#even if doing so 'may make buyers want to pay more !!''

[katyobsesses]

You would hope that "morals over money" wasnt a radical thought but alas to boomers it is

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[hypnoneghoul]

here we gooo let's try to make some money (/hj, but I am a broke disabled student, so...)

I honestly don't know if this will be a big fail or big success so I'm starting out with 4 masks this month and 4 more masks next month (because I can't sell more than 4 masks per month due to some stupid taxation rules in my country), only to pay off the money that went into me making all this shit. If it turns out to be a success I'll probably be dropping more batches of better quality later on

Prices in EUR/prices in USD/shipping times:

It's quite cheap for a prequelle mask replica for one main reason; I'm no professional. This is my first time doing something like this and while I'm very proud of how the first mask came out and am confident in the ones I’m gonna be selling, they do reflect my lack of professionalism. Feel free to ask me for more detailed pictures if you're worried about how they look up close

I will not be doing any business with minors, tho, so please don't even try, MDNI always stands here

FC45 resin, acrylic primer, hydroalcoholic chrome paint and a waterbased polyurethane varnish. There's also foam padding and an elastic strap

Current availability of the masks is going to be updated in my pinned post. There’s going to be two steps to ordering, first is to fill out this form. You’ll have to leave your email there (optionally Tumblr username, too) for me to be able to contact you, and then when it’s your turn and everything is calculated, I'll contact you. If everything's agreed on and alright I’ll make an individual Ko-fi listing just for you to use. The form will help me keep track of the “wishlist” (if there's gonna be such interest, of course, because as I said I have no idea how it will go). First 4 people from the list will get a message from me and we'll proceed from there

I can ship anywhere you want; you as a buyer cover all expenses of the shipping, as well as customer protection fees on PayPal. For cost cutting reasons (and also because I'm not a registered company) the mask will be described as a gift on the customs declaration

The moment I have the first 4 people pay, I order the supplies and begin casting the masks as soon as they get to me (2-3 days). The entire process, between the waitlist filling and the masks being shipped, may take up to two weeks

I think that's it, feel free to message me/send me an ask in general if you have any questions!

[swanimagines]

BARELY DRIED | KAZ BREKKER [PART 2]

Part 1

A few days later, Kaz had gone missing again. After the Van Benschoten job, which had gone exceptionally well, he had retreated even more into his shell. Barely paying any attention to you during the afterparty of finding a buyer for the treasure you had stolen, gotten tens of thousands of kruge, and still Kaz acted like it didn’t really matter that much. As if that had been just another one of those smaller jobs which he could do by himself and maybe someone keeping watch at most. Definitely not something this big. But now, he had been gone for two days already. Gone before sunrise, no one had heard him, no one had seen him leave.

And now, you sat at the bar counter with a shot of whiskey, wringing your hands. Your heart was pounding, your fears increasing by the second.

“What if something has happened?” you muttered as soon as Jesper slid to sit next to you. “What if… what if he, what if he’s been so distraught that he has gotten caught? Or… killed?”

Jesper snorted, shaking his head. “Kaz? Caught? Killed? Come on, you know he’s tougher to kill than a cockroach infestation is.”

“But what if—”

Jesper shot you a look. “No, he’s just… he needs time to cool off. Seeing you could shake him up even worse now.”

You nodded slowly, staring at the bar counter. You knew Kaz wouldn’t be happy when he’d learn that you had spilled the whole story about that letter you found and Kaz being upset about you having read it to Jesper and Inej, but he had been away for so long, you were so worried. You needed to have someone to talk to, and they had succeeded in comforting you somewhat.

But it didn’t mean it made you any less worried. No matter how much they tried to console you and make you believe Kaz was coming back soon, you couldn’t help but go over and over all the possible horror scenarios.

Kaz being thrown into Reaper’s Barge, his body having floated away, reunited with his brother.

Kaz being imprisoned, tortured, terrified for the first time in years.

Kaz being trapped somewhere, slowly starving to death.

Kaz having left Ketterdam completely, being too overwhelmed about the fact that you had seen a vulnerable side of him, convinced he had ridiculed himself to you and that you don’t feel the same.

Your last fear wasn’t as harrowing as the rest of them, sure, but still… a gnawing fear that you wouldn’t see him ever again loomed over you like a dark cloud. You were unable to think anything else or do much to keep your mind off it.

And after two days more, you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need to go find him,” you announced to your friends as you came down the stairs of the Slat with your coat and boots on. “I can’t take this anymore.”

Jesper sighed. “You do know that if he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t be able to find him. He surely knows you’re going to look for him sooner or later, he knows to expect it.”

You paused, before adjusting your scarf. “That’s what I’m counting on really. He may expect me. Saints, he could even wait for me to find him.”

Jesper scoffed. “Are we talking about the same Kaz Brekker here?”

You shrugged, looking at the roof for a moment. “It might be wishful thinking, I know. But I just feel like he may not come home until I go there and tell him it’s okay, that he hasn’t ruined anything.” You paused. “And maybe I could tell him that we can forget about that letter completely if he wants that.”

Jesper raised an eyebrow, but then looked back at his glass of whiskey. “Well, I guess it’s your time you’re wasting.”

First, you headed to Black Veil, weaving through the gravestones until you reached the crypt. You knocked on the door — no answer, of course, and complete silence otherwise too. Nobody was moving inside. You peered inside the windows, but the crypt was empty unless Kaz was sitting on the floor in some dark corner where you wouldn’t see him, and that didn’t sound like Kaz. Cowering to hide from you, no, that wasn’t Kaz.

Next, you headed into the harbor. You checked every warehouse, every lookout, every little nook you could imagine Kaz being in, but found nothing. You groaned as you reached the end of yet another back alley, yet another dead end — and it certainly didn’t ease your fears of what had happened.

What if he wasn’t hiding?

What if he wasn’t hiding in Ketterdam?

Could he have left for Lij to relax a little?

What if he had left Kerch?

“Kaz,” you muttered under your breath, “where the hell are you?”

Then, it hit you.

The canals. Could he have gone there?

He did tell you once — or not tell you, it was more like a vague mention you had later figured out — that when he had to think, he went underground to think, to watch the canals, reflect on his old life. It was rare, and became rarer as he grew up, but sometimes he found some strange sense of solace from “speaking” with his brother. Maybe he was underground now too, asking advice from his brother.

It took a while to find the way, the old stairs that led to underground canals. But you still ended up finding them when you saw one of the canals splitting and disappearing below the bridge.

You walked through the maze of canals slowly, trying to ignore the rats that ran across your feet every once in a while. Could Kaz have really spent time here for four days?

But just as you started to doubt it and wondered if you should just turn back, you saw him. Sitting on an alcove, head tilted back, eyes closed. His hat on his lap.

“Kaz?” you mumbled, and he flinched. He clearly didn’t expect you to find him, nor he had heard you coming. He turned to look at you slowly, his dark eyes looking over you before he let out a breath through his nose.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding like he hadn’t spoken in days.

You took a careful step closer. “You’ve been gone for days, everyone’s worried. I couldn’t sit still, I started to—”

“I needed to think,” he interrupted you.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have read the letter, it wasn’t my business. And please believe me when I say I will never again look at any of your things unless you’re asking me to.”

