#trading from basic to advanced

[estockstudies]

eStock Studies: Online Trading Courses from Basics to Advanced.

eStock Studies: free Online Stock Market Trading Courses from Basic to Advanced, Including Algorithmic Trading Techniques, for Aspiring Trading Experts.

[insanitize]

results of tumblr vs 4chan war

thousands of SJWs lost in Tumblrs army due to conflicts within the ranks about fanfiction censorship

thousands of Neo-Nazis lost in 4chans army due to being arrested in "real life", a higher plane that few can access and is rumored to maybe not be real

underground advanced trade system established to covertly deliver memes between parties with minimal contact, which facilitates the transfer of language. tumblr notably begins to publish content written in "Greentext", a dialect originating from 4chan

Tumblr splinters into hundreds upon hundreds of sub-factions, though the two most powerful are the Darkly Chics and the Bluey Adults. the factions are largely in opposition to eachother, but none of them agree to leave Tumblr

4chan splinters a more violent and intense clique, whom after many heated conflicts with 4chan's main userbase are run out of 4chan and seemingly disappear into the cold mist for years

the 4chan splinter clique becomes its own nation while nobody is looking, choosing to be called the Soyjacks (based on a popular style of abstractionist art that originated in 4chan but quickly spread elsewhere)

earlier in the war, Tumblr's governing body, known as "Staff" (possibly originating from the name for a type of halting rod used by level 25 and above wizards), issued a ban on all pornography, leading to many notable artists fleeing to a neighboring site known originally as Twitter. later in the war, Twitter would enter the infamous X Period, and users from Tumblr either rejoined or moved to the newly formed Bluesky

several large scale rifts between Tumblr Staff and the common people occur, causing widespread fear and doubt about the longevity of Tumblr. talks about Bluesky and its success begin circulating, though most remain skeptical

out of basically nowhere, the Soyjacks launch an attack on 4chan's entire main perimeter of operation, which turns out to have actually been very poorly guarded, and reinstate the board they were thrown out of before taking down 4chan. those who were able to escape in time reported the last words they heard being "CHICKEN JOCKEYYYY". this is said to have been a message from God

the Soyjacks, after bringing 4chan to its knees, reveal that spies have been collecting information from within 4chan in the time since their banishment, and several private logins of members of 4chans governing force (known as the "Janitors") are leaked, effectively spelling the end of the site as it once existed

result: tumblr wins by doing nothing

[elodieunderglass]

Why are jockeys not supposed to look at smartphones?? will it make them heavier

No, of course not!

It’ll make them criminals

This is in reference to something I mentioned about a prominent female jockey leaving the sport over breaking smartphone usage rules. Nanako Fujita, who raced for Japan, was an excellent jockey with a promising career and international prospects. She was lucky, talented, and in a sport that’s starving for public interest, popular. But she used her smartphone on a weekend, so on October 2024 she tearfully penned her resignation letter and left the sport.

Now, this is slightly more about Japanese sporting authorities than general horse racing practice, but it’s embedded in the idea that jockeys are inherently just such unscrupulous little bastards that they can only be prevented from cheating by locking them in hamster cages.

Going back to how horse racing is historically the province of organised crime, disorganised crime, chaotic crime, things that aren’t crimes but should be, crimes that haven’t been invented yet, and felonies; and given that it all happens for the amusement of billionaires and royalty, not noted for being generous and scrupulous; and given that - much like how claiming a hobby of “knitting” is really a cover story for collecting yarn - horse racing is really an excuse to gamble;

Given all that background - there’s always been a lot of anxiety about jockeys “fixing” races. After all, they’re historically treated as disposable and make inconsistent and indifferent money while entire fortunes are wagered on their backs they’re in an obvious position to influence race outcomes, and there are unbelievable amounts of money at stake.

Thus, the sport feels that we have to assume that jockeys are simply inherently susceptible to bribery. In the UK, jockeys can’t bet on any races and have to declare their mobile phone numbers to the horse racing authority, and have restrictions placed on where/how/what they can use smartphones for around the tracks. They can’t bring a phone to work, basically. Which isn’t too unusual in some professions. The idea is that jockeys with phones could communicate with each other or outsiders to change racing outcomes, or share information in advance before it can impact on the betting odds (like insider trading on the stock market.) this is not commonly practiced in other UK sports. It’s a working condition imposed by anxiety about preserving the integrity of the gambling.

The Japanese licensing authority is more strict. The night before a race meeting, Japanese jockeys surrender their phones and go into separate quarters without lines of communication. So you might give up your phone at 9pm Friday night, enter a sort of corporate youth hostel, work for 2 days, and recover your phone on Monday. Nanako was caught using her phone during this period of sequestration, even though there’s no evidence that she was using it for race fixing (another jockey caught for the same thing in the crackdown was making a restaurant reservation.) again, this level of control over personal communications isn’t practiced in other Japanese sports! Even Japanese pop idols, famed for having restricted personal lives, don’t risk getting pushed out of their job entirely for touching a phone.

It’s about a lot of things, but the level of control exerted over jockeys is interesting to me! and speaks to their position as athletes who aren’t the focus of the sport they do; of jockeys as the disposable pilots of things that are far more valuable than they are; of workers whose working conditions are unique; of sportspeople whose sport is defined by the anxieties of the rich about gambling; of people whose bodies are ferociously honed for a specific set of rules that don’t even necessarily make sense; of a sport thousands of years old, one of the oldest continuous sports of human history, in which the humans who play it are invisible; of ancient once-immovable traditions colliding, in the 2020s, with renewed interest in animal and human welfare and renewed pressures to Perform for social media and everything changing in ways we can’t see because we’re in the middle of them. Like when I say “one of the oldest continuous sports in human history”, as old as the domestication of horses, think about it for a minute and think how strange it is that the human athletes are this invisible, this disposable, this secondary to considerations. Why is it that you’ve been forced to learn about football against your will all your life, and you never thought for a second about this. Isn’t that wild? I think it’s wild.

(Disclaimer: I’m really not an expert, just a mild fan, which is a bit unusual for my demographic; despite the sport being ancient and internationally known, it isn’t very relatable to “people like us,” so this is kind of the first time anyone on tumblr’s really posted about having an interest in horse racing/jockeys. I’m really not an expert and I barely follow the news and do NOT attend races or understand the stats/gambling. It’s just that it was my first career ambition when I was 6, and it’s one of those things where literally no one else cares, so you get to feel like you have Secrets and a Unique OC.)

[cowboybeepboop]

Oblivious

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?”

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader 

Genre: smut, romantic and fluffy

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Shy and painfully oblivious reader and Tyler who is head over heels for her, desperate for any shred of attention. 

Warnings: Slow burn, Tyler being obsessed with reader riding him, lots of unprotected sex, sex in the show, p in v sex, riding him in his truck.

a/n: I don't really have much to say about this one tbh. But as always, I hope you enjoy and let me know if you have any requests!

As Boone’s younger sister you’ve obviously met Tyler countless times before, although you’ve always been a little too shy when it comes to him almost as if you’re trying to keep your distance from him. But you practically *begged* your brother to take you along this tornado season even if it meant being cramped in a car with Tyler for countless hours on end. 

You’ve been trying to make it as a photographer and capturing a storm is a beautiful opportunity. You keep your attention trained on everything but him, desperate to keep your infatuation with him a secret. 

Tyler has become restless when it comes to you, ever since he’s met you he has been overly flirtatious and yet you seem immune to his advances. While on the road he figured he would finally have his opportunity to make a move on you, but you’re still not budging. 

As you sit in the backseat of his truck his eyes are constantly shifting from you and the road, Boone shoots him a knowing grin. His shoulder brushes Tyler as he warns him to keep his eyes on the road. 

Tyler glances at you one more time, taking in your beauty before returning his eyes to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter and giving a quick side eye to Boone.

He was a fairly impatient guy and the fact that a beautiful girl was sitting in the seat behind him and he hadn’t gotten her to look at him twice is beginning to frustrate him. You flip through the pictures you took earlier, gaze trained on the camera, oblivious to his gaze. 

“Hey,” Boone waves his hand in front of your face, catching your attention. 

“Yeah? What's up?” you look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. Tyler’s body tenses when he hears you speak. A simple and basic sentence but it sounds absolutely angelic coming from you. His eyes glanced up into the rear view mirror, watching your soft smile.

He didn’t know why he cared so much about getting your attention but he did. He just wanted to hear you speak again, the sound of your voice already making his heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna trade seats with me?” he smirks in Tylers direction. “You can get a better view of the sky up front.” you nod in response, a soft tinge of pink painting your cheeks at the thought of sitting next to Tyler. 

Tyler’s ears perked up at Boone’s words. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of having you sitting right next to him. He could already imagine the look on your face as you gushed over the beauty of a fresh storm in the distance.

“Good idea.” He replied, his eyes once again locking with Boone’s in the mirror. He could tell his friend was up to something but at the moment Tyler couldn’t care less. He pulls over at the gas station so he can get more fuel and so you can switch seats. 

You settle down in the passenger seat as Tyler fills up his tank, camera equipment set on the floor next to your feet. “Boone?” you glance back at your brother. “Are you up to something?” 

Boone turns to look at you from the backseat, a smirk plastered on his face. “Me? Up to something?” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, knowing full well what he was doing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He teased. He leaned back in his seat again, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself for the drunk confession where you told him how you felt about his best friend. Your crush on Tyler has kept you more reserved and silent this whole trip because everytime he talks to you it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tyler hops back in the driver's seat, starting the ignition. Tyler notices the conflicted look on your face as he buckles his seatbelt. He raises an eyebrow at you, curious about what you were thinking about so intently.

As he starts the engine again, he steals a quick glance at you, his eyes roving over your form. He couldn’t help it, you were just so damn pretty.

“Everything alright?” He asks in a soft tone, trying not to be overly flirty just yet.

“Mhm.” you glance out the window, reaching for your camera to flip through your pictures once again. Tyler’s eyes remain on you as he begins to drive. There’s a brief silence in the car, broken only by the sound of Boone’s music playing softly through the speakers.

Finally, Tyler breaks the silence with a question. “Can I see the pictures you’ve taken so far? I’m curious.”

“You're driving.” you brush him off almost effortlessly, eyes still glued to the device. Tyler bites his tongue, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t tell if you were completely ignoring him on purpose or if you were too obsessed with your camera.

“You can just pass it to me, ya’ know doll.” He says, trying to hide the slight annoyance in his tone. You shake your head, setting the camera in your lap, words caught in your throat at the pet name. 

“I.. I can show you later.” you murmur, eyes wandering out the window. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw your reaction to the nickname. He knew he was getting close to his desired goal of unraveling you.

He let out a sigh as you once again dismissed him. “Later, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Boone, who looked amused by the interaction.

As the day comes to an end, Tyler stops in front of the motel. You both watch as Boone quickly exits the truck, leaving the two of you alone in the cab. Tyler watches as Boone leaves the car, a smirk on his face when he realizes his friend purposely left the two of you alone.

He turns back, eyes locking onto you again. The atmosphere in the car suddenly felt heavy, the silence almost deafening.

“You never showed me those pictures, doll.” His voice was low and a hint of mockery laced his tone.

“Oh, right.” your hands tremble slightly as you lean to him, showing him the camera. “I got a few good shots..” He leaned in closer as you held the camera up for him to see. A flicker of excitement shone in his eyes as he looked through the pictures sending a rush of desire down your spine.

“These are pretty good.” He said, and he was being honest. Not that he knew much about photography, but the photos looked great to him. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, watching you take your full bottom lip between your teeth in a manner that’s more tempting than you realize.

He tears his gaze away from your lips and back to the camera, making it very apparent that he was trying to stay focused on the pictures.

As he continues to try to flirt with you, you feel your heart sinking into your stomach. It feels like he’s unknowingly teasing you, leaning into your fantasy of him wanting you the way you want him. 

“You’re..” you trail off, eyes falling to your lap. “Tyler stop messing with me please, you’re starting to hurt my feelings” you *knew* he was just being friendly but he was giving you false hope. His frown deepens as you say that and his eyes widen in surprise. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You really thought that he was just messing around with you, that he didn’t have actual feelings for you.

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?” his hand cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. 

He moves your face gently, using his thumb to tilt you up towards him. He can’t help but notice how soft your skin is under his touch and he almost sighs at just how right you feel in his hands.

His voice comes out as a gentle whisper, his eyes searching your face. “What do I have to do to make you understand?” You notice the desperation in his eyes, finally realizing that he's *always* been trying to flirt with you.

“Oh,” you practically gasp out the word, reaching out to pull him to you by the collar of his shirt, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

He nearly groans at the sensation of your lips against his. The feeling he had been so desperate for was finally becoming a reality. He responds to your gentle kiss immediately, his hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you so you’re almost in his lap. 

His lips move hungrily against yours, needing you to understand just how truly desperate he was for you. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more of you. He feels like a starving man trying to get as much as he can. You move to straddle his hips, hands going to his shoulders as you settle on him. 

