#I will never understand why employers would want to hire someone who talks themselves up?

[the-busy-ghost]

I hate STAR interview questions, I can never remember specific instances of things I've done well and if I talk about a time I had to step in to clear up a mess that I didn't create, it always sounds like I'm bitching about a colleague and that's just not Decent

[queenshelby]

THE ARRANGEMENT – SEALING THE DEAL

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 3522

Warning: Sugar Daddy, Submission, Smut, BDSM

Notes: I will use this headline to write more smutty encounters between Tommy and the Reader. But they will get a bit heavier in the BDSM department. So if this is not your thing, don’t keep reading.

Requested: Yes

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal  @chrisevanshoeee  @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse  @captivatedbycillianmurphy  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  

………

The Proposal

Today marks the day you’ve been working for at the Garrison exactly one year. A job you found by sheer accident when you moved to Birmingham.

You had no money when you fled Northern Ireland and were in need of employment. Your parents were involved with the IRA and with a well-known surname like yours, it was difficult for you to find employment.

You always tried hard to disassociate yourself from your parents with whom you did not agree on political matters. They were terrorists and you stood elsewhere on the Irish question.

When you arrived in Birmingham, you were offered a job at the local whorehouse. You declined. The last thing you wanted was to lose your virginity to some filthy married patron who paid you as little as 2 shillings for your services.

When you saw a job advertised in the paper at the local pub, you applied. This is when you met Grace Shelby who hired you.

Grace was there by sheer accident herself, arranging the new fit-out for the pub. She was Thomas Shelby’s wife and no longer worked herself.

She was a kind hearted woman and had been in your shoes many years ago. No one other than Grace believed that you would last in a job like this. But here you were, still working behind the bar and serving alcohol to drunk men.

To your disappointment, Grace had passed away six months ago and your husband Tommy has never been the same since.

For the first four months following her death, he got himself and his family into lot of trouble. The majority of his family members were serving prison time for a robbery. But not Tommy. He was working on their release while continuing to build his family’s wealth.

Ever since their arrest, he attended the Garrison frequently, most often late at night after he had visited one of the up market brothels owned by him.

Of course, he didn’t tell you that, but it was obvious to you. It was his way of coping with life and to stay focused.

You talked a lot. He would often be the last patron at the Garrison and ask you to drink with him. You didn’t drink much, but would allow yourself a glass of whiskey on occasion.

Tonight, was one of these nights where Tommy and you were alone, just talking and drinking.

He walked into the Garrison at 11 o’clock, greeted you and ordered a whiskey.

‘You are early tonight Mr Shelby’ you said.

‘Well, Y/N, things have not been going my way today’ he responded.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ you asked.

‘I rather not’ he responded.

‘Alright, no talking then’ you said with a smile.

‘Do you have a man in your life Y/N?’ he then asked all of a sudden. His question took you by surprise.

‘I do not. Never had. Why are you asking?’ you wondered.

‘No reason. Just curious why a woman like you works in a place like this’ he said bluntly.

‘It pays well, I get good tips. I had a job offer from one of the mistresses at one of your brothels. I declined. I rather serve 50 drunk men a night than fuck ten of them’ you laughed.

‘This seems like a reasonable choice’ Tommy chuckled.

‘So, you ever get bored of them? Knowing that sex is no more than a transaction to them and you are no more than a client must be frustrating’ you asked.

‘How much whiskey did you have to drink tonight Y/N, eh?’ Tommy asked sheepishly, being surprised by the directness of your question.

‘More than a little. It’s my birthday’ you laughed.

‘That’s what I thought. Happy Birthday Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby, but you didn’t answer my question’ you smirked.

‘The good thing about prostitutes is that they do exactly what you pay them to do. They fuck. They don’t expect feelings from you, just money. You are right, it is a simple transaction’ Tommy said.

‘Sounds boring and repetitive. Wouldn’t you rather have someone consistent? The same skilled woman every time, someone who gets to learn exactly how to please you, always around right at your disposal and with no strings attached?’ you asked.

‘I’ve read that, in France, rich businessmen and politicians keep themselves mistresses rather than going to brothels. It’s discrete and it’s safe. The men provide their mistresses with accommodation and visit them for sex whenever they please’ you added.

‘A mistress, eh?’ Where do you think I would find such a woman Y/N? Tommy joked.

‘Well Mr Shelby, I know of someone who would be very interested to come to some sort of arrangement’ you smirked.

‘You realise that I am about twice your age?’ Tommy asked sheepishly, knowing exactly that you were talking about yourself becoming his mistress.

‘I do and this makes it even more interesting’ you suggested.

‘You are quite young Y/N. How many men have you been with?’ Tommy asked

‘None’ you said, causing Tommy to choke on his whiskey.

‘No’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t do virgins Y/N. It’s not my thing’ Tommy added.

‘Think about it, I am like a clean canvas. You can teach me exactly how you want to be pleased’ you smirked.

‘You are clearly drunk Y/N. I shall drive you home’ Tommy said.

And so he did. After you closed up the pub, he drove you to your apartment which was located in one of the worst areas of Birmingham.

As he drove you home, you brought up your proposal again and Tommy appeared more open to consider it at this point. But not tonight, not with you having been influenced by alcohol.

You were an attractive woman, clean and easy to talk to. You worked in the Garrison for a year and he knew you would be discrete and he could trust you.

‘Come to my office tomorrow at noon if you decide that this is what you want and then we talk, eh’ Tommy said as he pulled up in front of your apartment.

You nodded before saying goodnight to him.

The Arrangement

The next day, you attended Tommy’s office as instructed.

‘Y/N, I am surprised to see you’ Tommy smirked as you walked inside his office.

‘You thought I wasn’t serious, didn’t you?’ you smirked as you sat down in front of his desk.

‘Let’s just say, you surprised me’ he said with a grin.

Tommy then went on to ask you what you expect from your arrangement if he was going ahead and agree with it.

You didn’t have many demands other than being looked after financially.

Tommy then advised you that you might change your mind if you know what his desires were.

Thomas Shelby was no ordinary man and he didn’t enjoy ordinary sex, which is one of the reasons he was getting bored with the prostitutes.

He was looking for what some might call a submissive. He enjoyed authority, even in the bedroom.

He wanted to be in charge, always.

With that in mind, you agreed. You were ready to be his and sealed the deal with a passionate kiss.

‘Alright, it’s a deal Y/N. But, to ensure that you understand, you belong to me. You are my property and you are not to fuck anyone else, understood?’ Tommy said as he pulled his lips away from yours, his hand holding onto your hair tightly.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you said, biting your lip.

‘You will be available when I need you to be available and you will submit. Is that understood?’ Tommy then said.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you answered before his lips met yours again in a hasty kiss.

‘Good. Now, since you are a virgin, the first time, I will take it easy on you’ Tommy said as he kissed your neck, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume.

‘Here are the keys to your apartment. 15 Watery Lane. I will visit you tonight at 8 o’clock and this is what I expect you to wear. Nothing else’ Tommy said as he handed you a small bag.

‘Before I come over, I want you to think of a safe word which you can use at any time’ he added, causing you to nod. He had explained the premise of a safe word to you earlier when you discussed what he would expect from you.

Sealing the Deal

Later that evening, after you settled into your new apartment, you were waiting for Tommy in nothing but the black lace panties he gave you.

He was right on time, letting himself into your apartment at 8 o’clock.

‘Do you like what you see Mr Shelby?’ you asked as he walked through the door.

‘I do, very much so’ Tommy said before he kissed you and ran his hands over your breasts and down to your stomach, making you moan.

He continued the gentle gestures for approximately five minutes, kissing you gently and exploring every inch of your body.

‘What have you decided on for a safe word Y/N?’ Tommy asked after he broke the last kiss.

‘Red’ you said.

‘Red. Very well.’ Tommy said before taking off his jacket, waistcoat and gun holster and placing them all onto one of the armchairs.

He then walked back over to you and gave you one more quick kiss.

‘Now be a good girl and get on your knees. And Y/N... eye contact. I want you looking at me’ Tommy said as he pulled your hair downward to bring you to kneel in front of him.

He kept his hand wrapped in your hair behind your head but clutched onto your skull tightly. You were about to be Tommy’s, in complete submission.

With his other hand he unzipped his pants and slowly pulled out his impressive length. You gasped. This is the first time you saw a man’s most intimate parts right in front of you.

‘Open your mouth’ Tommy instructed as you looked up into his blue eyes.

You obliged and Tommy pulled your head forward and forced your lips around the head of his erect cock.

Your hands shot up to his thighs to try to hold him back but he charged forward, making you take the first few inches of his length into your mouth.

You closed your eyes, trying instantly to focus and control your gag reflexes. There you thought that he was going to take it easy on you. If this was him taking it easy, what would he otherwise be like you wondered.

‘Look at me’ he instructed as he began to notice your eyes fall close.

Your lips were completely stretched around the girth of his shaft as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth.

Your ravishing eyes opened and looked up at him, his face full of want and desire for you.

As you looked at him you started growing more comfortable as the minutes passed.

You relaxed your grip on his legs and began opening your throat a little for his intrusion.

You kept eye contact whenever you weren’t suppressing a gag reflex. Your mouth soon began to move with his rhythm while your tongue was stimulating him.  

After about five minutes Tommy released his hold on your hair and reached down to your breasts, playing with your already hard nipples. You moaned around his cook as he stimulated your breasts and the wetness began to grow in between your legs.

You bopped your head up and down his length, trying to take as much of it into your mouth as you could.

Your hands soon joined your mouth, and stimulated the end of his shaft which didn’t make into your mouth.

‘Is this what you wanted, Mr Shelby?’ you asked.

Tommy nodded politely in between moans, running his fingers through your hair again.

He pushed you down on his cock a few more times, making you take him deeper than before, while he looked down, admiring the view.

‘Good girl, that’s it, take it all in’ he groaned as he guided your head.

You struggled, finding it difficult to breath, but you obliged.

The sight of you taking him like this drove him crazy and, after several more strokes, he pulled your head back up and, without warning, re-entered your mouth with vigor and dominance.

You squirmed below him and your hands moved back to his upper thighs, attempting to press him back.

But Tommy had other ideas and swatted your hands away from his legs.

‘Cross your wrists behind your back Y/N’ Tommy ordered.

‘Tommy’ you pleaded.

‘I make the rules Y/N. You don't get to resist. If you want me to stop, use your safe word’ he said.

With reluctance, you placed your wrists behind your back. Some twisted part within yourself enjoyed this, him taking you like this. In your mind, you were nowhere near at your limits.

Just like this, Tommy took hold of your hair again and thrusted forward into your open mouth, deeper and deeper until he bottomed out in your throat.

You could no longer retain eye contact and he didn’t seem to care as he continued to thrust into your mouth a few more times until he decided to relent.

He soon released the grip on your hair and made you look up at him.

‘Come up, you’ve done well’ he said as he pulled you up towards him and pulled you in for a kiss.

His hands moved in between your legs.

‘So fucking wet eh’ he said as he ran his hand over your soaked panties.

‘Take them off’ he instructed and you didn’t resist and pulled them off in a haste.

‘Now Love, I think it’s time for us to sort out this little issue for yours, eh?’ Tommy said with a smirk.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you said nervously, knowing that he was about to take your virginity.

While you always thought about this moment to be romantic, you were at the point where you just wanted it to be over with. You were soaking for him and you wanted him to fuck you just the way he wanted. You wanted to be taken by him, right then and there, regardless of the pain.

‘Shall we go to the bedroom?’ you asked.

‘No Love, right here will do just fine’ Tommy said as he turned your ass on to the edge of the kitchen room table, and gently pushed your back down on to it.

His eyes gazed over your perfect body, taking in the view of your breasts and your soaking wet mound.

‘Open your legs’ he instructed just as he lowered himself in between them.

You weren’t sure what he was doing and watched him nervously as, all of a sudden, he dipped his tongue into your wet slit.

You squealed in surprise, but it was already too late to plead for him not to, his tongue was already murdering your senses.

He sucked and licked over your clit just as you could feel two fingers enter you.

You expected pain, but it was nothing but please when he began to slowly thrust them in and of you.

‘Oh god yes’ you moaned as Tommy worked his magic on you.

You weren’t sure why he was doing this. Wasn’t it all about his pleasure and his pleasure alone? But, when you looked at him, he seemed to be enjoying this. You squirmed helplessly beneath him.

As he circled his tongue over your clit over and over again and carefully pushed two of his fingers in and out of you, you could feel an unfamiliar sensation build up in your stomach.

Soon you we trembling to your own unbidden orgasm. You were already aroused beyond your own redemption.

The intensity or your climax was so all encompassing, that your muscles from your stomach to your knees, spasmed and contracted. Your legs slammed together trapping Tommy’s head in a wrestlers type grip, and his eyes bulged until you relaxed a little.

As your orgasm washed over you, you could feel Tommy grin against your mound.

‘I think you are ready to take my cock now Love’ he said after you came down from your high and he positioned himself in between your spread legs.

Within seconds, Tommy hooked his hands under your calves and lifted them to rest on his shoulders. Now he was ready, you were flat out on your new kitchen room table, and in no position to refuse him.

He held your knees apart. and maneuvered his cock to your bright wet slit. He rubbed it up and down a couple of times before commencing his intrusion.

‘Don’t worry Love, I will be gentle since it’s your first time’ Tommy said as he pressed forward slightly and pushed his cock into your small, warm, and unbelievably tight pussy.

Despite his best efforts, you moaned and screamed at the same time at the intrusion but there was nothing you could do, not now.

‘You can take it Love. I know you can. If you want me stop, use your safe word’ Tommy said as he pushed into you further.

You moaned loudly has his length invaded you and pushed past your barrier, causing you to let out another moan and scream until, finally, he was completely inside of you. Tommy had just about split you in two and you had never felt like this before, you were full and he could feel your body trying to get out of the way

Tommy let you adjust to his size and then began pulling on your hips, before thrusting into you gently.

‘God you are so fucking tight Y/N’ he moaned as, slowly, you began to relax completely.

After several gentle thrusts to, Tommy pressed your knees back together and then he pulled out and rammed it back in again.

You cried out once more, but this time not in pain but, instead, in pure pleasure. You felt him running up and down your love channel and it felt better than anything else you had experienced before. There had been no event in your life that could have prepared you for this.

‘Oh my god Tommy, please make me cum again’ you begged him.

Tommy grinned and didn’t care to correct you on your language.

He began to fuck you mercilessly and rode you past your pain into a world of pleasure.

The unassailable flush of desire and the insane delight of him being inside of you overcame everything you were, or ever had been. As he thrusted in and you over and over again, harder with each stroke, you got lost in the grip of irrepressible lust, a powerful inarticulate lust.

It wasn’t long until he fucked you just the way he wanted, hard and fast. You were ready for it and you took it, every single bit of it.

And, just like that, you could feel another even more intense orgasm wash over you.

‘Good girl, cum around my cock’ he moaned as he picked up his speed and pounded into you.

With one loud moan, your walls contracted and your quivered beneath him. You were a shaking mess and screamed his name as you rode out your orgasm.

Just as you came down from your high, he pulled out of you. He was not done with you yet.

Without letting you recover, he pushed you back onto your knees in front of him.

‘You know what to do’ he said just as he pushed his cock back into your mouth firmly while grabbing onto your hair.

This time, he held your head in place while he began thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth.

Your eyes shut again instantly and unintentionally in order to deal with the gag reflex.

‘Look at me’ he instructed and you obliged, opening your eyes and looking towards his face.

‘I'm going to cum in your mouth’ he said, causing you to nod.

‘I hope this was understood, but I expect you to swallow’ he added and, just like this, with several more thrusts, his warm cum spurted into the back of your throat.

You gagged again, trying hard to allow his warm seed to run down your throat as he thrusted into you until, finally, he came to a hold.

You licked the last of his cum from his hard cock, making sure to swallow every single drop.

‘You did well Y/N’ Tommy said with still laboured breathing.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said as you stood up and had a drink from his glass of whiskey.

‘I will see you on Friday, same time’ Tommy said as he zipped up his pants and buckled up his belt.

‘Friday it is’ you grinned with excitement before he gave you a passionate kiss.

‘We will try something new then and I won’t be as gentle with you then’ he said.

‘I am looking forward to it’ you winked as you said goodbye to him.

[penguinkinggames]

“Cerebos: The Crystal City” Actual Play Part I: Introductions

This is the first in a series of posts recounting a session of actual play from Cerebos: the Crystal City, currently crowdfunding on Kickstarter. If you’ve been wondering what on Earth players actually do in a game of Cerebos, read on!

This session was conducted on March 20th, 2021, with Matthew Dorbin as GM, and Amelia Gorman, Ashley Flanagan, Will Mendoza, and Kevin Snow playing. The events of play were recorded by Zach Welhouse.

Preamble

For this session of Cerebos, the GM volunteered to run a session with the Adventure! Conductor. The conductor’s Atlas Obscura power invites the players and GM to work collaboratively to create a Stops table unique to their journey. They exchanged a few ideas over e-mail, which the GM codified. He added this new Stops table, which was heavy on the hells, to five other Stop tables to create an Atlas. Then he selected six Event tables to create an Almanac.

Everybody met in Discord and talked about unrelated matters for a bit. Then it was time to introduce characters. Each character clings to three touchstones: objects that represented their past in the City by the Sea. Each touchstone has a single Trait.

Dramatis Personae

Tinderling. A woman who looks like a burnt match.

Iron rail spike (Odd Jobs)

A single match (Burns at Both Ends)

Bird bone sewing needle (Piercing Insight)

The Unqualified Robot. A mechanical figure with a light projection screen for a head. It indicates expression by placing a large slide with the image of an emotion on the screen.

Expression slides (Toxic Positivity)

Backpack of unsold gadgets (Abandoned Junk)

Flask of motor oil (Guzzlin’)

The Lady in Blue. A woman who is as regal as she is soot-stained: exceedingly.

Gun with a single bullet (Single-Minded)

Feathered hat (Life of Luxury)

Burned handbag (Lost Sister)

The Lonesome Seafarer. A sea captain far from shore.

Patchwork coat (Coat of Theseus) (“I like it because it’s vague and we’ll find out what it means during play.”) 

Blue tricorner hat (Air of Authority)

Spyglass with broken lens (Grizzled Survivor)

Some players came to the table with their whole starting concept, while others were less certain about their starting Traits. Everyone helped brainstorm starting Traits for the players who were less certain. This early riffing was the first sign of the collaboration to come. 

One player noticed they gravitated toward useless items or objects of purely sentimental value. The travelers themselves were quite worn, so we were already establishing a contemplative mood. These were travelers who had been beaten down by the world, but hadn’t given up yet. Their stories would be ones of struggle and inspirational determination or grim warnings about challenging forces larger than themselves.

Goals

Based on these introductions, each player determined why another traveler was headed to Cerebos. They shared the goals with the GM over DMs, so no one knew why their traveler was on the road. The truth revealed itself over time through flashbacks

Tinderling: Her newly unionized shop got shut down by union busters. She’s looking for a place with less draconian labor laws.  

The Unqualified Robot: Cerebos is home to a famous scientist who specializes in reprogramming obsolete robots for new jobs.  

The Lady in Blue: The Lady in Blue's sister, the Lady in Red is a criminal ringleader in Cerebos. The Lady in Blue aims to kill her and take over her crime empire.  

The Lonesome Seafarer: The Lonesome Seafarer is looking for someone lost at sea, and old rival/loved one who was believed to have perished but was seen alive in the City by someone the Seafarer trusts. They have something they want to ask them.

Based on their answers to the GM’s initial questions, the players were interested in telling a story about labor, power, and human connections.

For example, the GM asked the players if they intended to pay for passage on the train. One player suggested they might have company scrip from Tinderling's employers. The GM asked if the company had a name, at which point Inferno Heavy Industries was born. It had just opened its newest station for business, to (according to the fresh posters) was "bringing luxury to a land with so little of value".

The Journey Begins

When the travelers arrive, workmen are still unloading plants and doing their best to landscape the surrounding wasteland. The local ecosystem will probably recover. Tinderling notices a panhandler passing among the large crowds, who she recognizes as a scab from the City by the Sea.

The train still has that new train smell. It has fancy cushions and a conductor who’s knowledgeable and friendly, but not pushy. Only the best for the engine’s maiden voyage!

The Lonesome Seafarer follows the automated snack cart from car to car, loading up on the bounty of the rails. The Unqualified Robot, never having been on a train before (presumably), keeps getting in the way until Tinderling recognizes a proletariat in need and guides it to a seat. The Unqualified Robot slides a winking face into its project slot, gladdened by the kindness.

The train sets off and the GM rolls for an Event in the Almanac. The train plows through the desert, passing through a region of low hills and hexagonal pits that seep gas into the air. Plague doctors patrol the perimeter, keeping pit owls from approaching the train. 

This terrain is a Danger 3 Event. If the Danger level (that is, the total Danger of all active Events) is 4 or greater by the time the train reaches a Stop, the Stop will be especially dangerous. If the Event’s individual Danger is reduced to 0, one of the travelers will receive a keepsake of the encounter.

At this point, everybody takes an action with comments, suggestions, and general role-playing filling the space in between.

First Round of Train Actions

Tinderling is familiar with gas from mines and factories. It may be dangerous! She suggests people put on wet masks. She takes the Engage Event action and rolls a Success to lower the danger to 2. Several passengers see the wisdom of this advice and mask up.  

The Lady in Blue shares a story with whoever’s sitting next to her (it doesn’t matter, really) about the importance of staying calm and composed during times of danger. Take it easy, eat a little food. It will all work out. She uses the conductor’s Easy Confidence Train Action to understand Tinderling. Just a little. She gains a bonus to the next time they work together.  

The Lonesome Seafarer believes the unruly owls to be a problem. She shouts out the window and waves her hat at them: “Hey! Owls! Listen to those plague doctors! They have good medical advice!” Another Success. The Event’s danger lowers to 1.  

The Unqualified Robot, shocked by all the action, takes the Lady in Blue’s advice. It tries creating a meal from the snack cart, mashing snacks against its face until it’s a custardy mess. The Lady in Blue offers a napkin and they talk through the comedy of manners. Next, the Robot tries its flask. Empty. The Lady in Blue suggests whiskey for the both of them. They both Share a Meal and earn a keepsake: a tasty beverage that provides a one-time reroll of a 1 or 2.

The first round of Train Actions has ended. The train speeds on into the evening. A few owls follow, hovering just out of reach.