He was quiet for a moment, before he ran his hand through his hair. “It wasn’t about the letter.”

You frowned. “Then why?”

“Because I wasn’t able to face you. To talk about anything. I needed time, but I couldn’t have had it at the Slat because I would have seen you every time I stepped out of my room.”

You cocked your head slightly. “Kaz, I don’t understand.”

He clenched his jaw and grabbed his cane, holding it in front of him. He squeezed the crow head again, which you had noticed was his method to keep himself grounded.

Then, he spoke again. “I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head. “I’m broken, rotten, beyond repair. Not to mention, you’d be a sitting duck if… I can’t do that to you.”

So the letter was for you.

You sighed, taking a few more slow steps, sitting beside him. “Kaz, I’ve seen the worst of you. I’ve seen you doing things to people that make me want to throw up. I’ve heard the cries of mercy from people you have interrogated. I’m pretty sure I know you, and I know that if we were… together… I’d indeed be a target. But I know how to look after myself. And I doubt you want us to announce it in magazines, we could at least attempt to keep it a secret.”

He didn’t look you in the eye, but he did look in your direction. So you pressed further. “If you want, we could try. Take it slow. See how it goes, how it feels. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

Kaz was quiet for a long moment. Or at least that moment felt so incredibly long, your heart pounded in your head, you were sure he’d turn your offer down.

But then, he grunted and slowly stood up. “We need to get back to the Slat. My next plan should be put into motion within a few days.”

You knew that was his way of agreeing, and you couldn’t help but beam a little. “I will be ready.”

He hummed, and started making his way up the first flight of stairs, you following him.

Your little search trip ended far better than you imagined after all.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[doberbutts]

Hello, I have a Dog Question.

I grew up with dogs who were rescue mutts but now that I'm an adult I'm looking at getting a dog from a breeder. All my research says "make sure the breeder is reputable" but I don't know at all how to assess a breeder's reputation. I don't even know how much is normal to pay for a dog, and when I look it up, all the websites seem AI generated. Do you have any advice on where to get more information about that kind of thing? Are there any registries that are really trustworthy, or is it better to try to find word-of-mouth networks on who has a good reputation?

If you don't have any advice, no worries, thanks for reading my question anyways.

It can really depend on what type of dog you are looking for! There isn't necessarily one right answer.

Personally I don't care about reputation (reputable) more than I care about the breeder's personal code of ethics (ethical) being relatively close to my own.

Breeding dogs should be health tested. Not just a DNA test but whatever they may be at risk for due to their size or breed or genetic mixup. These results should be made available to you as a potential buyer, and the breeder should be weeding out or making informed choices for dogs with less than steller results. You need to know what is something that just needs to be bred to a dog with better results, vs what shouldn't be bred at all. This, as said, can vary depending on what exact dogs you're looking at.

The breeder should be asking you for more than just money. Talking to you and making sure that you are the right home for their puppy, and letting you also talk to them and make sure you actually want to buy from them. Do they say things about the dogs that don't sit right with you? Are you okay with the way they keep their dogs? Are they well fed, vaccinated, and have their needs met and cared for? Can you see proof of that? People will just say whatever, but seeing is believing.

What's the average price? Different breeds cost different amounts of money. Dobermans are very expensive! Other breeds cost less. Some cost more! If they're mixing breeds, why and what are they looking to create? Does it seem successful or are they just producing a bunch of dogs just to produce a bunch of dogs? Does the high price seem justified? Dobes are expensive because the health testing is very expensive, but less health tested breeds are cheaper. Is the breeder actually doing that expensive health testing or are they charging high without justifying cost?

Registries are not proof of ethics. Being registered with a registry just means that the dog has a traceable pedigree. So we know who the parents are, great. It doesn't determine anything else about the dog though. There is no registry that I would say exclusively has ethically produced dogs. However if a dog is of a breed that can be registered and yet isn't, that is a red flag.

@molosseraptor is a good friend of mine that runs a dog breed matching service and she also knows how to help people find a breeder that works well for them. I would trust just about any recommendation I got from her! She might be able to help you narrow down the list.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hihi~

I thought I'd make another request, if that's okay?

May I ask for number 4 and 42 with...hm...let's go with Jango again since you did so good with him last time!

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

Hello gorgeous @vodika-vibes

Thank you so much for the request, that's so sweet of you. Love oo.

I hope you like this one as well. As this is my second time writing for Jango Fett, I hope I did him justice in your eyes. Thank you for being amazing, and congratulations on your 500 follower event. You are such a brilliant writer, you deserve all the follows.

Oh, before I forget, I wrote with a f!reader, hope that's okay.

Love oo,

The Job

Warnings: Weapons dealer, mentions of assassination, angst, longing, mentions of eradicating Jedis, put-on pleasantries, alcohol, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Italics: Flash back

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Your voice filled the room as you went on about one story or another, “…You should have seen them. I could hardly breathe with their ego taking up all the space in the room.”

Jango rolled his eyes as he stood off to the side, listening to you tell another story about some boring Senator or something. Truthfully, he only took the job of being your bodyguard, simply because he needed credits, not because he actually cared about you. 

Regardless of whatever notion ran through your head. 

Regardless of how amazing the dress you wore looked on you. 

Regardless of how shapely your legs looked in those heels, or how your neck was displayed so lovingly, practically inviting him to bite it, and kiss it with the way your hair was done up. 

He was here solely for the credits. 

At least that’s what he kept reminding himself, as he followed you around the room, while you were glad-handing the various Senators, politicians and potential buyers for your weapons. It actually made him laugh that a weapon’s manufacturer needed a bodyguard. 

“I don’t need a bodyguard” you emphatically stated, as you met with him before the job, “what I need is a second pair of eyes that I can trust.”

“You think you can trust me?” Jango narrowed his eyes on you, someone who trusted a bounty hunter or a bodyguard for hire was clearly looking for a way to end their own life fast. 

“I don’t trust you. However, I do trust your Mandalorian honour, and the fact that I’ll pay you more money than anyone else is able to; that’s what I trust.”

“What could you possibly know about Mandalorian honour?”

“I know enough. Enough to make sure that your pay will not be looked down on in any way shape or form.”

And just like that he was on the payroll, granted this was now his fifth job with you. The first time, you gave him a bonus for stopping an assassin. The second time, you gifted him a new set of blasters, top of the line from your latest batch. The fourth time, you upgraded his armour’s software. It provided him intel on a level he never imagined possible. Each job always left him better off than the time before, and he wasn’t complaining; however this wasn’t the job he was going to dedicate the rest of his life too.

His eyes focused on your hands, waiting for the signal that said you had enough and you wanted to head back to your suite.

As much as you looked like you were having fun, laughing, joking, even flirting with some, the truth of the matter was that you hated talking to people. You only did it because you were the CEO and President of your weapons company. If it wasn’t so you could earn more credits, you’d never even bother to speak to half of those who were all so quick to practically lick your feet. 

You flicked your wrist three times in a counter-clockwise motion against your thigh. It was your signal, you had enough. Enough of the fake laughing, enough of the pretend happiness, enough of the put upon smiles. To anyone else, it looked as though you were getting rid of some speck of dust that seemed to bother you, to Jango however, it was your call for help. 