He groans at your change in position, his hands immediately moving to your hips to keep you in place. He had to bite back another moan as you settled down onto his lap, the feeling of you being so close to him was almost too much to handle, his hips shifting up against yours.

“Doll..” He pants out against your lips. “Finally starting to understand now?” you nod, leaning in for another kiss intoxicated by his taste. He eagerly returns it, his tongue running against your bottom lip, searching for entrance. 

He wanted more, needed more.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands gripping your hips almost possessively. He could feel himself growing hard with you sitting on his lap, he had to force himself not to moan at the feeling.

He nipped your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he spoke. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this.” you moan, hands sliding down his chest as you look at him dazed. 

He lets out a low, guttural growl at the sound of your moan, the noise was like music to his ears. Hearing you make those sounds for him was the best thing he had ever experienced.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

He leaned forward, attaching his lips to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting gently. He wanted to leave his mark, wanted anyone to know that you were his. You moan again at the feeling of him leaving soft hickeys on your neck, head leaning back to give him better access. 

“Tyler,” you whine his name, hips moving against his in desperation to feel more of him. He growls again, the sound low and guttural as he feels your hips grinding down against him. It was all too much.

His hands move from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. He can’t help it as his hips roll up, desperate to feel you against him.

His teeth graze over your neck, leaving a trail of dark marks as he sucks gently. “Doll.. you’re torturing me.” His voice is a low, desperate moan against your neck. Your hands move to his belt, pulling it away, working to free him from his jeans. 

“Ty, I want you..” your eyes are darkened with desire as you kiss his lips hungrily. 

He nearly moans at the feeling of your fingers on his belt. Hearing you call him ‘Ty’ in that desperate tone was driving him crazy.

He can’t help himself as his fingers dig into the soft skin of your thighs, his grip almost bruising. He knew he was going to leave marks but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Say it again..” His voice is a low rumble against your lips, hips moving to press up against you. He was coming undone under your desperate touch. 

“Ty, please..” You slip out of your panties, your skirt bunched up at your hips as you pull his jeans down. He moans again at the sound of you begging in that desperate, needy tone that he loves. 

He could barely focus through the fog of lust and desire as he watched you move. “God-“ His hips bucked up involuntarily against you as he groaned out your name, “-you need to stop doing this to me.”

You slide his erection out of his boxers, thumb sliding over his tip, spreading his precum around. ”What am I doing?” you feign innocence, loving the way he's just as desperate as you are. He could barely speak, your soft thumb against him had him writhing in pleasure. The feeling of you wrapped around him was almost too much.

He groans out a curse as his hips buck upwards once again. “You know exactly what you’re doing..” He manages to say in a strained tone, “Don’t act all innocent.” he groans. 

Tyler’s eyes flutter shut at the exquisite sensation of your hand wrapping around him, his breath hitching as you stroke him with a gentle, teasing touch. “Fuck, doll...” he murmurs against your ear, his voice thick with need. 

His hands tighten on your thighs, urging you closer as he feels the warmth of your body surrounding him. The way you touch him is like a sweet torment, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through his veins. His hips buck up into your soft hand, his body begging for more. 

With a groan of pure desire, Tyler’s hands guide your hips to his, aligning himself with your slick entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of the moment setting every nerve in his body alight. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers you onto his throbbing length, watching with rapt attention as your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The sensation of you taking him in, inch by inch, sends waves of pleasure crashing through him, and he has to fight the urge to slam you down and claim you fully. 

Instead, he lets you set the pace, savoring every moment as your warmth envelopes him. The truck's cabin feels like it's on fire, the air thick with lust as you both hover on the precipice of release. 

Each time you move down, the pressure builds, and he can feel the head of his cock stretching you, filling you up in a way he’s dreamed of for so long. His eyes never leave you, the connection between you palpable as you both begin to rock in a silent symphony of passion, the leather seats of the truck creaking in rhythm with your muffled moans and his labored breaths.

With a whimper of need, your head falls to Tyler's shoulder, your body trembling with each gentle movement. His fingers dig into your thighs, urging you on as he feels your inner walls tightening around him. Your breath is hot against his neck, silently begging him to take over. 

Tyler understands the unspoken plea, his own need burning like a wildfire within him. He takes control, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you up and down his length with a rhythm that makes you gasp. 

His kisses turn fiercer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "Ride me, doll. Show me how much you want this." Your nails bite into his shoulders as you obey, the pressure building with each stroke. 

The tightness in your stomach coils tighter, your moans growing louder as you chase the release that seems just out of reach. Tyler's grip on you is like steel, his hips meeting yours with a force that speaks of his own desperation. 

He can feel your body tensing, the sweet tremble of your thighs telling him you're close. "Come for me," he groans, his voice a rough command that sends you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, making your body convulse as you cry out his name. 

He follows you, his own release hot and powerful, his hips jerking upwards as he empties himself into you. Your bodies come to a rest, hearts pounding in unison, the storm outside forgotten in the intensity of the one you've just weathered together.

As the aftershocks of your shared climax subside, you bury your face into Tyler's neck, gasping for air as the pleasure washes over you in warm, delicious waves. His hands are gentle on your skin, stroking and caressing as he holds you closer, savoring the feeling of your body against his. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing the passion that still thrums through your veins. The storm outside seems to have quieted, as if it too has been sated by the electricity that crackled between the two of you. 

Tyler's grip on your hips loosens slightly, but he makes no move to let you go, his arms instead wrapping around your waist to keep you nestled in his embrace. 

His breathing is ragged, matching the erratic rhythm of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he whispers, "God, I've wanted this for so long." The admission sends a shiver down your spine, making you realize that maybe, just maybe, this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion. 

Maybe there's something more here, something that could last longer than the brief, fiery lifespan of a tornado. But for now, you're content to simply exist in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man who has held your heart hostage for far too long.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Tyler pulls you off his lap and sets you back in the passenger seat, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment. You watch, slightly dazed, as he tucks himself away, your own body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. 

He turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, and whispers in a gruff voice, "Come back to my room with me?" The question lingers in the air, thick with unspoken promises of more passionate moments to come. 

You nod, your cheeks flushed with excitement and anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he opens the door and helps you out, his hand firmly grasping yours. The rain patters against the pavement, mimicking the pounding of your heart as you walk towards the motel room, ready to explore the depths of your desires together.

Once inside the motel room, Tyler's hunger for you only grows stronger. He tugs you into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours as he impatiently strips away the layers of clothing separating your skin from his. 

Each article that falls to the floor feels like a barrier shattering, revealing more of your beauty to his eager gaze. When you're both bare, he takes a moment to drink you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your naked body. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and his mouth follows the trail of kisses down your neck to your collarbone. 

You whimper under his touch, your body arching into his as he whispers sweet nothings that feel like poetry against your skin. The heat of his touch is a stark contrast to the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet, but it's a delicious sensation that makes you crave more, he pulls away quickly stripping out of his clothes. 

With the shower now a steamy cocoon of warmth, Tyler guides you inside, the hot spray cascading down your bodies, mingling with the warmth of your shared passion. He kneels before you, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger that mirrors the way your heart races in your chest. 

His kisses begin at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you as he worships every inch of your body. His tongue traces a path upwards, his teeth gently grazing the soft flesh, until he reaches your stomach, where he places feather-light kisses that make you quiver with anticipation. 

He cups your breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making them peak and your breath hitch in pleasure. Then, his mouth is back on yours, the water rushing over your entwined forms as he kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. 

With a gentle yet firm push, he pins you against the tiles, the heat of the water a stark contrast to the coolness of the wall, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. His touch is demanding, his body pressing into yours, leaving no doubt about the depth of his desire. 

With a growl of need, Tyler lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His erection presses against you, the intensity of his desire unmistakable as he pins you against the tiles. His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue delving deep as if he can't get enough of your taste. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is electric, sending bolts of pleasure through your body with every touch. Your fingers dig into his hair as you kiss him back with an urgency that matches his own, your legs tightening around his hips, silently begging for more. 

His cock nudges at your entrance, the promise of what's to come making you whimper with anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he lowers you, inch by inch, onto his thick length, the sensation of being filled by him once again sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

The water streams down your faces, mingling with the sweat of passion as you both gasp and moan, lost in the throes of a desire that seems to have no end. Your movements become more frantic, your hips rolling and grinding against his, the need for release building like a storm ready to break. 

Tyler’s hands grip your ass, guiding your rhythm, his own hips driving into you with a fierce need that makes you feel wanted and cherished in a way you never have before. The sound of the water and your muffled cries fill the small bathroom, a symphony of passion that seems to echo the tempest raging outside.

Tyler's grip on your ass tightens as he lifts you slightly, his hips driving into you with a fervent need to feel you come apart in his arms once more. His movements are powerful and relentless, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig into his shoulders. 

The water from the showerhead cascades down your bodies, creating a steamy haze that obscures the rest of the world outside of your entwined forms. His eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze as your moans grow louder, your breaths coming in shorter gasps. 

He whispers filthy encouragement into your ear, his voice a gruff growl that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the strain of his muscles as he holds you up, fucking you with a passion that's as intense as the storms he chases. 

His strokes become faster, deeper, until you're riding the edge of a second orgasm, your body begging for release. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, your walls clench around him, and you scream out his name as you shatter into a million pieces, your climax sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a tempest. 

Tyler's eyes darken as he feels your contractions around his cock, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows you over the edge, filling you up with his hot cum, his body shaking with the force of his own release. 

The only sound in the room is the steady patter of rain against the window and the harsh beating of your hearts, a testament to the intensity of the moment that has forever changed the dynamic between you and Boone's best friend.

As your orgasm subsides, Tyler carefully pulls out of you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. He holds you by the waist, keeping you steady as your legs threaten to give out beneath the weight of the passion that's just overtaken you. 

The water from the showerhead runs in rivulets down your bodies, mixing with the remnants of your shared release. He turns you around, placing you under the warm spray, and begins to wash you, his touches gentle and full of love. 

His soapy hands glide over your skin, washing away the sweat and passion as if he's trying to cleanse you of the barriers that once stood between you. He lingers on your breasts, his thumbs caressing your sensitive nipples with a tender touch that makes you shiver anew. 

His hands travel down your body, over your hips and thighs, his gentle strokes feeling like a declaration of adoration. You lean into him, letting him support your trembling body as he worships you with his hands, his eyes never leaving yours in the steamy embrace of the shower.

It's a moment of pure connection, a silent promise that this isn't just a fleeting affair but the start of something beautifully tumultuous, a gentle, loving rain that nurtures the newfound bond between you. The world outside the motel room seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the water and the heat of your love.

With trembling hands, you turn around to face Tyler, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, which is heaving with the aftermath of your shared passion. His skin is warm and slick from the shower, his heart thundering beneath your lips. 

As you reach for the soap, your eyes meet his in the steamy haze, and you see the love and adoration reflected in his gaze. He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body. You begin to wash him too, your hands gliding over his defined muscles. 

Each stroke feels like a declaration of your own desire, a silent promise that you're in this together. His eyes never leave you, his own hands coming up to cup your face, holding you in place as if he's afraid you might disappear. 

The water runs over his body, washing away the soap, but the connection between you remains unbroken, as strong as the storm that brought you together. The intimacy of this moment is more potent than any kiss, more profound than any touch. 

It's a silent confession of feelings that have been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. And as you stand there, naked and vulnerable in the warm embrace of the shower, you realize that no matter what the future holds, this night has changed everything.

The steam from the shower clings to your bodies as you both step out, the cooler air of the motel room sending a shiver down your spine. Tyler takes a towel, wrapping it around his waist before approaching you, his eyes dark with desire. 

He takes another towel and gently begins to dry your skin, his touch lingering on your curves, as if committing every inch of you to memory. His eyes never stray from yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race anew. Once you're both sufficiently dried, he takes your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and to the king-sized bed that seems to call out to you both. 

He pulls back the covers with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours, and guides you to straddle him as he lays back, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath his weight. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and you feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

The warmth of his skin against yours sends a thrill through your body as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is the same fiery need reflected in your gaze. With a soft smile, he pulls you down, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that's as gentle as it is demanding. 

The passion that burned so fiercely in the shower is now a slow, simmering heat that promises to consume you both as you begin to explore each other once again, the storm outside now a gentle reminder of the tempest you've just ridden together.

With a seductive arch of his eyebrows, Tyler silently begs you to ride him again, his thumbs brushing into your hip bones, urging you to take control. The tender touch sends a shiver of anticipation through your body, making you eager to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him, your breasts pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a knowing smile, you straddle him once more, feeling his erection nudge against your folds. His eyes never leave yours as you position yourself, the connection between you palpable and intense. 

As you sink down onto him, Tyler's eyes roll back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips. Your bodies meld together as if they were made for this very moment, his thickness filling you completely. The storm outside seems to echo the passion that swells within the confines of the motel room, the thunder a testament to the power of your desire. 