Second Round of Train Actions

Tinderling asks the Lonesome Seafarer about her spyglass. The Seafarer has a flashback to a terrible sea battle against a kraken. She orders her crew to battle stations!   Second mate Scurvy doubts her, shouting, “Are you mad, captain? We can’t fight this!” The captain disagrees, jumping into action and fighting back the kraken almost single-handedly, saving the topsman from a tentacle that may very well be an arm. After the battle, Scurvy is nowhere to be found.   During this flashback, Tinderling set up most of the action, while the Lonesome Seafarer filled in with her actions. Everyone else offered suggestions, commentary, jokes, and bit parts like sailors screaming in terror. Everybody spitballs ideas about what this scene reveals about the Lonesome Seafarer and agrees: the spyglass gains two ranks of the Tunnel Vision trait.  

The Unqualified Robot sees passengers all around it talking, and emulates them by asking the Lady in Blue a nice, innocent question about the gun she’s carrying. It seems like a safe conversation opener, but draws her into a flashback!   The Lady in Blue is playing cards in a seedy tavern. One hand is on her gun, which she’s holding under the table and pointing at her opponent. It’s a game of chance, but the Lady in Blue is exuberantly talking about her masterful strategy. Her opponent throws his hands in the air in disgust, knocking over several drinks. He goes to pick his mug off the ground, narrowly missing as the Lady in Blue passes her gun off to an accomplice who walks past. Her name isn’t Margaret and the Lady in Blue’s name isn’t Angela, but that’s how they refer to one another.   The Lady in Blue’s player had no idea how this game would turn out while it was happening. The accomplice was probably the lost sister alluded to in her Lost Sister trait, but only future flashbacks would tell. Everyone talks about what they learned about the Lady in Blue, and her gun gains two ranks of the Nick of Time trait.

At this point in the journey, two flashbacks have flashed back. The GM rolls on the Almanac for an Event, prompting an announcement from the conductor: “Hello passengers. It’s rare for a train to get lost, but we have.”

Inferno Heavy Industries hired several competing rail gangs for its line, leading to a labyrinthine snarl of tracks. Worse, the turbulence woke a swarm of chandler beetles that had been roosting in the overhead bins. Their waxy secretions have a way of ruining any train ride or picnic, most immediately threatening the Lady in Blue’s sippin’ whiskey. This is a Danger 3 event, which raises the Danger level on the train to 4.

The second round of train actions then continues:

The Lonesome Seafarer continues her conversation with Tinderling, ignoring the beetles for the time being, prompting a flashback. Encouraged by the Lonesome Seafarer’s tale of adversity, Tinderling recalls a time she had to stitch up a friend in the mines with her bird bone sewing needle. Inferno Heavy Industries at fault. That’s when she got the idea to blow up the mine and let those hateful ghouls know their workers had dignity.   Everyone decides the bird bone sewing needle gains two ranks of A Rough Patch.  

The Lady in Blue decides needs must. She sacrifices her hat to scoop up the chandler beetles that are threatening her drink. It’s a snap decision that she instantly regrets. That hat was a link to who she used to be, and possibly who she would like to continue being. It was an exclusive. A very nice hat.   The Lady in Blue rolls an 8 on her roll to release a touchstone. It’s an Ugly Break, so one of her other touchstones gains one Momentum. Even though her luxurious hat has been tainted by insects, she still has her fancy bag.   On the bright side, she gains one Contemplation for taking a step away from her all-controlling past. She doesn’t know much about who she is or who she wants to be, but her hat and the memories connected to it certainly aren’t going to hold her back.

The second round of train actions has now concluded! The Danger level is still 4.

Third Round of Train Actions

Tinderling finishes her conversation with the Lonesome Seafarer and looks across the car to the Unqualified Robot. It’s sipping whiskey from its refilled flask, watching the Lady in Blue go after the beetles with her hat.   Tinderling notices the flask looks like an oil can. The Unqualified Robot notices it’s being watched and becomes self-conscious.   It thinks back to when it liberated the oil can from an Inferno Heavy Industries factory. It was scrounging for oil, always finding just enough to keep it going. Even though the factory was out of commission, automated guards were still protecting its assets. The guards were large and dystopian, while the Unqualified Robot was small and scrappy. It scraped oil off the silent factory machinery with a tiny spoon. It listened to messages on the foreman’s answering machine. The electricity bill is due in three days. The Robot dutifully writes down the messages from the answering machine and takes a sip of oil.   Everyone agrees the Unqualified Robot’s story is going to go some dark places. The oil can flask gains two ranks of Drowning Sorrows.

Two more flashbacks have occurred, so the GM rolls for another Event. The players recognize the Danger is adding up, but are cavalier about it. “How bad can it be?” That’s how they get ants. Ants that are crossing the tracks in a line that stretches to the horizon. They’re carrying the components to build a death ray. Components that look suspiciously similar to the inner workings of a robot. The Event’s Danger is 1; the train’s overall Danger is 5.

The third round of train actions continues:

The Unqualified Robot Engages the Event. The ants know Morse code, as does the Robot so communication is not a problem. Understanding is more difficult. The Robot slides a diplomatic slide onto its projector screen and solemnly taps out, “Please don’t build a death ray with the components of robots. They are living creatures, demanding of dignity.” It rolls a 1 and a 2. A Setback.   The Robot takes a long pull from its whiskey, using the meal keepsake to reroll the 1. Its new results are a 2 and a 2, which is still a Setback. Worse, it’s rolled doubles. If the Robot chooses not to reroll at this point, it’ll gain a point of Momentum in addition to the penalty from the Setback. However, it still has several Traits it could use.   The Unqualified Robot decides a Setback makes more sense. It receives one Damage and gains a point of Momentum to its face plates. Everyone shares a good-natured laugh at how unlucky the robot is and how it will receive a Bad End at this rate.  

The Lady in Blue feels a looming sense of dread and takes a Stop the Train Action. The conductor cheerfully reminds everyone that due to paperwork they signed when purchasing their tickets, the train will be making a brief, unscheduled stop to investigate several findings of industrial importance. Naturally, the NDA also applies.  

Ordinarily, after calling for a Stop, any travelers who have yet to take their train action for the round would receive the opportunity to do so before the train pulls into the station; however, in the group’s eagerness to get away from the assorted owls and insects, the Lonesome Seafarer’s turn was accidentally skipped!

The First Stop

Inferno Heavy Industries scientists unload delicate instruments and set up camp. This is a burial ground, but the skeletons interred in the sands have beards and wigs made of precious metals. If they could determine how to extract metal from living bone, profits would be sure to follow.

In normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be an especially dangerous Stop. However, the travelers let the Event Danger pile up. The last remaining owls have lost interest and the conductor deals with the chandler beetles, but bad karma and the ants remain -- and they’ve decided to complement their death ray with silver and gold, both fine conductors..

In fact, the silver and gold threads are so conducive that several of the skeletons spring to unlife, animated by the scientist’s tools. They give of sparks and judder through the sands, inconveniencing scientists, passengers, and ants alike. Passengers watch the train in shifts, keeping the electric dead at bay with long poles.

The Stop has Danger 5. Since it’s so high, the travelers are unable to rest and take in the sights. Moreover, they’ll need to be very lucky if they want to leave with a fond keepsake or without suffering Damage. The train will remain for one round of Stop Actions. Tune in next time to find out how the travelers fare!

[heliads]

Thinker, Traitor, Soldier, Spy

You are a soldier hired on as a bodyguard for John Walker, the latest Captain America. However, Sam Wilson may help you realize that there’s more to life than just following orders.

masterlist

What does a soldier do? They fight. They follow orders. What does a spy do? They listen. They report.

What do you do now? You are a soldier and a spy. You listen and do as you’re told. You sit with perfect stature at the desk. There are four guns on your person, three knives, and a smoke grenade, just in case. Two men sit opposite you, one clad in garish red and blue and the other in an army uniform. This is your new assignment, they say. You start today.

You did not die after Thanos snapped, although you were fighting to stop it. You were forced to live instead in the five long years, watching countless friends die. There is no stop to the bloodshed, there never is. When the fighting at last cleared and everyone was brought back, you knew there would be trouble. They’ve tried to call forth a hero, someone everyone can depend upon. A new Captain America, the one sitting before you.

John Walker troubles you. You have seen many men in your line of work, men whose tongues only serve to twist and lie or whose hands reach to their guns before they extend in peace. There is a glint in Walker’s eyes that doesn’t seem quite right, a yearning for power that doesn’t seem to fit in with his new role as Captain America. If you knew any better, you’d say that giving him this position is the last thing you should do to a man who craves power in the way that Walker does.

But you were not here to place judgement or call him out. You are a soldier, and that’s why they want you on their side. Your employers, that half-formed shell between the fallen S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rising S.W.O.R.D., have sent you to defend him and his partner, Battlestar. It’s just another role, a bodyguard to the latest celebrity of the military world. Nothing more.

Yet, when you rise from your seat and shake their hands, you can’t seem to lose the feeling that something is going to end up very, very badly. You’ve seen men like Walker before, men who like to think of themselves as above all others. You have no doubt that he’s already hating you for being here at all, despising everyone for thinking that he needs protection. If this job of bodyguard fell to anyone else, you’d tell them to watch their backs. Luckily for you, you never stop doing that yourself.

They place a gun in your hands before too long. They know you have enough weapons to fend off an entire army, but they do it anyway. It’s less a check than a charity, like saying here, we have your back. Trust us, fight for us. You’ve seen it done many times before. You board the same vehicles and planes as them, ready for your first fight against the Flag Smashers. You approach the trucks rattling down the roads, Walker and Hoskins by your side. You can see two figures already fighting the masked figures and recognize them from a legion of surveillance tapes, news reports, and case files: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. If they’re here, fighting the same enemy, you can at least try to delude yourself into thinking that you might be on the same side.

You join the fight as soon as directed, firing weapons with expert precision. This isn’t the first time you’ve fought super soldiers and it certainly won’t be the last. You notice a group of super soldiers targeting Sam Wilson and drop towards them, knocking them back again and again. You’re about to head after them, pursuing them when they run down the length of the trucks, but then a hand closes around your arm. You rear around, hands already rising to pistols and knives, but relax slightly when you notice the confused face connected to it.

Sam Wilson stares at you, releasing his light touch on your arm when he notices your reaction. “Sorry about that. Who are you?” It occurs to you then that they have no idea who you are. You’re a gun, nothing more. A hired weapon used to keep out of public scrutiny. Sam Wilson is a good man, so of course he would not know you. You just shake your head slightly. “I’m with Walker.” It will tell him all he needs to know.

Sam’s brow furrows, and you take this momentary lapse in focus to dive off the side of the truck, reaching for a side mirror with perfect timing to swing between the trucks. Sam watches you go, but he doesn’t follow. He pauses for a second longer, then continues the fight, as do you. Something raises the hairs on the back of your neck and you throw yourself to your knees; seconds later, Walker’s shield streaks through the air to collide with a Flag Smasher’s shoulder.

You glance back at him, but still remain silent. He cocks his head to the side, evidently expecting a bigger reaction to him almost decapitating you. You refuse to give in to any emotions. You’ve walked through many tests from many more people. What is one more to you? At a brief moment of respite from the fight, Walker and Hoskins address Sam, stating their names along with a casual salute from the latest Captain America.

Sam takes this in with a tilt of his head, then turns to face you. You remain silent, refusing to divulge any more information than necessary. Seconds later, you’re granted a reprieve from his expectations when the Flag Smashers rally again, this time with more force. You’re ready to go to your last, even when Sam and Bucky and then Lemar and Walker are knocked from the truck. You’re ready to keep going, to finish the job, but then you see Walker shake his head at you even as the truck rattles past him. If he cannot complete the job, then no one can- the fame and glory must fall to him alone. You jerk your head once in a nod, understanding, and leap from the truck yourself. If the impact scars your knees in a jolt, you’ve conditioned yourself to ignore it.

Walker and Hoskins grab a truck on the walk back. You sit next to the driver, gun obvious in your palm. They attempt to pick up Sam and Bucky, although the pair seem more than hesitant to get in. Eventually, they give up and climb in, accepting Walker’s constant questions with barely more than a restrained eyebrow raise. Sam turns towards you, unintentionally or perhaps purposefully ignoring Walker’s latest offer at a partnership. “So, what’s your story?” You remain stoic and silent. Walker answers for you. “She’s an agent. You can trust her.”

Sam directs a confused glance Walker’s way. “I didn’t ask you.” Walker rolls his eyes. “You might as well have, she doesn’t talk much. Honestly, she’s no better than your buddy with the staring problem.” Sam gives Walker an irritated look. “She’s right there. She can hear you.” You raise an eyebrow. “I can hear you too.” Walker turns to you, feigning incredulity. “Look at that! She speaks!”

You can hear the warning in his voice, so you bite your tongue and stop speaking, even when Sam tries to talk to you again. You can still feel Sam’s gaze on you, although you say no more, even when Sam and Bucky give up on Walker’s constant attempts at friendship and jump off the car entirely. You can’t say you entirely blame them- if you could jump after them, you would be long gone.

You continue to work by Walker’s side, just as your orders demand. As the days pass by, however, you feel a permanent crease beginning to form itself along your brow. There is something wrong with Walker, a kind of insanity you’ve only seen a few times. It won’t be long now until he snaps, you just don’t know when it’s going to happen. Then again, it’s not your place to place judgement, not yet. You can watch, wait, and follow orders. Nothing more.

You’re sent to patrol an area where the Flag Smashers are rumored to hide, walking alone through twisting cobblestoned streets in search of the familiar logo of a red handprint. Although you search for a while, you sense that the person following you is not a Flag Smasher. No, it’s someone altogether different. You allow them to pursue you down a couple of streets then turn around unexpectedly, startling your follower. You come to face Sam Wilson, and the man chuckles softly when he sees that his attempt at following you undetected hasn’t exactly worked out.

“And here I thought I was sneaking up on you. Your reflexes are great.” Your face remains decidedly neutral. “I appreciate the compliment.” Sam allows himself a smile, then his face returns to the urgency that has pierced him for a while. “I need your help. You know as well as I do that Walker is getting in over his head. He’s going after the Flag Smashers in completely the wrong way. People are going to end up hurt. I think I can get to Karli Morgenthau, but I need your help in convincing Walker to stand down.”

You shake your head once. “I have my orders. I can’t break them.” Sam sighs once. “I don’t know much about you, Agent L/N, but I know enough. I know that you don’t want to see innocents hurt if you could help it.” You fold your arms across your chest. “You looked me up? If you did your research, Sam, then you’d know that I’ve never once disobeyed direct orders. I have been told to fight by Walker’s side, it’s what I’ll do.”

Sam stares at you. “You agree with him? You think this is the right thing to do?” You feel a bitter laugh crossing your lips. It makes Sam look at you in a different way, like he’s truly seeing you for the first time. Not just a hired gun or soldier, but a person in need of saving. For some reason, it makes you feel uneasy. “Sam, I have never had a choice in this. Do you think I’m going to sleep at night with a clear heart because of what I’ve done? I have never had a choice. Not once. It won’t start now.”

Sam’s gaze falls, not in disappointment but a mutual understanding. He is a soldier too, you remember, he knows what this feels like. “Not all orders are pleasant.” He agrees, then meets your gaze again. “If you have the option, though, I would be grateful if you reconsidered. It doesn’t have to be much. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t heading down his path.” You fight the urge to laugh again. “I don’t think I could if I tried.” A faint smile appears on Sam’s lips. “I didn’t think so either.”

You have gone through many difficult interrogations and communication sessions, places where you’ve lied and been lied to for the sake of a mission. This conversation with Sam, though, throws a stumbling block under your feet. You’ve always been able to move on from your job, to pack away the memories of screams and blood stuck under your fingernails until you don’t think of them at all. For some reason, you can’t get Sam’s words out of your head. What does he want of you? He doesn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, some want to have your knives and fists on his side. No, if you didn’t know better you’d say that he’s truly looking out for you. It’s a foreign concept, but for some reason it feels right coming from him.

Walker ends up teaming up with Sam and Bucky again. They’ve tracked down Karli Morgenthau to a church, the funeral service of a Donya Madani. Sam has gone inside to speak to Karli, hoping to persuade her to lay down her weapons and search for her peace and equity in a different way. If his words are anywhere near as effective as his talk with you, you have no doubt that she’ll listen to him.

Walker, however, is growing antsy with every second away from a battle. Eventually, he gives in to his gnawing need to fight and charges into the fray. Shots ring out, punches are thrown. When you look up, your stomach clenches with horror. Lemar Hoskins lies dead on the ground, neck broken, blood welling up. Walker goes silent, a maddening rage rattling through him. He sprints out of the room, after a perceived killer of his friend. You exchange a silent look with Sam, then the two of you run out after him.

You end up splitting up, Sam flying out and you going a different back route to avoid the cameras already recording. When you see the horrors of the scene before you, you feel acid creeping up the back of your throat. Walker raises the infamous shield, smashing it into the head and throat of a pleading Flag Smasher until the blood and gore stains everything within the surrounding distance. A primal scream echoes from the man’s throat, fitting for this act of barbarity.

You’re not sure how long you stay there, only that you can’t seem to move your feet until the square is cleared of horrified viewers. Only then do you force yourself to start walking. You don’t stop until you’ve found Sam, until you’re standing before him and he’s reaching out an arm to steady you. You’ve seen bloodshed before, enough death to drown out the world. For some reason, this seems different. Maybe it’s because you were fighting on Walker’s side before, and you’re still expected to do so now. Maybe it’s because you’re still locked away behind the rules, the orders.

Sam is speaking now, asking you if you’re alright. You look up at him, incredulous. “You saw what he did. Walker has to be stopped.” Sam looks hesitant. “I would appreciate your support, but I know what this means to you. Are you sure about this?” You nod harshly. “He’ll be waiting in a warehouse near here. I saw him go. If you arrive alone, maybe with Bucky, and try to speak to him first, you’ll have the best chance at getting the shield. It’s the only way.”

You expect Sam to go now, but instead he stays, making sure you’re alright. “And what happens after that? Where do you go?” You shrug. “I don’t know. They might reassign me. They’ll definitely order a hearing for Walker, I might be included in that too. I’ll see what happens from there.” Sam’s jaw clenches in worry. “If you need help, I’ll be there. I’ll speak for you.” You glance up at him. “Why? I fought against you, with Walker. I’m not one of your allies.”

Sam chuckles softly. “Not all things are alliances and sides. I trust you, you came to me. That’s all this has to be.” You nod at him slowly. “Thank you, Sam. Honestly.” You set off with him towards the warehouse, where Walker waits alone. Gore still stains the shield. Sam begins his negotiations, but everything falls apart when he mentions the shield. Walker looks at you, raw rage coloring his gaze. “You told him how to find me. You’re a traitor to your cause.”

Sam steps forward before the words can take hold. “She is a soldier making the right choice. Don’t involve her in this.” You glance back at him. Who would defend a toy soldier? Only the man who never saw you as one in the first place. When the fighting begins, it feels strangely liberating, like you finally have a cause instead of just a direction. This is truly a fight that matters, not just another job.

When it’s all over and Sam stands with the shield, you begin to walk out into the sunlight, leaving the dark cool of the warehouse behind. Someone joins you after a short while, someone with a new shield who nods at you with a smile when you wait for him. Your feet crunch on the gravel outside. “So, it’s over now.” Sam shrugs. “There are still the Flag Smashers. Some battles never truly end.”

You glance over at him, for once not stopping the smile hesitating on your lips. “I’ll be there.” Sam smiles back at you. “I’ll be glad of it. You’re a good person, Y/N, even if you don’t believe it.” You laugh at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he’s still looking at you with that same thoughtful expression, like he’s just seen a masterpiece come to life and it happens to be you. “I think I like your laugh.” It’s then you know that you would follow him anywhere.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[danipixel]

Wherever the Force May Go pt3

Tags: Tags: @maulieber @botherbother-blog @spookiifi @zabrak-show @alicedoestheinternet @rogue-wonderful​ 

Summary:  The new business opportunity on Mandalore isn’t exactly panning out as planned.  Daia’s new employer doesn’t trust her at all.  Tempers flare and she makes a decision that will decide if she remains welcome, or faces the wrath of Maul and Death Watch.

Part 1  Part 2

The bright Mandalorian sunrise filtered through the windows of Daia’s room slowly beckoning her back to consciousness.  Blinking the sleep from her eyes as she sat up, she surveyed her surroundings to get recenter herself.  She was still in Sundari palace and the room still looked like a thermal detonator went off in it.  Standing up from the bed she let out a groan as all of her muscles protested the movement.  “Ah shit.  Okay so yesterday really did happen.”  She quickly dressed herself and worked on making herself look presentable.  

A loud pounding on the door interrupted her morning routine.  The door then slid open revealing Savage surrounded by an air of impatience.  “Get up.  You’re expected at the morning briefings.”

“Just a moment, I’m almost done.”  She set about fetching her boots from the pile she’d left them in the previous night.  “You could have waited more than 5 seconds before opening the door, you know.  I could have been indecent.”  Savage snorted and rolled his eyes.  She finished pulling on her boots and placing her weapons in their usual homes, with her blaster prominently displayed.  There had been no indication as to what would be expected of her today besides to learn, so she might as well look like she belonged among the Mando’ade.  If Death Watch was anything like they used to be, they held more respect for those that armed themselves.  “Okay, ready.”

Savage led her down the long hallways of the palace at a quick pace.  His long strides forced Daia to slightly jog in order to keep up with him.  They walked the halls in silence for a few minutes before Daia finally broke the quiet. “It’s Savage, right?”

He momentarily flicked his eyes in her direction before answering.  “Yes.”  An answer is better than being ignored, I guess.

She took a deep breath before speaking again.  “Does Death Watch know about me?  I mean, they obviously know I exist but, do they know I used to be a Jedi?” Savage still would not look in her direction while speaking.  “They know what you told them.  Why does it matter?”  There’s the million credit question.

Her hands ran over her face a few times before she had a semblance of an answer for him.  “Things get...complicated when people find out.  Especially when they’re Mandalorian.”  Exactly one member of Death Watch had found out about her past before, and had immediately tried to kill Daia for it.  That woman was now a corpse in Concordia’s forests.  Mandalorian distrust of Force users runs deep.

Savage finally glanced at her but never broke his stride.  He didn’t seem to understand her dislike of revealing her past to most people.  “Death Watch remains unaware.  Hide what you are if you wish, Jedi.”