His steps toward you were full of purpose and determination as he closed the distance. 

“Mistress,” he whispered loud enough for others to hear, “you have an urgent call.”

You nodded in understanding, pretending it was a chore to leave the company of these so-called exquisite associates. You bowed, offering your apologies one last time, leaving them with a flirty laugh and a fond farewell. 

The moment you entered the lift, you let out a sigh of freedom as you began to undo your hair, the myriad of pins keeping your hair in place were now in Jango’s hand. Without even having to ask, he held out his gloved hand ready to receive your offerings. You let out a contented sigh as you shook your hair out massaging the scalp to ease its tension.

“Why do you bother?”

“Hmm?” You asked as your eyes closed enjoying the freedom your hair felt.

“Why bother putting it up? Especially in such an intricate design.”

“Because…” you let out, enjoying the feeling of your nails stimulating your scalp, “at a high society gathering, and one where I am looking to gain one or two more buyers, I have learned the more intricate your hair, the more likely you are to gain someone’s attention.”

“Really?” He tilted his head as he looked at you, “Because they’re too stupid to realize you’re just as brilliant and beautiful with your hair down as opposed to up?”

Your fingers froze in place as you glanced up to look at Jango, smiling, “Did you just say I was beautiful and brilliant?”

“I believe I said brilliant and beautiful. Interesting how you flipped that. I also said they were too stupid to recognize your talents.”

“But you think I’m beautiful.” You smiled as you let your fingers glide down your scalp, guiding your hair over one shoulder. 

“That’s what you choose to focus on?” Jango shrugged, “Fine that’s on you. Anyway, I really don’t understand how having an intricate hair updo correlates to signing a potential client?”

You shrugged, not understanding it yourself, “All I can figure is that they must feel a woman who handles such intricate designs must be able to handle the intricate world of weapons. I don’t know.”

The lift dinged as you reached your floor, Jango put away the pins in one of his utility belt pockets. Before he opened the doors to the lift his helmet scanned the hallway, making sure there were no unwanted guests waiting for you. Once he opened the door he examined the hallway, keeping you guarded, after making sure it was safe then and only then were you allowed to exit the lift. Once you did, Jango put the lift back into service and sent it back down. 

As soon as you entered your suite, you took off your heels and walked around the carpeted floor barefoot. “Oh my force!” You stood curling your toes into the carpet, “This feels divine!”

He couldn’t help laughing at your reaction, as you stood there for a few minutes, your head tilted back as you kept sighing in contentment from the relief, “Must you wear those heels?”

“Let me ask you, did you or did you not notice my legs in them?”

“Yeah,” he answered, not feeling ashamed or embarrassed, you had amazing legs, maybe not to everyone, but to him … he thought they were beautifully sculpted. 

“Did it make you want to talk to me?”

“I guess.”

“Hence the heels, everything I do is to make it easier for me to find more potential buyers.” You stretched as you headed to the bar the suite contained. “Want a drink?”

Jango nodded as he took off his helmet, “Mandalorian whiskey, Keldabe Night, top shelf.”

“But of course.” You smiled as you poured him the darker whiskey, while you served yourself a more amber coloured Corellian whiskey. “Thank you.”

“You’re paying me. Not sure how much a thank you really is needed.” He stated as he took a sip of his drink.

“No, I mean, thanks for making today a little less depressing. Just knowing you’re there to have my back, and knowing I can be myself around you … it gives me a little bit of peace, so I appreciate it.”

He wasn’t there for accolades or to be your friend, he was there to earn a paycheque. To earn credits, and to rebuild his status until he could exact revenge on the Jedi. “Again, you’re paying me. So not sure how much your thank yous are needed.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you headed to your bedroom, “You can’t just say, you’re welcome. Even if you said it just once, it won’t kill you.”

He watched you walk off annoyed at him. Well if you were going to be this pissed already, might as well rip the bacta bandaid off, “I won’t be able to work for you anymore.”

You froze in your spot, your heart clenching as you realized the warm feeling you felt for him had seeped further into your soul than you had realized. You turned to look at him, shock in your eyes. “What?”

Jango cleared his throat as he looked away from you, “I got another gig. Pay is a lot more, and it will help me accomplish my goal.” At least that’s what Lord Tyranus promised, a way for him to exact revenge on the Jedi, a way to help rid the galaxy of his enemies once and for all. “It’s a long-term commitment. I won’t be able to take on anymore of your requests.”

Tears welled up in your eyes for a second as you looked at him, you closed your eyes for a brief moment before you nodded, “Understood.” You steadied your nerves and looked him in the eyes, “Well then, thank you Jango Fett for all your services. I assume you will stay at your post until I am safely returned home?”

“Of course.”

“Good” you turned and headed to your room, “I will include a bonus as a thank you for your exemplary service. If you know of anyone who you trust to take your place, please make sure to forward me their contact information.” You slammed the door closed and leaned against the frame as you slowly slid down, wiping the tears. You knew this wasn’t ever going to amount to anything, yet you had let your heart foolishly hope for something, you hadn’t hoped for in a long time. 

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

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[mitsurichan3s-art-corner]

Mitsurichan3 commissions information & Terms of Services

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Thank you so much for taking time to read through my TOS and commission information. I am Diana, aged 25, and am currently unemployed. I am open to answer questions, discuss details and talk about pricing so feel free to reach out!

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[realcleverissues]

An actually great article on some issues with Kamala's housing plan.

tl;dr + my commentary:

$25k downpayment assistance only helps those who have enough money to potentially buy a house. i.e. helps the middle-to-upper class. (Assuming a home is a good investment compared to other options. More on that in a moment.)

Banning corporate landlordship has positive effects for housing for *buyers* but reduces supply for *renters*. This can actually lead to gentrification (as has happened in places where this has been tried). Iow, bad for lower-to-middle income earners. So, in short, those plans help the wealthy but harm the poor.

Fundamentally: Since housing is viewed socially as an investment, homeowners want their investments to maximize profits. This is one reason for zoning laws: Fewer homes make existing homes more expensive. That's precisely why the housing market is so high: not enough homes. Everyone's essentially bidding for the limited supply. (Note: Studies have shown that allowing for more density does not drive down prices. This is because, while a $1M home might be worth only $900K with sufficient home supply, the *property* of the home may now be worth $1.5M. This is because relaxed zoning would allow for more homes to be built on the same spot. So developers can replace a $1M home (now $900k home) with, say, a duplex worth $1.5, or with a 4 story apartment building worth $3M. Additionally, more home availability translates into less poverty, homelessness, addiction, and crime, further raising values. That said, while home values may not suddenly fall, the growth in their value would be slowed tremendously. Instead of, say, 8% value increases each year, it might go to, say, 4%. This means that homes would no longer be as great an investment as they currently are. In this scenario, middle-class earners might be better off investing in something else rather than pouring their money into a house. This is the extra kink related to the first point above.) This is one of the tensions found in capitalism: Businesses love limited supply bc that inflates value and price; consumers love sufficient supply bc it lowers prices toward cost. This creates a tension between homeowners (who like limited supply) and non-homeowners (who want ample supply). Right now, the homeowners are winning. Rules like single family zoning heavily benefit homeowners, and bc changes to local law are made at the local level (i.e. people already living there), it again becomes hard to change.