The rain taps a gentle rhythm on the window, setting the pace for your lovemaking as you rock your hips against his, both of you lost in the symphony of pleasure that you've created together. Each movement sends a jolt of electricity through Tyler, his eyes never leaving yours as you set the tempo, grinding down on him with a need that matches his own. 

His hands glide up your body, caressing your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to your core. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hips rise to meet yours, the friction building into an unbearable crescendo. 

With a gasp, you arch your back, pushing your breasts towards the ceiling as you take Tyler's length fully inside you. Your hips bounce with an increasing tempo, each movement sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hair cascades down your back, sticking to your skin with the heat of the room. 

Tyler’s eyes are glued to the sight of you, his jaw clenched as he watches you ride him. He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re finally his, that you want him just as much as he’s always wanted you. His hands glide up your torso, supporting your weight as you move faster and faster, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing in the room. 

His eyes darkened with lust as you lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your bouncing breasts, the pink tips of your nipples peaked with desire. He can feel himself getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath yours. 

But he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to savor every second, every touch, every moan that escapes your lips. So he grips your hips, holding you steady, and thrusts upwards to meet you, pushing deeper, harder, driving you both closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back with each of Tyler's deep, powerful thrusts, your moans growing louder and more desperate as his thumb finds that sweet spot between your legs. He circles your clit with a gentle yet insistent pressure, expertly building the tension within you. 

Each touch feels like a spark igniting the flames of your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release. Your hips rock against his hand, matching the rhythm of his strokes, the friction driving you wild. His eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure overtakes you, a smug smile playing on his lips as he feels your walls tighten around him. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the storm outside seemingly in sync with your shared ecstasy. Tyler's breathing grows ragged, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you getting closer to yours. He whispers your name in a gruff voice, urging you on, his eyes filled with a fiery need that sends shivers down your spine. 

Tyler’s thumb continues to circle your clit, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches the ecstasy build in your expression. Your breath hitches, your body tightening around him, and with a final, powerful thrust, you cum hard, your muscles spasming as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

Your orgasm seems to trigger his own, and with a guttural groan, he fills you up with his warmth, his body stiffening beneath yours. The sound of the rain beating against the window is the only thing that pierces the quiet of the room, the only indication that there’s anything in the world beyond the two of you.

With your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax, you collapse onto Tyler’s chest, your heart racing in time with his. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him as if he’s afraid to let go. 

His chest heaves with the effort of his own orgasm, his breaths coming in ragged gasps that mingle with the gentle patter of the rain. The warmth of his embrace feels like a blanket, comforting and secure, as the aftershocks of pleasure pulse through your body. Your forehead presses against his chest, your eyes fluttering closed as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. 

[jstor]

Searching best practices on JSTOR

Hi Tumblr researchers,

As promised, we're going to dive into some best practices for searching on JSTOR. This'll be a long one!

The first thing to note is that JSTOR is not Google, so searches should not be conducted in the same way.

More on that in this video:

Basic Search on JSTOR

To search for exact phrases, enclose the words within quotation marks, like "to be or not to be".

To construct a more effective search, utilize Boolean operators, such as "tea trade" AND china.

Advanced Searching on JSTOR

Utilize the drop-down menus to refine your search parameters, limiting them to the title, author, abstract, or caption text.

Combine search terms using Boolean operators like AND/OR/NOT and NEAR 5/10/25. The NEAR operator finds keyword combinations within 5, 10, or 25 words of each other. It applies only when searching for single keyword combinations, such as "cat NEAR 5 dog," but not for phrases like "domesticated cat" NEAR 5 dog.

Utilize the "Narrow by" options to search for articles exclusively, include/exclude book reviews, narrow your search to a specific time frame or language.

To focus your article search on specific disciplines and titles, select the appropriate checkboxes. Please note that discipline searching is currently limited to journal content, excluding ebooks from the search.

Finding Content You Have Access To

To discover downloadable articles, chapters, and pamphlets for reading, you have the option to narrow down your search to accessible content. Simply navigate to the Advanced Search page and locate the "Select an access type" feature, which offers the following choices:

All Content will show you all of the relevant search results on JSTOR, regardless of whether or not you can access it.

Content I can access will show you content you can download or read online. This will include Early Journal Content and journals/books publishers have made freely available.

Once you've refined your search, simply select an option that aligns with your needs and discover the most relevant items. Additionally, you have the option to further narrow down your search results after conducting an initial search. Look for this option located below the "access type" checkbox, situated at the bottom left-hand side of the page.

Additional resources

For more search recommendations, feel free to explore this page on JSTOR searching. There, you will find information on truncation, wildcards, and proximity, using fields, and metadata hyperlinks.

[coinbasetradingguide]

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[bratzkoo]

our three year plan | pt. 1 wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: merging arrangements rewrite. will keep the original merging arrangements chapters in my blog but it’s discontinued ☺️. Also! Updates for this fic is not going to be as fast because I haven’t been writing in advance. 😔 So see you between a week to a year. Lol.

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist | next part

The conference room felt too small, too airless for the bombshell that had just been dropped. Y/N stared at her parents, certain she had misheard them.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears.

Her father, straightened his already impeccable posture. As CEO of Seoul's largest private medical group, he never made requests; he issued commands. "Your engagement to Jeon Wonwoo will be announced next month. The wedding is scheduled for spring."

"Engagement? Wedding?" Y/N's coffee cup clattered against its saucer. "To Jeon Wonwoo? The tech heir? I've barely exchanged ten words with him!"

Her mother's perfectly manicured hand reached across the polished conference table. "Darling, the Jeons are an excellent family. Their conglomerate is expanding into medical technology. This merger—"

"Merger?" Y/N stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'm not a business asset to be traded!"

"Lower your voice," her father hissed, glancing toward the door. "This is still a hospital."

Y/N inhaled deeply, the familiar antiseptic smell grounding her. Yes, Seoul Medical Center—her workplace, her sanctuary—was now the setting for this life-altering ambush.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Her father's expression hardened. "While you waste your medical degree playing nurse, the rest of us are securing the future of this institution."

The familiar barb stung, but Y/N had grown used to it over her years being a nurse. What she couldn't get used to was the idea of an arranged marriage.

"This discussion is over," her father announced, gathering his papers. "The Jeons are expecting us for dinner tomorrow. Wear something appropriate."

As her parents exited, leaving her alone in the conference room, Y/N sank back into her chair. Her phone buzzed with a notification for her afternoon rounds, a reminder of the life she'd built—the life that was now being dismantled without her consent.

"They can't be serious!" Alexys slammed her lunch tray down, causing several heads to turn in the hospital cafeteria. "Are we living in the Joseon dynasty?"

"Lower your voice," Dr. Ela Song whispered, sliding into the seat beside Y/N. "The walls have ears, especially when the CEO's daughter is involved."

Y/N pushed her salad around aimlessly. "They're dead serious. Apparently, the contracts are already being drafted."

"Contracts?" Alexys scoffed, her lab coat still bearing traces of what looked suspiciously like the methylene blue from the pathology lab. "For a marriage? Who does that anymore?"

"Rich people," Ela replied matter-of-factly, carefully separating her kimchi from the rest of her lunch. "Trust me, I know. My parents still haven't forgiven me for marrying Mingyu instead of the Chinese pharmaceutical heir they picked out."

Y/N looked up at her friend. Despite coming from immense wealth herself, Ela had chosen love over family expectations, a path that had cost her dearly. "How did you do it? Stand up to them, I mean."

Ela's expression softened. "I knew what I wanted. Do you?"

The question hung between them. What did she want? Y/N had spent years defining herself by her work—the midnight emergencies, the precious moments with patients, the medical missions to remote villages where her skills made a tangible difference. The thought of trading that for corporate functions and producing heirs made her stomach churn.

"I want my life," she finally said. "My career. My freedom to go on medical missions. Not... whatever this is."

Alexys paused mid-bite. "Then you need to find a way out of it."

"How? My father has made it clear this is non-negotiable."

Alexys grinned mischievously. "What if you make yourself so undesirable that this Wonwoo guy backs out? Men hate clingy women, right? Or maybe develop some disgusting habits?"

Despite everything, Y/N laughed. "You're suggesting I start picking my nose at business dinners?"

"I'm serious!" Alexys insisted. "Or what if—"

"What if you just talked to him?" Ela interrupted pragmatically. "This Wonwoo person might be just as trapped as you are."

The thought hadn't occurred to Y/N. In her mind, Jeon Wonwoo had been a faceless corporate puppet, willingly participating in this archaic arrangement. But what if he was another victim in their parents' chess game?

"Nurse Y/N to Emergency, Nurse Y/N to Emergency."

The overhead page pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She gathered her barely-touched lunch.

"Duty calls," she sighed, standing up. "I'll figure something out. I have to."

As she hurried toward the emergency department, a plan began forming in her mind. If Wonwoo was as reluctant as she was, perhaps they could form an alliance. A temporary arrangement with a predetermined expiration date. They could pretend just long enough to satisfy their families, then orchestrate some kind of falling out.

It was desperate, perhaps even foolish. But as Y/N pushed through the swinging doors of the ER and the familiar controlled chaos enveloped her, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not give up the life she had fought so hard to build.

Seungcheol was already gloved up when Y/N entered the trauma bay, his calm presence a welcome sight amid the flurry of activity.

"MVA, three minutes out," he called to her, his eyes crinkling with the smile hidden beneath his surgical mask. As the ER's most experienced trauma nurse, Y/N was always his first choice for critical cases.

She nodded, slipping into the familiar routine with practiced ease. Gloves, gown, mask—the ritual momentarily pushed aside her personal crisis.

"Heard you got called to the executive floor earlier," Seungcheol remarked as they prepared the crash cart together. "Everything okay?"

Y/N hesitated. Despite Seungcheol being her closest friend at the hospital, something held her back from sharing her current predicament. The situation felt too raw, too complicated to explain—especially to someone whose opinion mattered so much to her.

"Just quarterly performance reviews," she lied smoothly, checking the laryngoscope light. "Nothing exciting."

He studied her for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but the wail of approaching sirens saved her from further questions.

For the next three hours, Y/N lost herself in the work she loved—stabilizing patients, anticipating needs before they were voiced, bringing order to chaos. Here, in the ER, she wasn't the reluctant heiress of the medical group; she was simply Nurse Y/N, respected for her skills and dedication.

By the time her shift ended, Y/N had almost convinced herself that she could find a way out of her predicament. Almost.

"You look like you could use this," Seungcheol said, appearing beside her locker with a steaming cup of coffee—made exactly how she liked it, with a splash of almond milk and no sugar.

"You're a lifesaver," she murmured gratefully, accepting the cup.

"Rough shift," he commented, leaning against the lockers. "You handled that crush injury like a pro, though."

Y/N welcomed the shift to professional topics. "The ortho team said we saved his arm. Sometimes I forget why we do this, and then days like today happen."

Seungcheol smiled, the kind of smile that usually made her day brighter. Today, however, she couldn't fully return it, her mind still preoccupied with tomorrow's meeting with Wonwoo.

"You seem distracted," he observed. "Sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

Y/N took a measured sip of her coffee, buying time to compose her thoughts. "Nothing worth mentioning. Just tired." She forced a lighter tone. "Tell me about that new protocol Dr. Kim was discussing yesterday. The one for pediatric traumas?"

She could see Seungcheol wasn't entirely convinced by her deflection, but he respected her boundaries enough not to push. As he launched into an explanation of the new protocols, Y/N nodded along, grateful for his friendship yet oddly relieved to keep her impending engagement private—at least for now.

Some burdens, she decided, were better carried alone until she had a clearer path forward. Perhaps after meeting Wonwoo tomorrow, she'd have more answers than questions.

"Whatever's going on," Seungcheol said suddenly, interrupting his own explanation, "just remember I'm here if you need anything. No questions asked."

The simple offer of support without demands for explanation touched Y/N deeply. "I know," she said, her throat unexpectedly tight. "Thank you."

As they parted ways in the hospital parking lot, Y/N felt a strange mix of guilt and resolve. Seungcheol deserved her honesty, but until she understood her own situation better, silence seemed the wiser choice. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and perhaps then the path ahead would become clearer.

The Jeon estate was exactly as ostentatious as Y/N had expected—a modern glass and steel structure perched on one of Seoul's most exclusive hillsides, overlooking the city like a watchful sentinel. As the security gates parted for her parents' Mercedes, Y/N smoothed down her conservative navy dress, chosen specifically to project seriousness rather than bridal potential.

"Remember to smile," her mother murmured as they approached the entrance. "First impressions are everything."

Y/N bit back a retort. If her parents wanted a corporate puppet, they should have groomed Haerin for the role. Her younger sister would have thrived in this world of strategic alliances and business dinners.

