just please don't be unkind to women who are into it." this discourse didn't start over "women who arent into witchcraft suck and should be into it" or anything remotely like that, it started with me saying let's be kind to radfems who do some harmless thing we don't also do. it's so meta fr lmao

[multiplicity-positivity]

CW Wishing to not exist, self-loathing, self-deprecation, mentions of discrimination.

I don't often confess what's on my mind publicly but after some consideration, I intend to share my struggles as a factive and I hope others like me can relate to some extent just to feel less alone. I'm fully aware of this, mind you. I can mend with my woes myself so essentially I'm not asking for advice! Regardless, others online might want to hear encouragement, I humbly request you to place it under the cut, please. Thank you.

-

As an active member of the system, being a factive makes it so much harder to be here as myself without feeling ashamed and guilty of my existence. It's funny how people (especially singlets) try to spread positivity and encourage others to "just be yourself!" They don't know what they wish for, they can't even handle someone who shares the same name and face of a person they're obsessed about. Your ignorance and lack of kindness and compassion toward factives is truly showing—you're being selective of who deserves to exist, friend.

I'm insecure because I don't share the same quality of skills and talent as my source. I feel like a failure most of my days at the front, even if it's sunshine and rainbows within and outside the system.

No one knows who I am, not even my name except for very, very few trusted individuals. I'm a ghost in the crowd. I'm a shadow behind the rest of the system who are openly proud of our plurality. It's... ironic, I feel. And I had to... pretend as another headmate when I wanted to share something... I feel it's a crime. Although the system isn't troubled by this as long as I'm safe and comfortable, I feel like an imposter all the same.

I know I should shut up and get over it. Move on, please. It's not that deep, surely! It's childish to whine about little things! But I really wish I could greet friends without putting a mask on.

I know it can't be helped to exist this way. I've been here many times before. But I feel sick of myself. I feel so small... and weak... and stupid.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't me.

🖤

🫂

You’ve requested for no advice, and asked for general encouragement for fellow factives under the cut, and we are more than happy to respect your wishes!

But to any factive who may find themselves in 🖤’s situation, our heart goes out to you. We are so sorry to hear that you are struggling so. It is so unfortunate that, in our society and even within the plural community itself, many factives feel afraid or ashamed of being themselves and expressing themselves in ways that are affirming for them.

We do not think it’s a small or minor thing for factives to not be able to be themselves. We are hoping for a future where every system, and every headmate, can feel free to be themselves and live their lives authentically. And this absolutely means factives, with all sorts of sources, from all sorts of backgrounds, and with all sorts of beliefs.

If there is anything at all we can do to make our space safer and more welcoming for factives, do let us know, any factives who sees this. We care about you and we want to see you through to a future where you can be open about your identify, if that is what you want for yourselves.

🖤, you may not see this, but thank you for sharing your experiences here. The more factives in difficult situations speak up about what they’re going through, the more others may feel like they’re not alone. Your words resonated deeply with a factive in our own system who shares some of your struggles.

We truly do hope that things get easier for you and all factives who are facing similar struggles very soon. We’re wishing you all the very best!

[farfromstrange]

Austin: Prologue [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read Me on AO3

Chapter Summary: You receive an ominous letter from Enoch Thompson. It brings back memories of your past, memories you would much rather forget because they could get you into a lot of trouble, and you find yourself backed into a corner that you have to find a way out of.

Chapter Warnings: Murder, blood, canon typical violence, assault (not sexual), alcohol consumption, organized crime, flashback

Word Count: 6.4K

A/n: About damn time I started writing for Owen. I fell in love with him from the moment he first appeared on screen. This idea was a lot more complex than a simple One Shot in my head, even though I thought about writing one first, so now you're getting a series. Because I just can’t help myself. The Boardwalk Empire fandom seems fairly small, but I hope my fellow Charlie-obsessed people on here appreciate this story regardless.

Set from Season 2 episode 9 onward!

This series is rated E for explicit! 18+ only!

The evening sun relentlessly burns down on the cemented sidewalks from the magenta skies above. Not a cloud is to be seen. Cars roll over the paved asphalt roads leading through the city, past the many pedestrians peeking through the many storefronts, always looking for something new to buy. 

Every once in a while, a swarm of birds breaks free from the trees and wanders to the next. It’s a small glimpse of nature that lies behind the city center of Austin, Texas, but a small glimpse is better than none. 

Each dollar bill that slips through your fingers feels like paper gold. In a patriarchal society, all everyone ever sees are men sitting in their ivory towers and spitting at those who dare to threaten their position. They can’t imagine themselves to fall lower than the rest. 