“Not a Jedi.”  Daia whispered to herself.  The two continued down the halls of the palace.  Her mind unfocused, Daia kept trying to find anything to keep her mind busy.  Patience and quiet were never her strong suits.  She settled on studying the man she was walking with.  He was huge, that much was obvious.  He carried himself with less grace than his brother but with the same confidence in his own power.  Wait, how did I not notice this yesterday? Her eyes focused on his left arm as she realized the entire thing was synthetic.  That was a detail she had failed to notice the previous day.  Whatever life the two Zabrak had led before coming to Mandalore, it had obviously been a violent one.  A sudden thought crossed her mind about the previous night’s…  What even was that? An attack?  A test?

She held her hand up to get his attention.  “Hey, Savage.  I want to apologize for last night.”

He fully looked at her after hearing her words.  “What?  Apologize for what?”  He didn’t understand what there was to apologize for.

“For the table.”  She gestured at her face and then at his.  “I know we were fighting but still.  Sorry about that.”

“Last night”  Savage’s voice took a slightly threatening edge,  “was not a fight.”

“You’re right.  Had it been a real fight,”  Daia stretched out her painfully sore arms.  “one of us wouldn’t be here this morning.”

Savage stopped walking to turn and study her for a moment.  Confusion and mild surprise painted his yellow and black features.  “I accept your apology.”  That’s it?  He’s just fine?  

The two rounded the corner into the familiar hallway that led to the throne room.  The door slid open to the brightly lit throne room and it was already filled with people.  Savage entered first nodding to his brother as he guided Daia to stand far to the side of the throne.  Maul was at his rightful place in Mandalore’s throne, one leg thrown over the arm of his seat while he leaned on the other.  Daia made momentary eye contact with him as she walked past and smiled.  “Good morning.  Sleep well?”

Maul studied her face a moment but didn’t respond to her.  Instead he addressed the rest of the room while they took their seats.  “Many of you met Daia after her...entrance yesterday morning.  She will be joining us for these meetings for the time being.”  He turned to pin her in place with his gaze.  “Pay her presence no mind.”

Savage whispered to her before taking his place at Maul’s right hand. “Stay here and stay quiet.”  She was beginning to feel more and more like a captive than an employee.

The meeting began with a wave of Maul’s hand.  The first priorities of the day being domestic matters.  Almec droned on and on for what felt like hours.  While he kept talking, Daia took stock of who was in the room with her.  Several members of Death Watch lined the room, acting as a palace guard force.  Saxon and Kast stood near Maul with their helmets removed.  Kast had changed her hairstyle since the last time Daia had seen her but that was no surprise.  Saxon still looked like he had just eaten something sour.  Can he make any other expressions?  In the seats near Almec were two holographic figures.  A Falleen and a Pyke.  That was never a good combination to see.  He’s got Black Sun and the Pykes working for him?  Shit.  Daia was unaware of just how much power Maul wielded from this world but it was obviously substantial.  She took a quick glance over to the two brothers.  They seemed just as bored as she was but Maul seemed to mask it better than both her and Savage.

After about a week of speaking, Almec finally surrendered the floor to someone else.  Thank the Force, he’s done.  It was Rook Kast’s turn to speak.  “There are some new weapons we’ve been trying to get a hold of for weeks on Agamar.  The Separatist fleet is still an obstacle.”  Savage visibly perked up at the mention of weaponry but Maul only reacted with the slightest of expression change.  Had she not been a Force user, Daia most certainly would have missed it.  Maul had a greater amount of control over himself than his brother.

Maul shifted to lean forward in his seat.  “Are these weapons something we truly need?”  Mandalorians need weapons like they need air.  Of course she’s gonna say yes.

Saxon stepped forward to answer for Kast.  “My Lord Mand’alor, these weapons are more powerful than the ones we are currently equipped with and as our ranks increase, so too do our needs to arm them appropriately.”

Maul considered his soldier’s words for a moment before turning to the holograms before him.  “What about Black Sun or the Pykes?  Can your ships make it to the surface?”  Daia snorted softly and rolled her eyes.  The Pykes were drug lords.  They didn’t care if they got caught.  They’d just send more spice on a different ship.  Black Sun was no better.  They were brutes.  Sure, they could provide capable soldiers and bounty hunters but they lacked the finesse needed to sneak past military vessels.  He’s lucky he hired me.

The transparent Pyke spoke first.  “There’s no guarantee of success but we will send the ships, my Lord.”  They’ll just get caught.  The Falleen also responded.  “Our pilots will succeed when the Pykes fail.”  Like hell they will.

Daia couldn’t keep quiet any longer.  Maul was making a mistake by letting these two idiots try to get his shipments.  She stepped forward from her place by the wall and addressed Maul specifically.  “I can get those weapons for you.  I’ve slipped past Separatists plenty of times before.”

Maul fixed her with a glare that could burn a hole through a star.  “You will do no such thing.”  He was clearly angry at the sudden interruption.  Daia felt the Force flare out with his outburst.  To his side, Savage narrowed his eyes with a similar look of displeasure. 

She knew she was right and continued to press the matter “But you…”  Maul quickly stood and threw her back to the wall and held her in place with the Force.  “No.  That is final.”  He continued holding her in place as he stalked in her direction to snarl directly in her face.  “Is that understood?”  She felt her temper flare but let it go before she could do something else stupid.  “Of course, Lord Mand’alor.”  Maul released his hold on Daia and turned to return to his throne.  

The rest of the meeting continued without incident.  Daia stayed focused on Maul the entire time.  The information being shared didn’t matter to her anymore.  She was pissed and he knew it.  There was no way he couldn’t feel it.

Once the meeting ended and those in attendance started to filter out of the throne room,  Daia left her spot on the wall to leave as well.  Maul quickly barked her name to stop her.  I guess he’s not done.  Fine.  Quickly she made her way back to the throne and started talking before he could berate her.  “You said I would start work today.  Smuggling weapons past a Separatist fleet sounds an awful lot like what you hired me to do.”

Maul rose and immediately entered her personal space, never once letting go of her gaze.  “I also told you that you are to remain in this city until I decide you may leave it.”

Daia’s eyes may have lacked the flaming appearance of Maul’s but the fire was certainly present regardless.  “Very well Lord Mand’alor.”  She dipped into an exaggerated bow.  “Shall I inform you when I eat, bathe, and sleep as well?  If there are no more restrictions on my movements, I’d like to go to my ship and let my job contacts know I’ll be unavailable for longer than I expected.”

A soft growl left Maul’s throat before he stepped back.  “I expect you back here in the morning.” “Of course.  Whatever my lord wishes, right?”  She turned on her heels and strode back out of the throne room.  

The long walk to her ship was thankfully uneventful, the only people she was forced to interact with being the same dock guards she’d seen the other day.  Lowering the ramp of the Fever Dream, she trudged her way up and into the small freighter.  Thoughts about how the last two days could have gone so wrong so fast had slowed her usual confident gait.  Lost in thought she was suddenly in the cockpit in front of the long range communication console.  The console was lit up to alert her to waiting messages.  Pressing a couple buttons revealed a small holoprojection of a Rodian missing his left antennae.  “Daia I asked around and I finally got a couple jobs for you.  These are gonna get snatched up quick so get back to me asap.”  Well shit.  Aside from Death Watch, Skax always found the best paying work.  It wasn’t always necessarily safe or completely legal but it kept plenty of credits in her hands and fuel in the ship.

With a sigh she sent a signal out to Corellia hoping the Rodian would answer.  After a minute a similar holoprojection to before shimmered before her eyes.  “Well if it isn’t my favorite pilot!  You get my message?”  If his joyful demeanor was anymore painted on, it would flake off his face.

“Yeah Skax.  I got your message.  Look, I’m gonna be unavailable for a while.  I may have done something stupid.”  May have was an understatement.  The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that this whole trip had been a mistake.  The Force had tried to warn her something was off but she didn’t listen.

Skax muttered in Rodese for a moment before switching back to Basic.  “What do you mean unavailable?  Is your ship damaged?  That thing never breaks.”  That’s because I don’t tell you how often I fix it.

Daia shook her head with a small insincere smile.  “No, she’s not broken.  I’m just gonna be grounded on Mandalore for a while.  I’ll contact you when I can leave again.”  With no indication as to how long she’d be stuck in Sundari, a while was the best answer she had.  

The Rodian’s sickly pleasant demeanor finally dropped as he threw his arms in the air.  “What the fuck are you even doing on Mandalore?  I thought you stopped going back there months ago.”  

“So did I.  Look, I’m fine.  I just can’t take any work right now.  Let someone else have them.  I’ll get in touch with you later.  Try not to miss me too much.”  She ended the transmission before he could argue with her.  She knew he’d get over being cut off.  He always did.

The second day of her extended stay at the palace began the same as the previous, with a pounding on her door, but this time Savage waited outside instead of forcing his way in.  After a final check of her clothing and weapons she stuffed a large yellow fruit between her teeth and walked out the door after her chaperone.  Walking down the hallway she finally took a bite of her breakfast.  The fruit flooded her mouth with a bright sweet flavor that made her momentarily forget she was under house arrest.  Savage’s words broke her silent reverie.  “What is that?”

“This?”  She held up the fruit in her hand.  “A meiloorun.  You can get them in every market from here to Coruscant.  I love them.”  

He just shrugged and shook his head at the unfamiliar fruit.  He’s never had one?  That won’t do at all.  Carnivore or not, every sapient being had to try one at least once.  “Hang on a second.”  She pulled a small knife out of her pocket and Savage instinctively grabbed her wrist to stop her movements.  “It’s for the fruit, not you.  Knife’s not big enough anyway.”    Once he let go of the vice grip on her wrist she cut the fruit in half and offered one to Savage.  “Here.  It’s illegal to be a grown man and have never tried it once.”

Savage looked between Daia and the fruit with extreme suspicion but made no move to take the offered fruit.  She huffed and slapped it into his hand.  “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t use a fruit.  Just eat it.”

He sniffed at it and tentatively took a small bite while Daia rolled her eyes at him.  The juice and sweetness caused his eyes to widen in surprise before he greedily finished the rest.  A small smile crept onto his face before he was able to hide the unbidden expression.  After a few seconds of wrestling with his thoughts, Savage muttered “Thank you.”

“No problem.”  She couldn’t help the smile on her face as they finished walking to the throne room for what was sure to be another mind numbing meeting.

The throne room was the same as the previous morning, the only difference being Almec’s clothing and Maul’s ever changing seating position on the throne.  Maul’s gaze followed her as she and Savage walked across the room to her place on the wall.  She nodded and smiled at him as she passed but said nothing.

The meeting began with a wave of Maul’s hand as it had the day before.  Almec droned on again, Saxon and Kast gave their reports on Death Watch’s work.  Daia half watched Maul’s reactions and half pretended she was somewhere else until she heard the Pyke representative mention the weapons waiting on Agamar.  “My lord Maul, we have not heard word from our ship sent to Agamar.  We have sent a second to ensure their success.  We...we hope to hear from them by day’s end.”  You won’t.  

Maul’s irritation whipped dark waves around him in the Force.  Everyone in the chamber fell silent,  It didn’t take Force sensitivity to sense his feelings about failure.  He completely ignored the holographic Pyke as he addressed the Falleen. “Have your ships ready to go to Agamar by morning.”  He snapped his head back to the Pyke  “For your own sake, you had best bring news of your success tomorrow.”  The Pyke took a step back despite being on another planet. “Ye-yes lord Maul.”

Daia sent out a small message through the Force to Maul before the next person spoke.  A simple sensation more than words.  A push to say that she could perform whatever task was laid before her.  He responded to her intrusion by shoving her back into the wall without so much as looking in her direction.  All heads turned in her direction at the sound of her back smacking into the wall.  “It’s nothing, please continue.”

The daily briefing finished as it had before and Daia walked out the door with the rest of those who had attended.  She spent the rest of her day walking through the city or fighting with P4R-E in the palace training room.

The next day started with another pound on the door from Savage.  This time when Daia left the room she tossed him his own meiloorun with a grin.  “Since you liked the last one so much.”

Savage responded with a smile of his own before enjoying his gift.  The two walked in comfortable silence to the throne room for Daia’s third day of being Maul’s wall decoration.  

Once again Almec droned, then Kast and Saxon delivered reports.  Again, Daia kept her eyes on Maul monitoring his responses, both visible and only present in the Force.  This time, a different Pyke representative was present.  I guess they failed.  Big surprise.  Maul spoke to the Falleen hologram “Send your ships.  Do not fail me.”  The Falleen bowed, “Yes lord Maul.”

Daia stepped away from the wall and cleared her throat.  “Lord Mand’alor, I believe that you would have more success if I was permitted to accompany the Black Sun ships in my own ship.  I swear to you, I can make it to the surface of that planet.”  Maul stared at her for a moment, his expression completely unreadable to her.  “No.”  Why am I even here if he won’t listen?

She left the room as soon as everyone had finished.  The Death Watch target range called to her.  She needed to shoot something, or several things many times.  Death Watch had taken over a section of the gardens to convert into their own personal target range.  Armored warriors joked and showed off their marksmanship for one another.  A few kept to themselves and stayed focused on their targets while others still crowded around benches to clean and maintain their weapons after their firing exercises.

Daia pulled her blaster out of its holster and gave it a quick once over as she made her way to join the others.  It could use a good cleaning.  She’d have to disassemble it and scrub it clean after her practice today.  She’d been too lost in thought to keep an eye on what was in front of her until she collided with an armored chest.  Looking up she found herself face to face with Gar Saxon, wearing a particularly intense look of disapproval.  “What are you doing here smuggler?”

“The same thing as the rest of you.”  She looked around as if he could have been speaking to anybody else.  “Perfecting my aim and taking care of my blaster.” Saxon crossed his arms and stayed planted directly in her path.  “You aren’t welcome here.” Daia rolled her eyes and scoffed at him.  Shit, did he find out?  “I was welcome amongst you all the last time you saw me.  In fact, I recall sharing drinks with most of you.” “Last time we saw you, you were bringing much needed supplies to Concordia.”  Saxon leaned down close to her face.  She should have felt threatened but with the way her week had been going, she was just irritated.  “Then you stopped without notice.  Some of our soldiers starved without those rations.  What makes you think you’d be welcome among us after that?” “I’m sorry but last I checked, you stopped contacting me.”  After her last visit, Almec had been thrown in prison and Viszla had tried killing a Jedi in his attempt to take Mandalore for the Duchess.  It was best that Daia remain scarce until somebody from Mandalore or Concordia contacted her.  Nobody ever did.  “It’s a little hard to set up cargo drop off when your contacts are either in prison, exiled, or dead.”

“Let her through, Saxon.”  Kast came up from behind him and gave him a shove to the side.  “Mand’alor told her to make herself at home in the palace.  Like it or not, she can be here too.”

Saxon snorted and shoved his way past Daia, bumping her shoulder with his armored one on the way out.  Feeling petty, she lightly flicked her fingers as she slightly tripped him up with the Force.  His quiet curse brought a satisfied smirk to her face.  “Vor’e, Kast.  Would you care to join me?  There’s no shortage of targets.”

“Ba’gedet’ye.” Kast waved away Daia’s thanks.  “I guess I’ll have to stay and teach you how to shoot properly.”

“Is that so?”  Daia barked out a laugh and made her way to the nearest shooting lane.  She pulled out her blaster again and took aim at the humanoid shape downrange.  “I look forward to making you eat those words.”

She stayed at the range for a few hours, trading shots with Kast and mocking each other whenever a blaster bolt went wide.  It felt good to have a friend on Mandalore again.  When they’d had their fill the two cleaned their weapons and went their separate ways, but not before making plans to meet up for target practice again.  After Kast left, Daia found herself a meal and took off to the training room for P4R-E's company for the rest of the evening.  Perhaps fighting with her droid would erase her frustration with her employer.

Another morning, another pounding on her door.  Five days since she had come to Mandalore and four of them spent as Maul's silent pet.  This time she walked past Savage without stopping as she deposited a meiloorun in his waiting hand.  "Come on.  Your brother's waiting for me to hold up the throne room wall again."  The path to the throne room was beyond familiar and allowed her mind to wander until she once again found herself leaning in the same spot she'd occupied for most of the week.  Her mind slipped into the Force, feeling the failure of the Black Sun before anyone could address it.  Maul must have felt it too.  His presence in the Force had become an inky rolling boil, a significant change from its usual flowing shadows.  Somewhere in the room Daia distantly heard someone mention contacting the Hutts for a ship to make the pickup.  The boil around Maul managed to become even more intense as she felt her own temper flare simultaneously.  The Hutts?  Only if you want them to steal a quarter of your cargo and claim they lost it.  Her patience had finally met its end.  The moment others began to leave, she flew out of the room without a word and back to her own.

Daia's mind was a flurry of thoughts as she gathered the necessary things for a fast trip off of Mandalore.  I'll get those fucking weapons.  She shouldered her bag and paused a moment to leave a bowl of meilooruns on the table with a note, “Savage, these are all yours.”  She stormed out the door and made a beeline for the Fever Dream.  The same guards she’d seen every time nodded as she passed.  “Just dropping some things I don’t need at the ship.  I’ll be right back,” She lied.

Once out of sight she dropped her bag and ran for the cockpit.  “Who does he think he is?  Sending Hutts to do my fucking job.  Bastard.”  Daia’s hands flew over the controls of her ship, skipping through her usual preflight checks and firing up the engines.  The ship rose from the platform and began to turn in place to head out of the city.  Over the roar of the engines, Daia could just make out the guards shouting at her, probably to land the ship before they shoot.  She waved at them out the window before closing the loading ramp and flying up into the atmosphere.

Before she could rise high enough to watch the sky turn from blue to black her comm crackled and Saxon’s furious voice filled the cockpit.  “What do you think you are doing?!”

She checked her proximity sensors.  No one was following her.  Not yet anyway.  She hit the comm to open the channel so she could answer the man.  “I’m doing my damn job.”

Saxon wasn’t hearing it.  She didn’t think he would anyway.  “You have exactly 15 seconds to turn around before I blast that piece of garbage out of the sky.” Daia let out a sharp laugh at his threat.  “Now now Saxon, why would you shoot someone else’s ship down when it’s me you’re mad at?”  Every moment she kept him arguing with her was another moment for her to fly out of his range.

The supercommando ignored her and began counting down.  “15...14...13...12...11…10...9...” She cut off his countdown.  “I’m sorry, I’m having difficulty hearing you.  Did you say ‘nine’ or ‘good flying’?”  A few more seconds was all she needed before being able to jump to hyperspace.

Maul’s voice rolled out of her comm’s speaker.  “Let her go.”  He must have been standing there listening the entire time. “I’m sorry Lord Maul, what?” came Saxon’s confused reply.

“I said, let her go.”  Daia could hear the irritation in his voice at being questioned.  There was also a hint of curiosity behind it.  He wants to see if I can do it, doesn’t he?  “Either she returns with the weapons or she dies and is no longer our concern.  I trust you heard that Daia.  Either you return with those weapons, or don’t bother coming back at all.”

Again she let out a short laugh.  “Oh that won’t be a problem at all, handsome.  Hopefully the palace doesn’t collapse without me holding up the walls.  Try not to miss me too much.”  Her ship had cleared the atmosphere completely.  She was free.  With one last glance back to the planet behind her, she hit the hyperdrive and was thrown away from Mandalore and towards Agamar and her prize.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Happiness Is

This is possibly my favorite episode of season two. Yet, it is also the point the where the series starts to fall off a cliff. Only that’s not something that you would realize upon a first watch; just in hindsight and only with some basic knowledge of the behind the scenes drama that led to this and the fall out with the fandom that followed afterwards. 

Summary:  Rapunzel begins to feel homesick for Corona when she finds an old letter written by her father in one of the many lanterns sent from her previous birthdays. In attempts to uplift her spirits, Rapunzel explores the island and comes across a magical idol that brings instant happiness to whomever possesses it. Rapunzel begins to hallucinate her family and friends back in Corona and soon shares the idol with the rest of the group. However, everyone starts to become obsessive over the idol, desperately wanting it for themselves. Rapunzel tricks everyone into giving her the idol, but when the Lorbs try to help Rapunzel, they fall under the idol's control and soon begin to terrorize the village.

Let’s Start with the First Elephant in the Room; Frederic 

So throughout the episode Rapunzel is struggling with being homesick. Which is fair enough, that’s an understable reaction to being on the road for months by now. However, to showcase this Rapunzel keeps seeing hallucinations of her father. There are some other characters too, but her dad is the first person she sees and the only one in Corona with speaking lines. He’s the one to tempt her with the idol. 

Did we just forget that Frederic is her abuser? 

Look, even if you accept his apology in Secret of the Sundrop and believe he has learned his lesson, that doesn’t just erase the pain he caused her. Her thoughts about her father should be more realistically complex then this. Now add in how she makes a such a clean break from her other abuser, Gothel, but still holds him on a pedestal shows a disturbing bias on the part of the writers. 

Also where’s this love for Arianna? You know the only real mother on the show? The show that’s aimed at little girls? The one parent who hasn’t flat out abused the main character yet? 

Seriously, Chris, what the fuck? 

This is a Missed Opportunity 

So part of the reason why I like this episode is that we get insights into each of the characters and their desires. As such this is one of the few episodes where the group actual feels like a group friends. However, Cass’s vision is wasted here. 

So at first glance this seems to aline with what we know of the character thus far. She loves her dad and wishes to impress him. That’s only if you take season one into account, though. Later episodes will contradict this goal. If you wanted to set up praise and validation in general as Cassandra’s motives, then here is where that should have happened. 

Show her getting a medal, have cheering crowds surround her, have her be a hero, or something. You can’t claim her relationship with her parents as the driving force of behind her later actions if you don’t actually involve one of those parents as part of the resolution to her arc. 

Either she lacking attention from her dad or she’s jealous of Rapunzel. You can’t have it be both because those two things don’t intersect. Rapunzel is not and never was a threat to her relationship with her father. 

So Umm...I Don’t Think This Plot Point Has the Impact That the Writers Think It Does 

So this hilarious, and it is intended to be funny, but it’s not for the reasons that the show gives. 

The idea is that this is some shocking revelation. That Rapunzel would never do this under normal circumstances and it’s a hint that the idol is corrupting her. 

Only the rest of the series doesn’t aline with that at all. This is just the real Rapunzel behaving as the she normally would but without the usual veneer of excuses. 