The thought of Haerin triggered a pang of longing. If only her sister were here instead of "finding herself" in Italy. Their last conversation replayed in her mind:

"You should be the heir," Y/N had insisted during their video call. "You actually want this life."

Haerin had just laughed, the Mediterranean sun glinting in her hair. "I just want to be in Italy and be rich."

"You just want to be in Italy and be rich." Y/N mocked in sing-song tone.

"Yes, thank you, next!" Haerin had quipped, ending the discussion with her typical breezy dismissal.

Now, as a stern housekeeper ushered them into an expansive foyer, Y/N wished for just a fraction of her sister's carefree attitude.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon awaited them in a sitting room that could have been featured in an architectural magazine—all clean lines, expensive minimalism, and strategic splashes of color. Y/N instantly recognized Jeon Siwoo from business magazines, his silver hair and commanding presence befitting the CEO of one of Korea's largest tech conglomerates.

Introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, but Y/N barely registered the conversation. Her attention was fixed on the conspicuous absence of her supposed fiancé.

"Wonwoo sends his apologies," Mrs. Jeon explained, noticing Y/N's wandering gaze. "He was called away to handle an emergency at our Busan facility. He's flying back tonight and is looking forward to meeting you properly tomorrow."

Y/N couldn't decide if she was relieved or frustrated by the delay. On one hand, it postponed the inevitable awkwardness; on the other, it prolonged her anxiety.

"Perhaps it's for the best," her father said smoothly. "The young people can meet privately tomorrow. Sometimes these arrangements are better discussed without parental interference."

Mr. Jeon nodded in agreement. "Wonwoo will pick Y/N up at noon. I suggest lunch at the Sky Garden—private, yet public enough for propriety."

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral as her future was arranged like a business meeting. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and everything would change. Her mind raced with questions: Would he be as reluctant as she was? Would he consider her plan? Or would he be exactly like their parents, seeing her as nothing more than a beneficial merger?

As the evening progressed through an elaborate dinner where business dominated the conversation, Y/N remained largely silent, mentally rehearsing what she would say to Wonwoo tomorrow. By the time they left, she had a clear strategy: she would be direct, practical, and unemotional. This was a negotiation, nothing more.

The following morning dawned bright and crisp, autumn painting Seoul in shades of gold and crimson. Y/N had barely slept, her mind cycling through various scenarios of how her meeting with Wonwoo might unfold.

At precisely noon, her phone pinged with a message from an unknown number:

I'm outside your building. Black Tesla. - Wonwoo

Direct and to the point. Perhaps this was a good sign. Y/N grabbed her purse and headed downstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs despite her determination to remain calm and collected.

The sleek black car was idling at the curb, its electric engine silent. As she approached, the driver's door opened, and Jeon Wonwoo stepped out.

Y/N faltered momentarily. The man before her was not what she'd expected. Business publications typically showed him in formal attire at corporate events, looking serious and unapproachable. Today, dressed in dark jeans and a simple white button-down with rolled sleeves, he looked younger, more approachable—and annoyingly handsome, with sharp features softened by warm eyes behind round glasses.

"Y/N," he said with a slight bow. "It's nice to finally meet you properly."

His voice was lower than she'd anticipated, with a gentle quality that didn't match her mental image of a cutthroat tech executive.

"Likewise," she responded automatically, accepting his gesture to enter the car.

The interior smelled of new leather and something else—a subtle, clean scent that she assumed was his cologne. As he slid into the driver's seat, Y/N steeled herself. Handsome or not, this man represented everything she was fighting against—the loss of her autonomy, the end of her carefully constructed life.

"I know a place that's more private than the Sky Garden," Wonwoo said as he pulled into traffic. "If that's alright with you. Somewhere we can actually talk."

Y/N turned to study his profile. Was it possible he had his own agenda for this meeting?

"I'd prefer that," she admitted. "I have some things I'd like to discuss."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I thought you might."

The drive was mostly silent, but not uncomfortably so. Wonwoo seemed content to focus on navigating Seoul's busy streets, occasionally pointing out a landmark or asking a neutral question about her work. Y/N provided brief answers, saving her energy for the real conversation ahead.

He eventually parked near a secluded botanical garden, leading her to a small café nestled among trees just beginning to turn color. The place was nearly empty, offering the privacy both apparently craved.

After they ordered—he knew precisely what kind of tea she preferred, which was mildly disconcerting—Wonwoo leaned forward, his expression serious.

"I think we should address the elephant in the room," he said directly. "This arranged marriage."

Y/N appreciated his straightforwardness. "Yes, we should."

"I understand this must be difficult for you," he continued, surprising her with his perception. "Being told who to marry, having your future decided without your consent."

Something in his tone made Y/N pause. He didn't sound like someone equally trapped in this arrangement; he sounded like someone trying to be understanding of her predicament.

"Isn't it difficult for you as well?" she probed.

Wonwoo's eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in their depths. "My situation is... different."

Before she could ask what he meant, their drinks arrived. Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, gathering her courage.

"I have a proposition," she said once the server had left. "A way for both of us to satisfy our families without actually committing to a lifetime together."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression cautiously interested. "I'm listening."

"We pretend," Y/N stated simply. "We go along with the engagement, play the happy couple in public. Meanwhile, we live separate lives as much as possible. After a suitable period—maybe a year or two—we stage a falling out. Something believable but not scandalous. We part ways amicably, our families maintain their business connections, and we both regain our freedom."

She held her breath as Wonwoo considered her words, his expression thoughtful. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke:

"And what if it doesn't work?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if our parents don't accept our breakup? What if they push us back together?"

Y/N hadn't considered this possibility. "Then... we make the falling out more dramatic. Irreconcilable differences. Something they can't fix."

Wonwoo studied her for a long moment, his gaze so intent that Y/N fought the urge to squirm in her seat.

"Three years," he finally said.

"Excuse me?"

"Not one or two. Three years. That's how long we commit to this charade. It needs to be believable." He leaned forward slightly. "If we announce the breakup too soon, they'll know it was planned."

His logic was sound, though the thought of maintaining a fake relationship for three years was daunting. Still, three years of pretending was better than a lifetime of reality.

"Three years," she agreed tentatively. "But with conditions. I maintain my career. I continue my medical missions. No children, obviously."

"Agreed," he nodded. "And I have conditions as well. We live together in the house my parents have already purchased. Separate bedrooms, of course," he added quickly, seeing her expression. "But we need to appear committed. They'll expect it."

Y/N swallowed hard. Living together would complicate things significantly. "Any other conditions?"

Something shifted in Wonwoo's expression—a subtle change she couldn't quite identify. "Just one. We make a genuine effort to know each other. To be friends, at least. Three years is a long time to live with a stranger."

The request was reasonable, even practical. If they were to convince the world of their relationship, they needed to understand each other.

"Alright," she conceded. "Friends. But nothing more."

Wonwoo extended his hand across the table. "Then we have a deal. Our three-year plan begins now."

As Y/N placed her hand in his, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something—something in the way his hand lingered around hers, something in the quiet intensity of his gaze.

What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that Jeon Wonwoo had just agreed to a plan that aligned perfectly with his own agenda—three years to make the woman he'd admired from afar fall genuinely in love with him.

The house was beautiful—Y/N had to admit that much. Nestled in a quiet neighborhood that somehow managed to be both exclusive and understated, the modern three-bedroom structure was nothing like the ostentatious mansions their parents inhabited. If she had to be trapped in a fake engagement, at least the cage was gilded.

"Your things arrived this morning," Wonwoo said as he unlocked the front door. "I had them placed in the master bedroom. I've taken the room down the hall."

She followed him inside, noting with surprise the warmth of the interior. She'd expected cold minimalism like his parents' home, but this space was inviting—clean lines softened by natural materials, large windows filling the rooms with light, and carefully chosen art that seemed to reflect both Korean tradition and modern sensibilities.

"Did you decorate this?" she asked, running her fingers along a handcrafted wooden shelf.

Wonwoo shook his head. "A designer handled most of it, but I made some adjustments. I wanted it to feel like a home, not a showpiece."

Y/N glanced at him curiously. There it was again—that disconnect between the corporate heir she'd imagined and the thoughtful man before her.

"Let me show you around," he offered, leading her through the space.

The tour ended in a kitchen that would make a professional chef envious—state-of-the-art appliances, expansive countertops, and a view of the small but immaculately landscaped garden.

"Do you cook?" Y/N asked, noting how at ease Wonwoo seemed in this space.

"It's one of my few hobbies," he admitted. "Work doesn't leave time for much else." He hesitated, then added, "I thought I might make dinner tonight. If you're comfortable with that. Consider it a housewarming."

The offer surprised her. In her family, cooking was the staff's responsibility; the idea of the heir to a major corporation preparing dinner was foreign.

"I'd like that," she found herself saying.

Later, as she unpacked in her new bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed with messages from Ela and Alexys:

Well??? Did you meet him? Is he a troll? A robot? DETAILS, WOMAN! - Alexys

Hope you're okay. Call if you need anything. Mingyu says Wonwoo is actually decent, for what it's worth. - Ela

Y/N blinked at Ela's message. "Wait, Mingyu knows Wonwoo?"

As if on cue, her phone rang with Ela's call.

"You didn't know?" Ela sounded surprised when Y/N asked. "They've been friends since university. Mingyu never mentioned him because, well, you know how my husband is—he doesn't like to name-drop."

Y/N sank onto her new bed, processing this connection. "What else does Mingyu know about him?"

"Just that he's not like other chaebol heirs. Works ridiculous hours, actually earned his position rather than having it handed to him. Mingyu says he's brilliant with technology but awkward with people." Ela paused. "Did you propose your plan?"

"Yes," Y/N confirmed, lowering her voice although she was alone in the room. "Three years of pretending, then a clean break."

"And he agreed?" Ela sounded skeptical.

"Surprisingly easily. I think he's as trapped as I am."

There was a strange pause before Ela spoke again. "Y/N... did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?"

Before Y/N could respond, a gentle knock on her door interrupted the conversation.

"I need to go," she told Ela quickly. "I'll call you tomorrow."

She opened the door to find Wonwoo standing there, sleeves rolled up further and an apron tied around his waist. The domesticity of the image was so at odds with what she knew of him that Y/N momentarily stared.

"Dinner's almost ready," he said, seemingly unaware of her reaction. "Nothing fancy, just some doenjang jjigae and banchan."

"That sounds perfect," she replied, following him downstairs.

The kitchen was filled with mouthwatering aromas, the countertops lined with small dishes of perfectly prepared side dishes. As they settled at the dining table with steaming bowls of stew, Y/N found herself genuinely impressed.

"This is delicious," she admitted after her first bite.

A pleased smile curved Wonwoo's lips, transforming his serious face. "My grandmother's recipe. She insisted I learn to cook for myself, even though my parents thought it was beneath me."

"Your grandmother sounds wise."

"She was," he said softly, and Y/N noted the past tense with a pang of empathy.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the awkwardness of their situation temporarily set aside. It was strange, Y/N thought, how quickly the human mind adapted to new circumstances. This morning, she had been dreading meeting Jeon Wonwoo; now, she was sharing a home-cooked meal with him as they embarked on a three-year deception together.

"I've been thinking about our arrangement," Wonwoo said as they finished eating. "We should establish some ground rules. Beyond what we've already agreed on."

Y/N nodded. "That makes sense."

"For instance, we should discuss how we handle public appearances, family obligations, holidays..."

"And dating," Y/N added, thinking ahead. "If we're going to be living separate lives, we need parameters for discretion."

Something flickered in Wonwoo's eyes—so briefly Y/N thought she might have imagined it. "Of course," he said evenly. "Discretion would be paramount."

Their conversation continued late into the evening, mapping out the contours of their pretense. By the time Y/N retreated to her bedroom, she felt surprisingly at ease with the arrangement. Wonwoo was reasonable, practical, and seemingly as committed to maintaining their independence as she was.

As she prepared for bed in her new home, Y/N remembered Ela's question: Did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?

She dismissed the thought. Whatever Wonwoo's reasons were, they aligned with her goals. That was all that mattered. Tomorrow would be another day of adjustments, of learning to navigate this strange new reality. But for tonight, at least, she could sleep knowing she had found a way to protect the life she cherished.

In his own room down the hall, Jeon Wonwoo sat at his desk, a small smile playing on his lips as he closed the leather-bound journal where he'd been writing. On its cover, inscribed in his neat handwriting, were the words:

“Our three year plan.”

[cherryblossombankai]

Part Two

Summary: You're All Might's sidekick. While trying to stop a bank robbery, you're hit by a Love Quirk that brings all your feelings for the Symbol of Peace to the surface. Will All Might be able to resist your advances? Or will you tease out feelings he's kept buried?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Love quirk that basically functions like an aphrodisiac, penetration (p+v), dry humping, begging, dubious consent (I would say for both parties), fem!reader

Author's Notes: Part of a little trade with @actuallysaiyan! I hope you love it, Bacon! ❤️

Tag List: @pixelcafe-network, @actuallysaiyan

Wanna be added to the tag list? Simply fill out this form!