You are far beyond any of that. You’re not insecure in your power. You don’t need to show it off to know that you have succeeded. Your anger may burn brighter than the force of a thousand suns, and you may be far more powerful than any man could ever fathom to be, but you would never see yourself above anyone else. 

One thing almost all men seem to have in common, you have come to realize, is that they underestimate the power of a woman scorned. And that is a very dangerous thing to do.

The windows in your office are open, allowing a gentle breeze to cool down the summer heat that has stuck itself to the walls. As you count the money in your hands, you can’t help but watch the sun slowly set over Austin.

You take another sip of Whiskey. The label on the back of the bottle reads Mr. Austin’s Finest. Only about a quarter left. 

You trace the condensation with a finger along the crystal of the glass. The brown liquid shimmers in the fading sunlight. You will have to supply your own office with another shipment soon enough, but for now, you have enough to enjoy the flavor just a little longer—the one flavor that will always remind you of being a little girl in a small town in the middle of nowhere, who made it to the city of Austin against all odds. It tastes like home, in a way. 

To you, Austin is more than a city. It’s more than your mother’s hometown, more than the capital of the State you were born in and have never left for more than one week at a time, and it’s more than the home of the most valuable business you could ever run. It’s who you are. It may have been a name of convenience, and not even a very creative one at that, but it saved your life. 

Your eyes scan the books spread out before you. Production. Distribution. Expenses. Profit. Names. Two notebooks, three tables, five columns. You count each dollar bill with precision, fold the stacks into neat packages, and wrap them up with porous rubber bands from the first drawer in your desk. The rest, you place into an envelope. 

The floorboards creak, and you divert your attention from your work to the doorway. “Beth,” you say.

She offers you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss, but I just received a letter from you that wasn’t with the earlier correspondence,” she says.

Elizabeth Brown. She was the only person in all of Austin who, when you first got there, showed you that she understood the real meaning of discretion. Now, you would trust her with your life, and you value her opinion more than that of your associates. There is something about a good heart worth so much more than ruthlessness, even in a business that requires your heart to be made out of ice so you won’t get hurt. 

But even Beth has her secrets. 

You exhale audibly, swallowing the last sip of your drink before setting the glass down on the deep brown Mahogany. 

“That’s unusual,” you state. “Where’s it from?”

Beth takes another step into your office, her heels transitioning from the wooden floorboards to the soft carpet. “Um,” she holds out the envelope in front of her, “It’s from Atlantic City. I haven’t opened it yet, so I don’t know if it’s important. I can still put it with the others if you’d like.”

You carefully observe her body language. She isn’t lying, merely confused. 

“No.” You pat your desk. “Leave it here.”

She crosses the threshold and places the envelope next to your hand. “Is there anything else you need, Miss?”

Looking up at her, you shake your head with a smile. “I want you to finish up and take an early evening. Go home, see your children,” you tell her. “You shouldn’t waste your time in this office when you could be with your family.”

Something about the way her face lights up with the gratitude that wraps her fragile heart in a warm hug makes you feel a little better about yourself. 

“Thank you so much,” she says. “You really are incredibly generous.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. You’ve been working so hard, you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

She sighs happily. With a gentle, “Have a good night. And thank you again,” she turns on her heel and makes her way out of your office to gather her things in the foyer. 

You are well aware that her job—working with you and getting caught up in whatever criminal chaos you engage in—puts her future at risk every day, and yet every day, she comes back to work. 

Not that she has much of a choice, anyway. You loathe yourself for being incapable of offering her one. Beth stays because she believes that she owes you, and that alone adds another hundred tons of weight to the bricks that are already weighing heavily on your heart. 

You reach for the envelope. The paper feels expensive underneath your fingertips. You turn it around to see who sent it, and the name strikes a chord before it has even been fully processed. Your body knows that something isn’t quite right. The sense of doom that fills you hangs over your head like the blade of a guillotine, ready to separate your head from your body. 

Enoch Thompson.

“Fuck,” you curse.

He is a man whose reputation precedes him. County treasurer. Bootlegger. The man who used to run the city. And definitely, a man who knows how to make a dime or two in ways that leave even the actions you had to take in the past year shaking in their boots. You may be a quiet contender, but you always have your eyes and ears everywhere. 

The letter itself feels just as fancy as the envelope. You put down the blade you used to open it. Never before had someone rubbed their wealth in your face quite like Enoch Thompson just did.  

With a heavy heart, you begin to read his delicate handwriting. It seems shaky, in a way, as though his dominant hand was injured when he wrote it.