It’s funny because it’s the show calling out Rapunzel hypocrisy for what it is plainly, not because it’s out of character. 

But funny only gets you so far. The show is perfectly happy to play up Rapunzel’s awfulness for laughs, but then conventily ignore it when it comes time for the characters themselves to call her out on it so that she can grow and learn.       

The show runs under the sitcom idea that comedy excuses all sins; which then backfires horribly when it tries to be serious and mature. 

You can’t joke that the king threw a random person in a stockade for little reason and then expect us to still like him when he persecutes a child. Same applies here. 

The sitcom set up only works when there is minimal at stake and all parties involved are equally awful in their own ways. 

Then Why Not Just Go Home?

Once again, there’s nothing at stake in season two. Rapunzel has no real reason to be on this trip. Nothing is stopping her from just going home if that’s what she wants. The idol only makes her happy because it shows her want she wants, but she could actually have what she wants as soon as the next ship arrives. So what’s the issue here? 

This is why you need external conflict in order to make internal conflicts work. There’s has to be something preventing the main character from achieving her goal or otherwise she just comes across as a dumbass. 

And Now Here Comes the Second Elephant; Varian 

I have several things to talk about here, and none of them actually concern the scene itself but the creator’s treatment of the character and the show’s fan base.

For you see, Chris did a very, very stupid thing.  

He wrote the character driving the plot out of the show. The character who also happens to be the most popular person in the series. Only to then use said character’s VA and this one cameo as promotion for this whole season. 

Needless to say, fans were disappointed.   

However, the Tangled fandom is exceedingly polite; more so than most. The lack of Varian was met mostly with confusion, and maybe a few off handed jokes, rather than anger. When opportunity arose people naturally had questions concerning the character.     

And that’s when Chris put his foot in mouth. 

This Tumblr post details how Chris got kicked off the Tangled The Series Discord by bullying a bunch of Varian fans while on there. 

https://starxapple.tumblr.com/post/617852117763391488/zhantiri-uuugh-fine-since-people-are-getting

I shan’t get into it fully, but for those who discovered the show after season two had aired, this caused a massive backlash from the fandom. 

A good chunk of the fandom just walked away, and rightly so. The few that stuck around despite these remarks found themselves harassed by certain sections of the fandom who saw Chris’s bullying as permission to pursue the same behavior. However, most importantly, the ratings plummeted. 

Season one hovered around the the 1 million mark, give or take a five point difference. The first part of season two dropped to half of that, and after this episode and the hiatus it sunk even lower, down to the mid-thirties. That’s over 20,000 people who just jumped ship over this. That’s not a normal decline. 

No matter what your personal feelings are of the character of Varian or how he was handled in the show, that’s still a massive PR fassico that cost the series big time. 

To add to this mountain of bullshit, there was also a massive walk out of crew members after season one had finished production. Most of them women. They even desperately threw out ‘we’re hiring’ calls to cover this. Which given that’s it’s Disney and that nepotism is usually how one gains employment in the entertainment industry, something unusual must have happened behind the scenes. Especially if most of the people who left were women. 

We’ll probably never know what really happened. People don't usually talk about behind the scenes stuff like that due to contracts and the aforementioned nepotism. However, all clues point to Varian.   

Something changed at the last minute concerning his story. Chris himself had confirmed as much when discussing the note and the Brotherhood. We also gotten other hints that content was edited out at the last minute. Plus the writing becomes more shoddy as the series goes along, showing how slapped dashed everything is together.  

Then there’s the rumors. 

I must stress to you that this is only a rumor. As pointed out earlier, most animators aren’t in a position to talk freely about what goes on behind the scenes. Do NOT harass them over it or make things awkward by asking them to clarify this. However it’s been suggested that the female crew warned Chris that removing Varian from season two and re-writing his story, along with making Cass the villain, would be a bad idea before they left and Chris didn’t listen. Much to his folly. 

Chris is no longer a Disney employee and has yet to move on to any other projects. He says he left, but I more suspect that Disney just didn't renew his contract and no one has picked him up since. I take no joy in the idea that someone may have lost their job, but if true, then Chris has little to blame but himself. 

So What Did Change?

We don't know anything for sure. We know from discussions about the note that there was a proposed Brotherhood plot that involved Varian that was then cut. There was also talks about a Cass and Varian team up in season three. 

This was then changed to the Saporian take over, which is foreshadowed in this scene. However even that got edited down and under the flimsiest of excuses. 

One of the writers, Ricky, suggested that they thought cutting back to Corona would be too confusing for the audience; which is a load of bull. I mean how poorly do you think of your audience’s comprehension skills that they wouldn’t understand a change of scene or a flashback? Yet you fully expect them to pick up on your lazy foreshadowing involving the mirror? So much so that you sent them on a quest to find it between seasons two and three.

Then there’s this gem from Chris. 

Ok ignoring the fact that you so totally could have featured both Gothel and Varian, seeing as they serve two different functions in the story and mean different things to Rapunzel.... What guilt?!!! 

Rapunzel doesn’t ever act guilty over anything involving her treatment of Varian. 

That’s when you realize Chris isn’t talking about her feeling guilty about Varian’s predicament. He’s saying that Rapunzel feels guilty of leaving her father behind with this ‘dangerous’ criminal. Which is a big fuck you to everyone. 

That’s why Frederic is the center focus of Rapunzel’s hallucinations. Why she’s more concerned for his safety over Varian’s trauma. Chris really be out here trying to use the abused 14/15 year old orphan as a scapegoat for the grown ass dictator who ruined countless lives. Because he thinks a grown woman should feel guilty for leaving her abusive father behind and pursuing her life’s dream.

Dude, I try not to assume the worst of people just cause they write fictional characters that I dislike, but Chris really makes things hard not to when he treats his self insert this way. 

Oh but we’re not done yet. 

When Varian Fans Complain About the Lack of Varian; We’re Complaining About the Lack of a Coherent Plot. 

Certain sections of the fandom, bolstered by Chris’s BS, try to act like simply being a Varian fan is grounds for dismissal of any criticism of the show and it’s writing. As if having personal preference for something makes you automatically ‘entitled’ or some such bull. Yet doing so ignores the fundamental complaint that they are making. 

We’re not whining about our favorite character not getting enough screen time. No one would have complained about his lack of presence in season two if they had properly resolved his story in season three and had Chris not been a dick to the fans. But it becomes evidently clear as the series goes along that removing Varian left a major hole in the plot. One that makes the entire story and the rest of characters suffer as well. 

Think season two is boring? That’s cause they cut out their main villain at the last minute and failed to replace him with anything. 

Upset that Hookfoot was brought along for zero reason?  He’s the replacement character for Varian who no doubt was going to appear in season two originally. 

Wish there was more on the Brotherhood and the Dark Kingdom?  Their story impact was greatly reduced when Varian was written out.

Are you a Eugene fan and mad about how the Dark Prince plot went nowhere?  That’s cause the original Brotherhood/Dark Kingdom plot was dropped when Varian was.

Dislike how Cassandra’s character was ruined with her villain arc?  She was originally meant to be possessed but was changed last minute to be a Varian rip-off in the hopes that she would gain some of his popularity.   

Wish Zhan Tiri, Demantius, and the Disciples actually went somewhere and that ZT had coherent plan?   That plot were changed last minute to make Zhan Tiri a scapegoat for Cassandra now that her story was changed to replace Varian.

And of course let’s not ignore the character who suffers the most from lack of Varian.... Rapunzel. 

Chris’s defense for leaving Varian out of S2 is that it’s “Rapunzel’s Story” and that Varian was only ever a plot device meant to push her along on her quest.  Which means that Rapunzel no longer has anyone pushing her along on her quest!!!

All characters are plot devices. If they aren’t there to serve a story function then they need to be cut. Even Rapunzel herself serves a plot function. She’s meant to be the protagonist of a coming of age story. Which means she needs both an external conflict to face and an emotional arc where she grows as a person. Varian is the plot device that serves both of those functions but he’s now been removed and is no longer allowed to serve his original purpose. 

Chris reached into the machine while it was running and pulled out one of the main gears and acted like he always meant to do that. He legit sat there and pretended that everything was running smoothly even as smoke poured out and warring alarms blared. He then tried to shove bubble gum in its place hoping no one would notice as everything fell apart around him. 

Cause he’s the thing; no idea is without merit. It’s all about presentation. Removing Varian from season three still could have worked, but it required A.) replacing him with another foe and B.) making sure his arc still got a proper conclusion. 

I’ll talk more about Varian’s half-arsed redemption when we get to it; but for now let's focus on the more immediate problem. No one thought to give season two an actual overarching conflict in light of Varian’s absence. 

That’s a fundamental oversight that pretty much signals that season two was re-written at the last minute. You have an overarching plot in an action adventure show but no main adversary? I refuse to believe that everyone involved was too stupid to do that on purpose; but if they were rushed and lacked a crew because they walked out due to last minute story changes....yeah that’d I buy. 

Because there’s more than enough options to go around; Lady Caine, The Baron and Styalan, Hector and/or Adria, Zhan Tiri’s Disciples ect. were all options. So was keeping the rocks a threat, or have Cass start her villian arc earlier; with proper motivation this time. They could have even come up with someone entirely new. 

You had over four years to plan this shit out; why is it not more well put together?! 

How Come Rapunzel Can Easily Admit Fault to Pascal But Not Anyone Else? 

Pascal should have sat perched on Varian’s and Eugene’s shoulders giving Rapunzel ‘I’m done with this’ looks all throughout season three. It’s apparently the only thing that she responds to. 

Why is the untalkative camelanion the only one allowed to call out the main character’s BS without going villain? 

Conclusion

That’s all there really is to talk about in this story. The actual episode itself is good. It’s the behind the scenes crap that bubbles underneath its surface that needed to be discussed. That way when going forward with the marathon you’ll better see what I’m talking about when I explain how future episode suffered from the lack of planning and foresight. 

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- The Arrival

Here we finally have it.  All of the governments meet for the first time.  If you want to see more of one particular person or group, or just have any cool ideas to throw in, ask away!  Enjoy the story!

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel

It had been rather the hectic week (and month) for the entire universe.  Everyone had scrambled for information; the fight to find out exactly what to expect from their sudden new neighbors.  Agents had been sent out, intelligence had been collected, reports had been made, and, out of the blue, one government, the Citadel Council, had invited most of the major players from the various galaxies to the negotiations table.  Reactions had… varied.  Greatly.  But, in the end, all of the invitees had arrived on schedule.  

Commander Shepard was quite glad the Council had taken his suggestion to beef up the Citadel Fleet seriously.  The different governments had each arrived with their own starship or, in many cases, starships.  The starships were as varied as the governments themselves.  The Galactic Assembly had arrived in several plain metal, box-like starships, led by Adam Vir’s Omen.  Respectable.  Nothing the Fleet couldn’t handle.  

The government from Quill’s home galaxy had shown in one rather small ship.  He still didn’t know the government’s name.  Curious.  He quietly vowed to find out.

The United Federation of Planets had, too, arrived in a small fleet of their strange, saucer-strapped-to-engines starships led by James Kirk’s Enterprise.  Once more, sensible.  Respectable.  Easily handled.  

So too did both the Frontier Militia and Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation arrive.  They had been directed to opposite docking bays, considering their history.  A wise move.  Someone had their head firmly on their shoulders.  

Thomas Drake had led a small collection of luxury ships, his clients, into their docking bays.  No problem.  No military threat.  

The UNSC had arrived in two ships.  Blocky and boxy, they too were directed to their places without incident.  

The New Republic arrived in a motley collection of ships in various shapes and sizes.  One minor bureaucratic hassle later, they were docked.  

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the last two that were a problem.  Three massive, kilometer long Star Destroyers had heralded the arrival of the Galactic Empire.  The largest ship in Shepard’s galaxy was the Destiny Ascension, also a kilometer long.  It was the long held belief that no one could match it, as the requirements for building something bigger would be astounding.  Now, the Empire had three such ships, each more powerful, with larger guns, internal fighter hangars, and enough troops inside to pacify a planet.  

The next arrival had blown everyone else out of the water.  The Imperium of Man had shown up in a six-and-a-half kilometer floating cathedral.  Shepard had seen nothing like it, and didn’t quite understand why anyone would build a starship like that.  It was as if someone had taken a gothic basilica, made it starship-sized, then slapped on an unholy amount of guns.  Shepard didn’t know what was on board, either.  Matter of fact, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what was on board.  

What’s more is, due to their large size and masters’ temperament, the Imperial ships would not and could not dock.  So now they hung threateningly over the Citadel, turbo-lasers and lance batteries pointing menacingly into space.  Shepard did not at all envy Matriarch Lidanya, captain of the Destiny Ascension, or, for that matter, any of the other fleet captains of the different governments.  Tangling with the Chimaera or the Watch Eternal, the flagship of the Empire and the Imperium’s dreadnought respectively, was a daunting prospect.   

So far as yet, no one had killed each other, a situation that Shepard fervently hoped would remain in place.  Currently, he was standing outside the security gates, lounging next to various members of his crew and a very amused Adam Vir.  Security was another hassle.  The Council, quite reasonably, wanted the members of each delegation to surrender their weapons at the customs area.  The delegates, also quite reasonably, did not want to go unarmed into unknown territory.  Things had come to a head after the Imperium of Man had shown up with a cadre of heavily armed and heavily armored troopers who looked positively excited at the prospect of going full rock-and-roll mode against everything moving.  Citadel Security had tried to disarm them, the Tempestus Scion bodyguards had almost shot the Turian security officer, Cain had calmed things down, C-Sec had once more tried to disarm them, the Galactic Empire had pointed out that their black-armored Death Trooper bodyguards would also not be surrendering their weapons, C-Sec had called for Spectre backup, both Shepard and Cain had convinced everyone else to let the bodyguards keep their weapons, abielt under the watchful eyes of armed C-Sec agents, and Peter Quill and Adam Vir had a massive laugh at the commotion.  

Currently, Thomas Drake and his employers (the Merchant’s Guild, remembered Shepard) were going through security with little hassle.  The generally old and quite calculating-looking members of the Guild had no weapons, and Drake and his armsmen were being remarkably compliant.  They went through quickly, and Drake slid up to Shepard and Vir.  

“So… how many weapons did you manage to smuggle in?” asked Shepard conversationally.  Drake sniffed.

“Enough to kill, oh, at least everyone within sight,” replied Drake as if he were talking about the weather.  Shepard grunted, then turned towards the security checkpoint to watch the New Republic diplomats enter.

“You mind telling me how?” he asked.  Drake gave one of his devious grins.

“A good magician never reveals their secrets!”  Vir rolled his eyes in response.  Security was, unfortunately, or, depending on your point of view, fortunately, not quite perfect.  Vir had been allowed to take his Iron Eye suit through, Cooper any other Pilots coming through were still wearing their Pilot Suits, Master Chief was in full combat gear (so, his normal clothing), Drake had god-only-knew-what on him, and almost everyone was allowed to retain their sidearms.  

That wasn’t even including the super powered people now walking around the flowing streets of the Citadel.  Shepard had known of super soldiers (indeed, several of the Scoundrels themselves could be considered as such), but people with what could be considered superpowers were a little more unnerving.  There were biotics where he came from: individuals who could create and manipulate mass effect fields using their bodies.  They had super powers, in a sense.  But some of the people here…  Along with the New Republic came an unassuming man wearing a simple black tunic and knee length black boots.  Shepard knew, with information from Solo, that this was Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi, someone who could move things with their mind and do all sorts of other ridiculous things.  With the delegation from Quill’s galaxy came a blond haired woman wearing a blue and red jumpsuit; a superhero, if he’d ever seen one, an ebony-skinned, dark-haired diplomat who, despite his laid back attitude, simply screamed ‘deadly!’, and Thor, the literal Norse god of thunder.  How, precisely, was one supposed to fight something like that?  Just go up and politely ask a lighting god to stop?  Unlikely.  

He was snapped out of his reverie by a nudge from Vir.

“Hey.  They’re starting the tour,” he said, and pointed to a Council diplomat leading the delegates through the Citadel, narrating like a tour guide as she did.  Shepard almost laughed aloud at the sight of the various groups walking together, from stark uniforms to over-elaborate dress robes.  He gave a nod to his crew members, and they hefted their weapons and slowly followed the tour.  Vir talked as they walked.

“You know, this is great,” he started with an excited grin.  “This place, all these species working together, talking together, living together…  it’s, well, great.  I said that already, didn’t I?”  He barely paused for breath, then continued.  “The GA has a space station for diplomacy, a… neutral ground, for lack of a better word, but nothing like… this.”  He gestured at the false sky, the massive open areas, and the breathtaking architecture.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”  Garrus Valkarian chuckled behind them and Shepard gave a rueful shake of his head.  

“Adam Vir.  Never change,” he said as he straightened out to follow the tour.  They walked slowly, following the delegates at a safe distance.  Vir dropped back as Sunny slid up to him.  

“What do you think?” he murmured.  She glazed, amused, at some of the diplomats and bodyguards giving her wary looks.  The Drev were by far the biggest and tallest race here, something she was endlessly entertained by.  

“They seem nice enough.  The Citadel Council shouldn’t be a problem.  Most of the more diplomatic ones should be fine as well.”  She gave a low chortle.  “I’m not even afraid of the Imperium.  Cain ought to put in a good word for us.”  Vir smiled back.

“True.  But, just in case, have Kanon stand by.”  Sunny nodded.  

“Don’t worry.  The Drev clan will be ready to go.”  And with full weapons, too.  No one thought spears were a significant enough problem to warrant disarmament.  More fool them, then.   

The members of the Merchant’s Guild were barely listening to the guide; their looks instead shrewdly appraising everything in sight.  Martin Crossgrow turned to Drake, lips pursed in calm consideration.  

“How much do you think it would cost to build this place?”  Drake didn’t hesitate with an answer.

“Fifty to seventy-five quadrillion Federal credits to build a station exactly like this.  Thirty billion to build a warhead powerful enough to blow it all up.”  Crossgrow gave a low, humorless laugh in response, and turned to one of his immaculately tailored colleagues.  

“You see, this is why I hire Drake.  He knows what he’s talking about.”

Outwardly, Commissar Ciaphas Cain was an epitome of calm.  Inwardly, he was roiling.  There were just so.  Many.  Xenos.  Everywhere.  Walking openly in the streets as if they didn’t have acare in the world, eating, shopping, even mingling with humans.  Even the supposedly pro-human Galactic Empire was being led by a tall, blue-skinned humanoid alien wearing a neatly pressed Admiral’s uniform.  The Imperial delegation, of which he was security chief, was being escorted by even more xenos.  Of course, since he was security chief, if anything went wrong, he would have to deal with it.  Wonderful.  

“Hello, Ciaphas.”  The voice broke his thoughts, and he turned to face one of the robed diplomats he was assigned to protect.  A rush of emotions and memories was brought to the surface: an undercover cabernet singer with a beautiful voice, stinking tunnels filled with genestealers and untrustworthy criminals, a figure in golden power armor massacring her way through hordes of enemies. 

“Amberley?” he asked, flabbergasted.  The diplomat threw back her hood, revealing a familiar face, framed by blond neat blond hair.  Amberley Vail, Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, smiled up at him.  

“Surprised to see me here?” she asked.  

“Uh… yes, actually,” replied Cain.  Vail laughed.  

“Did you really think diplomats would be sent to a meeting this important without… oversight?”  Cain’s stomach turned to ice.  HIs palms started to tingle, a sure sign that something was wrong.  

“What do you mean by that?” he inquired tentatively.  Vail subtly nodded to another robed diplomat.

“You remember Rasmus, don’t you?”  The robed man turned, face hidden beneath the robe and a neat black beard, and nodded once.  Of course Cain remembered; how could he forget that horrible business?  More memories flashed through his head.  An insane governor, selling his soul into eternal damnation for the promise of pleasure, hacking his way through living shrubbery, Jurgen and Amberely hot on his heels, and, of course, Inquisitor Rasmus Vekkman fighting an unholy abomination with strange, archaic weapons.  Vail nodded once more and gestured to another delegate.

“And of course, we need to complete the triumvirate of Ordos Majoris.  You’ve never met her, but that’s Inquisitor Melflic Aetius of Hereticus,” finished Vail.  Cain was fairly certain his blood had frozen in his veins.  One Inquisitor was a problem.  Three though… That was three individuals with unlimited authority and the full backing of the Imperium of Man.  Three Inquisitors on the same mission was completely unheard of.  Apparently, his thoughts did not register on his face, for Amberley continued.  

“On the Watch Eternal we also have a regiment of Tempestus Scions.”  Cain was only saved from stopping short, jaw hanging out, by his long-learned masterful control over his emotions.  Scions, also known as Tempestus Stormtroopers, were the deadliest and highest-trained normal human soldiers within the Imperium.  Now there was an entire regiment of them aboard the starship hanging in orbit above the Citadel.  He stopped short for a moment at Vail’s next words.  “And a full Deathwatch Kill-team,” she stated nonchalantly.  The Deathwatch was something else entirely.  Made up of Space Marines, eight foot tall genetically engineered, power armor-wearing transhuman super soldiers, the Deathwatch was the Inquisition’s specialized anti-alien group.  Cain could understand Scions.  Perhaps an Inquisitor, and a small group of Space Marines.  But now there were three Inquisitors, a full regiment of Scions, and, by what he inferred, a very beefed up and probably quite veteran Kill-team.  Oh dear Emperor, this is going to end badly.  

“Anything else I should know about?” he all but hissed at Amberley.  She pursed her lips, considering.  

“I suppose.  You are our chief of security, after all,” she replied, her eyes full of mischief.  And what a terrible idea it was to take that job, Cain fumed.  “There’s also an Assassinorum Execution Force.”  Is it even possible to be any more surprised?  ‘Cause if it is, I’m about to win an award.  Cain knew little about the mysterious and highly lethal Officio Assassinorum; hell, most citizens didn’t even know it existed.  What he did know, however, was that it trained some of the most potent killers in the galaxy.  That’s all he ever wanted to know, for people who went polking into the workings of such organizations rarely returned alive.  

“Do you mind telling me exactly why there are so many deadly groups here?” he muttered, conscious of drawing too much attention.  Vail smiled again, but this time there was nothing in her eyes save the coldest ice.  

“Of course, my dear Ciaphas.  It’s simple.  All of these xenos better be honest and on the level.  Or else.” 