It’s a mission like any other you’ve been on with All Might. There was a bank robbery downtown. Of course, All Might is usually faster than you, but this time you were closer to the scene. You managed to make it there first and catch the thieves in the act.

 The villains were confident in themselves when they thought it was just you. Everyone knows you’re All Might’s little sidekick, but your reputation isn’t as large as his. Your name doesn’t carry the same weight or strike the same fear in the hearts of misdoers. These villains believed they could take you down quickly, and then escape before All Might showed up.

They were almost right. 

You fought a little harder than they’d expected, your quirk allowing you to create shadows to hide in to take them down. However, they had an ace. You create a shroud of darkness, but the moment you emerge you’re faced with a villain who’s dressed in pink with hearts covered in their leotard. They blow you a kiss, and you’re covered in a cloud of glittery, pink dust. 

At first the rush of lust and love is so strong, you pass out on the cold floor. Luckily, All Might is making his grand entrance just a few moments later. His large hand is outstretched in front of him, running right into one of the thieves' shoulders as they try to run out the door. He pushes the thief back. In a matter of moments, he had the gang subdued and ready for the police to haul off. 

You come to again when he’s rounding up the civilians who were caught up in the robbery. You shudder softly at the sight of him, your pussy growing hot under your suit. Your clothes feel like they’re sticking to your body in an unpleasant shield from the one you want. 

“Ah, there you are!” All Might kneels in front of you. “Are you hurt?” 

You’re panting, and your eyes are wet with tears as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful and kind. So caring...So perfect...So delicious. You let out a sweet little giggle and look away sheepishly. 

“Oh, All Might, you don’t have to worry so much about me!” 

He frowns and reaches out to place his hand on your forehead. Your skin is hot to the touch. 

“You don’t seem to be well. Did something happen?” 

Just the touch of his hand has you so dazed that you can’t even fathom trying to speak to him. Finally, one of the witnesses speaks up for you. They explain what they saw. All Might stand up to thank the civilians.

“All Might, don’t leave me,” you pout when he begins looking around to see if the ambulance has arrived yet. You crawl to him and wrap your arms around his leg. You rest your cheek against his thigh. You swear you can smell the musk of his manhood, and your little cunt tingles with delight. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he assures you. He tries to pry you off his leg, but the more he tries the harder you cling to him. If he uses any more force, he fears he’ll hurt you. 

“I love you, Toshi,” you whisper as you rub your cheek against his leg. Your fingertips ghost along the inseam of his suit. He gasps in shock at the touch and tries once more to push you away. To his utter horror, the moment you’re uncurled from his leg you begin to sob. 

“S-stop! Calm down, little one. Please, I didn’t mean to upset you!” 

“Mean, Toshi!” you sniffle softly. The civilians and police are starting to look on judgmentally. Unsure what else to do, he gathers you up in his arms and begins carrying you out of the bank. 

He doesn’t know what to do next. If he tries to take you home, he’s sure you’ll just try to find him again. Which could result in you getting hurt, since you’re not in the right state of mind. Then again, the way you’re hanging on him could be trouble. He couldn’t possibly risk taking you back to UA around the students. 

So, he takes you back to your apartment. 

Inside the apartment, you’re just as clingy as you were at the bank. Even worse, you keep repeating that you love him. It’s tearing him to pieces because deep down he loves you too but he knows you don’t feel this way. You couldn’t. He’s just a broken-down old man. You’re young and bright. Your whole career is ahead of you. There’s a lot more in your future than chasing after him forever. Every time those three sweet little words leave your lips, he pretends not to hear them. 

With each passing moment, your body aches more and more. He’s trying his best to help you settle in, but you’re not making it easy. 

“I’m hot,” you whine as you tug at your suit. 

“Go get comfortable.” 

This was a mistake to encourage because now you’re taking your clothes off in front of him. He’s trying not to look but just knowing your beautiful body is in reach and you’d be so willing in this state makes him hard. It’s a shameful thing, he tells himself, to get aroused during a time when you’re unable to properly consent. 

“N-not in here!” he pants. 

You smirk and take off your final piece of clothing. Once you’re fully nude, you take a step closer to him. 

“But I want you to look at me,” you whisper. “I want you to touch me too. It’s all I want.” 

He backs away from you nervously, coughing up a little blood when his energy runs out and he switches forms. He expects that to snap you out of this a bit, but it doesn’t. If anything you seem to become even more determined to get closer. His knees hit the couch, and he sits down. Right away, you’re on his lap. Your pussy dribbles on his suit as you grind against his thigh. 

“Toshinori, I love you,” you say again. 

He shakes his head, “No, don’t say that.” 

“But I do!” 

“No, you don’t, you got gassed. Remember?” 

You lean in and nuzzle against his chest. You continue dragging your cunt on his thigh, giving yourself at least a little bit of relief. He can’t bring himself to push you away. Instead, he adjusts your position so your rutting stimulates his cock. 

“No, I loved you before that,” you wrap your arms around him. 

“Fuck, you can’t keep doing this. Are you trying to kill this old man?”

You giggle softly before kissing his neck gently. His fingertips dig into the meat of your thighs as you grind down more purposefully on his dick. 

“I’ve been saving myself for you, Toshi. Never wanted anyone else t’fuck me.” 

“Don’t say that,” he pants. His cock throbs in his pants, and he’s so grateful that they’re loose now. 

“I’m makin’ you hard,” you giggle. 

He groans and his cheeks burn, “How else is a man supposed to feel when a beautiful young woman is grinding on his cock?” 

“Can I take it out, Toshi?” you ask, lifting your head to give him those puppy eyes. Your cheeks are flushed still, and your lips are glistening. He realizes from the wet spot on his shoulder that you’ve been drooling. That gas has practically turned you into a bitch in heat. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he says, finally snapping out of it a little. 

“Why not?” you frown. 

“Because you’re not yourself right now.” 

“I feel more myself right now than I usually do,” you lean in and sloppily kiss him. Your stomach flip-flops with excitement. 

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—,” he cuts himself off. 

“Put it in, Toshi,” you plead. “Just a little bit, okay?” 

He palms his face in disbelief at what he’s hearing. You’re done for, that much is obvious. There’s not gonna be any reasoning with you, and he’s losing it more and more. Sensing his weakness, you reach down to pull his cock out of his pants. 

“Fuck!” he covers himself with his hand. “Are you insane?” 

As he begins berating you for being irresponsible, you lean in to press needy kisses on his neck and jawline. You guide his free hand to your tits. 

As his resolve weakens, he begins palming at your breasts. Instead of covering his cock shyly, he’s stroking himself. The red, leaking tip of his cock rubs against your folds. 

Before he knows it, you’re working your way onto his cock. The thick head prods gently at your hole. You sink a little bit, taking the tip inside before pulling off. Then, you make your second effort. This time he’s holding it still for you and guiding your hips with his hand. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can take it,” he whispers, shocked at the words leaving his lips. At his encouragement, even more arousal dribbles out of your cunt. By now his pants are soaked from your mess. 

“I’m comin’,” you assure him as you lower yourself down once again. Your walls stretch uncomfortably around his huge cock. If the gas hadn’t made you so wet, you don’t know if you’d be able to take it at all. Inch by inch, he’s sinking into your warmth. 

You press your forehead against him as he bottoms out. You have to take a moment to get used to being so full. You can’t believe this is truly happening. Here you are, stuffed with his cock. Catching his breaths and inhaling him into your lungs. It’s everything. 

‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ your thoughts roll into this chant of unyielding affection as you begin rocking your hips. He’s deep inside of you, deep enough to destroy you if things get too heated. For his part, Toshinori clings to you. He’s panting and whining with a mix of pleasure and shock. His fingertips leave deep crescents on your hips. 

As you ride him, you feel a heavy comfort wrap around your thoughts. It’s only you and him here. Only this moment, this declaration of love. He throws his head back as your walls begin clenching around him. Your eyes squeeze shut and your legs turn to jelly as a white-hot numbness rolls over your entire being. Your orgasm is pure bliss. 

When you open your eyes again, he’s hovering above you. His hips snap desperately. For a fleeting moment you wonder when he flipped your positions, but when he hits that spot deep inside you it doesn’t matter anymore. Your legs lock around his waist and your nails dig into his back. 

“Toshi,” you pant softly. His eyes lock on yours, and then your lips are crashing in an intense kiss. 

It’s almost too late by the time he realizes he should pull out. With your legs locked around him, it’s not an easy task. He ends up cumming all over your mound, panting and whining with each spurt of thick seed. 

“Shit,” he whimpers as he lays his head on your chest. You run your fingers through his hair. 

As the room grows quiet, you realize the gas isn’t shaking up your thoughts anymore. You’re calm and utterly content. When Toshinori lifts his head to look at you, he can see the clarity in your eyes. For a brief moment, he fears you’ll regret what happened. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Instead, a sweet smile spreads across you lips. Your cheeks are a pretty shade of pink. 

“I love you,” you whisper. “My sunflower.” 

He blushes and nuzzles against your neck. “I love you too.” 

[enemui]

So Mel Medarda

Watched her own mother behead a woman when she was a child

Was exiled from her own family for not being ruthless enough

Still managed to make herself prominent enough to become a member of the Piltover council

Helped two young inventors pursue their project even though it seemed like what they were doing is madness—This brought incredible profit and technological advancements to the city. And then it also turned out this stuff was causing crazy magic polution, which she couldn't have known but now can blame herself for, since she supported the project.

She was there for the bombing of her workplace which killed half of her colleagues, crippled one and almost killed her at-the-time lover's partner. Then she learned why she was unscathed was dormant magic powers, so now she gets to grapple with the reality that she could've saved them all if she just knew about this stuff and how to control it. At the same time, if she didn't subconsciously activate that shield, she would've been dead. Like. Wow. Oh my God.

Then she got attacked again, directly had a gun pointed at her and when she tried to escape, she got trapped in a carriage that toppled over.

Then she got kidnapped and watched as her kidnapper brutally murdered her friend. Then said kidnapper took the form of her late brother and tried to play with her emotionally and she bashed that bitch's head in.

Then this kidnapper tried to manipulate her into betraying her own mom.

It's revealed she has crazy magic powers which have been kept from her her whole life, her mom basically traded her brother's life for hers to hide her away and now she has to grapple with the fact that this is what she is, and God knows what other people might think of her if they learn.

She saved Jayce's ungrateful ass from the Viktor robot, after he literally had the worst fucking reaction to the previous point.

She saved Caitlin's life.

She killed her kidnapper.

She held her own mother and watched her die.

And now she basically has to return home to take over as the new head of the family, despite all the connections and the life she built in Piltover, not to mention that place also got fucked and she can't even be there to help rebuild, because she has all this other shit going on and God knows when will all this finally emotionally break her.

Did I miss anything?

Like, holy shit, Mel Medarda the character you are. The shit you've been through that nobody gives you enough credit for.

I want more of this woman. I want her to finally be actually happy, not just on top of things or in control. I want her to experience good things to make up for all this crap and then I want to see her do cool magic stuff, while still being the intelligent ruler that she is.

[dre759]

Democracy in the USSR could have been more advanced in 1985 than it actually was, but that is no reason to identify “lack of democracy” as the main cause of the end of the Soviet Union. Many observers have little understanding of the actual features of socialist democracy. If the word “democracy” means the empowerment of working people, then the Soviet Union had democratic features that surpassed any capitalist society. The Soviet state had a greater percentage of workers involved in the Party and government than was the case with parties and governments in capitalist countries. The extent of income equality, the extent of free education, health care and other social services, guarantees of employment, the early retirement age, the lack of inflation, the subsidies for housing, food, and other basics, and so forth, made it obvious that this was a society run in the interests of working people. The epic efforts to build socialist industry and agriculture and defend the country during World War II could not have occurred without active popular participation. Thirty-five million people were involved in the soviets. Soviet trade unions had powers over such things as production goals, dismissals, and their own schools and vacation resorts that few, if any, trade unions in capitalist countries could claim. Unless there is enormous pressure from below, capitalist states never challenge corporate property. Advocates of the superiority of Western democracy ignore class exploitation, focus on process not substance, and give credit for capitalist democracy to capital, not its real defender and promoter, the modern working class. They compare capitalist democracy's achievements to its past, but, asymmetrically, compare socialist democracy's achievements to an imagined ideal.

-Socialism Betrayed: Behind The Collapse Of The Soviet Union by Roger Keeran and Thomas Kenny, page.235

(Link to the PDF included in the hyperlink)

[estockstudies]

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[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.1

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Summary: The little boy you patched up in the trailer park grows up, your paths finally aligning to bring you together. The man who was once only a rare source of comfort becomes your other half, only to pull back when you need him the most.

Notes: Based off of this post. Basically an angsty story detailing your relationship with Daryl and the group over the years, and when Daryl starts to grow distant from you.