Dear Mr. Austin,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. You may not know me because so far, we haven’t had the pleasure to make each other’s acquaintance. From what I’ve heard, your reputation precedes you, and I went to great lengths to find a way to contact you. 

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Enoch Thompson, and I have reasons to believe that we were both once acquainted with the same man. 

Seeing your late father’s name on paper, your blood runs cold. The oxygen escapes your lungs and refuses to return. You skim over the letters over and over again until your head is spinning.

I was deeply saddened to hear about his passing. And I was even more saddened to hear that his only living relative—a daughter, for all I know—passed away suddenly a year later. That family left a great legacy behind.   

Your vision blurs. With every line, with every statement, and with every well-concealed jab, you feel like you are being led to the slaughterhouse. 

I remember him well, though it has been many years. He came to me in Atlantic City with a dream, and I couldn’t help but invest in him. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw his name on the back of a bottle of Austin’s finest rum. A fine spirit, I must say. 

I am glad to see that his legacy has found a way to live on in a great mind such as yourself. 

In your father’s journal, he always portrayed Nucky as a trustworthy ally. A friend. After moving to Austin, you studied every word he wrote, and the few times he mentioned Atlantic City, he never lost a bad word about Enoch Thompson, which, considering his reputation, always surprised you, but you had never felt the need to doubt your father’s judgment of his friends.

Now though, you are slowly coming to realize that you may have underestimated the secrets he took with him to the grave—that his judgment may not have been as infallible as you thought it was—and your veins flood with pure, unbridled fear. 

Fearlessness is a myth, but you usually have better control over your emotions than this. 

I understand that you are a man of influence in the southern regions, and your business ventures have not gone unnoticed. In light of recent events here in Atlantic City, I believe there may be an opportunity for us to help each other. You see, due to recent events, I have chosen to step down from my position as treasurer. The landscape of this city is changing rapidly, and I could use a man of your resources and capabilities to help me rebuild.

I know you prefer to keep a low profile, and I am aware of the risk involved in such endeavors, but I assure you, a meeting would be of great benefit to both of us. Besides, I would love to finally meet you in person, Mr. Austin. 

One hand washes the other. It’s a concept as old as time, but it is also incredibly fragile. In a case such as this, a chance of leaving even a speck of dirt behind remains, and then one person is bound to lose. You have seen it happen more times than you can count.

You ought to be careful, playing with fire; Enoch Thompson could bring on an inferno that you may not be able to counter with your own. 

I encourage you to think about my offer, and I hope I will see you soon in Atlantic City. 

Yours sincerely,

Enoch Thompson.

The force with which you rise from your chair causes it to slide a good few inches back against the wall.

“Beth?” you call out into the silence. Into the darkness. 

For a moment, it seems like she has already left, but not even half a minute later, she pokes her head into your office.

“Miss?” she answers. 

You let out a sigh of relief. “I know I said you can leave early, but I need you to call Leo and tell him to find out as much about Enoch Thompson as he can and bring it to me,” you say. “Tonight. I don’t care what he has to do to get the information, I need it in the next five hours.”

“Of course. Right away. Do you want me to ring Mr. Johnson as well? It sounds rather urgent.”

“No, I’ll take care of Anthony. Right now, I just need Leo. Can you do that for me?”

The desperation in your voice leaves no space for arguments. Beth nods, and she quickly turns away to tend to her new responsibilities with careful urgency. When the storm in your eyes becomes visible, she knows that no one in your vicinity is safe. 

Another silent curse passes your lips. You reach for the bottle of Mr. Austin’s Finest again. It was your father’s recipe; you merely adjusted it to fit the needs of the general public. This particular brand was his idea, his legacy, as much as the rum was. 

If someone hadn’t tried to steal all your family stood for, you wouldn’t be standing here, but right now, you are not so sure if it is something you should be happy about. You made mistakes, and if there is even the slightest chance that he know, you are beyond fucked.

The desk almost splinters underneath your fist when you land it on the tabletop. 

You touch your neck. Most physical bruises don’t last for longer than three months, but as you place your hand against your throat, you can feel the blood pulsing underneath your fingertips. You can still feel the indentation of his fingers that faded a long time ago. And you can still feel his hands around your throat, applying an inhuman amount of pressure to your fragile windpipe. 

Every breath you take burns like a thousand wildfires, rivaling the adrenaline that is threatening to burst your veins.

You can see him clearly when you close your eyes. It’s not liquor. You are not drunk. The letter on the desk before you triggered a chain reaction of memories, and you are not strong enough to tune them out. 