And there it is.  Sort of a cold war situation going on; every faction is trying to be as diplomatic as possible and present the best face possible, but if something goes wrong, their all dropping in their most elite soldiers.  Next story we’ll go over more reactions and explore some of the people and groups I didn’t cover here.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to ask!  

[catsnuggler]

What didn't help my whole subconsciously-missionary-minded, silent-echoes-of-Mormonism socialism illusion, which made me think it would be selfish and wrong to demand my own liberation, was the misapplication of standpoint epistemology - put simply, when "identity politics" goes bad.

Putting the rest under a cut, because this is a long post.

While it's crude and ultimately incorrect to only say, for example, "Listen to Black voices", without emphasizing the critical thinking skills and empathy necessary to listen to Cornel West, and dismiss Candace Owens for the right-wing corporate hack that she is, what is for certain is that someone like me, a 100% white American settler of Mormon pioneer stock (on one side of my family, anyway), and with no formal education on the subject matter, doesn't have authority to speak on the experience of Black people in America. I have no argument against that, because it's true.

Continuing further, just because, in spite of the fact neither racism nor colonialism oppresses me, capitalism still does, this doesn't mean I have as much authority to speak on it as a Black member of the working class does, as anti-Black racism and capitalism compound on and depend on each other, making the lives of Black working class people more difficult than the lives of white working class people. Doesn't mean I can't speak on capitalism, just means I'm not the leading voice.

That being said - I'm going to talk as if I'm still a believing Mormon, let alone Christian, in this and the next paragraph, to better explain the subconscious workings of my mind, due to their brainwashing - the difference in our positions can be wrongly perceived, especially by someone raised in the illusory colonial missionary mindset, similar to the position of those with "the gospel" and those "of the world", where those with "the truth" have more, but are, like all, oppressed by "sin", yet at least believe themselves to have the knowledge and wherewithal to resist, while those "worldly" people aren't blessed with the wealth of God's Word, nor the solidarity of the church, and are thus further deprived of the perfection God desires for his children than those of His Flock already are, and must be ministered to, brought into the Fold, and Saved from On High.

Yet there must ever be a humility to such actions, there must ever be self-denial, for all are imperfect, even those in the church, as, just as Christ shed His blood, and allowed His flesh to be pierced, even to His death, in limitless sacrifice for the sins of all of the Children of Men, that they may be redeemed, so have countless socialist, communist, and anarchist revolutionaries died for the cause, and yet all who live, who do not seclude themselves from the world and its markets, facilitate the continued exploitation and robbery of each other by the capitalist class. All are imperfect, and all would deserve bondage and bloodshed, were it not for the bleeding hearts of the martyrs.

So, you see, even someone who consciously attempts to reject Christianity can still fall victim to its logic, even after abandoning the official doctrine of it, if proper safeguards against the general thought processes of it are not taken. Returning to the original point I've tried to raise, I've fallen for a long time to a Christian-esque stance of personal martyrdom for the sake of "saving others" to the point I believed pursuing my own liberation would be selfish.

I'm mentally ill and neurodivergent to the point that getting myself to even get into the habit of seeking jobs is difficult, much more so landing myself an interview; and getting an offer of employment? Only happened once, at the end of my first interview. As you predicted, the job sucked, they were desperate to hire me because it sucks, and it wasn't 3 months before I quit. I quit in late September of 2018. It's been almost 3 years of me not having a job.

I got my driver's license in mid 2019, but got into a minor parking accident that only broke a headlight on the car I drove, and didn't damage the other car, in September of that year. It was over a year before I drove again, because of the depth of my depression and anxiety over one accident, which cost about $150. Since January of this year, I've driven somewhat regularly, and have some measure of confidence, but am still anxious every time I'm behind the wheel. I could drive to and from a job, if needed, but it would be a while before that would be comfortable.

I still live with my dad, at the age of 23, and barely have any friends where I live anymore; those local friends I still have, I haven't seen face-to-face for a long time. My dad... my dad could die any day, and I would be royally fucked. Something happened earlier this month, and he wasn't healthy before, but this was really serious. He amazingly got away with few symptoms, and can make a full recovery with the right effort, except... it could still happen again, it would just be less likely. If it does, he could die. Again, I would be royally fucked. I don't know how much his treatment cost, but I know it must be a pretty penny. There's only so long I can continue like this.

Due to my dependence and general impotent state, I can't do a goddamn thing for what I believe in right now. I have to fight self-hatred with the argument that if I die, I'll have died useless and unhelpful, when I could potentially have kept living til I got my act together and finally done something helpful before passing.

I have a college degree. Not a "real" degree, in the sense of it mattering, but I have an Associate degree, DTA. No major; I never could figure out what I wanted to do. It would have been a close call between anything in political science, which would have led toward a government job, which would be unacceptable as an anarchist, or perhaps a professorial job, teaching would-be politicians and bureaucrats, hardly educating anyone of revolutionary intent; or something in chemistry, perhaps biochemistry, leading to some kind of colonial agrichem shit, or making expensive medicines nobody would be able to afford for private entities' profits, possibly having research appropriated by Uncle Sam for weapons purposes - I don't know, but none of that was appealing. I graduated community college with Honors, as a member of the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society. I could have had promise as some or other kind of technocrat or bureaucrat - but I wouldn't be able to live with myself. It seems the less one is exploited, the more they exploit others. I don't know what job I can take that would exploit me enough that I wouldn't hurt others so much, while leaving me alone enough that I wouldn't kill myself, which... which has been a temptation, at times. Not too strong, but it is fucking there. I have promise; at short-term memorization and obedience, at least, like a mongrel dog who can read; but no conviction, no confidence, and a surplus of fear.

There are more woes I can recollect, I can continue this pity party in a book, but enough of that. Suffice it to say, all this time, I should have wanted my own liberation. Colonized people (in an American context, Turtle Island Indigenous and Black) have it worse, LGBT* people have it worse, women have it worse, physically disabled people have it worse, people with greater mental disabilities than my own have it worse, and I can't lead any of their struggles. But I do have the right to demand my own liberation, and I shouldn't convince myself otherwise.

*I don't oppose the use of the other word, except people of my demographic have abused that word so goddamn much, I don't want to type it, myself, let alone say it. It's always tainted when it comes from those who aren't of that community. Please don't think I'm either a radfem or a libfem just because I didn't use that word. I support people identifying with that label in using it.

This post became increasingly personal toward the end. However, I hope my flawed perspective, perhaps unique (read: unrelatable) in some aspects, perhaps explaining, at least in part, some of the fucked-up mental hurdles of white socialist "allies" that we need to get our asses over yesterday, might help - whatever I might have illuminated, and whatever I surely missed. I can understand why someone might want to share and add, share and criticize, or leave this alone with a like, nothing at all, or an unfollow.

Not that I can prevent this from being shared in any way, except by not posting in the first place, but I'm okay with it being shared by other socialists, for whatever it's worth... although I understand the more traction it gets, the more likely I'll get anon hate about being full of myself (deserved, to an extent at least), for being some dumb socialist cuck (not exactly wrong, but rude, and likely from a Nazi, so fuck you), or perhaps from non-Mormon Christians accusing me, someone they'd call a Mormon (which is arguably almost a new ethnicity (not race though) as much as it is a religion) of daring to throw the Christian god and Christianity, in general, under the bus, accusing me of being in league with the devil. So be it.

If you're not a reactionary, nor a liberal, nor somewhere in-between, and you want to share this for some reason or another, you may do so.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Crane Team: Part 3 - Sun Tattoo

In a conference room, ten chairs have been set up around a round mahogany table. The seven new clan chiefs, along with Nanami Sakurai and Yoko Uesugi, sat around it, facing each other and a screen that featured three high ranking former members of the Devil Clan who were teleconferencing in from behind bars.

Nanami Sakurai sat in a prim royal purple business suit, her hair up in a tight bun. Yoko sat next to her, her hair up in a high ponytail, covered from the neck down. When given the permission to speak, Yoko said, “The legal department has agreed to take up the cases for appeal. They’ve also agreed to weekly status updates on these. However, this will take significant staff away from regular duties.  I would like to request a budget for emergency staff members to handle follow up and logging of reports.”

“How many people are we talking about?” A heavy set man rumbled, completely unconcerned. His head was bald save two tufts of hair over his ears. He smoked from a long Japanese pipe. He was Minato Ryoma, a business mogul specializing in real estate. He was the late Clan Chief Genichiro’s cousin and had quickly inserted himself into the vacuum left by his death with very little fuss. 

“My primary objective is to reassure the defendants that Hydra will take their cases seriously. I will therefore hire 45 people. No more than 10 cases per employee.” Yoko replied. “Pay should be a sufficient living wage for Tokyo on its own so that they will not need secondary employment to focus on this task.”

Minato snorted roughly, his stomach bouncing under the table. “Preposterous. Our finances have barely recovered from this disaster and you want to throw away this much money for this project?”

“Our recovery is pointless if we are lax in pulling the Yakuza gangs together and another war break-...”

Sakurai silenced Yoko with a stern look. 

Yoko sat back against her chair. “My apologies.”

“I will make sure that we do a full review of our budget and accommodate as much as we can to the effort.” Sakurai Nanami spoke quietly and dutifully.

“Genji Heavy Industries is still a wreck. The contractor’s we hired are over priced due to the scarcity of workers and materials. We must build the house before we invite other tenants.” Ryoma grumbled.

The other clan chiefs seemed to agree, nodding to themselves. 

“Perhaps priority can be given to the breadwinners within the former Devil Clan so that some of the children currently in foster can be reunited with their rightful families.” The newest clan chief of the Inuyama clan, Inuyama Ren, was a surprisingly young man of 21 years old. His face was smooth and handsome and reminded Yoko a bit of Chance. He was Katsu Inuyama’s last remaining son. The rest had died in the fighting. Yoko couldn’t argue the practicality of his suggestion but he could certainly see objections in her eyes. “Does Ms. Uesugi have a response to this?”

“Yes… I do agree that this is a good suggestion. However, placement of Devil Clan children can’t all be with Devil clan members. Particularly if their actual families are alive. Parents should raise their children.” She said softly. “Furthermore, the youth of the Devil clan are the least responsible for their crimes and the more likely to suffer future effects. I believe the younger members should have a high priority as well.”

Minato huffed again, “Future…” He muttered.

Yoko’s nails squeezed her hands but the effect of such emotion dampening tactics was hampered due to her gloves. 

From the speakers of the computer, one of the Devil Clan representatives unmuted themselves. “It has been demonstrated that the increase in violence of the Devil Clan were the result of illicit drugs being produced to enhance the bloodline. Before these drugs, while there were violent and dangerous hybrids, the population of berserker hybrids was not nearly as high as after these drugs were produced. The Clan Chiefs of the Hydra could be excused for thinking all Devils are going to die young but that wasn’t always the case. Even the rules stated that Devils could be imprisoned for up to 40 years with hope of release.”

Minato huffed but didn’t dispute this.

“We will run an analysis through the accounting department. I can’t promise 45 employees but making sure each temporary hire is paid enough to focus fully on the work is wise.” Nanami nodded her head.

The meeting dragged on to discuss politics. The mass slaughter and outbreak of violence had alarmed non-hybrid officials. They were pushing through an anti-Yakuza bill and needed immediate reassurance that such shocking events weren’t going to recur. Yoko scarcely suppressed a yawn as she struggled to listen. Her Japanese was phenomenal for having studied for such a short time but the details and intricacies of parliament still escaped her.

Her cell phone buzzed at her side and she peered down.

The message: “The Fuma child was rejected this morning. He’s back at the orphanage.”

Her eyes widened. Why? It had taken ages to finally place that child with relatives after a thorough search. He had been marked, improperly, as violent. He’d understandably acted out after witnessing the death of his family. She had been reassured and thrilled that he would finally be placed with his own clan! Yoko looked up at Nanami Sakurai. “I’m sorry. There’s an emergency. Excuse me.”

Without asking permission, Yoko got up from the table, bowed to everyone and dialed the number to the group foster home.

The placement officer over the children’s group hostel answered right away. “Hello?”

“It’s Yoko. What happened? I thought we resolved all concerns?” Yoko stood outside the door and then walked a few more steps to further conceal her conversation from the conference room. Outside the room,  people were passing back and forth but most of them were on phones of their own. Half the corridor was blocked off with construction tape to repair an earthquake damaged wall, making things extra crowded.

“His bloodline isn’t the problem. The problem is he’s not Fuma.”

“Not Fuma? Then what is he? All his paperwork said Fuma!” She said, dodging passersby and trying to find a quiet spot.

“We don’t know. We don’t know why he would falsify his information…”

“There has to be a mistake. He’s eight years old. How can someone his age falsify information?” Yoko started walking towards the exit. “I need to talk to him. How is he?”

“Distraught but…”

“Of course he is…” Yoko broke into a jog. After the assassination attempt, she wasn’t allowed to leave the Genji building without an armed escort and armored car, but this was an emergency! “Excuse me, are you headed out?” She approached a couple of Executive Board members who pointedly ignored her. Even though she chose to believe they were already busy with their own tasks, most of the Hydra members still thought of her as Ruri Kazama’s woman and wouldn’t willingly help a former enemy.

“Look, I'll try to get there as soon as possible.” Yoko hung up and walked over to the information desk. “Hey I need to get a ride to the foster home. Is there anyone available?”

The woman behind the desk looked harried and brushed aside hair that had gone askew. “This is not a scheduled outing and currently there are no armored cars available…”

“When will the next one be back?”

“Probably not until four pm and that will depend on traffic.” She said with some regret. 

“No, this is too important. Can we recall one?”

Her eyes widened in outrage. “Recall one? And what are we supposed to do with the person who’s actually there on-site?”

“I’ll take her.” said an approaching voice.

The secretary’s eyes widened and she stood up.

Yoko turned her head and looked into a familiar face behind thin rimmed glasses. “Crow!”

She hadn’t seen the man since he dropped her off at Genji Heavy Industries after the Cassell Team departed. She thought he had retired. Crow was the last remaining man on Chisei Gen’s original team. Both Sakura and Yasha had died during the Dragon’s awakening. Sakura was killed by Ruri Kazama. Yasha died blowing up Kaguya’s core in Genji Heavy Industries. The man looked a bit thinner than she remembered and he looked like he had aged with dark circles under his eyes.

He stood there in his usual trench coat and colorful shirt. “Are you coming or not?”

“Thanks.” She smiled gratefully and followed him out. 

The sun was bright but there was a noticeable chill that heralded the onset of the fall season. Hydra members walking by were looking up at Crow in shock, doing a double take, just as surprised as she was to see him back.

Crow led her to a red sports car but didn’t hold open the door like a regular driver. He just stepped around to get in.

“Did you see everyone’s faces?” She laughed. “Where have you been?”

“Taking a long vacation.” He slid into the driver's seat. “Where are we going?”

“The foster home for the Devil Clan children. What made you come back? If anyone deserves retirement, it’s you.” She said, buckling her seat. 

Crow didn’t respond but pulled into traffic. His expression was stony and his eyes were grim.

Yoko’s smile gradually faded. “Did… something happen?”

“No, nothing happened. Old habits die hard.” He pulled up to a stop light and they waited for it to change. After a pause, he added. “I never got to thank you for saving Sakura that day. At Tokyo Tower.”

Yoko looked straight ahead. Sakura Yabuki had used herself as bait to trap dead slave monsters at the top of the Tokyo Tower. Once they were nearly on her, she threw herself off the tower and let them follow her down. Yoko knew there was a rope dangling from the tower, where Fingel had saved himself from falling only minutes before. She had grabbed Sakura and the rope and watched the dead slaves continue their descent to the ground, a full 8 second fall. 

Unfortunately, Sakura would die anyway.

“I just wish I could have done more.” Yoko murmured

“Believe me, we all do. Normally, I probably would have just committed harakiri after the young chief’s passing, but I got my old man to take care of. Meanwhile? Might as well come back here.” 

The light turned green.

“Do you really still hold to notions like that?” Yoko asked with a cautious glance. “I don’t think that’s what Chisei would have wanted.”

Crow’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “Woah, you two were on a first name basis?”

“Ah… I…” Yoko stammered.

“Ha. I’m teasing. I know you’re not from around here.” He gave a vicious grin however.

Chisei and Yoko had an inevitable conflict. She was a member of the Cassell Team, a devil and in love with Ruri Kazama, the leader of the Devils. He’d hurt her deeply by killing a man named Chance who’d fallen in love with her and fought his hardest to stay alive. The killing was brutal.  She couldn’t like him. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel that, had circumstances been different, she and Chisei would have been friends. It was true that Yoko had always referred to Chisei by his first name and she couldn’t remember him ever objecting or correcting her. 

Crow had likely noticed that long before now.

The orphanage was actually a juvenile correction facility set back off the road by two layers of guarded cinder block walls, manned sniper towers and armed guards at the gates. Once inside, a large building that appeared to be something like a multistory hospital greated her with an imposing cliff-like presence. Were it not for the playground out back with its colorful slides and swings, you would have thought it was a military facility.

Crow walked in with her as she signed in but she stopped him from entering. “Dressed in that trenchcoat, you’ll frighten the kids. I’ll be right back.”

The only memories Devil Children would have of the enforcement department were invasive interviews that asked probing and embarrassing questions. One wrong answer and they would be sentenced to death or eternal imprisonment. While the caretakers were kind to them, fed them and let them sleep in comfortable beds, at the end of the day, they were locked behind vault doors that were secured by heavy chains. 

It reminded Yoko a lot of Black Swan Bay. Only these children weren’t controlled by a clapper sound.  The influx of orphans after the Hydra’s devastating purge had left the facility staggering and in dire need of funds and personnel. So placing these orphans with families was a top priority of Yoko’s work.

Thankfully, Sakurai, Inuyama and Miyamoto threw open their doors and opened their arms to the orphans. Fuma and Ryoma however had little room in their hearts for these children. Many of their clan members were orphaned at the Red Well when the massive influx of those strange white filaments swallowed up the Fuma Ninjas who had been stationed in the forest to guard the area. Fuma was extremely hurt by the fact that the Devil Clan leader, Kazama Ruri, viciously humiliated the Kotaro Fuma. But with some cajoling Yoko had finally been able to persuade them to take this one child… but he wasn’t even a Fuma child in the end.

She stopped in front of a door and pulled the file from the slot next to it. The name Tatsuya Fuma was crossed out and replaced with “Unknown”. She knocked twice and opened the door.

The boy who, up until now, had been named Tatsuya Fuma sat on a small bed. His room was neat, with a red rug and a shelf full of small toys that had been donated. Mostly toy cars and one toy gundam action figure. There was a TV but it was off. Tatsuya’s face was flushed and sticky from crying.

“Hey…” Yoko approached quietly until she was halfway across the room and then knelt down on the rug. “Hey… what happened?”

The boy hiccuped and sniffled, his knees gathered to his chest. He stared blankly at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

The boy shook his head sharply, clearly and adamantly blaming himself.

Yoko knew better than to argue. “Then what did you do?”

He looked at her and shook his head. 

“Are you scared?” Yoko whispered.

The boy nodded. 

“Why?” She opened her arms and beckoned him over. “Here, come whisper in my ear.” Her frequent visits to this boy made her known and trusted. He knew how hard she’d worked to get him placed and they’d grown a bit close. Day after day, she’d visited with candy and toys and talked to him, reassuring him that she was on his side.

The boy got down from the bed and hugged Yoko around the neck. He didn’t know it, but Yoko always wore a wire on these visits. Sometimes when she was with them, the children would whisper to her the secrets of their trauma, bits and pieces that they’d seen and heard. Little by little, Yoko was building cases against certain cadres of the Executive Board.Given the overwhelming dominance of the Executive Board of Hydra, getting witness testimony directly was nearly impossible. No one would dare speak of the vicious attacks on them. Their killers were still alive and well.

Tatsuya hugged her so tightly around her neck she nearly gagged. He was warm and trembled like a puppy. His arms were thin but his grip was strong, like iron. She could feel every bone through his cotton shirt.

“Tatsuya died. They shot him in the wall.” He whispered, then he sniffed loudly.

“Who did?”

“The people with the sun tattoo.”

“So you took his name?”

“Yeah...they were trying to kill me. So I can’t use my name. They thought Tatsuya was me. So I am Tatsuya now.”

Tatusya was a real child, not a falsified identity! This boy had taken the dead child’s name to hide from people who were looking for him. She'd sent the wrong child to the wrong family! That family had to find out on the day their son returned to them, that their son was actually dead. Yoko’s heart felt like it fell into her stomach.

“Okay honey… okay.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t tell anyone what you told me. Okay? I’ll find somewhere for you to be safe. Can you whisper to me your name?”

“Mitsue Ryoma…”

Ryoma. No wonder he never admitted who he was. Ryoma hadn’t adopted a single child since the purge. Yoko always had a bad feeling about them. Their Clan Chief’s dismissal of her proposal this morning was just one of many. They’d opposed unification at every opportunity. She couldn’t place this child with them. “You’re very smart. Okay. You can keep calling yourself Tatsuya.”

Crow had walked outside to smoke while Yoko was in the facility with the kids. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and imagined the young chief’s arm around him, shoving the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it in a sudden show of uncharacteristic affection. It was a cherished memory that came back to haunt him every once in a while.

Even though the Young Chief never talked about that girl who now called herself Yoko Uesugi, he could tell she was never far from his mind. Especially after she rescued Sakura Yabuki. Crow would notice the Young Chief staring at his reflection in his sword. Sakura returned that sword to him and told him that Yoko had saved her life. It was odd behavior and for a long time Crow’d wondered why he would stare at his reflection like that.

The door behind him opened and the girl walked out, head down, hands in pockets. “Let’s go.” She grumbled and jogged down to the sports car and stood next to it, waiting for him to unlock it.

Her sudden change in demeanor surprised him. “Did things not go well?”

She didn’t answer him. She just kept her eyes down.

Once they were in the car, she pointed to the cigarette lighter in the dashboard. “Does that work?”

“Yeah. You want one of mine?” He reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Yoko, however, removed one of her gloves, revealing the clear scales on her hand, and pulled the cigarette lighter. She took the glowing red-hot cigarette lighter and pressed it to her own skin!

“What are you doing?” Crow shouted. He reached out and snatched the lighter from her, but the damage was done. That white skin was blackened and turning red at the edges. 

Yoko cradled her hand to herself.

“It’s fine… it’s fine.” She whispered but she was cringing in pain. “Look.” She held out her hand to him. The burn was already starting to fade, rapidly healing thanks to her elevated blood.