Growing up was hard. Growing up without your loving father was even harder. 

You accepted the cigarette pressed in front of your lips from his hand and took a deep pull, holding it in your lungs until you felt your heart finally slow from its painful pace. He took his hand away from your face and took an equally long drag. 

“When's Merle getting out?” You asked as you absentmindedly scratched the dry blood off your fingernails, your nose still throbbing from your mother's fist. 

“Next week.” 

You were young then. God, way too young to be smoking cigarettes. Most kids your age stole them from their parents, bringing them into the eighth grade classrooms to sell or trade. 

Merle did come back the next week, but not for long. He eventually abandoned the two of you for the military, something his younger brother was really torn up about. After Merle left, said younger brother spent a lot of nights on your back porch couch. Your mother didn't mind, in reality she didn't give a shit at all, normally too high to care, or going through withdrawals so bad she only wanted to beat on you and blame you for your father's disappearance. 

You began to deeply miss Merle and the comfort he would bring, mostly in the form of alcohol or illegal substances. He'd always make you promise not to tell anyone, and you'd always say you weren't a fucking idiot. You were lucky you'd grown up on the same street as the Dixon brothers, it had inadvertently caused the older to view you as an estranged little sibling, sparing you from his foul advances. 

The Dixon brothers eventually became a rare sight. You all were just too busy with your own bullshit. You had a little brother to look after, and you did your best to shield him from your mother's antics, but one day the teacher saw that big bruise on his back and CPS took him away. You really missed Merle then, because at least he had the decency to sell you drugs instead of asking to trade for sexual favors. That made a substance induced escape a lot harder, forcing you to go into the city to find a decent dealer. 

You were sitting on your back porch crying with blood all over your face when you saw them again. 

They were frantic, tearing into your driveway with their dad's truck, shouting at you to get your shit and get in. Your mother was too doped up to understand what was happening, slumped on your dirty living room sofa with a bloody straw still on her lap. Merle had tried to get her to get up and come, shouting about ‘goddamn dead people eating everyone’(using a less kind word than people), but in your post-beating rage you left without her, leaving her on your couch to succumb to either an overdose, or whatever the hell the Dixons were warning her about. 

You begged Merle to go by the foster home to look for your brother. Begged, cried, and eventually screamed, and he screamed right back at you. Daryl barely managed to calm the two of you down with a hopeful explanation that the building that housed your brother was the safest place he could be. That didn't stop you from trying to steal their truck later that night though, which only ended up in another screaming match and a bloody spat with the undead. 

“Turn left here. Left, here!” 

“Well shit, give me more than a goddamn two second warning fucktard!” It was a wonder Merle hadn't lost his voice from the near constant shouting, at Daryl and you. This time it was the former, attempting at giving his brother directions to the safe zone in Atlanta, reading off a dirty crumpled map with text made for ants to read. 

You rubbed between your eyebrows and continued looking out your window as Merle turned around in the middle of the road to take the left into the highway. 

The sound of your name being called had you internally groaning. “Hey,” Merle snapped again, looking over at you in the passenger seat. “I said get my bag.”

You all but slung his plastic baggie into his lap. He took out a pill bottle with the label ripped off and fished out three pills, dropping them into his green pill grinder as he drove with his knees. 

“Just let me drive, man.” Daryl complained after having to correct the wheel for the elder brother. 

“Ay! Keep your stupid fucking hands off my wheel before you lose ‘em.” 

Most of the drive was like that. And it was even worse when after seeing Atlanta fucking napalmed. You were all close to losing it, and thankfully right before your Mexican standoff ensued, you found a group. 

You couldn't stand most of them. Most were too soft, too nice, too stupid or too weak. The strongest men were pieces of shit, and the men that weren't despicable were either weak or insane. Glenn didn't bother you too much, especially after you witnessed his weasel-like skills. He was like a roach, always surviving, even when a building fell on him. 

The majority of your time was spent hunting. 

The first day you went out with your recurve bow, which had once belonged to your father, Shane had questioned you. 

“You know how to use that thing?” He asked as he watched you flip your raggedy leather quiver over your shoulder.

You bent down to tie your boots and nodded. 

“You ever use one of those before?”

“Yes. You got a light?” 

Shane took a second before fishing out a lighter from his back pocket, moving intentionally slow as if to show you he was your superior. You snatched the green bic from his hand and lit your cigarette, shoving it back out towards him. 

“Dixons are already out hunting. Left this morning. Why don't you just stay here and help out? We could really use the hands. Women of the camp are sometimes more important-”

You walked off into the woods before he could continue. 

It was satisfying bringing your doe back to camp, even though dragging the thing back was a cruel and grueling process. You asked T-Dog and Ed to help you string it up, making sure to be as noisy as you could, a thick middle finger to Shane. You drained and gutted the carcass, making sure to ask Shane with a smug smile what he wanted to do with the intestines.

“Take it away from camp.” He spoke with his fingers a lot, rough pointing in an aggressive manner. “That shits gonna draw those things near.”

“Makes good bait for fish.”

Andrea and her sister Amy backed you up, even though they cringed and grimaced taking their share down to the quarry. 

Merle and Daryl had finally settled down after a while in camp. Merle wasn't seconds away from murder anymore, and Daryl found peace in his hunting. Eventually Glenn got you your own tent, which you were ecstatic about, no longer having to share one with the two men. 

Merle called your name through a mouthful of stewed deer meat. “Sweetie, hand me a beer why don't ya.” 

Lori looked up over her bowl. “Would it kill you to say please?”

You tossed the warm bottle to Merle, not acknowledging her attempt at sticking up for you. He didn't bother you, his insults or disrespect never did, growing up with someone like that sort of makes you blind to it, especially when you were used to so much worse from your mother. 

“Would it kill you to suck my nuts?” 

Shane stepped in and you groaned, rolling your eyes and taking your stew back to your tent. 

After Daryl's mother passed you saw him more and more. You were about eleven when it happened, you remembered the house fire and the day they moved into the trailer closer to yours. Daryl was almost constantly covered in bruises then. Always a black eye, always a purple bicep, always dried blood under his nails. He didn't smoke with you much after that, his mother having died from a cigarette induced house fire. That was when Merle had left, but your memory of the timeline was foggy. It had been so long ago and so much was constantly happening that you might've misremembered a lot of it. 

“Sleep good?” Your groggy voice caused Daryl to look up from his task of sharpening his knife.

“Nah. You?”

You yawned and sat next to him in front of the fire, stretching your sleepy limbs and taking a sip of his water. “Now that Merle's farting and snoring aren't waking me up every ten minutes, yes. Thought he would shit himself with how bad that tent stank.”

Daryl let out a knowing chuckle and tossed his whetstone in the open flap of his tent. He slipped his blade back in its holster on his belt before grabbing a crooked cigarette from his shirt pocket. 

“Fuckin' hate this place.” He muttered around the filter as he cupped his hand around the flame of his lighter. He snapped his zippo shut and put it back in his jeans pocket. “Me and Merle been talkin’.”

“About what?” You began crunching on a handful of almonds you stole from Lori the night prior. 

“These people, they're… they're fuckin’ idiots.” He sighed as he blew out a stream of smoke, waving his hand around for enunciation. He held it to your lips for you to take a drag, watching as you pulled in a lungful before he took it away. “We should just leave 'em. They probably want us gone anyway.”

You observed him, not responding, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Well? You comin’?”

“Course I am. But I don't think we should leave.”

“Why the hell not? You hear the shit they say about us?” He scoffed, his brows furrowed. “Inbred hicks with their ‘trailer trash whore’. Y’know, they think we all fuck each other when we go off huntin’. Good for nothin' bastards. Should just rob ‘em and leave.”

“I don't give a shit what they think. I give a shit about my odds of survival, which are higher with guns.”

“We got guns. N’we can jus’ take theirs.” He argued, referencing the duffle bag of stolen guns in the hidden compartment of their truck. “Besides, chances are we're safer on our own than these dumb shits, catching frogs with the kids in the damn quarry.” 

“Hey, I'll come if you leave. I couldn't care less about these people. But they keep that RV locked up real tight. It's gonna be a bitch to get into, especially with the rifleman wannabe on top and his gun slingin’ daughter, or whoever the fuck she is to him. Shane's already watching us too much. Let's just wait a while till he stops following me around like I'm some sort of violent nutcase.”

You had unknowingly sealed the fate of many lives with your argument. 

“Gonna go in the city.” Merle said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, jumping out of his truck bed, careful to not knock over his bike in the process. “Y'all need anything? Tampons?” 

“No.”

“Was askin’ Darlene.”

“Shut the hell up man.” Daryl grumbled and finished preparing his crossbow for his hunt. “An’ no, don't need a damn thing.”

“Get some SlimJims.” Your favorite low cost snack. Growing up in a trailer park gave you a superior taste in snacks, SlimJims and Funyuns being your favorite. 

“Why you want that when I got all the meat sticks you need sugar?” Merle laughed crudely, nearly bumping you over with a sloppy kiss goodbye to your cheek. You smirked and playfully pushed him off, watching as he left with the rest of the supply group. 

“C'mon. Let's go before all the damn squirrels get eaten.” Daryl put his crossbow on his back and you picked up your weapons before following him off into the woods. 

You had good luck that day. Daryl had a rope full of squirrels and you were tracking down a deer he'd sunk a few arrows into. 

“Not gonna need SlimJims no more.” Daryl breathed as the two of you crept silently through the woods, following the trail of bubbly blood. 

“As much as I love your roasted squirrel, it just doesn't have the same kick to it.”

“Never heard you complainin’.”

“Yeah, it's ‘cause I'm not a bitch.”

“You? Not a bitch?”

“Only to people who deserve a good bitchin’.”

“Seems like everyone these days needs a little of that.”

“Hah, yeah. We better get that deer before the dead do, Merle's gonna be hungry as fuck when he gets back.”

You didn't react when Rick Grimes told you he'd cuffed Merle to a roof. You didn't react when it was revealed T-Dog, one of the only people you liked in Shanes group, had dropped the key and left him up there. He'd profusely apologized and you just stared at him, doing everything in your power not to punch him in the throat. 

You did react when you saw Merle's hand on that roof, his body nowhere to be seen. You cursed and shoved Rick so hard he hit the metal side of the fire escape with a bang, and Daryl, eager to jump in, ran to your side with blazing eyes. If it wasn't for the other people there and the guns they held,  you would've killed him that day. Mauled him like the animal you were and left him there just as he did Merle. 

In the absence of his brother, you found Daryl had seemed to subliminally put you in his place, a figure to follow and learn from. Not that you had too much to teach him, but knowing you were the eldest sibling in your family had you fitting into place with him perfectly. 

You guessed you could call Daryl your friend now. You never had many friends, only in elementary school, sticking to yourself most of the time. The kid going to school smelling like cigarettes with the same clothes they wore the day before was never a popular choice for companionship. You never minded it though. The abuse you suffered at the hands of your mother had turned you into a cold and calloused human. Daryl was simply an object of mutual benefit for you back then, a source of company, cigarettes, alcohol. Whatever he could get his hands on. And he was easier to relate to than Merle, who had a good ten years on you. 

But now, he was the only person you had left. Your mother was gone, your precious baby brother God knows where, and your male mentor was still missing, out there with one hand, his state of existence unknown to you. He was most likely dead. Shane's group had quickly become “Rick's group”, and you still held no fondness for any of them. Andrea had formed an odd one sided relationship with you, she craved your status. The group saw you as on level with the men, you never needed gun training like the rest of them, you got to keep your own gun, and no one ever tried to prevent you from doing something you wanted to do. 

It was clear though, none of them really liked you all that much. They treated you like more of an outsider than they had Merle. You couldn't blame them, you wouldn't like someone like you. You were a mean and cold bitch, always keeping to yourself and only viewing them as a transactional business. They provided safety in numbers and you provided fresh kill and a gun. 

One of the only times you behaved like a friendly human being was when you arrived at the CDC. It was hard to recognize you after you showered and cleaned up, washed your clothes and didn't smell like cigarettes or blood anymore. While your clothes were washing you had to borrow some from the former employees, a deep purple sweater and black slacks that somehow fit you perfectly. You caught Shane watching you walk down the hall, and you quickly responded with a snotty face of disgust. 

A stomach full of hot seasoned food and wine loosened you up a bit. You sat next to Daryl and smiled, even laughed a few times, much to the shock of the others. 

“C'mon, one more glass.” Daryl grinned as he filled your cup with more wine before you could object. “Don't be a baby.” 

“Sure thing Darlene.” You snorted as you took a sip, earning an eye roll and a scoff from Daryl. 

“Yeah, keep it up.” He feigned aggression as he downed his third glass. “Won't be so funny when you got teeth in your throat.”

“Not before I lose my boot up your ass.” 

The banter was refreshing. The trip out of the quarry had been exhausting. It felt like you were admitting to failure when you were forced to give up your search for Merle, and oftentimes you debated on stealing his bike out of the back of your truck and going back to find him. But there was always something stopping you, every single time. 