You remember that his blood stuck to your skin like corn syrup, running through your fingers and onto your dress, painting the wooden floorboards a deep maroon. You could have sworn you could even smell the faintest hint of copper in the air. But your senses weren’t that powerful.

He was just lying there—a man you’d known since you were a child in a pool of his blood with a golden pocket knife buried deep in his chest while you were cowering in the corner as if the knife had never been in your shaky hand in the first place.

Your father raised you to be an independent woman in a world where women have always been seen as property. You made peace with the fact that you would never be able to take over the family business because at least you knew that your father believed in your ability to fight your own battles. Still, he died, and a few months later, the Prohibition Act took what little you had left at that point away from you.

You had never planned to come back to your little Texas hometown. You’d had a good job working for a good family, saving up to leave the country behind for good; you had always wanted to go to Paris. 

The only thing your father had left you was your childhood home, and you cherished it with all you had. Until the father of the family you worked for lost his job, and they had to let you go. You were no longer able to pay the expenses of the house, so you had to let it go. It took only a few days for your entire life to crumble. You had been miserable, but the thought of killing a man had never crossed your mind until it happened. 

You had come back to your hometown to say goodbye. To clean out your childhood home and start anew somewhere with what little money the house would have brought you. But Henry Boyd had other plans that night.

One moment, you were on your way to the only speakeasy in town, wanting to check out what it was all about, and the next you found yourself at home with bruises around your neck and blood on your hands.

“I want to thank you all for being so patient with me,” he had said as he stood high on one of the tables in the golden establishment. “It is an honor to be here today, with you all, and announce that your favorite brand of whiskey and rum is officially back in business!”

As blurry as the night is in your mind, you still vividly remember watching him lift the bottle with the emblem that had become so eerily familiar to you because you grew up seeing it on every bottle on your father’s shelf. But the bottle in front of you had someone else’s name on it—someone who promised you that he would keep what he knew in confidence after the government shut down the business your father left him—and it dawned on you like a gray cloud threatening to break down on you in strikes of lightning. 

The crowd around you erupted in applause. And from that moment on, your entire world started to blur. The anger that consumed you was new, unbridled, and before you knew it, you were storming out of the building into the crisp night air.

How much can a person possibly bleed after having their throat slashed? You had never asked yourself that question up until that point. To be fair, six pints in a human body don’t sound like a lot until all six pints are right in front of you.

Six pints of blood on your living room floor, and in it, the corpse of Henry Boyd.

He came to your house. He threatened you. You had known this man for over two decades before that, and he still disappointed you because once it benefitted him the most, he turned his back on you and your late father’s legacy as if it had never meant anything to him other than means to make money. 

You had no choice. Your father gave you his favorite pocket knife with the golden handle when you were sixteen, telling you to always carry it with you in case you would ever need to protect yourself.

“You never know when you need to stab a man, kid,” he told you. “You should be able to defend yourself. I won’t always be around, and you shouldn’t have to rely on anyone other than yourself.”

You had to do it. You had to kill Henry. If you hadn’t, he would have killed you. 

When the realization settled over the fog, it was like someone slapped you across the face and injected you with cocaine.

You remember rising to your feet. Every step you took squelched with the blood stuck to your soles. It is a well-known fact that blood doesn’t easily wash out of clothes. You never thought it would be the same for skin.

You scrubbed your hands wildly, but the water kept turning redder and redder. It has settled underneath your fingernails and the depths of your cracked knuckles. 

A sob broke out of your throat when you caught a glimpse of Henry’s body in the living room, and it hit you again, stronger this time. Like a jolt of electricity. 

He had promised you to keep your father’s legacy safe after they shut down the factory. He had promised he would tell the truth, always because you were your father’s daughter, after all. He had promised, then turned his back on you and betrayed you anyway. 

You couldn’t let them arrest you. You couldn’t allow them to put you in prison. And you couldn’t disappoint your father like that, not after all that happened and the things you had to do. 

In a split second, you made a decision that would haunt you for the rest of your life, but it was the only right one at the time. You had to burn your bridges if you wanted to make it out of this. You already knew back then that you were going to hell one day; you could confess your sins another time. 

Reading books and educating yourself all of your childhood taught you a thing or two about how to deal with a seemingly impossible situation.

Your dress landed together with your undergarments next to the body. In the bath, you scrubbed yourself down until not a trace of Henry’s blood was left on you. By the time you were done, your skin was red and breaking out into hives, but at least you were clean. 

There was nothing left holding you there. Everything you once held dear had gone with the wind. Died. Passed on. 