“Don’t do that again! What’s wrong with you?” Crow shoved the lighter back into the dashboard.

Yoko didn’t answer. She just turned her head back to the entrance of the orphanage. 

Crow massaged his forehead wearily. “What happened there?”

“I can’t tell you.” She ran her hands over her face and massaged her eyes.

“Why not?” He asked, looking down at her from his glasses.

She looked him up and down silently. “Do you have a sun tattoo?”

“I got lots of tattoos… sun’s not one of them.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”  Quiet anger boiled beneath those dark eyes.

“Why are you asking?”

She let out a loud sigh and turned back to the window.

Crow sat back, resting his arm on the steering wheel. “Anywhere else you need to go?”

Yoko squeezed the fingers on her burned hand. “Can we go to the track?”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT STRATEGY

To an amoral person it might seem to be overkill. The reason tablets are going to get rich, because if there is big potential for gain there must also be a terrifying possibility of loss.1 How could you make a conscious effort to find smart friends. Lisp, so much the better. If VCs are only doing it in the hope of gain, but the people. You don't have to be at full power; the pilot has to be for multiple millions of dollars just for being clever. Even we were affected by the conventional wisdom. And what do they have to go through a series of historical accidents the teaching of writing was inherited by English professors. I saw. A group of 10 people within a large organization is compelled by its structure to be one.

And probably the only people who can manage that are the people they want as employees. Representational art is only now recovering from the approval of both Hitler and Stalin. After developing their new search algorithm, the first thing they tried was to get some other company to buy it. Here parents' desires conflict. If parents told their kids the truth about it.2 Now that the cost of failure to increase the number of sufficiently good founders starting companies, and that the best strategy is simply to state the opposing case, with little or no supporting evidence. One way to put it is to take advantage of one another, you're better off learning it last.3 You have to produce something. But fortunately there are still some countries that are not copyright colonies of the US, and even so I didn't get to macros until page 160. It was not till we were in our twenties that the truth came out: my sister, then about three, had accidentally stepped on the cat and broken its back.

I'm not saying that struggles are never about ideas, just that you're a sufficiently good bet. Yes, he may have extensive business experience. Relief. It won't get you a job, as if the important thing were becoming a member of a certain size has gone through legal contortions to get programmers for the same price? Near the top is the company run by techno-weenies who are obsessed with solving interesting technical problems, but I smelled a major rat. In some fields it might be a better plan than the old one. There's a rule of thumb in the VC business. Small companies are more at home in this world, because they may have useful insights.4 But a programmer deciding between a regular job at a big company, but it looks like most of what you gain from the work experience employers consider so desirable. But if you want to make a billion dollars a year, then on average you must be contributing at least x dollars a year worth of work, like acting or writing books, you can't fly into the wind without losing a lot of time trying to master. Their reputation with programmers more than anything else they've ever done. At some firms it's over 50%.

But I don't expect that to change.5 If you looked in people's heads or stock photo collections for images representing business, you'd get images of people dressed up in suits, groups sitting around conference tables looking serious, Powerpoint presentations, people producing thick reports for one another to read. A lot of VCs would have rejected Microsoft.6 Robert and I both knew Lisp well, and nothing changes slower. Don't believe what you're supposed to now, how can you be sure you wouldn't also have believed everything you were supposed to if you had grown up among the plantation owners of the pre-Civil War South, or in a novel? Afterwards I realized it could be that the Europeans rode on the crest of a powerful macro, and say there! Refutation.

The world is—and you specifically are—one pristine old car the richer. But you can do anything if you really try. Early union leaders were heroic, certainly, but we couldn't figure out how to give them what they want. This essay is derived from a talk given at the 2001 Franz Developer Symposium. I couldn't imagine why there should be more variability in the VC business were established when founders needed investors more. If it were simply a group of a thousand people, the average rower is likely to be business school classes on entrepreneurship, as they do now, and we've seen a bunch of startups die. Who knows exactly how these factors combine to boost startups in Silicon Valley. This turns out to be hard, partly because it's hard to say exactly what. The ideas start to get far along the track toward an offer with one firm, it will help them to see through intellectually dishonest arguments.

But this becomes rapidly less true as you move away from the certainty of the hard sciences.7 But how do you pick the right platforms? When wealth is talked about in this context, it is in other industries. Or how about Perl 4?8 Starting or joining a startup is going to succeed. But if you tell a kid, they can make money buying less than 20% of each series A company to compensate for a 2x decrease in the stock sold in series A rounds are not determined by asking what would be best for the companies. A restaurant can afford to serve the occasional burnt dinner.9

Notes

But on the way to solve are random, the best case. A investor has a spam probabilty of. So if they were only partly joking. Stiglitz, Joseph.

As one very smooth founder who used to build consumer electronics. It's not simply a function of the reasons startups are now the founder of the things they've tried on the blades may work for us.

If you want to start businesses to use an OS that doesn't exist. Greek philosophers before Plato wrote in order to switch the operating system so much worse than close supervision by someone else to lend to, but a lot of the Web was closely tied to the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to talk about startups. A YC partner can estimate a market price, and as a monitor. That may require asking, because the kind that prevents you from starving.

Some introductions to philosophy now take the hit. As usual the popular vote. Since we're not.

7 reports that in 1995, but its value was as much income. Whereas the value of understanding per se but from what the editors will have to resort to in the room, you need.

Most of the businesses they work. Google search engines and there didn't seem to have lunch at the lack of movement between companies combined with self-perpetuating if they miss just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's roughly correct to say that the http requests are indistinguishable from those of popular Web browsers, including salary, bonus, stock grants, and I don't think you could get all the page-generating templates are still called the option of deferring to a degree, to drive the old one. In fact, for example, to a study by the Corporate Library, the group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I write. Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The CRM114 Discriminator.

The founders we fund used to build little Web appliances. There are two very different types of studies, studies of returns from startup investing, but the distribution of alms, and that often creates a rationalization for doing it with superficial decorations. Joshua Schachter tells me it was more because they will come at an ever increasing rate to impress investors. They did try to be a big company, though more polite, was one in its IRC channel: don't allow the same price as the face of a startup to an employer hired men based on revenues of 1.

By all means crack down on these.

If a bunch of actual adults suddenly found themselves trapped in high school, because they can't afford to. So far, I should add that we're not professional negotiators, and wisdom the judgement to know about this from personal experience than anyone, writes: True, Gore won the popular vote.

[sudoscience]

New In Town Ch 1: New In Town

Originally posted on AO3, but I’m posting it here now in case that helps more people read it. I think you should still read it on AO3, though, because there’s additional formatting, as well as my notes. (If you’re one of the people who already read this on AO3, there’s nothing new here, except a reminder that the story is on indefinite hiatus until I become sufficiently motivated to resume writing.)

Summary: A human moves to Hometown and is offered a job by Asgore despite never having worked for a florist before.

Stepping off the bus was bittersweet. I was leaving many friends behind, but also a lot of stress. Basically, it was better for everyone if I got as far away from my hometown as possible. Ironically, I ended up in a town literally named Hometown. They say monsters used to be able to use magic, but I guess that was at the cost of being able to come up with creative names. Well, that's not entirely fair: humans can't use magic, either, and most of our cities are named after the first person to move there or a nearby geographic feature. Case in point: my hometown of Twin Falls, named for a pair of waterfalls to the south.

Anyway, I'm hopeful things will work out. Remkis has a cousin who lives here, but she'll be staying with him until he gets better. Meanwhile, I guess I'm apartment-sitting for her. God, poor Remkis. He really isn't doing well, but the last thing he needs in his condition is a surprise visit from the MEU, and every minute I spend with him feels like it increases the chances of that happening exponentially.

The funny thing is, I'm staying in his cousin's apartment even though I've never actually met her. She must have decided any friend of Remkis was a friend of hers, but I have to imagine she must think I'm a terrible friend, abandoning him at a time like this. Hell, I can't even remember her name. I guess we'll have to formally introduce ourselves whenever she gets back.

Remkis's cousin (I'll just call her RC until her name comes to me) has a fairly minimalist style. The apartment walls are all but bare, and there's not much furniture. It's so empty, it feels almost like a prison cell. I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries, but I'm going to need something to look at if I'm going to be living here. I can see a flower shop from the balcony of the apartment; maybe I can kill two birds with one stone and send some flowers to Remkis while I'm there. I know I said I wanted to get as far away as possible, but Hometown isn't really that far from Twin Falls, maybe about a day's drive, so shipping some flowers there hopefully won't be out of the question.

---

The monster that runs the flower shop is intimidatingly huge, yet it's hard to be frightened as he hums a little tune while watering his flowers. Assuring me he has almost finished, he shakes the watering can slightly before turning around to say, "Howdy! How can I..." He seems startled when he sees me. I suppose I can't blame him; Hometown is a rarity, a settlement populated entirely by monsters. When humans do come by, it's almost never a good sign.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know there was another human in town. How can I help you?"

His voice is deep and rich, inflected with a Southern drawl, and his clothes are plain and caked in potting soil. Despite his attire, there's something about his manner, or perhaps merely his stature, that gives him an almost regal air. Maybe I just think that because the shop is called "Flower King", but I feel like that's not the only reason.

"Yes," I reply, "I was hoping to buy..." My voice trails off while my brain suddenly realizes what he has just said. "I'm sorry, did you just say another human?"

"That's right. It's mostly monsters here, but my wife, er, my ex-wife and I have adopted a human child. I guess you haven't met them yet. They usually keep to themselves, anyway, but they're a good kid. A little on the quiet side, but...

"Oh, how rude of me! I've been talking to you all this time, and I haven't even offered you a cup of tea. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks," I say, noting that my refusal almost seems to break his heart. "Not right now," I quickly add, "but maybe later." He looks a little happier at that. "Actually, I just moved here from Twin Falls. I was hoping to spruce up my apartment a little, and maybe send some flowers to my friends back home."

"I think I can help you with that. With the flowers, at least. I'm afraid I don't sell any evergreens," he replies, chuckling. What is it with monsters and puns? He turns back to the wall and produces a beautiful arrangement of flowers of all colors with a single golden flower at the center, raised slightly above the others. "Here we are! These are for your apartment. My treat!"

"Really?" I say incredulously.

"It's my pleasure! Now, as for shipping the flowers to Twin Falls... I'll need some time to think about that. I can go ahead and make the arrangement for you, but I'm not really sure about the transportation. I suppose I could just take them there myself when I get the chance..."

"Oh, no! Please, you don't have to do that," I tell him. I try to make it sound like I simply don't want to impose on him, but I think he picks up on the fear in my voice. Monsters, especially this florist, may look tough, but they're all terribly fragile; even someone of his size could likely be taken down by a child wielding a stick.

"Young man, I can take care of myself."

"When was the last time you went to Twin Falls, Mister... you know, I don't think I caught your name."

"Asgore Dreemurr, at your service!" he says with a slight flourish. "And to answer your question..." He gestures towards me, prompting me to give him my own name.

"Rudy. Rudy Tonofreni."

"Oh, ho! I won't have any trouble remembering that! My best man was also named Rudy. Well, to answer your question, Rudy, the last time I visited Twin Falls was... Let's see here..." He begins to mumble to himself as he tries to remember. "Oh. Oh my, it really has been a while. I haven't been to Twin Falls since a little after we adopted Kris."

"They've always had more than their share of MEU fanatics, but things have really gotten worse since that scumbag Ullman got elected mayor. He's all but encouraging them."

"MEU?" Asgore asks.

"Oh, sorry. I guess not everyone calls them that. They're really called the Arcane Enforcement Unit, but my friends and I call them the Monster Execution Unit because that's really their goal, even though they're all too cowardly to admit it. They all think they're doing the world some big favor, assaulting monsters who are just trying to get by like everyone else. It's sickening."

"Ah. Believe me, I'm familiar with the AEU, Rudy. I understand your concern, but--"

"No, I don't think you do understand," I say, my voice rising. "It's bad there. Really bad. They're not just going after monsters anymore. They're going after humans they think are "monster sympathizers". They're targeting monsters that are known to interact with humans, and the police, they're just letting it happen. Some of them are in on it, I think. I had to leave so they wouldn't hurt my friends, but it's probably already too late. The last thing I want is for someone else, someone I've just met, to get hurt because of me. I can't let that happen, okay? So, please... Just forget I even asked." My voice begins to break.

"Ah. I'm sorry, Rudy. I can see this is very upsetting to you. Perhaps we can work something else out. In fact, I just remembered I have a friend in Twin Falls who owes me a favor. I'm sure Arsenia would be more than happy to help us out."

Arsenia. Why does that name sound so familiar?

"Now," Asgore continued, "is there anything else I can help you with?"

Still trying to place that name while settling down from my outburst, I manage to say, "I think I'll take that tea now." Really, though, where have I heard that name before?

"Really?" He sounds positively delighted. "I'll be right back!"

I begin to ponder the fact that the whole time I've been here, I haven't seen any other customers. Well, it's a small town, after all; there can't be that much demand for flowers. Suddenly, the realization dawns on me, just as Asgore returns with the tea: Arsenia is Remkis's cousin!

"Here we are!" Asgore says as he sets down two cups of golden flower tea. "This is my absolute favorite tea. It's very soothing, but, ah, it's also very hot. Please be careful."

"Thank you," I say. "I just realized something, Asgore."

"What is it?"

"You can't ask Arsenia to get the flowers for me."

"Rudy, I appreciate how concerned you are, but, really, Arsenia is quite capable of defending herself."

"It's not that. Arsenia and her cousin were the ones I wanted to send the flowers to."

"Oh, I see. Well, that certainly won't do, then. I suppose you were right after all. I should just forget about it, but I'll be quite disappointed knowing there's someone out there not getting the flowers they need. Well, you can't please everybody. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way.

"Anyway, why don't you tell me more about yourself, Rudy?"

"I'm not sure there's much left to be said." I know I shouldn't be nervous, but I've never really liked opening up about myself, and I've already told him a lot about my personal life that I was hoping to keep, well, personal.

"What do you do for a living?"

Oh my god. I know I couldn't stay in Twin Falls, but I really should have at least arranged for employment before leaving everything behind. I laugh nervously as I reply, "Funny story about that, actually. I, uh, I don't... I'm un-... I have no idea. I mean, I used to work in a convenience store, but I didn't even think about looking for a new job before I moved here. Say, you don't know anyone that's hiring, do you?"

"How would you like to work here?" Asgore says with a big grin.

Oh, man. It's basically a fact of life that monsters make friends almost too easily, but it's still a little weird to be offered a job from someone I just met. Hesitantly, I start to tell him I don't know the first thing about flowers, but we're interrupted when the door opens. A young child in a green and yellow sweater comes in, a mop of shaggy brown hair covering their eyes.

"Kris!" Asgore exclaims, picking the child off the ground in a big hug. Setting him back down, Asgore says, "Kris, I want you to meet my new employee, Rudy! They'll be helping out around the store." Kris might have glanced in my direction, but it's hard to tell with their eyes obscured; they otherwise don't seem to react.

I notice that Asgore has apparently already hired me, even though I haven't yet accepted his offer. "H-hold on, Asgore. I'm going to need some time to think about this. I'm not really sure yet if this is what I want to do."

"Oh, of course..." Asgore says sheepishly. "Take as much time as you need." I think I catch a telltale smirk on Kris's face. I get the impression this might not be the first time Asgore has hired somebody on the spot.

Kris turns to leave, but Asgore stops them to give them a bouquet of flowers. "Here, Kris. For your mother." The youth takes the flowers and leaves wordlessly. I suppose that was the only reason they came by.

"Real chatterbox, huh?" I say to Asgore.

"They weren't always that way. I think they're still getting used to their big brother being off at college. If you get the chance, maybe you could talk to them. I think they could really benefit from knowing they're not the only human in town anymore. Well, I suppose you're a good bit older than them, but still..."

"Sure. It'd probably be good for me, too. Well, I guess it's time I get out of your fur. Thank you again for the flowers. And the tea." Quietly, I add, "And the job."

"The pleasure's all mine," Asgore says. "You're welcome to come back any time."

"Oh, I just might," I say as I walk out the door.

---

If everyone in Hometown is as friendly as Asgore, I don't think I'll have much trouble adjusting. Part of me still can't stop thinking about Remkis, though. I think about giving him a call, but there's a nagging feeling that it would be better if I didn't. It might end up making things even harder for him.

Remkis would probably get a kick out of the idea of me working at a florist, though. I'm definitely not the artistic type. The flowers Asgore gave me are a welcome addition to my still otherwise empty apartment; anything I made would probably make me wish it was still barren. Of course, my wallet is almost as empty as this apartment. I'm going to need a paying job pretty soon. Maybe I could be Asgore's delivery driver or something instead.

On the other hand, that grocery store also seemed to have a pretty barebones staff. Heh, I'll have to remember to tell that to the skeleton working there. I'd probably be a better fit there, but I almost feel like I owe it to Asgore to work for him. If he wants me to help Kris, it would almost certainly be easier to do so if I worked at his store. Besides, Sans seems friendly enough, but I can't help feeling there's something... off about him. Maybe it's just that he doesn't seem as trusting as the other monsters, which is probably a smart move on his part, but it definitely sets him apart. Plus, I get the sense that I'd be doing his job on top of mine.

Seems like Flower King is my best choice for now. I think I'll sleep on it before calling up Asgore, though.

[If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging.]

[bngtanah]

I'm (not) With The Band. | o1

summary: Adrienne is an indie producer who is hired to help co-produce BTS’ next album alongside their resident producer; Suga. Despite the initial opposition on both ends, the pair spend time together, share a few stories, dreams and aspirations and begin to hit it off really well. Wrapped up in the whirlwind of late nights and heated disagreements and reconciliations, Min Yoongi and Adrienne Rolle find themselves growing closer and closer. One night they decide to cross the barrier between personal and professional and do their best make a relationship work against all odds.

pairing: Min Yoongi  x Named OC

genre: drama, romance, smut

chapters: prologue| o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11|

warning: light angst, smut, fluff, workplace relationship, slow burn, sexual themes, ambw, enemies to friends to lovers, developing relationship

a/n: still a fool. still re-uploading.

Shoulder’s back, big smile.

By now Adrienne had perfected this routine, putting up just enough of a front to hide the nervous jitters fluttering around in her stomach and the small wave of dread that made itself at home in her heart each time she met with a new music exec. Of course, the butterflies disappeared once she got comfortable but the initial fear always made her want to run in the opposite direction. It had been an extremely hectic fours months since she moved to Korea and Adrienne doubted if she was going to feel settled anytime soon. Between moving into a new apartment, her packed schedule of Korean lessons set up by her new company and the struggles of adapting to an entirely new culture, Adrienne didn't know whether she was coming or going. The worst part of it all was that she hadn't even started working on music yet and that was the sole reason for her being here.

To be fair, she understood that the need for her to learn the language took priority at the moment since she couldn't bring a translator with her everywhere she went. That knowledge didn't make the actual learning process any easier but at least she understood why she was learning how to  count again instead of making music like she wanted to. Today's meeting, hopefully, would change that since she was supposed to be meeting the group she'd be working with over the next few months. Starting from her first week in Korea Adrienne had been meeting with the founder of her new place of employment, Bang Si-Hyuk, and although communicating with him and other members of the staff was difficult at first Adrienne honestly felt like she made the right decision in coming to work for them. Currently, her Korean was nowhere near the level she wanted it to be in order to feel comfortable speaking but at the very least she was able to communicate and understand simple sentences. 

Hopefully everyone she met spoke really really slowly.

The petite brunette clutched the notebooks filled with music and lyrics in her arms closer to her chest as she lingered in a small room she wasn't familiar with, she was given a tour of the BigHit building when she visited the first time but this particular room with different kinds of trinkets and toys placed all about was definitely not a stop on that tour. Korea was a far cry from her hometown; common, similar and friendly people and places being replaced with the sharp, unfamiliar and often aloof scenery of the far east. It was…jarring to say the least when she’d first arrived in the city but after being here for a few months Adrienne was certain she would get used to it, eventually.

The sensation of her phone buzzing in her pocket made Adrienne jump and drop the notebooks she was clutching to her chest.

"Yeoboseyo!" Adrienne answered in an overly cheery voice.

"Andy?"

The sound of her sister's voice made Adrienne sigh in relief as she bent down to begin picking up the books she dropped.

"You've only been there for a couple months, have you already stopped speaking English?"

"Shut up, my tutor says that I should speak in Korean whenever I have the chance so I can get used to talking."

"Oh, that makes sense. Have you gotten any better since the last time we spoke?"

"I think it does too, and do you mean last week? No, I don't think I've gotten better since last week" Adrienne chortled and shuffled around the pages that fell out of her notebooks "I mean I understand the basics of pronunciation but it's the vocab and remembering how to structure my sentences that's really tripping me up."

"Right, right. Well just keep it up I know you'll get it soon."

"Thanks sis, did you just call to check up on my progress? I know this call is expensive for you."

"No, that's not all I wanted to hear how your meeting went! Were they nice to you? I don't need to fly over there and kick anyone's ass right?"

Adrienne giggled and shook her head even though Danielle couldn't see her "You know it's only a little after two o'clock here right? I haven't met anyone yet. I'm actually sitting on the floor in the middle of a computer room or something. I have no idea when they're going to show up."

***

Yoongi was tired. 

Actually, tired may not have been an accurate description for what he was feeling at the moment; exhausted, drained, depleted were all good words but still weren't quite enough to cover it. He had been up and on the road before the sun had risen that morning and his day was showing no signs of ending or slowing down anytime soon. The day started off with a fansign event in an area nearly three hours from their dorm which meant they had to get an early start if they were going to do the fansign and make it back to Seoul for the interviews they had lined up to begin promoting their upcoming album which they hadn't even started preparing yet. When his boss informed him that they were contracting an outside producer to co-produce their next body of work Yoongi assumed he meant someone from Korea, not an unknown person from a country Yoongi had never heard of, which meant that they'd have to teach them their language before they even began working together. He hoped that all the effort and expense the company was exerting was worth it for this one person, but being the slightly pessimistic person he was Yoongi highly doubted it.

He was only partially asleep when they pulled up to the BigHit building, he would never be able to restfully nap with all the noise Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook made during their commutes. When they pulled up to the entrance Yoongi was jarred awake, accidentally, by a paper ball that was meant to hit Jimin, who was sitting next to him. 

"Who's throwing things?" Yoongi groaned and sat up, the sour look on his face making it obvious just how annoyed he was. Taehyung's eyes widened when he caught notice of this and he immediately turned around and faced forward.