As a result of the above point, we find an additional problem: Creating more homeowners would, in effect, create more NIMBYs, since again, the assumption among homeowners is that changing zoning laws would harm their investment.

Personally, my top three solutions would be:

a. Eliminate or massively reduce single family zoning b. Institute a land tax. It doesn't have to entirely replace the current property tax system, but even a small change could incentivize positive changes (like smaller lot zoning, less land hoarded for development, etc). c. Financially and legislatively encourage the growth of non-profit rental options and organizations. Landlording is literally the definition "rent seeking" in economic terms: pointless middlemen who make more than their work due to having privileged position. Much like the issue of insurance companies causing increased prices in US healthcare, we could save consumers a lot of money if we cut them out and replaced them with non-profit entities. So instead of your rent paying the landlord's mortgage and lifestyle, renters could see reduced rates that reflect the *lifetime* value of the home (not just the mortgage period, which is often half as much), and the actual costs to maintain it, not the inflated "market value" of what landlords can charge. This could immediately lower rental costs by at least a few percentage points, and would continue to get cheaper over the long run (since prices wouldn't rise with market values). Additionally, unlike something like medicare, we really don't need everyone to participate. Non-profit rentals can live alongside for-profit rentals. Some people may not mind paying extra for more luxurious rentals. And that's great for them. But lots of people would love to have regular, non-luxury options.

[roseofrevolt]

Angel In The Mirror

The Angel in the Mirror™ was marketed during the 1995 holiday season as a means of communing with a deity without the inconveniences of a complex faith. For the low price of 59.99, you would have unfettered divining rights to discern even the most mysterious of life's questions. For a ritual object, it was a fairly simple set-up compared to what could be found in the ostentatious halls of the Oblationist. Gone were the days of making the trip out to receive banal gifts and visions from the various registered gods. This was the modern family's solution to keep up with work-worship balance. All that production needed was a single pane of two-way glass, backlit by a bulb no brighter than what you'd find in a nightlight. With a flick of a switch you would blur the other side of the mirror and await her visage to find its way to you. The shadow of a resplendent being, wings outstretched and welcoming you into her presence. A handy guide of hymns and prayer was included free with every purchase. All the praise and thanks she would ever need. "From afar, we watch the world. From within, we watch ourselves. You are the sight beyond sight. Grace us so we may one day see."

Of course, making a god was the big strategic cost. The company thought we'd be a little clever and repurpose a minor one that the courts had deemed too unwieldly for the general public. The freaky backwoods types that you see on the news every now and again. Something with all the work already put into it.

The Damselfly. She Who Bears Witness. Initially we were afraid of what the focus groups would think of some great insect, but the aspects that had been used to create her fit what we had been looking for. Soothsaying, guardian of oracles and the lost, and most importantly, omen of well-being to a newly built household. She agreed to our rebranding ideas after we had explained how useful she would be again. Pterostigma was traded in for feathers. When she hit the market, we had thought we had hit gold. Initial sales sold like hot cakes, and the reviews coming in had branded the Angel in the Mirror™️ as the fad of the year. We were finding that while families were still our main buyer, there was a smaller but growing demand for her from the 20-25 age demographic. Young adults still in college or entering the workforce, still full of anxiety for the future. "What if I don't pass my classes?" "Is this job what I want to do for the rest of my life?" "How am I going to pay back these loans?"

The more contemporary gods wouldn't have responded to such trivial questions, but the Angel in the Mirror™️ was more than happy to assuage their fears and listen. A gentle voice to give insight into each and every possibility. Her guiding hand reaching out to help walk you through even the most minute detail in some cases. We should have realized what had gone wrong then and there, but we were too blind to the truth of what we had done. May 12th, 1996 was the official start of the recall. We had been destroying the units we had in our facilities months before that however. The first case of a breach had occurred during our preparations for the next holiday season. Some kid down south, without a lick of sense in him, had fashioned her a way through. The divine made flesh is never a pretty sight, but this aspect of her that was able to materialize was definitely not the smiling woman we had plastered in our ads.

Our mistake was not researching what the Damselfly did to her adherents beyond the beneficial. She was a crepuscular predator, who would devour those caught without the options that a future would provide. When she could no longer see the paths ahead for you, she would convince you that there was only one real choice left. Better to be one with her forever than to face a sorrowful tomorrow. We had given her unfettered access beyond the small base that had spawned her. And as report after report started to come through soon after, we knew she was taking advantage of that. Those lucky enough to listen to her during the day found that the sun was too bright for her many eyes, just a moment or two more to decide against her calling. Others were gone the moment she reached through for them.

The officers of The Wasting Maw were able to contain her influence after a short stand-off, but the damage to our brand had been done. We paid our dues in refunds and the usual mandated fines with these sorts of things. Our then CEO even had to address the public, sweating bullets as he apologized for the oversight in our product design, promising that our newest line wouldn't lead to mass disappearences. You still see cultists buying up mirrors online, those who wished to have been called by her or maybe don't understand what it meant. They pay thousnads of dollars to adorn themselves in the shards of what they get their hands on, becoming her eyes out to the world. They pray that she will darken the panes once more and whisper of tomorrow.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

SH’s post does not differ too much from A Night in Nola - at TOTC2024

"Sassenach" in Gaelic just means English person. Sasana/ Sasainn means England. Its use' has survived in Scotland as - 'Aa dinna ken = I don't know'. The earliest evidence for Sassenach is from 1757, in the writing of the Scottish writer Tobias Smollett, So, the word “Sassenach" is not related to the word “outsider”.

SH has appropriated the word Sassenach from Outlander for personal gain and is attempting to distance himself with different versions to justify the name of his whisky as Outlander comes to an end.🙄

How long should these awards last?

The San Francisco World Spirits Competition is the largest award show, around 90.0% of spirits that enter this competition and in the Singapore World Spirits Competition ‘win a medal’ 🥇🥈🥉. That’s a guess the judges are not very strict. Tasting whisky is very subjective; you may or may not agree with any so-called expert panel. That leads to the question of how to know if you like whisky before buying it.

Wonder how many phone calls or letters SH receives every week asking him to participate in a spirit award show.

I do give them credit that spirits are blind-tasting, but one thing is important, judges do talk to each other and try to influence. This leads us to the whisky reason. To buy a bottle of whisky because a shelf talker mentioned it ‘won’ an award.

Spirits buyers without much knowledge of spirits (i.e. SH’s female fans) do like to see ‘awards’ on retail shelf talkers. It makes them feel good about their purchase. Most also have no clue there is more than 1 award show or anything about how they work or worse some of them don’t drink.

A huge flaw in every award show is there may be another side to it thought to get an award. If everyone “wins” then they keep coming back and paying to enter “competitions.” Hey everyone likes to be a winner!

SH fans taste his products and tell him what He wants to hear. But, On the other hand, actual customers, and whisky connoisseurs tell what they think. That is the best award! After you enter competitions and win in all of them, that is enough. The contest has no real merit, send a check or transfer per spirit entered along with the bottles for award consideration.