You were never destined for this kind of life. Always the only child despised by everyone but her own father because she never acted appropriately enough. Because she had never been girl enough. Because she refused to conform to what was expected of her. Because her father had not cared about anything other than raising a smart young person who could fend for herself. 

You cleaned out the hidden compartment in your father’s bedroom that held all the journals he kept on the business. You were the only one he ever told about it. And you took the bottle of Whiskey you hid underneath the mattress together with all the money Henry had on him when he came to you.

You felt like you had somehow violated his corpse by stealing from him—you remember the feeling as clear as day—but you just followed mere instinct that night. You had to do whatever it took to survive. 

You tipped the bottle of liquor and poured it over Henry’s lifeless frame. It mixed with the blood, liquifying it again. You could barely feel it, even as it stained your fingers for the millionth time that night. You were going to scrub it off again, and then you were going to burn this last bridge for good.

You didn’t want to have another choice. That was the terrifying part. Part of you liked what you did. You truly believed, for the longest time, that the devil had possessed you that night. You could not stand idly by and watch your castle crumble down at the hands of a man who had never dared to think about anyone but his miserable self.

The lighter in your hand clicked. Your nose filled with the scent of gasoline. One advantage of living in the countryside was the visible distance between the houses. If there had been a fire in the neighborhood, it would have taken hours until someone reported it, and by then it would already have been too late. You used that to your advantage.

For Henry, it had been too late ever since you slit his throat, but he wasn’t the only bridge you had to burn.

“Forgive me, Father,” you remember whispering, but not to God or a priest; you were saying it to your father’s lost soul, in the hopes he would be listening.

The lighter slipped from your fingers with a little push, and the liquor on the floor reacted instantly with the spark of flames. As your childhood home burned to the ground, you turned your back on the past. You turned your back on your sins and all you had ever loved, and you built a wall around your heart that you swore no one would ever be able to get through again.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket, please,” you told the man behind the counter at the train station the same night. Well, it was early morning by then. 

“Where to?” he asked.

The postcard in your coat pocket had a very distinctive postmark on it. You still keep it locked in your desk. It was the first letter your mother ever sent to your father. 

“Austin,” you said, looking up from underneath the hat you were wearing. “I’m going to Austin, sir.”

“Really? You have business there?”

“You could say that.”

But, looking at the letter Enoch Thompson sent you, now, eighteen months later, the small flicker of hope that reignited when your train rolled into Austin that night burns out in front of your weary eyes.

“Boo!”

Your head snaps toward the doorway again. “Jesus, Leo!” You press a hand against your chest. “You just scared the living daylights out of me.” 

The fourteen-year-old boy smirks at your reaction. “Since when are you this jumpy?” he asks.

“I’m not jumpy,” you retort. “How about you learn how to fucking knock?”

He raises his arms in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just thought that, since you asked me here, you would be expecting me.” 

“I gave you five hours. And don’t call me ma’am.”

You don’t usually smoke, but when your pulse is racing and you feel sick to your stomach like you do know, it is all you can do to get your mind back in order. You grab the pack from a drawer in your desk, instantly overwhelmed by the stench of tobacco, but you light it anyway. 

Leo approaches you. He’s a lot more confident than Beth is. She always acts as though she were stepping into a lion’s den, and maybe in a way, that’s true. Leo sees himself as part of the pack. A cub. He’s a teenager with too big of an openness to getting in trouble. You would call him a rebel, but even that would be an understatement. He’s much more than that, with a good head on his shoulders. 

“It only took me two. Not that it matters,” he says. “As it turns out, a lot of people have opinions about Nucky Thompson that they have just been waiting to share with someone willing to listen.”

You frown, looking down at the watch on your wrist. “It’s already been two hours? How?”

“I don’t know. I don’t study the way time works. I haven’t even finished school yet.”

“Did I ask for a smartass answer?” you snap, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. 

“No?” Leo pouts. “At least I don’t think you did.”

“Then don’t give me one. Jesus! How long have we known each other now?”

“Long enough to know that you only get mad like that when you’ve had a rough day.”

You scoff. “Rough is an understatement.” Another breath of nicotine fills your lungs. The words you’ve said repeat in your mind, and your heart cracks a little. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, kid. You’re just here to do your job.”

The cigarette lands in the ashtray on the top right corner of your desk, your tongue still filled with the bitterness it tainted your body with. Walking over to your mini bar to replace the empty bottle of Whiskey with some rum in your glass, you clear your throat and decide to change the subject to what concerns you.