"You have to get up anyway Yoongi-hyung" Namjoon spoke up from the front seat of the van "We only have a few minutes before our next interview so you have to talk to the new producer now."

Yoongi huffed but got up and quickly exited the van, well as quickly as he could move, he was not looking forward to this at all and that was apparent in his movements. The last thing he wanted to be doing was babysitting someone for the rest of the day on top of the photo shoots and interviews he and the rest of BTS had scheduled, he did enough babysitting with his group members. Unfortunately, the plans for the day were not up for Yoongi to decide so he found himself wandering through the halls of the BigHit building until he stopped in front of the room he, Namjoon and Hoseok spent the majority of their time in when they weren't practicing or on the road. As his hand moved to twist the doorknob he paused and leaned an ear against the frosted glass. He could hear a muffled voice inside that sounded very female and very foreign.

It took him a few seconds to form a gameplan, on the one hand, there was the possibility that the voice could belong to a sasaeng who managed to sneak past security and he'd be risking his safety to go in alone. There was also the possibility that the voice belonged to his new co-producer but that seemed less likely, surely his boss would have mentioned the person he would be working was female at least once. Yoongi realised he was wasting time he didn't have to spare just standing around doing nothing so against his better judgement he twisted the doorknob and walked through.  

The sight he was met with made him stop in his tracks and raise a confused eyebrow skyward; someone he didn't know was sitting on the floor surrounded by pages of sheet music while singing into a cellphone in a language he didn't understand but he guessed to be English.

"Uh-Can I help you?"

The woman's head whipped around and green eyes scanned over his face before meeting his own and Yoongi became frozen in place.

***

“Can I help you?” The sound of a male voice pulled Adrienne from her acapella and made her head snap to the direction it came from, her eyes bouncing all over the boy's features. It took her a second to recognise the face but once she did Adrienne smiled and moved to stand up.

"Dani, I'll call you back" Adrienne whispered into the receiver before disconnecting her phone call and putting her cell phone into her pocket. "You're Suga, right? It's nice to finally meet you! I'm Adrienne" She spoke slowly and carefully even she had this introduction practically memorised by now, all she needed to do was insert someone's name.

Yoongi was still standing in his place near the front door while Adrienne introduced herself, it wasn't until she bowed and moved closer that he remembered they were on borrowed time and he didn't have the luxury of gawking. 

"Yeah, I'm Suga" He croaked then cleared his throat "What did you say your name was?"

"Adrie- Call me Andy if that's easier. Um, I'm the co-producer? We were supposed to meet today?"

"Seriously?" Yoongi blurted out.

"Yes, I guess no one told you I was a woman....or black." Adrienne chuckled nervously.

"Oh, n-no that's not," Yoongi exhaled and opened his mouth to speak again before his phone began buzzing; it was a message from Namjoon asking what was taking so long. "We have to go now," He said to Adrienne as he gestured toward the door.

"Go? I thought...what about the music?" She asked and gestured toward her notebooks.

"No time," Yoongi answered in halted English "We talk on way."

On the way to where? Adrienne wanted to ask but considering the fact that her partner was already halfway out the door she knew she wouldn't have to time to question everything. So she quickly scooped up her notebooks off the floor and scurried after him before she lost his trail. He was quiet as he led them back out to the van where everyone else was waiting and they made sure to let Yoongi know that they had been waiting for him by berating him loudly and incessantly when the van door slid open. That is until they caught sight of the small girl trailing behind him and the complaints slowed to a halt while their attention focused in on Adrienne as she climbed into the van after Yoongi did and took the empty seat next to his since she assumed that what she was supposed to do.

"Hello," she waved and spoke softly from the back of the van. The driver began to pull off but everyone's eyes were still trained on her, "I'm Andy, the new producer?"

"Oooh," they all sighed collectively and nodded in acknowledgment. 

"Your hair is pretty" Adrienne heard the boy with a deep voice compliment her from the middle row and she smiled timidly as the two boys on the side of him playfully punched his shoulders and chastised him.

"Thank you" She answered through her chuckles as she twirled one of her braids around her fingers. "I'm really excited to start working with all of you," Adrienne spoke up again as she felt Yoongi grumble and sink down into the seat, his beanie being pulled down over his face in a way that signified he had no desire to talk at that moment. 

Which was fine by Adrienne, she wanted to get to know the people she would be making music for anyway. Something told her she was going to enjoy that process more than anything else.

[minotaurman-ayjay]

ACAB - Leaving Wonderland

This will be a post on how I used to support the police, and how I’ve changed.

I will also write on this later. This will be detailing…

How increased coverage on Police Brutality changed my mind

Recollections on institutionalized racism, racism in police culture, and racism among civilian employees that I worked with as well as the police themselves.

How the very police department that I worked for mishandled my report, put me in danger, and how they treated me as a mentally ill civilian.

How police departments become corrupt, and how chain of command becomes compromised.

And lastly, how I was treated by my coworkers and supervisors after filing my report, and how they handled my mental and personal crisis, forcing me to quit and forever changed my outlook towards police.

I used to work for the police department in a civilian division. I was really good at my job, and loved the job that I did because I felt like I was helping people. I never really knew the outcome of those that I helped, and have helped many people out of volatile domestically centered situations. I helped spoke to fellow mentally ill citizens, especially those that were suicidal. I never really knew the outcome of my clients, because we weren’t really supposed to know unless it’s for official reasons. It’s a very thankless job, but it feels good to just be there for someone.

However, that slowly got tainted as 1) department wide corruption reared it’s ugly head and 2) how the division I worked for became toxic.

We had a black police chief for quite some time. Things were handled differently, and as painfully awkward he was on the PR front, he was really good at caring for people. And I feel like he legitimately did. He made a lot of changes in the department, and had different classes and training specifically for dealing with people who are mentally ill. Classes for “LGBT and Racial sensitivity”, and “Emergency De-escalation for Mentally Ill Civilians”  that basically amounted to “Treat everybody like a human being. Yes. Everybody. Not just WASPs. “ and “Don’t just shoot that guy because he’s having a violent psychological breakdown” and was always de-escalation before violence for *everybody*.

And then he was fired, and the reason for it was very vague and flimsy. Something that we were spoonfed and expected to accept. Hindsight tells me that it was most likely was for racial reasons and hiding those reasons behind “He embarrassed us at Washington DC and he used police resources for personal gain”. Like if such crime was committed, where are the receipts for it? Seriously, where is the evidence??? We weren’t allowed to know that much.

I asked way too many questions on this matter, and I’m pretty sure this is what got the higher ups pissed at me just enough that they opportunistically struck on me and force me to quit.

 --- more on that later, I’m trying to keep this as linear as possible ---.

A new police chief was soon appointed and to my (not) surprise, he is a Godfearing white guy who would suck Trump’s orange stump once he is within eyeshot of the guy.

Then the “LGBT and Racial Sensitivity” classes and classes how to handle the mentally ill disappeared for “budget cuts”. I’m certainly hoping that their crisis intervention that is de-escalation based and social worker run continues to be a thing and won’t be done away with because of this new leadership.

Now that the very top is corrupt and obviously not for the People, it enabled racist assholes with a god complex to come out of the goddamn woodwork. He started appointing people with his same views, etc.

Let’s get into Police Culture real quick. Police Culture is known for it’s Good Ol’ Boy mentality. Something that has supposed to have changed. It’s always been dominated by white men, and obviously, the white men within it are going to make sure that it stays that way. Again, hindsight has taught me, that police culture will never change because even though there are people on the inside who want to change it, white centric corruption will always be there to whisk it away.

I had been looking for another job to get out of the Department as my support for the police and for the Department itself began to wain. During this time, I would find an employer who sounded like they would move mountains to hire me... and then suddenly I would hear nothing. 

Then, there was some massive leadership reshuffling in my Division, and these were people who should not have been there at all. Remember when I asked too many questions about why the recent police chief was fired? These people were against that chief and are very pro-this chief. Shocking, right? So of course, me who did not like this chief (but was not outward it) or at very least had the AUDACITY to question something that was so obviously bullshit instead of accepting what I was spoonfed like everybody else.

... this is another point on how police culture works. The nail that stands out the most gets hammered. The loosest screw gets screwed..

---This is how I get screwed---

 then something happened to me that required me needing the police to help me.

TL;DR AND CW: PET DEATH, ANIMAL CRUELTY

I found my dog stabbed to death, most likely by my exroommates who still had a key... It happened while I was getting knew locks for my house. I called the police, and they took a report. But they did not collect any evidence that was obviously tied to what happened. The reporting officer pushed it through as an Information Only report because HE had concluded that my dog was mauled. He wasn’t even a detective. He was a REPORTING OFFICER who came to a conclusion and used that conclusion to dictate how my report went through --- 

*This was how we USED to (or so I thought) treat people who were mentally ill and constantly, frequently, calling with bizarre cases* It was active discrimination against the mentally ill that puts them in danger. I was “mentally apped” a long time ago, (where they take you to a hospital against your will. This is on your personal record forever and can fuck with getting driver’s license, and other things) and concluding something just because it doesn’t add up for “information only” was an old practice that I thought had been done away with.

but did anybody care about this? No, of course not. We were on different management. Months pass despite me blowing up the phones of Sergeants and the Detective that was assigned to my case.

I was talking to peer support to help me go through this, I told them what was going on with my life and what I was doing. They told me not to call these Sergeants and Detectives again and to wait for them to contact me.

I was then put under investigation for “Using police resources for personal gain”, and my supervisor had told me that I was harassing detectives and sergeants. Harassing them to do their job and pick up evidence? Sure.

Since I was under investigation, I was given an alternative assignment. I was put on a different shift--- Something that should have never happened because the shift that I was working was for medical reasons. I was on a rough antipsychotic medical schedule to keep my bipolar disorder and psychosis in check. My shift changed, which caused my medication to not work like it used to. 

I was also put in a room with a shitty chair that fucked with my osteoarthritis in my hip... another ADA accommodation that had been violated. They refused to give me a new chair and doctors notes were mysteriously never received. My ADA accommodations had suddenly disappeared, because we had changed to a 3rd party to handle ADA accommodations. We were told that resubmitting accommodations was not necessary as they are still active for the year--- That was a lie.

I eventually spiraled and had to go back to the mental hospital. I was under investigation for 3 months. I was stressed out of my mind and my medication was not working.

My therapist at the mental hospital had many one-on-ones with me, because she was concerned. She said that what I was going through was workplace abuse. This piled on top of the grief of losing my PTSD companion dog in a terrible, vicious, violent, senseless way, was not good for my already fragile mental health.

Before I went to the mental hospital, I had found out that Peer Support had told the administration what I was doing, and what I was going through. This was what triggered the investigation. 

TW.... SUI IDEATION AND PLAN....

Because of this, I was probably a day or so away from running away to the creek and overdosing in a place where my girlfriend couldn’t find me. My life had been turned upside down, and nobody was helping me. My workplace didn’t care. Their treatment of me became abusive when I needed them the most.

I quit after getting out of the mental hospital. Ever since then, I’ve had an issue with becoming employed elsewhere.

There are no good cops. Good cops do not last long. If a good cop ends up becoming police chief, he ends up being overthrown by the white male majority, because of white-centric police culture. This caused a lot of changes that fucked a lot of civilians and civilian employees over. There was one police involved slaying shortly after these changes were made, and it’s the same ol’ song and dance that’s going on across america.

I will never support the police again. Not only because of my personal experience, but because I understand and have witnessed the culture, and how institutionally racist it is. 

I am sorry that I ever supported the police. I am sorry that I worked for an entity that actively suppresses minorities and actively suppresses Freedom of Speech for the interest of corporations. I realize that I couldn’t be both a Black Lives Matter supporter and a police supporter. I chose Black Lives Matter as I saw the police brutality that I now realize that has always been there. I chose black lives matter as I watched a white police chief do away everything that was progressive. I chose Black Lives Matter as I increasingly worry about my friends of color as hate continues to spread and increase.

I was in the division that I chose because I felt that I was helping people. I thought working with the police was what was going to enable me to help people. That became apparent that wasn’t true the moment we switched police chiefs. We’ve become just like any other police department in the country.

I’m sorry.

[selfships-in-spanish]

I’m gonna harass u with aus until the day I die ur welcome also here’s a new one wizards Not like Harry Potter type but entire universe is super magical and almost everyone knows how to do magic and those that don’t are kinda second class citizens??? And one if these magicless people is Ona and idk she bumps into Connor and Richard???

YOU’RE WELCOME TO HARASS ME WITH AUS FOR ALL ETERNITY. BRING IT ON.

omdfghdjkhfk okay this is a lovely concept!!!

Connor and Richard being high class wizards, very powerful ones with a very important role wherever they go... and they bump into this magicless, pretty girl, who fell flat on her bum. On a rainy day. Oh well, she can do a little spell and she’s going to be dry and clean in no ti–

Wait.

Something is... off. Why isn’t she drying herself? Why is she staring dumbly at the floor just about to cry or no wait, maybe she’s actually cry–

Oh. She’s one of them.

They normally don’t do this. They pay no mind to those who aren’t born with the gift, so for them to stare at her crying in a puddle while rain pours down, thinking of ways to make it up to her...

“...this was my best dress”.

“Pardon me?” Connor wasn’t sure he heard right.

“This was my best dress! How can I go to that interview now?” her face was wet and red, hiccuping now and then. And angry, so angry. “What am I supposed to do now?!”

Connor’s first response was to say “what do I care?”, but something made him shut the hell up, take that answer and kick it into the sun. Instead, he opted to look like a fish out of the water, mouth open and still trying to think what to say to an enraged, magicless woman who is also tiny and very, very cute. He really shouldn’t go chasing that thought.

She stood up on shaky legs and tried in vain to keep her drenched hair out of her face. The boys bet it would have been a a fluffy mane of hair, judging by the curls that fought against the water.

Richard took a handkerchief off his pocket. To this day, he still doesn’t know what the heck compelled him to take off a handkerchief and offer it for the girl to dry. It’s pretty much kind of useless, given the pouring rain. He never saw someone look at him as if he was fucking stupid. 

“Really?” even if she had hair in her face, her glare was fierce.

“Uh...” Richard took it back, feeling self-conscious of how stupid this it was.

Connor looked at her, looking so miserable and wet, and he felt sorry. It really wasn’t his business, he was an important wizard with important things to do and places to be, he had no time to spare to a magicless girl like her. But... his heart felt a pang, he didn’t know why and wasn’t sure he wanted to think too much about it, but it felt as if some strings pulled at his heart. He glanced at his brother and saw his conflicted expression, not knowing what to do.

It wasn’t their problem. She wasn’t their problem. She...

“Let us make it up to you.” Connor didn’t know if Richard was in the same page, but Connor had a hunch he did.

The girl stared at them as if they suddenly grew a second head.

“...What.” the girl squinted her eyes, a tad suspicious about them both. They were clearly wizards, judging by their expensive clothes and air of superiority in them. They never mingled with those who weren’t magical, even viewed them as inferior beings. So, she had her suspicions, why the hell would they help her out?

“Let us make it up to you, miss...?” Connor tried again.

“Ona.”

“Miss Ona!” Connor offered a smile, making room under his cape and floating umbrella. The girl took prudent steps, not really trusting them. But, what could she do right now? Either way, she’s screwed. “I’m Connor. This is my brother Richard.”

Huh, the names ringed a bell.

“Please, allow me.” Richard took a step towards Connor and Ona, and with a flourish of his hand, she felt and saw the water float away from her clothes, hair, body... and then join the rain. She was still cold, though. Less wet but cold.

“You may not be used to this, so please hold tight on me.”

Ona looked at the one who introduced himself as Connor, frowning. What did he mean by–

She let out a scream followed by colourful curses in another language Connor and Richard vaguely recognized.

Ona found herself in the very private and enormous home of two of the most important wizards that walked the earth, making her a warm cup of tea while her clothes were being cleaned and mended by some sort of spell. She sat in a plush sofa with borrowed clothes far too big on her petite form.

The tea was delicious, though.

“So, interview you said?” Connor tried to make small talk, taking a sip of his cup.

“Well, I can say goodbye to that and to my chances of being hired.” She was so late for it. Goodbye to her chances of working in the big city and earn a decent enough pay.

“Oh, so you’re looking for work?” 

“...Obviously?” was the blue-eyed brother and idiot? 

It seems he realized his words and looked a bit embarrassed by his lack of thought.

“What kind of work?” Connor tried to divert her attention from his brother.

“Honestly? Anything. Right now I’d do about anything.”

Richard had an idea. It would be crazy, even more knowing she was not one of them, but... It seems today fortune smiled on her.

“Are you any good with plants?”

“Well, I worked at my grandma’s florist until she was forced to close it down.” It was a bittersweet memory. She loved working there, she loved the plants and flowers, the calmness and feeling the earth on her fingers, walking around to see the plants green and healthy... only to be taken away.

“How so?” the blue-eyed brother, Richard was it? Spoke to her, seeming concerned. Why would he be?

“You can guess it just fine, seeing I’m not gifted as you are.”

“...Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” She took another sip from her cup. She’d love to know which blend was it. “So yes, I know my way around plants.”

Richard hummed and glanced quickly at Connor. They had the same idea.

“What would you say if we offer you employment?” Connor set his cup on the table, crossing his legs and putting his hands on the raised knee. Richard kept drinking, staring intently at the girl.

“I would ask if this is a joke and if I can go home, because it’s not funny.” The brothers stared at her in confusion.

“We offer you accommodations, food and a salary.” Connor tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips.

“Your job would consist on tending to our garden and greenhouse, since we cannot do it due to our busy schedules.”

“...but?” This was too good to be true.

“But? No buts. You take care of our plants, we pay you for it.” Connor was frowning now.

There was an awkward silence. Ona was thinking about how crazy this was and how there should be something, a red flag somewhere. There was a ruffling sound that distracter her from her thoughts, and saw her clothes floating to her, neatly folding themselves on her side. They were the cleanest she has ever seen them. She was afraid to touch them in case she dirtied them again.

“Think it over.” Richard took her out of her reveries.

“Uh, well...”

“Contact us with your answer.” Connor stood up, smiling, and with a snap of his fingers he opened up a portal. “This will take you home. Go on!”

Ona felt herself be pushed to it, trying to make her mouth and brain coordinate to say something. Just on the final moment, turning away while feeling the portal suck her up, she had time to spit out something she hoped the brothers would understand.

“But how am I supposed to contact you if I’m not–”

And the portal closed. Ona found herself on her front door, arm raised and her clothes smelling of lavender. Once she stepped in, she went to sit down on her tattered sofa, leaving her clean clothes next to her.

A week passes and the brothers were annoyed she didn’t reply, so of course they go to her. She owed them that much! 

They follow the path she did on the portal and step on her front door, ringing incessantly her doorbell. When she opens the door she almost falls on her ass, again. They looked angry and when a wizard was angry at a non-gifted, that only meant trouble.

“Are you incapable of following a simple request?” Connor’s foot was tapping at the floor, clearly annoyed. Richard had his arms behind his back, spine straight that made him appear bigger.

Ona gripped the handle, but fuck it if she wasn’t gonna go out leaving a piece of her mind.

“Are you two deaf or just plain stupid?” both brothers looked greatly offended at her words. How dare she!

“Listen, you non-gifted–”

“No, you listen you stupid wizard,” Ona puffed her chest out. Fuck it. “What part of “how am I supposed to contact you” do you not understand? I have no magic in me, no training, no idea, nothing! How do you think I’m going to be able to send a message or something if I have absolutely no idea to reach you?”

The brothers were taken aback by her outburst. 

“Did you seriously expect me, a non-gifted, to send you whatever the fuck you wizards use to send messages?” She pointed her finger at them, poking their chests. “For all those airs of grandeur you give yourselves, you’re so fucking dumb.” 

At least they had the decency of looking ashamed.

“And for the record, I would have said yes.” She took big breaths after giving them a piece of her mind. After a big sigh, she opened her door further. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

Ona never thought she would have two powerful and important wizards on her tattered sofa, looking like two scolded kids and trying so hard not to anger her further.

And also, she never thought she would be working for them after all that happened. Fortune smiled at her, indeed.

[queerofcups]

By the amount of fic I read and how bad my memory is I'm still not surprised that I remember exactly what happens in your fic a superstar, a year on and I'm still so intrigued as to what would've happened next it was so good and such an interesting take on kid fic ugh your mind blows me away with your creativity and conception of plot

oh wow, a superstar! barring something truly unexpected that’s gonna be a forever WIP, so here anon, is what happens next along with a shit ton of backstory

Backstory / Outline

Dan’s been an au pair since he was 20. He’s only had a few families (because he’s so good and they love him) who all swear by him. Families who can afford nannies are, by nature of the job, usually wealthy. Families that can afford an au pair, particularly one of his rate and reputation, are usually quite wealthy. He hasn’t broken into the big Old Money leagues quite yet, but he finds the nouveau riche to be a little more flexible as far as Dan’s style and general deportment. 

Of course, working primarily with new money means he’s often working with celebrities. They’re British, so the celebrity culture isn’t nearly as rabid as it is in America. 

But he does have a respectable stack of clippings from gossip mags that have identified him as someone’s mysterious new lover or piece on the side. 

He doesn’t blink at Bryony’s assignment of one last job: Phil Lester. 

Lester’s been making a comeback in the last couple of years, rebuilding his cultural cache after a few years outside of the spotlight. Bryony swears it's a short job, nothing like the last years-long job he just wrapped up. 

Dan’s loathe to admit it, but part of the reason he’s hesitant to take on another job, other than wanting a career change, is that leaving families wears on him. 

He’s not that breed of caretaker who can separate himself from his families. Some of these kids he’s watched grow from little lumps of cute into real humans with opinions and preferences and it can be hard to let go. 

Which is why, when he meets Sophia, he knows he’s screwed because she’s a firecracker of a kid and he falls a little in love with her as soon as they meet. 

Note: Sophie’s real first name is Manon

Dan’s bi and ends up helping Phil work through some of his own stuff about being pretty much gay, but having been in love with Margaux

He’s got depression and a touch of anxiety and explains those to Sophia at some point. 

He knows he’s in when he realizes he’s been looking up tutorials for styling curly hair online. 

Phil

Former youtuber that won a contest to be on a couple episodes of some failing TV show & became a dark horse who ends up getting picked up for a few other shows and eventually (shortly) makes the jump to film. 