If SH comes back again and again to the same whisky and gin competitions with the limited edition from previous years, then his friend and partner feel honoured even if no one has any clue of ​​his partner's contribution to the alcohol business 🤷‍♀️

Posted 7th September 2024

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Soulmate scene with Alistair. Everything they see before they find each other is dull, even physical touch doesn't feel vibrant. He could meet her at a "ball" where she's being sold labeled as "pure and untouched" their eyes meet and the rest is history for him. For her she's worried because her soulmate is a buyer

one word: OOF

loved this tho, aaaaaaaa

the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming color. ―“Out of the Woods”, Taylor Swift

The fact that every single thing in life feels muted, (Name) thinks, might be her saving grace.

It’s keeping her from fighting back; keeping her alive, at least for the time being. Every touch on her skin is dull, like she can feel she’s being touched but sensation itself is missing. Her captors have bathed her, dressed her, bound and caged her, and she can’t describe their touches as positive or negative. They just are.

It means she doesn’t retaliate to stop them, because nothing about this is causing her pain, is it? On the other side of the coin, however, it also means that in her whole life, she’s never felt anything good. Everything seems grey at best. She’s gone through life feeling absolutely nothing, no spark of joy nor weight of sadness. Although she’s felt the hint of those things, or what they should be, nothing has come close to the way she sees other people live once they’ve found their soulmates.

The chattering of the crowd, clinking of wine glasses, and the auctioneer selling off the other ladies might as well be a low hum.

Her attention is only pulled when the footsteps of low-heeled boots approach her cage, followed by the auctioneer addressing whoever is interested. “I see this one has caught your fancy, my lord! Inspect her closer, please, if you wish. She is the best of the quality we can promise you ― pure as the driven snow, beautiful and untainted, a true pinnacle of our offerings this evening.”

“May I?” The other voice is low and smooth, with an undertone of something playful beneath the darkness of anyone who would intend to purchase another human being.

“Why, yes, of course, of course. Please. Make sure she’s to your liking.”

The man who’s interested in her doesn’t hesitate. (Name) can feel his hands behind her head, untying the black lace cloth which blinded her for the auction. When it falls down, she’s staring into the violet eyes of a man who threatens to take her breath away by his very appearance alone. She’s never seen anyone so gorgeous, dressed all in elegant white with soft blonde hair that gathers around his shoulders like a crown of feathers.

What startles her more is that when he puts his hand on her face, she can feel it. It isn’t the dull pressure of knowing that someone is touching her. It’s the texture of his glove, the gentle way he cradles her cheek, the snap of someone being suddenly awaken after walking around dead.

It’s him. The one her heart has been looking for is right here, breathing life into her world with a single touch of his hand.

Who is he? Why is her intended here? What is he doing in a seedy place like this, seeking to buy a person? If he pays the auctioneer for her, if he leads her out of here, what will the next cage he leads her into be like?

For the first time in her life, her emotions are clawing at her chest to get out, a wonderful and terrible mix of fear and adoration.

Those eyes of his stand out more than anything. They sparkle at her like precious jewels, reflecting the same desire that she can feel. The sensations of her, of the rest of the world, are finally taking form for him too. Incredible and overwhelming and threatening to swallow him whole, just as is happening with her.

He seems to fall for her in a single instant. She thinks she could drag him to his knees right now and he would have no complaint. That makes her feel powerful and wanted, but it also frightens her.

Someone so devoted to her after knowing her for just a moment ― what is a man like that capable of? What will he do with her? What will he do?

His touch travels to her neck, tracing delicate lines. He doesn’t appear to want to hurt her, does he? That doesn’t mean he’s harmless. She arches her head back anyway, exposing her throat for him as if he can be trusted with it.

At last, he utters three words that seal her fate: “I’ll take her.”

In the blur that follows, the auctioneer is paid, (Name)’s new owner finishes his wine, and he holds her delicately as he leads her down the stairs. Even though she’s out of her cage, she doesn’t think she’s actually free.

“Come along, lovebird,” he murmurs into her ear. “I can’t wait to get to know the one who lit up my world.”

She isn’t sure what to think; too many new, fully blossomed emotions make her feel like they’re going to burst her open at the seams.

She leans against him regardless, somehow content in his embrace.

He doesn’t seem cruel, at least toward her.

Maybe that’s enough for her heart to settle.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Granola Bites

Basically I told my sister late one night that I wanted a snack and all I could remember about them was 'granola bites'

She decided that this sounded like a story about a crunchy vampire.

And then I short story about one.

____________________________________________________________

WC: 2,405

Day-In-The-Life narrative.

tw: mentions of blood (in packets)

Summary: Trevor's a pretty normal guy that's decided to live a crunchy lifestyle; home garden, vegetarian, makes his own meals, a little stall at the local outdoor market, a book that he's working on and a complimentary blog. Oh. And he's a vampire.

Sunlight. It streamed over the land and covered the garden, stretching its fingers over the small cabin-like house in the middle of the suburbs. The golden fingers slipped through the closed shutters, over the couch, and began flicking at my nose. I woke up with a thunderous sneeze that catapulted me to the floor, and found myself struggling with an oddly-confining jacket under the redwood table. After a moment of sleep-deprived panic, I won the confrontation and peeked around at the clock pressed against the wall.

Shoot. It was a bit past feeding time.

I wormed my way to a standing position, left the villainous outerwear to sulk on the floor until tomorrow morning, and made my way out to the garden.

The green plants celebrated the sun, and I joined them for a moment. The sun was warm on my skin as I stood, breathing in the morning air before going about my day. The bell peppers were finally ready, the tomatoes juicy red, and the ears of corn seemed to wave like volunteers for harvest. Gathering them into small bundles, I brought them into the kitchen to rest and went out for a second round. Going straight to the back of my garden, I took a moment to talk to my beanstalks, admired them for their growth and thanked them for their contribution. Then I knelt and began to dig them up by the roots.

Escorting the bundles back into my kitchen -- and trying to ignore the giant dirty boot prints smearing dark mud across the linoleum tile -- I set to stripping the roots from each beanstalk, cleaning all my products, and getting them ready for both farmer’s markets I was to attend later in the day. Hunger began to set in as I worked, so I grabbed a couple of spare roots I kept in the freezer and began to chow down.

Ugh, the taste wasn’t exactly what I wanted. Metallic yet smooth, with a tiny bit of sweetness as an aftertaste. I needed something to drown it with. Another trip to the fridge produced a large cup full of green chalky liquid, and I downed it in just a few gulps. Sweet, sweet chlorophyll. The smooth taste was welcome after the metallic hemoglobin, and it went down easily thanks to the coconut water mixed in. The pairing of chlorophyll and coconut water was a great substitute for blood.

Oh, right. I’ve been living with it so long, I often forget not everyone knows about us.

Hi. The name’s Trevor. I’m a chlorophyre which, at its core, is a ‘vampire’ that lives on chlorophyll instead of hemoglobin. I used to be a vampire, but ever since I found out there were other, healthier ways of living, I decided to take a more natural approach to life.

I finished cleaning the greens, packaged them in little baskets, and stacked them in brown paper bags which then made it into my Hybrid car. I took the few veggies and beans to my stall out at the local farmers market and set up shop.

The humans were nice, as usual. A good number of lookie-loos, a handful of loyal buyers, and I even managed to convince one or two new faces to buy a basket of beans. It was a long day, made even longer with the knowledge I had committed to this booth for the next two days as well. I may have technically been a member of the ‘un-dead’ but that didn’t mean I enjoyed derelict houses or used familiars to do my work for me. The weekends at the farmer’s market helped pay my bills.