“So, Enoch Thompson. Nucky.” You open the fresh bottle of rum. “What did you find out about him?”

“Well, he’s one of the leading powers of the liquor trade down there, but you probably already knew that. Or well, he was. That’s the important part. Apparently, the people he used to work with have turned against him, and he had to step down as County Treasurer.”

“I’ve heard as much through the grapevine. What would interest me is why he did that.” 

You finish pouring your glass. 

“May I have one of those?” Leo asks and points at your drink.

“When you’re older,” you answer.

“So your employees don’t even get to taste the, uh, merchandise anymore?”

You roll your eyes. “They do when they’re older than fourteen. Now, answer my question.” You turn back toward your desk and take a sip. “Why did Nucky Thompson step down as treasurer? Surely there is a reason his…empire started turning against him.”

As you sit back down, Leo steps in front of you. He isn’t very tall, but what he lacks in height he makes up in attitude. 

He reaches out and takes the glass from you, completely ignoring your previous words. You’re so taken aback, you can’t even be mad. You’re not his mother, after all.

His features contort at the taste, but he still swallows it. “Ugh,” he grunts. “The, uh, District Attorney’s office filed charges against him. And not just for bootlegging.”

You take your glass back, straightening up with a sudden spike of curiosity. “Do tell,” you press on.

“Violation of the Eighteenth Amendment under the Volstead Act, voter fraud, solicitation, and—hold onto your seat!—murder. They think he killed his current…let’s say lady friend’s husband–” he looks down at his little notebook, “His name was Hans Schroeder or something. The lady’s name is Margaret. Two kids. Irish.”

“So, he went for the woman whose husband he killed or had killed. Wow.”

Leo’s eyes switch between you and his notes. “Well,” he says, turning back to the subject at hand, “US Attorney Esther Randolf is looking to prosecute Nucky Thompson, and it seems she has very compelling evidence that might put him in prison for the rest of his life.”

The realization settles over you like a dark cloud, and lightning strikes you as the only pillar in an empty field. “That bastard,” you mutter under your breath. 

“I know, right?” Leo scoffs. “Can’t even do his job right. Thank God he ain’t our problem.”

He’s about to sit down, but you raise your hand with a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

He stops in his tracks, nodding. “Right, sorry.”

“You’re my informant. Your job is to inform me. And everyone who’s connected to what we do in any way can become our problem, don’t ever forget that.”

“There is something else,” he says.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you ask, and it sounds a bit more sarcastic than you intended. 

He doesn’t take your attitude to heart. Leo knows you well enough by now to know that you are not an irrational person.

Connecting the unveiled truth to the letter you received, it all makes a lot more sense now, and you almost want to applaud the man for his audacity to pull all possible strings to get out of whatever hellhole he dug for himself. Almost. Right now though, you’re fuming, and you’re scared, and for the first time since coming here, you are not quite sure what to do or what choice to make. 

Enoch Thompson can rot in hell for all you care, but your father’s words won’t leave your head and the looming sense of doom that is threatening to rain down on you like a guillotine continues to consume you. 

Who knows; if you were in his shoes, maybe you would have done the same with the people you know who might be able to wash your hands in return for something else. The world of trading liquor for profit has become a dangerous game in America ever since Congress passed the Volstead Act. 

There is a reason that legally, you don’t exist anymore. Legally, you’re dead. You burned alive in your childhood home, the one you set on fire. No one believed that you could have been cruel enough to orchestrate such a thing, and you are glad it ended that way. The town mourned you. It was sad. But you found a way to salvage all of what Henry ruined. 

You may have killed a man in self-defense—you may have committed murder, stolen from his corpse, and burned your life to the ground to fake your death and start anew somewhere else like a criminal and as a criminal—but at least you didn’t stand idly by and let a man far worse than you ruin everything you had left. You know you’re not innocent, and you’re no angel either, but the ice that surrounds your heart makes it easier not to let it break you.

Mister Austin was born out of spite, but spite is as good a reason to claim the power of an undeserving man. 

The things that need to be done are not always something you can be proud of, but your options are zero to none. To make money, you have to bend the rules a little. And sometimes, you have to break them clean through. You learned that the hard way. 

You stop tapping the brim of your glass when Leo calls your name. Looking up, you meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask. 

He clears his throat. “I said that his brother is in protective custody,” he says. Again, Leo checks his notes. “Eli, that’s his name. And I heard that James Damody has taken Nucky’s place. He used to be his protégée or something. I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You empty what little rum that’s left from the portion you poured yourself.