The industry falls all over themselves to talk about how -nice- he is, how -polite-

It's untreated anxiety that leaves him bordering on panic attacks at every red carpet debut but he never says that. 

It gets worse after he’s caught coming out of a gay bar, mouth still attached to some boy

It's not exactly homophobia that drives him out. People are kind and don’t say anything to his face. 

But suddenly they want to know things. 

How long has he known?

What's his type?

They want him to be a role model and he just wants to live

It's an easy decision. It's so easy to walk away he almost feels guilty. He loves acting, so much it surprised him when he first started, but he knows he can’t stop doing it. 

So he stops taking roles. He doesn’t sign any new contracts. He nods and smiles when people tell him he’s making a mistake and he pickets his last checks. 

He doesn't go far,  just moves to a smaller apartment in London, in a less ritzy area and waitings until people stop trying to follow him home. 

It's not a meltdown, no matter what The Sun (?) says. The fame just starts to feel like a cold hand around his throat and he gets out before it starts to squeeze. 

There are people who understand and they’re proud of him. That feels awkward too, but nothing like the gaze of the public. 

He can eventually go back to school, for video editing, and he has a few things with guys that are short term. 

Which is fine. He’s young enough that he’s allowed to be restless and a little freewheeling. 

Margaux is...was...is a shock to his system. 

She’s a second generation French-American who moved to London so she can be boring in peace. 

(She’s French & Creole specifically. Sophia’s legal name is Manon Sophia Ange Siméon Lester. Obviously she only goes by Sophia Lester for the most part. Her maternal relatives aren’t pleased with that)

Margaux’s family was small when they met and only got smaller over the years they knew each other until it feels like it's just them and Sophia. 

The thing is, Phil never called himself gay. The press did. 

But he would now. Because he knows that there won’t be other women after Margaux. He knows it's unhealthy, but it's better than deciding there will never be anyone else at all. 

They were friends. They’d never called themselves anything more than that--not before Sophia and not after. 

Sophia is nearly seven with Margaux goes on the trip. They’d lived together on and off, so it's nothing strange for her to be with Phil rather than one of her two remaining maternal grandmothers. 

Phil is Sophia’s father, legally, biologically, all the way. But he sometimes feels like the most out of place person in her life. He doesn't know how to express to Sophia how much he loved Margaux while still being a mostly-gay man. 

Phil’s weirdness about bisexuality (his own and the very idea) is a sticking point between him and Dan

Sophia knows and doesn’t particularly get why the delineation matters. All she knows is her Dad sometimes acts unsure of his own Dadness. 

Margaux dies because of a head injury. She’d gone on an extended vacation with friends and gone bike riding without a helmet and fell. The friends took her to a clinic and she’d gotten a bandage for the scrapes to her forehead, a scolding and a clean bill of health. She’d skyped with them that night and made jokes about ruining her moneymaker. In the morning, she was gone. 

People in Phil’s life, his relatives and former friends, characterize Margaux as a funny little deviation that would have just faded into a fun story if not for Sophia. Phil doesn’t argue, because he doesn’t want to upset things)

Dan realizing that Phil loved her is a moment of breaking through Phil’s shiny veneer of untouchable politeness)

When Phil decided to start acting again, he’s not expecting things to progress as quickly as they do. He knows that people were impressed with him when he was younger. He’s shocked to hear words like “critically acclaimed” get thrown around. He was just a kid escaping into the lives of people who had bigger problems than him. 

But he reaches out, because he misses it and he’s tired of being a not-widower, hanting everywhere he goes, and the roles come. 

And the gaze comes with them. There are small things. A c-plot role, a secondary character. A lead role from a smaller studio. And then a big break comes across his desk. It's a middling role, but everyone that gets top billing comes with an Academy Award attached. And there are explosions in the script. The kind that mean a summer blockbuster. He takes it, and suddenly, he’s on the edges of spotlight again. 

Phil knows what he looks like. Internet star turned film star who goes gay, disappears for a few years, then returns, unpartnered with a brown, French speaking, half-American (half black America) pre-teen in tow. He looks like a ton of clicks, maybe a record number of copies sold.

Soph is 11. 

He takes the role and calls Bryony directly, because there’s no way he can do this alone. 

Part One: Meeting

Dan’s finishing up his first month back home after leaving a family. He’s got scripts on his desk--good, meaty roles that have him thinking he might not take another family on, yet. 

Bryony calls, which is interesting. She’s the head of the agency & they’re friendly but not on phone call terms. 

She offers him the job. He initially refuses. She admits it's a personal favor kind of job, and temporary and she wants her best on it. 

Dan agrees to a chemistry meeting. 

They meet up, Sophia charms dan and he still says no. 

She comes with a short term nanny because her dad’s running late. 

Phil shows up & Dan’s jaw clenches because PHil’s the kind of rung-jumping acting success story that Dan’ resents. 

So he’s sarcastic and a little cross because he hates that and the choir boy facade Phil puts on

Maybe he makes a euthanasia joke? Or something about an uncaring universe that goes over Sophia’s head. 

Except Phil laughs and doesn't glanced nervously at Sophia the way parents do sometimes when dan gets a little dark. 

Phil finally sends Sophia off to buy a cupcake so he can be alone and upfront with Dan. 

He explains that it won’t be a long term job, just the 9 months he needs to be in America to shoot and then Dan is free. 

“This is just the first time we’ve done this,” Phil says, watching Sophia through the window. “And I want to give Soph the best. She deserves the best. Better than that.”

And Dan’s a goner. He’s still a businessman, so he asks for time to consider and sends his terms of employment to the agency’s lawyer. But he knows he’s going to do it. He makes a mental note to look up a list of tutors if they don’t already have one hired. 

Part 2: Getting to Know Each Other

Dan makes the assumption that Sophia is adopted & Phil awkwardly corrects him--this is the beginning of their conflict over the word bisexual. 

Phil’s never had an au pair, so he’s uncomfortable with how *there* Dan suddenly is. He doesn’t move into their London flat because there’s not room for him but they start preparing for the move & he’s got experience in ordering houses for that, more than Phil does. 

They don’t have any other staff. Sophia will get a tutor in America, but she’s finishing her year in school & Phil lives well within his means, small flat, they cook for themselves and the cleaning lady visits once a week. Dan’s the only one there all the time & despite all his years of experience, he feels invasive. But he also gets to see how close Phil and Sophia are, including watching them do “homework” together, Sophia doing equations & Phil running lines. 

They go to America. Phil’s one movie has turned into parts in three movies. In one he’s playing a semi-serious playboy villain who was once the husband of the (superhero) lead. In another, he’s a professor/mentor in a teen dramedy. In the last one, the blockbuster/oscar bait, he’s playing a man whose life is ruined by the rise of the regime the main cast is fighting. Dan thinks the last one is the only one that sounds interesting. But he’s impressed with Phil’s handling of learning all the scripts. They’re surprisingly disparate characters. The playboy is, at his core, a sleaze that covers himself in a fine patina of British politeness. The professor is clearly meant to be someone whose awkwardness translates into the kind of cool kids would find appealing & Phil manages to strike the balance gamely. And the last one is...it's Oscar bait and even though Phil’s part isn’t big enough to get him supporting actor billing Dan can see him prepare to give a career-changing, maybe even life changing performance. 

The first two he practices in front of them. Dan gets sick of the lines, finds himself muttering them along with Phil as he makes Sophie’s snacks. 

The other one, only Dan sees. 

He doesn’t at first. For a while Phil locks himself away in his room and Dan can only hear the muffled yelling of a one sided argument. 

But one night he’s sitting, looking out over the city, thinking about going to bed when Phil comes out and asks him, sheepishly, if he’ll listen and tell Phil if he sounds wooden. 

Dan agrees and they sit at the kitchen table. Phil takes a long, steady breath and suddenly there are tears. He holds his head just slightly higher, proudly, and there’s suddenly a stoney archness Dan’s never seen on him before. 

“And so that’s it,” Phil says, his voice cold, closed off and defeated. “Eleven years and you hand me over to your precious leader.”“Josiah,” Dan says, looking at the script. “You have to understand. I had no choice--”“Coward,” Phil says. It's a simple word but still feels like it pierces Dan’s core.“My darling,” Dan says. “Please.”Phil stands. Dan watches him. “Remember that.” He stalks around the table, his eyes still shining with tears. “When I am on my knees, begging for life, when they’ve made you my executioner.”He steps closer, standing a hair too close to Dan, and says, anguished, “Remember that I was once your darling. Your beloved. Your love.”Dan is rapt, waiting for the next line, but Phil clears his throat and takes a step back. “And then they kiss and Josiah leaves,” Phil says, suddenly back in his own body and self. “What d’you think?”“Wow,” Dan says, hoping his face isn’t betraying his surprise that Phil can actually, really act. “Um. It’s good. Your movements could be a little smoother. They were together, right? So Josiah should be used to getting in--what’s her name?”“His,” Phil says, settling back into his kitchen chair. “Theodore. Theo.”“Woah,” Dan says before he thinks better of it. “You’re playing gay?”Phil quirks an eyebrow, “It's not really...playing?”Dan waves a hand, “Obviously. But that’s a big choice, role-wise. You aren’t afraid they’ll just see you as the gay one?”Phil stares at him, brows furrowed until Dan mouths, “What?”“You do know...about me, right? How my career got started? And why I stopped? I’m already the gay one.”“But you have a choice. I’m not saying you should change your mind. The film industries closet shit is bullshit. But you have a choice.”“Dan. I know. And the choice is what I get to be private about.  An actor--a celebrity who isn’t trying to walk back their youthful indiscretion is way more interesting than a mostly gay man with a kid and a dead...Margaux.”Dan feels...so many things. “You can’t hide Sophie. She’s your kid.”“I’m not hiding her,” Phil says, and Dan knows immediately that this isn’t the first time Phil’s heard this exact argument. “I’m protecting her.”

Dan keeps agreeing to run lines with Phil. He never asks for the script, so he learns Josiah through Phil, the early scenes where he’s playful, teasingly sensual, his deteriorating life and mental state and the way he dies. 

They don't run those lines when Sophie is home. It's understandable. It's unsettling for Dan, an adult who understands the depths you can get to while acting, to watch Phil muss himself up and drop unceremoniously to his knees, hands clasped behind himself. It's a short scene & Dan knows the public will be outraged with the scene. But every time he reads his own lines, a choked, delicate line of “I have to.”Phil nails it with workman’s precision everytime, He looks slightly past Dan, huffs a soft broken laugh and says, so quiet and tender, so full of betrayal. “You’ll never forget this day, Theo.” Dan doesn’t know what happens in the rest of the movie, but he’d pay the price of admission to watch Phil say that sentence.He’s been convinced, won over, sold & transported.

The fic doesn't end after they hook up for the first time, follows them through figuring out that this can’t be a one time thing and they both want this to last. Phil encouraging Dan to take on acting and not just because they can’t be together publicly while Dan is Sophie’s au pair. 

Ending of the fic is Sophie and Dan hanging out at the Oscars (or BAFTAs?) waiting for Phil to come out of the bathroom. It's a few years later (enough years that Dan should probably be freaked out about how many of the actresses he and Soph agree are super hot) and Phil’s up for an Oscar for best supporting actor. 

*At some point they get drunk together (after some terrible award show?) and talk about their first and best times with men and Dan accidentally dirty talks to Phil because he’s drunk and reminiscing about some truly outstanding cock he’s had in his day.

[pangtasias-atelier]

That bakery AU story with Keaton and Kaden absolutely fucks, so let's add the other 2 fluffy boys to Corrins collection of feedees with a sequel of that involving Ranulf and Yarne pretty please!

I don't know why but all the beast FE are great for weight gain stuff.

Also, thank you so much! The Kaden&Keaton bakery was my favorite prompt so far! And this one also ended up being a lot longer than I expected.

Corrin’s daily routine is pretty fixed.

Wake up early, begin baking, bring back some for Kaden and Keaton. (It was more around a lot) Head back to the bakery to open and then take breaks to check up on Kaden and Keaton. Rinse and repeat.

His bakery was becoming a community fan favorite as more and more people kept coming back. Each time just a little bit bigger, Corrin was ashamed of it but he loved it. So now he could comfortably keep the bakery closed every Sunday and focus on Kaden and Keaton.

He stopped renting our from his old place and chose to move in with Kaden and Keaton, the two had pooled in their money to somehow buy a whole house. On the edges of the city, it was a great deal which Corrin was thankful for.

But even with a day off, the bakery was becoming a huge chore for just himself. He needed help and soon. So it was on one Saturday that he posted a help wanted sign on his bakery.

—-

Yarne sighs as he stretches his back out on a park bench after another failed interview. Despite his glowing resume, most places seemed to never call him back. Probably ‘cause I’m a taguel, Yarne ruefully thinks. And those that did call him, found his conversational skills a bit lacking.

“I’m a cook. It’s not like I need to talk to others.” Yarne mutters into his hands. He always had a fear of public speaking but he needed a job. Putting his panic on hold, Yarne checks his phone when it vibrates.

Checking the notification, he smiles when he sees a new job listing for a bakery. Seeing that interviewing in store would be faster, especially with the bakery two blocks away, Yarne sighs before heading to the location. Maybe he’ll be lucky this time.

—-

Corrin wipes the counter while there’s downtime. He finally has a lull in customers after a nearly packed store since the morning.

He jumps to alert when he hears the telltale jingle of a customer.

“Hello, I’ll help you by the counter.” Corrin pauses when he sees bunny ears on his customer. Taguel are exceedingly rare. And this one is extremely adorable despite the fact he looks like he wants to run away.

“Oh, h-hi.” Yarne clasps his hands in front of him. “I saw that there is an opening and I wanted to speak to the manager.” Yarne asks.

Corrin smiles as he sees such a quick response. “I’m the owner, Corrin. Pleasure to meet you.” Corrin smiles as he sees the prospective employee.

“I’m so sorry, I thought-” Yarne stutters as Corrin interrupts him.

“It’s okay. Do you have a resume?” Yarne smiles at Corrin’s lack of care of his noticeable features, his ears, tail and abundant hair ignored. Yarne produces his resume from his folder, the paper still crisp after his failed interview earlier.

“This is impressive!” Corrin compliments, reading Yarne’s years of experience. And cute to top it off.

“Thank you.” Yarner nervously says. He lets out a sigh of relief upon Corrin’s next question.

“When can you start?”

—-

Yarne may not be the best cashier, but he’s an amazing baker Corrin finds out. He’s helped create new goods. Corrin finds it adorable seeing the taguel’s obsession with carrots, but the customers love it, so there’s no harm.

Trying new recipes includes a lot of taste testing, and while Kaden and Keaton were always happy to participate, they happily gobbled everything. So Yarne ended up trying a lot of his creations before deciding they were good enough and then having customers try them.

All that taste testing was showing up on Yarne. Yarne followed Corrin’s recipes to a t and he took to using Corrin’s secret ingredient as well. Though Yarne didn’t really understand what it was for, he just knew that it made everything taste better.

It seemed to have the same effect on Yarne as it did to Kaden and Keaton, Yarne’s body clinging to every ounce of weight. Yarne was evenly distributed, he would be slightly more apple shaped, Corrin could predict. He already got his uniform in a larger size. An embarassing event for him, and a hot event for Corrin.

They always had leftover bread, so Yarne was allowed to take some home. Corrin only deemed it fair that Yarne be compensated as much as he could be, business was positively booming and his life was much easier with an extra hand.

Yarne at first took nothing, then he grabbed a bit before taking a near dozen home each day.

—-

“Yarne?” Corrin walks to the backroom, Yarne currently washing dishes and utensils from the mornings bake. Corrin gets a good look at Yarne’s plush size, up another uniform size.

“Yes, Corrin?” Yarne asks as he washes the dishes, struggling to wash off some persistent starch.

“I’m going to need you to watch over the store for a bit.” Yarner barely avoids dropping the glass bowl as he fumbles with it. He jams to the water off as he stares at Corrin.

“I- um- I don’t th-”

“I will be two blocks away. If anything happens, don’t hesitate or worry to call me.” Yarne swallows as he tries to calm his nerves. “You’ll be paid extra of course. And don’t worry what happens, I know I’m asking a lot from you.” Corrin calms Yarne down.

“Okay…” Yarne says, his brain already regretting that decision.

“Thank you so much.” Corrin pats Yarne who turns bright red. “Don’t forget to call me if anything happens. You’ll do great.”

Yarne heads to the front of the store and sighs when he sees no one. He waves goodbye to Corrin. He doesn’t miss the bundle of boxes he’s carrying in his hands.

Standing at attention, Yarne waits for any customer. He’s thankful that Corrin was at least nice enough to put him charge after lunch hour.

The half hour nearly over, Yarne smiles as he cleans the counter. He was worried over nothing.

Cheering when he hears the bell ring, he greets Corrin. “Hey Co-” Yarne’s words get stuck when he sees it’s not Corrin. Instead it’s a cat, the person’s eyes both different colors.

“I heard there was a job for cashier.” The stranger says as he leans against the counter, looking up at Yarne.

“Uh, yes. Let me call the owner.” Dialing Corrin Yarne mentally cheers when Corrin picks up right away concerned about him. “Everything is under control. But, there’s someone asking about the cashier position.” Yarne pulls away the phone when he hears Corrin yell, saying he’ll be there soon.

“He says he’ll be here soon.”

“Thanks. Guess I found a good employer that’ll hire beasts like us.” Yarne blushes at the cat’s directness. “I’m Ranulf.”

—-

“Thanks for stopping by!” Ranulf waves goodbye as he leans against the counter, his moobs squishing against his flabby arms. “Hey boss.” Ranulf waves as Corrin enters from the backroom.

“Hey Ranulf.” Corrin greets back.

Today was the third week of Ranulf’s job and Yarne’s fifth week. Corrin couldn’t ask for better employees, they were great at their job and the two were nice to each other. And they were cute to boot.

Corrin could see that Ranulf took to the take home extra rule much more than Yarne. Ranulf was already sporting a beginner’s belly and the overall chub to go with it.

Done baking, Yarne also comes out the backroom. He sits down as he wipes the sweat. Ranulf notices the way that Corrin looks at him and Yarne. His coworker had gone up a size since he started.

Corrin adjusts the bread and deserts on display when Ranulf calls him.

“Hey boss?”

“Yeah Ranulf?”

“How’re you still single?” Ranulf smiles when it garners a reaction from both Corrin and Yarne. Corrin nearly hits his head as he stands back up, blushing.

“I’m not single.” Corrin quickly responds. Ranulf doesn’t miss the way Yarne lightly frowns, and truth be told he’s a bit upset too.

“That’s a shame. Why don’t you ever bring him around?” Doesn’t mean he won’t continue teasing his boss.

“It’s more of an open relationship with them.” Ranulf tries to register what Corrin was said. He wasn’t expecting his boss to be like that.

Yarne blushes from Corrin’s straightforwardness.

“Open as in, all of you, or individual?” Ranulf questions some more. Yarne stammers upon Ranulf’s question.

“Th-that’s awfully personal!” Yarne blushes.

“I’ve been in open relationships before. I wouldn’t mind trying out another one.” Ranulf winks at Corrin, the intent clear. Corrin turns as red as his eyes.

“Could be either. ” Corrin blushes. “I need some air. You two can close for today.” Corrin tosses the keys to Yarne and escapes.

“Now you know to not give up easily.” Ranulf chastises as he closes the display case.

“You have no shame…” Yarne says, his hands on his ears.

“C'mon, you think he’s cute too. So help me clean up. The usual rush will start in a bit.”

The two prepare for the rush and once the stores usual operating hours end, they both take home two boxes of goods for themselves.

—-

Corrin sighs as he lies in bed. Most days off are peaceful but he couldn’t help but think about what Ranulf said. He does like him and Yarne. And he has talked it over with Kaden and Keaton and they’re okay with it.

But two boyfriends already felt excessive. To have four! The thoughts always bring a smile and a blush to his face but still. He needs to think about it.

—-

About a month goes by after Ranulf’s inquiry. Ranulf had the decency to let it go, Yarne was too embarrassed to bring it back up, and Corrin was still trying to decide.

That decision kept getting harder and harder as he saw his two employees getting bigger.

Yarne seemed to eat his feelings away, more and more goods ended up going to his house at the end of each day. The secret ingredient’s effects far more potent on beasts than humans, Yarne ballooned out. Baking was becoming harder now, it was tiring for the growing taguel.

Corrin wasn’t sure but he felt as if Ranulf was always looking at him. And whenever he looked his way, he’d see Ranulf devouring a snack when there were no customers present.

The backroom was not made with the intent of heavier set people getting there; Yarne’s body is closing the gap between the doorway and himself. And he’s closing it fast. Corrin wasn’t sure but he assumed Yarne was getting near 500. Yarne now has to tuck in his shirt to stop his stomach from showing. His shirt conforms to his stomach, the U shape present standing or waddling.

Ranulf looks like he just made it to the 400’s. Like Yarne, Ranulf’s fat shifted across relatively equally, but unlike Yarne, Ranulf is a tad bit more pear shaped. His chunky ass is seated on a chair by the register. Despite his size, Ranulf seems to get bolder, more and more compliments showered on Corrin.

Standing was becoming an issue for the two of them.

“You come up with a decision or something?” Ranulf asks Corrin.

“Hmm?” Corrin tilts his head, unsure of the question.

“So are you open or not? You’ve been starring at me and Yarne for a long time.” Hearing his name, Yarne waddles to the front, his thighs brushing against the door.

Corrin turns red, not expecting this so soon. “I’m open to another relationship.” Corrin says, his face red. “With both of you.”

Yarne nearly chokes on air; Ranulf smiles, a tint of red on his cheeks.

“I knew you’d make the right choice.” Ranulf waddles and flips the sign to close. He grabs Corrin and Yarne and leads them to the back room. He sits Yarne down and grabs a chair for himself.

“What’re-” Yarne asks Ranulf only to be interrupted by a cake brought to his lips.

“You’ve been wanting to feed us since you met us huh? Well, I’m waiting.” Ranulf leans back into his chair as Corrin brings a slice to his face as well.

Yarne blushes as he chews. Whatever words he has planned get ruined by more sweets fed to him.

“You like it too, just look at you.” Ranulf says to Yarne, looking at his fat body. “And so do I. See, this benefits all three of us.”

Corrin nods his head as he feeds them both. He wonders how he’ll find other employees once Yarne and Ranulf become immobile. But that thought fades away as he savors right now.