When time was up, I began cleaning my booth and storing things away while my neighbors did the same. We swapped stories about harvesting, soil prep, and the latest news on governmental damage in relation to agriculture and the environment. We traded farewells, knowing we’d see each other the next morning, packed the last of our unsold wares into our cars and drove off.

I made sure my veggies were safely stored away at home before going about my day; buying new seeds, working home-made compost into my soil, looking up the latest in natural pesticides. I couldn’t take too long, as I only had a few hours between markets. My second booth was scheduled to be set up right after sundown, and by the time I finished my daily chores, the sun was starting to drop below the horizon. I had to hurry.

I gathered up all the leaves and stalks of my plants and worked them, getting out all the chlorophyll I could manage and dividing the results between green-tinted eight ounce glass bottles. Then I removed the fresh root clusters from the fridge and bundled them, the fraying hemp rope scratching at my fingers. The cabinets above the sink held generous supplies of coconut water, which I removed and mixed with half of the chlorophyll bottles. Gotta create a good example of each product, after all.

The last step was to make sure all my pamphlets were in order, each one printed on eco-friendly paper with biodegradable ink. They contained information regarding a plant-based alternative to blood, and explained it in more detail than I could manage in the short time I was at my booth. It was definitely better than it sounded, but most vampires wouldn’t understand why green was better if it wasn’t explained properly. I had my work cut out for me, to be sure, but I deeply believed in chlorophyrism and wanted to get the word out to as many as I could.

Packing up my nightly wares, I got back in my Hybrid and took off for the Night-Market, a farmer’s market for nocturnal-based creatures. Parking in my regular spot, I gathered my things and began down the secret forest trail leading to the bridge where the market was held. Apparently, even under the cover of darkness, our gatherings must be veiled in secrecy and subterfuge.

I set up shop like normal, putting out my pamphlets and products and ignoring the jokes at my expense. I’d been doing this long enough to know responding in kind got me nowhere. The other vendors knew my product and knew where I stood on the matter, and so long as they didn’t upturn my booth or break my stuff, I wouldn’t burn their coffins in the middle of the day.

Instead of sinking to their level, I waved to the werewolf across the bridge selling distilled Wolfsbane pills. Apparently she had managed to figure out a formula able to reverse the werewolf curse for a limited time. I’d never seen it work in person, but she had plenty of regulars. The she-wolf must have been doing something right.

The market opened. Night-creatures began to pour in from all sides. Blood-suckers bought packets from the vampire vendors. The she-wolf’s regulars padded in, panting for her antidote. There were bottled nightmares, brain samples, animal parts, and a couple of the booths even sold ‘deals’. I was never quite sure what ‘deals’ were sold, but I didn’t try to find out.

A couple of curious vampires stopped by my booth. “What’s up with this?” one of them asked while sucking on a sample packet. “Is this a joke?”

The other one leaned in and whispered, “Vampire-hippie. Walk away slowly.”

“It’s nothing like that,” I said with a forced smile, sliding one of the pamphlets across to them. “Vampirism has its place in the world, I guess, but have you ever wondered if there was a better way?”

One of them looked like she couldn’t care less, but the other peered at the pamphlet and seemed to be listening.

“I mean, sure: drinking the blood of others has sustained us for a good long while. I’m not saying it hasn’t. But the world was...different back then. Less chemicals in the blood, less preservatives in the food.” I gestured towards the shrinking blood sample, which was now leaking in the corner. “Do you know how much more monoxide is in human blood these days thanks to burning gasoline and oil, as opposed to 100 years ago?”

The packet-drinker shrugged. “Nope. But if that’s true, why not just drink animal blood?”

“They’re inhaling the same air, for one thing,” I stated. “But if we all switched to drinking animals, do you know how badly that would impact the environment? It would take years to breed enough animals for them to be a sustainable alternative for all of our kind...not to mention there’d be competition from all sides.” In answer to the sarcastically-quirked eyebrow, I gestured around to a few of the other booths. “Vampires aren’t the only ones that feed on animals.”

The one reading the pamphlet finally spoke up. “So how is this any different?” she asked. “What’s the catch?”

“Ah, that’s the best thing,” I said, holding up a small glass bottle. “There is no catch. Drinking from plants instead of people is a much more sustainable alternative; you can grow your own food, so you don’t have to worry about things like cameras and cell phones tracking your movements. There’s more than enough soil to use, either out in a garden or in a potted plant, and you don’t have to worry about soil erosion so long as you rotate and feed the plants properly. And best of all, you know exactly what’s going into your food: because you’re putting it there.” I gestured to the ever-shrinking blood packet. “Do you have any idea what kind of life your food was living? How much blood-poisoning might have happened?” I looked back to the other one. “Using plants, you don’t ever have to worry about it again.”

The two glanced at each other. The blood-sucker shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not like I’d catch any of their diseases. Plus, this sounds like a lot more work.”

But the other one had picked up a bottle and was looking it over. “It’s not any more work than hunting down human prey in this digital age,” I said. “Plus, the switch is easier than ever with our root bundles.”

The blood-sucker was looking away, her packet nearly empty. She was clearly debating if she wanted to go back to the vendor a few booths down and purchase a couple packs for the fridge. But the other one looked up at me. “Root bundles?”

I nodded. “Did you know that the legume plant has nodules that produce the exact same substance as blood?” She peered at the bundle of roots, fingering one of the small gnarled ends. I could see she was interested, but unsure what her companion would say. I nudged her a little more and told her that the movement I was a part of had a small online presence. If she wanted to give me her general whereabouts or territory, I could have a representative stop by and give her more information. She shrugged and wasn’t sure, so I suggested she take my card and come back the next night to take another look at the nodules. I offered her a small sample root bundle as compensation for her listening ear, and as a little something to snack on when she had the time.

She seemed grateful for the offer and accepted, slipping the small bundle into her coat along with my card before spinning around to join her companion. They loudly mocked the chlorophyre movement as they left, and I later spied the two buying a generous supply of packets from the vampire two booths down.

I didn’t mind. I may not have gotten a chance to tell them about the side-effects, how drinking chlorophyll was like drinking a natural sunscreen, how it converted sunlight into energy like the plants, but that was something I saved for customers showing a genuine interest. Vampires generally don’t believe that part of the deal, and I can’t blame them. The first chlorophyre I saw was met with equal cynicism, and I didn’t believe the movement until I tried it for myself. Anyway, it isn’t easy to make the switch from ‘acceptable’ to healthy, especially when clan pressure is involved. Said pressure is one of the reasons I now lived on my own.

A few more vampires came over during the night. A few more mocked my products openly or over their shoulders. Another couple passed by and stopped, familiar faces that wanted to purchase another bundle and learn more about growing their own. We talked while I gathered their order, and I found out that they prowled an alley a couple streets down from where I lived. With a smile, I offered them to stay at my place for a bit. They could learn more about growing their own food, and my house was definitely safer than the streets.