Sleeping on an actual mattress felt amazing. You'd offered to take the couch as a joke, and when Daryl made his way to the bed you dove into the sheets before he could plop down on it. 

“You really are a goddamn bitch.” He slurred and slung his bag at the foot of the couch, falling back dramatically.

“Drink some water before you get a hangover.” You tossed him a fresh bottle from the room fridge, and he begrudgingly downed it. You turned the light off and climbed into bed, groaning at the feeling of the soft and dry mattress.

“You think Merle’s alive?”

You blinked, opening your eyes and looking towards the couch. It was dark, you'd assumed he'd been asleep by then, there had been several long minutes of silence. 

“Yeah. I know he is.” You were surprised by his question. Daryl had always been the one reassuring you of Merle's status, claiming he was impossible to kill, and that he could feel in his bones that his brother was alive. It also made you a bit uncomfortable, you'd never comforted anyone before that wasn't your little brother. Let alone Daryl. The most you'd done for him was offer him sanctuary on your porch and cleaned his wounds if they were bad. 

“Go to sleep Daryl.” 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams (wasn't sure if you guys wanted to be tagged since its eventual smut but here u go)

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @10hrs26mn @adribarbie (those who asked to be tagged if someone wrote this in the original post)

[alpaca-clouds]

Monotheism is not quite what you think it is

So, you have been told that in the Abrahamitic religions (meaing, Judaism, Christianity and Islam) there is only one God. The big one. Adonai, YHWH, Elohim, or Allah. The one big guy. Chances are, that if you are one of those people sent to a religious school or dragged to chuch, you even have been told it there. Heck, you might have learned the Ten Commandments - a version of which exists in each of the scriptures - starting out with "there is no other God but Me" (meaning the one guy).

What would you do, if I told you, that this is actually a mistranslation and that in fact the old versions of the texts do reference a variety of other gods not as demons or devils, but as just as real as the one guy?

A couple of weeks back I talked a bit about the background of Lucifer, how in the Hebrew version of the text this character was not called Lucifer but Halel. And Halel is not an angel or anything, but he is another god in the pantheon that Elohim was from. A god associated with beauty. And back when the Syrian myths were still a thing, the story went: "Halel thought he should lead the pantheon because he was more beautiful than all the other gods and for this was punished to spend some time mortal wandering the earth." While most of this myth did not survive, for some reason some parts did, with Halel not really getting explained. But yeah, he wants to overthrow Elohim and gets banished. And because the European audience for whom it was then later translated into Latin would now know Halel, the translator put in Lucifer, who like Halel was a male god associated with beauty and the morning star (aka Venus).

But this is not the only god that gets outright referenced in the text. Several others do, mostly from the Canaanite and Syrian pantheon - as those are where YHWH ended up for a long time. Some Egyptian deities also get mentioned. And no, none of them are said to be demons or devils or anything like that.

The core of this is the translation of that one sentence in the Ten Commandments. It gets usually translated as "There is no God but me", or "You shall not have another God but me". But what it more clearly says originally is: "You shall not pray to another God but me". And there is the thing. The "you" is not a "you" of "anyone", but actually means a very specific people. And for this, we need to once more go back to the origin of YHWH.

Now, mind you, given that we are talking about stuff that is about 4000 years in the past, so the sources are not capable of filling up all the questions. But we have a somewhat good idea.

See, something that in todays discussions about anti-semitism gets kinda overlooked is, that the Semites were not just the Jewish people, but a whole culture of people living in the east of the Mediterranean, which includes Akkadia, Phoenicia and Ancient Syria. Those were an "advanced civilization" too, but one that rarely gets talked about as much as Greece, Rome and Egypt - despite later Roman history being heavily connected to it and sharing several deities.

Not to put on my conspiracy hat, but I am rather convinced that part of the reason we talk little about it, is, that if everyone knew about this mythology, people would look at the Bible and go: "Oooooooh!" Because while we can absolutely see those similarities with other mythology as well, because of the common background, if you compare the old Testament to Akkadian, Phoenician, and Persian myths, there is a lot more commonality there.

But yeah, these cultures had also a lot of cultural exchange going on with both Egypt and Greece at this time - 4000 years ago. Which at the time with everyone being very polytheistic meant that alos a lot of gods god exchanged. Basically like if you are doing a trading card game. "Oh wow, you have a really cool harvest deity." - "Trade you for your fire deity." - "You got a deal!" And while we are not 100% sure, we are fairly certain that in all that a harvest and/or weather deity named YHWH got taken over by those semitic people doing their own desert civilization. Some of them had like actual cities, some were more normadic.

Either way, YHWH was taken into that pantheon and for some reason he at some point got fused with Ba'al, a war deity, who also had weather aspects. And this fused deity at some point for one tribe then also fused with Elohim, the highest of the gods. A good old typical Sky Daddy.

And then there was this one mainly normadic tribe, who at some point were like: "Yeah, actually, we do no longer care about the other gods. It is all Sky Daddy YHWH-Ba'al-Elohim for us now!" However, they did not deny the reality of the other gods, it was just that this tribe decided to exclusively pray to this one deitiy, because in their understanding, this deity had promised to protect them and what not.

Yes, this one tribe were the Israelites.

And that brings us back to "You should not worship any god but me". Because that "you" was meant for them only. The Israelites. And if you real the whole scripture - at least the Hebrew one - there is absolutely no doubt about this. Heck, even later in the Greek stuff (so Jesus-related lore) we are very clear on that. This was not a religion for anyone. This was a religion for the Israelites, and nobody else.

Jesus at one point explicitly says: "I have not come to deliver anyone BUT the Jews".

Now mind you, technically this is mainly an issue with the scripture in Judaism and Christianity. Because they mainly kept the translated versions of the old Hebrew texts, even though a lot of people who read them lack the historical context of who wrote these texts and when and why. But the fact that Jesus is very clear on who he is there for does remain.

Islam does not have this issue as much, as the Qur'an did not just take the Hebrew stuff, but basically retold all the stuff in a very shortened version. Which for the most part also keeps out the references to all the other deities - and does not involve anyone going: "This religion is for this specific group only."

To me these days it is really weird, that most of the times when I am talking to Christian religious people, they are not engaging with those parts of the bible however. Usually, if you note those parts, they will outright deny them.

Personally, given how much violence was committed in the name of the one guy who was so very much against violence, I find it almost sad that this violence was then committed by people who that one guy explicitly said he had not come for.

And the entire rivalry between religions... Back in the day, people just accepted that all the gods were real to some degree and let other people pick their favorite god in peace.

Oh, and before I forget, because a lot of Zionists get super angry about this one: Actually, Arabs are Semites too. So if we want to be really technical abotu words, anti-muslim sentiment (which tends to be just a cover for anti-arab sentiment either way) is actually anti-semitic, too. Because, yes, the term anti-semitism came from a time where it included all those semitic groups, and not just the Israelites.

[blackstarlineage]

Lack of Focus on Cooperative Economics and Collective Wealth: A Garveyite Perspective

Introduction: The Economic Divide That Keeps Black People Dependent

One of the greatest weaknesses in the Black world today is the failure to prioritize cooperative economics and collective wealth-building. Despite immense economic potential, Black communities remain economically fragmented, allowing wealth to be extracted by non-Black entities while Black businesses struggle.

From a Garveyite perspective, this is not accidental—it is a deliberate legacy of colonialism and slavery, designed to:

Keep Black people financially dependent on white-controlled economic systems.

Encourage individualism over collective wealth-building, preventing economic power.

Ensure that Black dollars circulate in non-Black communities while Black businesses remain underfunded.

If Black people do not shift from individualistic consumerism to cooperative economic strategies, they will remain financially powerless—and a people without economic power will always be controlled by those who have it.

1. The Historical Roots of Black Economic Fragmentation

A. The Destruction of Pre-Colonial African Cooperative Economic Systems

Before European colonization, African societies operated on collective wealth and community-based economies where:

Wealth was distributed through extended families and clan structures.

Trade and agriculture were communal, ensuring everyone had economic stability.

Economic growth was tied to the prosperity of the entire community, not just individuals.

Example: The Igbo, Akan, and Zulu people had well-developed cooperative economic systems that ensured long-term wealth sustainability.

Key Takeaway: African societies once thrived on collective economic principles—colonization disrupted these systems.

B. The Legacy of Slavery and the Destruction of Black Wealth-Building

During slavery, Black people were:

Kept from owning businesses, land, or property.

Forced to depend on white economies for survival.

Taught to value individual success over group advancement, breaking communal ties.

Example: Even after emancipation, Black people were denied land ownership (e.g., the failure of "40 acres and a mule"), keeping them financially dependent.

Key Takeaway: Slavery conditioned Black people to focus on survival rather than wealth-building—this mindset persists today.

C. The Targeted Destruction of Black Economic Success

When Black communities successfully practiced cooperative economics, they were often attacked and destroyed by white supremacy.

Examples include:

The Tulsa Race Massacre (1921), where Black Wall Street was burned to the ground.

The destruction of thriving Black towns like Rosewood, Florida (1923).

Government-led attacks on Black economic independence, such as COINTELPRO’s targeting of Black-owned businesses.

Example: The U.S. government actively worked to destroy the Black Panther Party’s economic programs, such as free breakfast and community banking initiatives.

Key Takeaway: Black cooperative economic movements have historically been targeted because economic independence threatens white supremacy.

2. The Modern Consequences of Neglecting Cooperative Economics

A. The Failure of Black Dollars to Circulate Within Black Communities

Studies show that:

The Black dollar circulates for only 6 hours within the Black community before leaving.

By contrast, in white, Asian, and Jewish communities, money circulates for weeks or months.

Black consumers spend heavily, but most of that money goes to non-Black businesses.

Example: Black people spend billions on designer brands like Gucci and Louis Vuitton, but Black-owned businesses struggle to get basic funding.

Key Takeaway: If Black people do not keep their wealth circulating within their own communities, they will never achieve collective economic power.

B. Dependence on Non-Black Financial Institutions

Because Black people do not control their own banks and financial institutions, they suffer from:

Higher loan rejection rates.

Unfair lending practices that keep Black entrepreneurs underfunded.

Lack of access to capital, keeping businesses small and underdeveloped.

Example: Black businesses receive far fewer loans and at much higher interest rates than white-owned businesses, making it harder to scale.

Key Takeaway: Without Black-owned banks and cooperative financial systems, Black people will always be economically vulnerable.

C. The Economic Divide Between Wealthy Black Individuals and the Black Masses

Because Black millionaires and billionaires often do not reinvest in the community, we see:

A few highly successful individuals, but no strong Black economic infrastructure.

A celebrity culture that promotes individual luxury spending over economic reinvestment.

A lack of mentorship and capital-sharing between Black elites and struggling Black entrepreneurs.

Example: While Black celebrities like Jay-Z and Rihanna are billionaires, most of the Black population remains financially struggling because wealth is not being collectively shared.

Key Takeaway: Black economic progress must be collective, not just individual.

3. The Garveyite Solution: Restoring Cooperative Economics in the Black World

A. Building Black-Owned Banks and Financial Cooperatives

Black people must:

Create community-owned credit unions and banking systems.

Invest in Black-owned financial institutions instead of using white-owned banks.

Develop cooperative lending programs where Black businesses fund each other.

Example: Marcus Garvey’s Negro Factories Corporation and Black Star Line were designed to create a global Black economy independent of white control.

Key Takeaway: A race that does not control its financial systems will always be economically dependent.

B. Supporting Black Businesses First

Black consumers must:

Buy from Black-owned businesses before spending money elsewhere.

Encourage group economics by pooling resources for community investment.

Create business directories to help Black consumers find Black-owned businesses.

Example: The "Buy Black" movement encourages Black consumers to spend within their community before giving their money to non-Black businesses.

Key Takeaway: Cooperative economics requires collective spending discipline.

C. Developing Pan-African Trade Networks

Black nations and businesses must:

Trade more with each other instead of relying on European, Chinese, or American markets.

Establish a Pan-African currency and banking system.

Build supply chains controlled by Black people, from production to retail.

Example: The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is a step toward African economic unity but must be expanded and fully utilized.

Key Takeaway: If Black economies depend on foreign trade, they will always be subject to foreign control.

D. Teaching Cooperative Economics in Black Schools and Communities

Black educational institutions must:

Teach financial literacy and cooperative economic principles from an early age.

Encourage young Black entrepreneurs and investors.

Develop training programs for business ownership and group economics.

Example: Schools in Black communities should teach about successful Black economic models like the Garvey movement, Black Wall Street, and Pan-African trade networks.

Key Takeaway: If the next generation is not taught economic self-sufficiency, Black communities will continue to struggle.

Conclusion: Will Black People Choose Economic Power or Continued Dependence?

Marcus Garvey said:

"The greatest weapon used against the Negro is disorganization."