The sticky liquid is eerily similar to the consistency of fresh blood. You rub it between your middle and index finger, and for just a second, your eyes make it look like it’s scarlet.  

In your peripheral vision, you can see Leo moving his hat back onto his head. “Well, that’s all I have. Not everyone hates Nucky Thompson, and not everyone loves gossip as much as old ladies peeking out of windows in Atlantic City.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the envelope with the leftover dollar bills from earlier. “That helped a lot.”

“Hey,” he shrugs, “that’s my job.”

“You’re right, but I’m still giving you an additional fifty to buy something nice for your mother.” You count the bills that fit his rate, sliding them over to his side.

The boy takes them with a smug grin on his face. “So you’re giving my mother a raise but not me, the one who’s actually doing the dirty work for you?” 

Rolling your eyes, you add another twenty. “Don’t waste it on something useless,” you warn him. “Our last deal may have been a financial miracle, but I can’t go around giving bonuses to everyone every week.”

Leo counts the money you gave him, and he seems rather satisfied with the fruits of his labor. “I’ll take it,” he says.

As he makes his way to the door, your eyes flick between the envelope, Nucky Thompson’s letter, and the telephone. You’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, but you have reached a dead end. He forced you into a corner that you could only get out if you faced him. All the scenarios in your head end with a disaster. The only point of escape is the one Nucky forced you through. 

You should think this through, but every second you spend thinking is another second closer to losing it all. 

“Wait,” you stop Leo in his tracks. “How much would it take for you to look after the farm for…let’s say a week?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “A week?”

“Yeah. Feed the cattle, take the horses out, make sure the chickens don’t starve, that sort of thing.”

“Twenty bucks an hour,” he says.

“Fifteen,” you counter, “and you get to take all the eggs.”

“Nineteen.”

“I’m not negotiating with a child.”

“Eighteen and the eggs.”

“Fine. Seventeen. Last offer.”

Leo’s lips curl up. “I guess your animals won’t have to starve after all.”

“I’ll tell Beth to make sure you get your money on time,” you state. “And I’ll let you know if my plans change.”

You pick up the receiver of your telephone, pressing the button to connect you with the operator. 

“Where are you going, anyway?” he inquires. 

The line rings into your ear with every breath you take. You know it’s a decision you shouldn’t make. You shouldn’t run toward danger without knowing what you’re getting yourself into, but there is nothing you wouldn’t do to assure the safety of the life you’ve built for yourself. 

“Atlantic City,” you finally answer, and it dawns on Leo at the same time the weight becomes a reality on your shoulders. 

The operator asks to know who you are calling for, and you repeat the number that is more than familiar to you back to her. Again, the line rings as it starts to connect. 

“You’re going to Atlantic City to meet with Nucky Thompson, aren’t you?” Leo asks again.

He’s too curious of a child for his own good. Sometimes, you want to curse him for it. 

The lump in your throat feels significantly bigger than it did five minutes ago. You nod, but that’s all you can do.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

With a bitter chuckle, you shake your head. “I wish I did, but no,” you say. “I have no fucking clue.”

Leo flips his hat back onto his head. “Well, at least try to stay safe out there,” he tells you.

“I will. Thank you.” But you know that it’s a lie.

The line finally stops ringing and clicks when the door has fallen shut behind him. 

You tear your eyes away from the empty spot before you and focus on the piece of paper on your desk. Enoch Thompson’s name sticks out to you like a million candles on a pitch-black midnight. 

“Andrew,” you greet him. Your fingers fiddle with the envelope. “It’s me. Listen, I have to tell you something, and I hereby ask you not to murder me.”

You’re going to Atlantic City to meet with Nucky Thompson, that much you have decided, and there is nothing in this world anyone could do that would stop you from doing what you believe is right.

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series! Starting after this chapter!

[vulturevanity]

Hi! Loved hearing from an actual Brazilian about this. My understanding is Elon didn't want to appoint a representative out of fear for political retaliation. But fining masivley for usage over vpns seems pretty... big brother lol. But my perspective is obviously very skewed being an American. We have had a censorship problem stateside over "far-right misinformation" even though it is protected under our first amendment rights. I just wonder what those accounts were being investigated for in the first place?

Hi! Thanks for reaching out. I'll try to keep this simple.

Brazilian constitution is very different from US constitution, and in this particular case there are two factors: the disinformation spread about the elections and the riots it led to.