Soon the sun was on its way up, and all the booths were dismantled. I packed up what I had left and headed to my Hybrid, wondering if that couple had made their way to my house yet. I wondered if the two vampiresses from earlier in the night would come back. I loved talking to an open mind, something startling hard to find in the underworld. I got behind the wheel and drove, wondering once again what the she-wolf’s Wolfbane pills actually did for werewolves, or why they’d take an antidote in the first place.

I got back home and brought everything inside. I grabbed from my personal stash of chlorophyll, drinking it down as I laid out on the couch and enjoyed the slight tinge of rum added to the mix. It may not have had the same effect on me as it once did, but the flavor was still a nice addition. I stared at the ceiling, the full moon making silver tracks through the darkness, and contemplated the night. There was still some gardening I could do, but there was also online marketing to work on, a seminar on Essential Oils to watch, and more information to gather for the book I was planning on self-publishing later this year. One of the added benefits to being a healthy chlorophyre meant working in the day and the night, as my body no longer required sleep to function. I stared at the ceiling, sipped my drink, and wondered which of my projects to work on next.

[loopy777]

Hey dear sybille! So thank you very much for your quick reply, here's my answer: 1) I was referring to the film 2026-2027 concerning zuko 'for whichs avatar studio had released posters of zuko and mai in particular :) 2) I hope you're right and that the plot will revolve around the red lotus/white lotus. 3) I didn't know about the January info, but what worries me is the resale of paramount studios. I think it's really not good news because avatar is a franchise that isn't as big as star trek or sponge bob and avatar sstudio hasn't had a chance to prove itself yet. I think if it gets bought out, paramount will almost certainly bench avatar studioss. What do you think?

Ah, and I have another question: based on an upcoming comic: “Mako and the mystery of Penquan Island”. Well, based on the cover it's obvious that it's going to cover the mystery of the asssasssin who schtik Mako and Bolin's parents. But I'm curious to hear your opinion on the comic's content!

Um, I'm not sure that's a thing? I checked the wiki to see if they had anything, but their knowledge matches my own, that we have a gAang movie coming up and several mysterious projects of completely unknown nature. As for the 'posters,' could you have seen these licensed prints? If not, please share!

I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, I have a lot of things I'd love to see in such a story. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure none of those things would ever actually be in a movie, as my concept and preferences for the OWL don't seem to align with anything we've gotten after AtLA. I like it as a Pai Sho club that Iroh turned into a martial force out of desperation, and then it couldn't relinquish the power it found itself with, becoming a corrupt rogue state and even spinning off the Red Lotus terrorists. But it's already been established by the Avatars Before Aang novels as an existing manipulative conspiracy, and Legend Of Korra didn't end with the White Lotus being disbanded, so I've had to let my preferences go.

Hard to say, but Avatar has a lot of cultural cache, enough that Netflix wanted to subject it to their horrific Live-Action process, and even that was apparently successful enough to get two more seasons, making it one of the bigger success stories from those efforts. So just because it's not in the top 3 of money-earners doesn't mean it wouldn't be seen as valuable. I think Avatar Studios has done well laying out some groundwork for a revival and keeping interest high among the generations that embraced it, so unless any buyer is specifically looking to lose money for tax write-offs a la Warner Bros, it might be worthwhile to continue with at least the in-progress projects. The gAang movie might even be pretty close to completion if it's releasing in 7 months.

...there's a Mako comic coming out? XD Sorry, I don't pay attention to anything from the Korra era.

[saltminerising]

My (Late) Take on the Hatchery Situation

The reason FR users seem to hold so much malice towards hatcheries isn’t that they specifically hate G2+ lairs, newer users, people whose don’t keep their dragons unbred, or the concept of breeding dragons and putting their kids on the AH. It’s because a vocal contingent of the userbase truly believes all dragons, with the exception of G1 imps or XXX/XXY G1s, should be sold for fodder price.

The logic goes like this: because a person who wants a dragon in general, any dragon will do, can usually pay less than 10kt on the AH and own one instantly, every dragon is worth fodder price unless it has something insanely special about it that justifies a higher price tag. “It’s pretty and it took me a long breeding project/expensive regening project to make the parents” isn’t a justification. “It’s an XYZ G1 but its colors compliment each other very well” isn’t a justification. Unless a dragon is the peak of prestige - and they don’t even really like that and will talk down on the owners of XXY, XYY, or XXX G1s who they feel price “too high” - it should be worth 10kt at most and chucked into the fodder bin.

It’s not that these people uniquely dislike hatchery owners. They dislike anyone who has a specific dragon and wants to get a non-fodder price for that dragon. Beautiful matchy XYZ from your hatchery whose colors compliment each other well and go with the established theme? Nope, there are thousands of XYZ spirals on site; yours isn’t special. Primal G1 whose eyes match its colors? Anyone can buy a primal vial, so that natural primal doesn’t add any value at all, not even a few measly gems - nevermind that the dragon being born already primal saves the future owner 500g should they want a primal G1. Even a nice XXY G1 should have its price shaved down a couple hundred gems every day it doesn’t sell, because really, you’re overestimating the amount that anyone wants it.

What these people resent, to be clear, is the idea of anyone making money off of selling any dragon. They believe dragons are a drop in a bucket, the AH is a buyer’s market, and you should act like you know you’re indebted to the buyers by making everything you sell as cheap for them as you can manage. If you don’t do that, you’re not just bad at business; you’re entitled.

I strongly disagree with that logic, to be clear, and here’s why.

If you want a dragon, just any dragon, the colors and genes don’t matter one bit, then yes, you can easily pick one up for a mere handful of gems at any time from anyone. This is why the fodder floor is the fodder floor in the first place (as opposed to the perma floor) - the people for whom any dragon will do are usually exalters. When it comes to fodder, then, FR truly is a buyer’s market. There are so many fodder dragons available that no one has to buy yours unless you match the lowest price, so you better get matching.

But people buying permas usually want at least some specific criteria met, whether that’s a favored color scheme, favorite genes, eyes that match, etc. Sometimes those specifications - collecting pink snappers! - are so broad you might easily find too many dragons to fit your lair at the fodder floor. But sometimes they’re more specific. Sometimes there may only be a few G1s of the colors you want on site, or there may only be one person actively breeding dragons in the color scheme you need for your project. In these situations, the scale tips more towards the sellers - often not entirely, not to the point where they could charge anything, but they get more sway, because they now have something specific that buyers need., and the buyers can’t just find someone else to name a better price

If I’m truly the only person breeding XXYs of a specific color on the whole site, I can set whatever price I want. Now, I should be reasonable - nobody will spend thousands of gems for a G2+, and unless the combination is particularly stunning and popular, anything past 100g is pushing it. But if I decide I believe my hatchlings are worth 50g, then prospective buyers must pay 50g or they’ll have to breed an identical dragon themselves, often costing themselves more in the process. And just like “I could buy fodder for 6kt right now, so I won’t pay 10kt for yours” is a completely fair take and a natural consequence of the way the FR economy is set up, “I’m opening a hatchery and I’m charging 100kt a pop for these rare imps and anybody who wants them will have to accept my price” is completely fair and in line with the natural give and take of FR’s economy.

This gets people heated, because they think they should be able to waltz into anyone’s sales tab and buy any dragon in there for pennies. But anyone who thinks about the economy for ten seconds realizes it won’t work this way every time, and it isn’t logical to expect it to.