Will Black people continue making other communities rich, or start building their own economic institutions?

Will we invest in cooperative economics, or keep focusing on individual success?

Will we create financial institutions, or remain dependent on those who have historically oppressed us?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[dashcon-two]

An Important Notice for Panel and Vendor Applications!

We’re very excited for Panel Applications to open tomorrow, and wanted to share some more information about the application process! 

Panel applications open February 10th, 9 am EST, and will close February 15th, 9 pm EST. Shortlisted panellists will be contacted to arrange an interview and discuss further details at a later time. Shortlisting is not a guarantee that you will run a panel. 

For those unaware, panels kinda like convention breakout rooms. They’re typically lecture-style presentations to a small audience of guests! Think ‘powerpoint night where I yap about my hyperfixation’ but on a larger scale, with topics ranging from professional artists giving advice, to in-depth breakdowns of specific media. There’s a lot of diversity, and panels can take forms beyond what we’ve outlined: a trivia show, an art trade, a skill-building workshop, et cetera. We’re open to all your wildest and whackiest ideas!

Initial applications are pretty basic: all you need is a description. Tell us about your panel idea in 1-2 paragraphs at most, and how long you’ll need to run it. A maximum of 7 people are permitted to panel together, but 1-2 people are standard. Applicants may discuss their qualifications or attach a partial or completed slideshow to their application, but these are both optional. 

Our guidelines for panel content are available on the Panel Applications of our website. All panelists will also have to follow our Convention Policies. Please know that DashCon 2 will not permit 18+/Adult content to be discussed or presented during panels. Any violation of these rules will result in the immediate cancellation of a panel, and the offending panelist’s pass being revoked. 

Panelists will not have to pay for a convention pass, but we encourage all applicants to purchase tickets on February 22nd as we cannot guarantee spots in advance. Panelists who have purchased a ticket will be offered a refund. Unfortunately, DashCon 2 cannot refund the processing fees taken by Simpli Events nor those of their transaction processing service Stripe. We do not offer compensation for travel or other expenses occurred as a result of volunteering for DashCon 2. 

Since panellists are considered volunteers, they are free to explore the convention outside the bounds of their panel. However, panellists are expected to have signed in and to be on-call 30 minutes before and after their scheduled panel time. Panellists who do not check in before or show up to their panel will have their pass revoked.

Vendor Applications Will Close Soon!

This a reminder that Vendor applications are still open!! Thank you to everyone who applied to be a vendor, we’re really excited to host so many incredible artists. We’ve decided to close applications on Wednesday, February 12th at 9PM EST. We will be contacting successful applicants before the 22nd, so others will still have the option to buy tickets!

As always, you can find more at www.dashcontwo.com, or subscribe to our mailing list over on substack!

[anim-ttrpgs]

Changeling Player Character Rules in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Eureka has six playable "monster" types, and about ten total supernatural character options all together. Each supernatural trait is taken basically as if it is a normal trait like the ones you have been seeing us post. You cannot give a character more than one supernatural trait--and from what you are about to read, you probably wouldn't want to. Playing monsters is recommended for "advanced" players only, people who like a lot of "crunch" in their games, as require you to keep track of a lot more mechanics than playing a normal human.

Here is the Changeling Trait. Changelings aren't actually classified as Monsters, they're classified as "Misc. Supernatural," but even then their mechanics can be crunchy. This is going under a Read More because it's long as hell but we really hope that you will check it out and comment. This is, like, the whole entire ruleset for playing a changeling in Eureka.

Changeling

In some cases, fairies will steal away, or trade for, a human child, replacing them with a child of their own. Almost always, the fairy child left in their place will be an unwanted child, one the fairies consider weak, sickly, or strange by fairy standards, and this character is an example. Alternatively, this character may be the direct offspring or descendant of matrimony between human and fairy, or just a fairy that came out a bit different.[1]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] Whatever their origin, changelings will find themselves on the receiving end of crueler ridicule and pranks from “proper” fairies, should they ever actually encounter them.

Unless they’re told by a parent, a changeling will not know they are a changeling, nor know anything of fairies at all, and will most likely think of themselves in the same way a mage would.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] Unwitting human parents of a changeling often struggle to come to terms with the child that has been thrust upon them, even without knowing the truth of the matter.

Mage Power or Curse 

Choose one of the following options:

Option 1: Mage Power

When not debilitated by iron, the changeling has a single Mage Power. Choose one Mage Power.

Option 2: Curse

When not debilitated by iron, a changeling can place a terrible curse[1] on an unsuspecting victim that is within their sight,[3] which makes the target appear to suddenly feel extremely feeble and ill. target suddenly feel extremely feeble and ill.[2] If time is measured in Turns, this will take one Action. The target will have a -2 modifier applied to all Skill rolls for 1D6 days.

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] No really, it’s a terrible curse, no technique at all.

[2. Off to the side in the final formatting] Symptoms include shortness of breath, nausea, fatigue, muscle weakness, loss of appetite, excessive sweating, dizziness, and a sense of impending doom. However, no medical doctor will be able to diagnose exactly what is causing the problem.

[3 off to the side in the final formatting] One reason that these changelings are rejected from fairy society is that they have no sense of or regard for its rules. 

Glamor (Changeling)

When not debilitated by iron, add +1 Base to all of a changeling’s Intrapersonal Skills except Social Cues and Threaten.

Weather Affect (Changeling)

When not debilitated by iron, changelings can exert very minor influence over the weather in a localized region of about a mile radius around them for the duration of a Scene. They could not turn a hurricane into a sunny day, but they could turn a storm into a drizzle, a drizzle into a cloudy day (or vice versa). They could raise or lower the temperature by about ten degrees Fahrenheit, cause the fog to thicken or dissipate, part the clouds to allow sunlight or moonlight through, or help block it out, etc. This takes one Action if time is measured in Turns. 

With use of a Eureka! Point, the changeling can change the weather much more drastically, such as summoning a violent rainstorm out of nowhere, initiating a snap freeze or sudden thaw, or parting the clouds during a hurricane. However, when this ability is used, roll a D6. On a 6, the power will have the opposite of the intended effect, such as trying to make it warmer actually makes it colder.

With use of a Eureka! Point,[1] a changeling can extend the duration of the weather change to last for the whole day, and one day per Eureka! Point after. 

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] This is a separate Eureka! Point usage from the above option of making the weather change more drastically, though they can be combined to make the drastically changed weather last longer. 

Poltergeist Activity (Changeling)

When not debilitated by iron, changelings have the ability to exert “poltergeist activity” in their general vicinity, such as within their line of sight or the building[1] they are in. This ability essentially causes chaos and unexplainable accidents. Equipment malfunctions, food mysteriously spoils, objects fall over or off shelves, people trip and drop things, unidentifiable banging may be heard, etc. This counts as an Action if time is measured in Turns. 

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] The wing or floor of the building they are in, if it is an exceptionally large building.

For each use of this ability, the Narrator rolls 3 hidden D6s. For each 5 or above, something advantageous to the changeling will happen, and for each 4 or below, something disadvantageous or at best unhelpful to the changeling will happen. When deciding what happens, use the same logic as Woo Rolls. Whatever is the most obvious thing to happen happens.[1][2]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] Beware, use of this ability can have catastrophic consequences in places where people’s lives rely on the proper functioning of sensitive equipment or strict safety regulations, such as hospitals or construction sites.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] Note that when changelings use this ability, it is more likely to result in unexpected consequences than when done by a “proper” fairy.

Misc. Fairy Features

Every changeling has zero or more of the following features.

Pointed Ears

+2 Contextual bonus to Senses rolls involving hearing.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] In rare cases, these ears are articulate, and their position may betray a changeling’s mood.

Antlers/Horns

The changeling takes half damage from bludgeoning weapons.

Irregularly Shaped Pupils

The changeling has a +1 Contextual bonus to Reflexes and Visual Calculus.

Tapetum Lucidum

The changeling’s eyes will reflect light and appear to shine in darkness. They are not affected by low-light conditions, unless the environment is completely lightless.

Unusual Number of Teeth

The changeling has an unusual number of teeth.

Marked Skin

The changeling has elaborate markings across at least a third of the surface area of their entire body, which could be passed off as regular tattoos to the untrained eye. Add +1 to all Composure rolls made by the changeling for non-skill supernatural ability usage.

Outcast

Changelings have -1 to Social Cues. Regardless of how charming they can be once you get to know them, in youth they exhibit strange mannerisms which tend to draw a lot of social scrutiny, and will often be withdrawn somewhat from their peers at younger ages.

Weakness to Iron

Iron, and alloys of iron, will irritate a changeling’s skin on contact, often causing an itchy rash.

Iron, but not steel or other alloys, will also render a changeling powerless so long as it is in physical contact with their body, giving them a -1 to all rolls, and debilitating them. This will not undo any curses that are currently in effect.

Unstable Powers

When a changeling reaches 0 Composure, some power will flare uncontrollably, sometimes even a power they didn’t even know they had, and do not know how to replicate. When this happens, the Narrator rolls a hidden 3D12 for the effect and does not inform the changeling’s player of the result. They and the changeling will have to figure that out for themselves. 

This table references the fairy rules and it is suggested but not required that the player of a changeling not read the relevant fairy rules so they can be just as confused as their investigator when these things happen. They may even elect to not read the table at all.

If any of the following effects fail to come to be before the changeling is restored to 1 or more Composure, they will not take effect. However, if they do come to pass, restoring the changeling to 1 or more Composure will not automatically reverse the effects.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] For example, if the result is that the changeling will accidentally steal the name of the next person whose name they speak, but they don’t speak any names before they regain a point of Composure, then they will not steal the next name they speak. However, if they did accidentally steal a name, that name will not be automatically returned upon the changeling recovering Composure.

All curses that result from this table will last 2D6-1 days, but spiriting away, stolen names, and stolen voices will have to be manually undone.

3D12 Table

3. The changeling will unwittingly place a curse of slumber on all people they touch while at 0 Composure.

4. The changeling will unwittingly place a curse of death on all people they touch while at 0 Composure.

5. The changeling will unwittingly reduce in size all people they touch until regaining Composure. See p.xx “Curse of Reduction”.

6. The changeling will unwittingly turn the next three people they touch to stone.

7. The changeling will unwittingly transform the next three people they touch into animals.

8. The changeling will unwittingly place a curse of slumber on the next person they touch. See p.xx “Curse of Slumber”.

9. The changeling will unwittingly turn the next person they touch to stone. See p.xx “Curse of Petrification”.

10. The changeling unwittingly spirits away the nearest person. See p.xx “Spiriting Away”.[1]

11. The changeling unwittingly spirits away the last person they had any disagreement with.

12. The changeling unwittingly spirits away the next three people they touch.

13. The changeling unwittingly steals the voice of all people who speak to them while they are at 0 Composure.

14. The changeling will unwittingly steal a full true name from *all* people whose names they speak any part of.

15. The weather becomes significantly more hazardous, such as a blizzard, lightning storm, or even tornado, dependant on the surrounding biome for 1D6 Ticks.

16. The weather changes randomly, but does not become significantly more inclement for 1D6 days.

17. The changeling unwittingly curses the nearest person.

18. The changeling unwittingly causes three times the regular amount of poltergeist activity.

19. The changeling unwittingly causes poltergeist activity.

20. The changeling unwittingly causes poltergeist activity. 

21. The changeling unwittingly causes twice the regular amount of poltergeist activity.

22. The changeling unwittingly curses the last person they had any disagreement with.

23. The changeling unwittingly curses the next person they touch.

24. The weather becomes significantly more inclinent, such as a snowstorm, rainstorm, or dramatic change in temperature, dependant on the surrounding biome for 1D6 days.

25. The changeling will unwittingly steal a full true name from the next person whose name they speak any part of.

26. The changeling unwittingly steals the voice of the next person to speak to them.

27. The changeling unwittingly spirits away the next person they touch.

28. The changeling unwittingly spirits away all people they touch while at 0 Composure.

29. The changeling unwittingly spirits away the nearest three people.

30. The changeling will unwittingly transform the next person they touch into a random animal. See p.xx “Curse of Transformation” for both the rules and the list of possible animals.

31. The changeling will unwittingly reduce in size the next person they touch. See p.xx “Curse of Reduction”.

32. The changeling will unwittingly place a curse of death on the next person they touch.

33. The changeling will unwittingly reduce in size the next three people they touch.

34. The changeling will unwittingly place a curse of slumber on the next three people they touch.

35. The changeling will unwittingly transform all people they touch until regaining Composure into a random animal. See p.xx “Curse of Transformation” for both the rules and the list of possible animals.

36. The changeling will unwittingly turn all people they touch until regaining Composure to stone. See p.xx “Curse of Petrification”.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] The changeling may attempt to un-spirit-away the victim just as a fairy would, but with a -2 penalty to each attempt. They do not need to know the victim’s full true name, just be able to picture the victim in their mind.