The disinformation was a systematic campaign funded and strategized by private companies and far right pundits and it happened all across social media in order to sew doubt over the electoral process and therefore delegitimize the results. The goal was to put Jair Bolsonaro (who, if you are not aware, speaks favourably of the military dictatorship of 1964-1985 and how it "cracked down on crime" [i.e. arrested, tortured and "vanished" dissidents, actively censored all media and blacklisted artists who spoke out against it, etc.]) back in the presidency regardless of results. This started on the years leading to the 2022 elections and continues today. In Brazilian Law, this constitutes as electoral interference, and is a serious crime.

Despite their efforts, Bolsonaro was not elected (by a uncomfortably close margin), and Lula became President. But the disinformation campaign had made its (wrongful) arguments that the election was rigged and unreliable, and it culminated in the Jan 8 2023 riots on the Congress which was not only violent and put the lives of many at risk, but also resulted in the destruction of several historically important and irreplaceable objects. This is why the participants of the riot are being prosecuted and investigated. Other far right protests across the national territory were not given legal attention because they didn't break the law (in fact several right wing crowds camped outside military facilities everywhere for months [with funding from private companies!], begging for another coup d'état to "fix the election fraud", and all they got was laughed at by the soldiers).

As you can see, the request for information on the 7 accounts linked to these events isn't an attack on the right to protest, nor is it retaliating against political opponents -- it's part of an investigation for very serious crimes. I am very against the judge establishing a hefty fine for using VPN to access twitter, but other social media sites are still perfectly functional and accessible in Brazil, and so is access to international news sites and all other information available anywhere else. We Brazilians aren't going anyhwere.

[fedtothenight]

tw for graphic description of suicide and cyber bullying

on october 9th, 2023, an italian call of duty cosplayer going by the name inquisitor committed suicide on live tiktok.

for hours his body lay offscreen as hundreds of people watched the stream, and some ironised that the phone set-up, angled towards a glass door to the outside, with no speaking and music in the background, was him being “mysterious”.

then, a hit against the glass door. another one. another one. a man was seen break in, crouch down off screen, receiving instructions on how to perform cpr from a woman still outside, on the phone with a 111 operator.

the live ended just after paramedics came into view, thanks to the reports of some users who had understood what had been unfolding in front of their eyes.

for a day, conflicting information regarding the outcome of his attempt flooded tiktok. it is now seemingly proven that he is no longer on this earth and that his funerals are today, october 11th 2023. in italy, it is common for funerals to happen within a 48-hour window from passing.

inquisitor was 23 at the time of his death.

weeks prior, inquisitor, who had privated all his accounts before reactivating for this last live, was accused of grooming and pedophilia. screenshots came out of him allegedly flirting with a 17 year old and/or a 15 year old. the cod community rallied around the minor(s): he was, to put it in tiktok terms, ‘cancelled’. he was named a p*dophile and a groomer.

other popular accounts, with thousands of followers, posted ‘call out’ videos about him, spreading the voice. the same accounts, the ‘batman of the fandom defending minors’, barely old teenagers themselves, mocked his live as it was happening — claiming it was for clout.

it had since emerged that the allegations were, allegedly, false. yesterday, multiple other cosplayers and users in the fandom posted screen-recordings of the minor admitting that they had lied about their age to flirt with him—who had a ‘minors dni’ in his bio.

it has since further been alleged, with screenshots, that the minor and their boyfriend orchestrated the call out, with the latter, who claims to be in the us army, egging the minor to ramp up their flirting until it became sexting. it is not proven it ever got to that point. the intentions to ruin someone’s reputation, however, were apparently there.

in italy, which is not the usa, and where high school is compasses ages 13 to 20 for those who do repeat years, it is also culturally accepted for someone in their early twenties to flirt or date someone who is around 18.

this is true irrespective of anyone’s feelings about it.

regardless of all that, regardless of whatever amount of the allegations, it not all, were false, a young man is dead and his death was live-streamed to thousands of people. in his own words to one of his friends, who showed some of his last messages, he committed suicide live on purpose to show what the past few weeks had done to him.

it should have never come to this point. at least please let it be a reminder that mob mentality is deadly, that we should never let go of our empathy, and that all suspected crimes, especially if this serious, should be reported to and dealt with by the proper authorities, not people on the internet.

i won’t stay his name because to the best of my knowledge he only gave it out privately, but: he was 23. he loved star wars and worked in a tattoo shop. he lived in bologna. he liked tortellini. he had a cat named loki and a sister who sometimes joined his lives off-screen. he was loved. all this information he gave freely.

although denial still wants to make me hope he made it out, and that he is okay, and alive and well, because what’s what denial does, my thoughts go out to him, to his family, to his friends.

inquisitor, if you're not here anymore: sit tibi terra levis.