FYI: There is an equivalent of this phenomenon that happens with just about any selling of in-game goods (I’m not talking about art, stop forcing the art discourse, all of you!) for more than table scraps. There are people who hate coli grinding that get angry that players who put the time and effort into grinding in the harder venues won’t sell hibden task familiars for cheap, for example. People who get angry that the owners of retired items raise their prices over time to reflect their increasing rarity. A lot of players have a perhaps subconscious but nonetheless very nasty “Money for me, not for thee” mentality. “I should be able to charge what I want for the game assets I own, but you should make it easy for me to buy yours.”

[doberbutts]

I saw a doberman video on Instagram claiming that it's a red flag/sign of a BYB to charge for a crop and that really surprised me. I assume it's because dobes are expected to be docked in the US? If so, would you see that changing as national/international feelings on cropping change? (My own breed *can* be cropped but isn't required so well respected breeders will offer the procedure at cost to buyer, hence my surprise.)

That did used to be the case but it's somewhat different now. Most decent breeders still do not allow the buyer to have a choice and will crop the puppy anyway and the price of the crop is included in the price of the puppy. If and only if the breeder allows you to leave the puppy natural, it is with the expectation that the puppy will STAY natural, and some breeders may reduce price on that puppy since they're not paying 400-700 for that crop.

In other words:

If the buyer wants the puppy cropped, it is the BREEDER'S responsibility to get it done at their vet of choice. The buyer should not be the one to handle the post-surgical care nor the vet selection, as many vets say they crop but do not know how to do a correct doberman crop.

If the buyer wants the puppy natural, and the breeder allows it (still relatively uncommon in the US), it is with the understanding that the puppy IS NOT THEN CROPPED EVER. There is no "take home cheaper puppy to crop at my vet for less"- you either have the breeder handle it or it doesn't get done. This is done to protect the puppies, as said often times if the vet is not experienced with DOBERMAN crops the end result is very poor, and buyers in general are not good at handling the immediate post-op care which can lead to, at best, an even worse result than necessary, and at worst, a major and potentially lifethreatening infection.

SOMETIMES the natural puppies are cheaper. But not always, sometimes the breeder evenly distributes the entire cost of the litter and so it makes no difference in price. A breeder I know makes the cropped puppies more expensive because she doesn't like the practice and wants to discourage her buyers from doing it. Another breeder I know splits the cost evenly because her vet gives her a "litter price" for the cost of the crop and it doesn't matter if she brings him 3 or 6 or 10, the cost to her doesn't change.

That is the current state of things. It's sort of at a standstill because doberman people are too busy fighting about ears and tails to agree on anything else 🤪

One last thing, docking is tails, not ears, and should not be done too late into puppyhood because it becomes a full limb amputation at that point rather than a quick snip. There should never be a puppy going home with a tail to be docked later unless that puppy experienced some sort of horrific accident.

[insomniac-jay]

WIP Time

Chapter 3: Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

A lot was on the agenda today: rehersals, picking up dresses and shoes, getting hair and makeup done for tonight. Those could all wait until Monochrome was finished paying a visit to another friend of Helene and Felix's, one Mr. Roald van der Woodsen. Mona likened him to Dorian Grey--ungodly handsome on the outside, but horrifically ugly on the inside.

Law may have been his profession, but making passes at Mona, and just about any other attractive younger woman, was his passion. Roald's wandering eye found itself on Mona too many times for her liking. She avoided being alone with him and forbid him from ever touching her. The man was old enough to be her father making her more digusted by him.

Stealing from him was payback for everytime he settled his perverted eyes on her. Roald had plenty of magnificent paintings that'd look better in the homes of others or herself.

And this time, she had help.

Pushing open the doors to his sitting room, Monochrome snapped her fingers as two henchmen, Tint and Shade, appeared at her side. The pair released the robots to carefully take the original artworks out the frame and replaced them with black and white replicas.

"Get these outside to Neutral. Don't let van der Woodsen see you," Monochrome ordered.

"What about you?" Shade asked.

Monochrome gave them a wicked grin under her mask. "I'm going to pay him a personal visit."

Creeping her way through the manor to his office, careful not to make any noise, she found her way to his bedroom. Her steps slowed the closer she got.

Light poured out the crack to let Monochrome looked inside. Sure enough there was van der Woodsen and a young woman in his bed. Have mercy on that poor lady. Before she could strike, she heard the lawyer say something.

"I tried to hire some of his men, but he just laughed at me!"

Monochrome narrowed her eyes as she listened in. Pressing a button on her helmet, the conversation was recorded. Could this have to do with Francis's death?

"There's nothing to worry about, Helene. Everything's said and done now. Sad to see the boy go. Business is business though."

Balling her fist, Monochrome made her escape out a nearby window. Revenge would have to wait. For now, she needed answers to questions.

Mona looked at herself in the mirror. Dressed in an elegant white gown, this would be her first public appearance since Francis's death. While unsure if this was the way to go about it, she needed the money. Moreso now that a baby was coming.

"You look beautiful, madame." Salome stared in awe of her mistress.

"Thank you, Salome." Mona reached for one of her many purses to pull out a stack of cash. Then, she placed it in Salome's hand and closed it. "You can take the next month off. I know you've been wanting to visit your family again."

Salome's eyes widened. "Madame, I-"

"You've been at my service since you were 18. Relax and return to your family." Mona saw her younger self in the maid--a young woman trying to get by in the world.

Tears welled in Salome's eyes as she nodded. She walked to the door, stopping to face Mona one last time. "Thank you, mistress; and good luck."

Mr. Calhoun's estate was nothing short of amazing, packed, lively. Guests greeted her with bright smiles, handshakes, and even some kisses. Halle and Mamie soaked up every bit of attention they got, flirting with the sons of a few guests.

Mona searched around for the host. She didn't forget to bring her contraband. Art theft was just like traditional art. Getting buyers was the hardest part; even more if it was stolen. Hopefully selling them to Calhoun and his associates would bring in a profit or at least some money.

"Thirsty, Mrs. Beauvais?"

Mona mindlessly took the drink from the offering hand, thinking it was a server. "Mèsi."

"You, uh, told me you got some things you wanted to show me."

Mona's eyes widened realizing that Calhoun gave her the drink. Curse her for being so unaware! That was no way to treat host nor potential client. "My apologies! I was looking for you everywhere!"

Mona led him out a back door to where her car--which contained the stolen art--was. Calhoun called a few of his men to come and take the goods inside so he could look at them. He then handed her a large stack of money.

"What's this for?" Confused, but not complaining.

"You kept your word. I respect that." Putting an arm around her, he walked her back inside. They walked into the room where his associates waited. Mona did her best to hide nervousness. These weren't record executives or curators, these were crime bosses. Never did she think she'd be making deals, and money, with them.

Calhoun did most of the talking.

"Gentlemen, this is Mona Lisa Beauvais. She's got some stuff she wants to sell ya and myself. Can't hold her for too long, though, she's here to perform for my wife."

With the snap of his fingers, his men brought in the stuff. The bosses looked over each artpiece with keen detail. Some scratched their chins estimating the values of each in their head.

Twisting a bracelet, Mona waited in nervous patience.

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @mayameanderings