#Big Shell Platform

[hardcoregamer]

Some locations in video games are instantly recognizable, not just by the fans of the game, but even by people who haven’t played the title. The most iconic of these locations have been instilled in the video gaming industry until the end of time and even non-gamers can recognize them.

[2tarbell]

one order for a vanilla birthday cake pleaseee!

kook!reader texting rafe “what position have you got her in?” when he takes too long to respond to a text

happy birthday, angel 💓

BSF!RAFE + KOOK!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

manicured pink nails tapped impatiently on the restaurant table. eyes glued to the bedazzled device with a glittery pout adorning her lips. this was so unfair. rafe would have a fucking conniption if she even thought about not texting him back. and now it’s been… seven fucking minutes? yeah, right.

the last time she left him on delivered for two minutes he was blowing her phone up and all grumbly the rest of the week, pounding her into oblivion for playing games. dont get her wrong; she loved it. being fucked within an inch of her life was her favorite pastime.

but now? rafe cameron was like the worst hypocrite known to man.

‘what position u got her in?’

‘Be so fr’

it brought a smile to her pretty face seeing his sassy reply. with a satisfied huff, she set her phone face down on the table. why not make him sweat? picking up her long island iced tea with a devious grin, she was right back into the conversation with her girls.

the table was alight with giggles and gossip — the pack of kook girls enjoying lunch together after before hitting the beach.

it was supposed to be an easy day, a break from all the confusion and feelings still swirling around princess and her tall, handsome “best friend”. and she desperately needed that. needed some semblance of normalcy before shit took off and everything on the island changed when the two most hated and loved rich kids finally get together.

so she didn’t even flinch when her phone vibrated once, twice, thrice. she only excused herself from the conversation with a smile when her phone buzzed in a rhythmic pattern — a phone call. bubbles of giddy excitement filling her tummy as ‘rafey’ showed on the screen with a point five angled photo of him looking pissed.

“‘kay— be right back, girls!” she sang, already standing with her phone in hand.

“he finally called you, huh?” melodie, a beautiful brunette in a lilac bikini top teased. the table giggled, all looking at princess and feeling a rush of girlish excitement.

“get your man, baby!” another girl, aliyah, borderline squealed.

princess flushed, feeling her body heat up at the prospect of rafe being ‘her man’. god, imagine! she waved them off embarrassedly, teetering away on her platform flip flops, pleasantly tipsy as she leans against the outside wall of the restaurant.

“hellooooo?”

her voice was sugary sweet into the phone, looking down at her nails and checking the polish for any chips. the warm timbre of rafe cameron’s voice rumbled through the speaker, directly pressed into her ear. she found herself wishing to feel his lips moving around the words and against the shell of her ear.

“you’re somethin’ else, dollface.” he mumbled and she could hear the smirk on his lips.

“aw, you didn’t say ‘hi’, rafe…” she pouted, biting back a laugh at the sound of his heavy sigh on the other end.

“hi. you’re somethin’ else.”

“hiii. why’s that?”

his laugh came through the speaker, all deep and settling into her bones like it always does. she hears the tick, tick of his blinker, meaning he’s driving somewhere in that big truck of his.

princess looks around at the marina, taking the sight of obx residents enjoying the still warm, early fall weather. hot enough to take a dip without the water being freezing yet. rafe continued on as she flitted her gaze around the area.

he ignored her question, instead asking his own.

“checked your location. you tipsy right now?”

a giggle escaped her glossy lips, head lolling slightly, “mmm, maybe… why?”

“go back in and pay. sent you one fifty.”

she froze, pulling the phone from her ear and seeing an apple pay notification. he always did this. not like she could just use her dad’s card or anything.

“rafe cameron—“

he cut her off, hanging up after and not letting her protest, “hey— pay and then come back out. know i’ll let ‘chu make it up to me, a’ight?”

it was like a reverse walk of shame — explaining to her friends why she was leaving early and why she was covering the whole tab. walking back out with her purse on her arm as the familiar rumble of his truck approached, petulant in the way her arms were crossed. he pulled up right before her, rolling down the passenger window and smiling in that frustratingly charming way. dickhead.

she hung up with a guffaw, not believing he actually showed up when she was hanging with her friends. the possessive gesture makes her heart jump then fall. very boyfriend of him.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, that’s how you talk to someone who just paid for your lunch? get in.”

she scoffed, amused at his gall. even more so at the fact she listened — shoes clacking against the pavement. rafe leaned over the console, opening the door for her. he looks good and smells better. that cologne she bought him for his birthday last year that he seems to be wearing a lot recently. an intoxicating smell that makes her feel drunker.

a plaid button up, rolled up to the elbow and exposing strong, veiny arms causes her mind to wander as he leans closer to her.

“hey, gorgeous,” that low drawl sends goosebumps over her body, paired with a half smile that’s so pretty.

comfortable in the seat she’s become so familiar with, he closes the gap between them. giving her a kiss so casual and natural, it makes her fluffy lashes flutter rapidly. sticky gloss transfered on his mouth that he doesn’t even wipe away.

she’s even more confused when flowers are thrusted into her arms. princess blinks at him like a fish — feeling a warmth settle in her chest at the sight of her favorite blooms wrapped haphazardly in brown paper.

“they, uh— they were in this ugly fuckin’ plastic. know you hate that so… yeah,” rafe shrugs it off as he pulls out of the parking lot.

princess decides this is technically a kidnapping. especially because she’s never been more confused and lost in her life.

he leans back in the seat, driving with one hand lazily, confidently. a glimpse of blue eyes at her and she’s smiling wildly, bringing the flowers to her nose to smell them. princess leans over and kisses his cheek, feeling drunker on the moment and smell of his skin.

“i— thank you, rafey…”

rafe takes notice of how small her voice is, how vulnerable. he nods, switching hands to rest one on her leg. large, warm palm soothing her and pulling her out of her mind before she can even begin to cause herself to spiral.

he clears his throat, squeezing the plush, smooth skin of her thigh, “cowgirl.”

her furrowed brow is adorable. looking up from the bouquet in her lap and over at him in question. there’s a drunken slowness to her, a haze. he hums and pushes his hand higher — marking a mental note of how easily her legs spread to make room for him.

“that’s what position imma have you in.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare —��but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

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

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

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

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[komsomolka]

The Ukrainian state is US/Western controlled and, in its alliance and arming, is effectively NATO-like. Washington, according to coup-happy Victoria Nuland in 2014, pumped some $5 billion into Ukraine since the Western-intelligence induced “Orange” revolution in 2004; an additional $15-$18 billion in arms, loans, and grants (from the US and EU) were poured into Ukraine since the 2013-2014 CIA-backed, far-right enforced regime change of the democratically elected Ukrainian government and until before the war began.

With on-the-ground CIA direction, power in Ukraine was consolidated among a small sociopolitical base of venal Russophobes, political pluralism representing genuinely alternative visions to the essentially nationalist, ultranationalist, pro-NATO parties disbanded. The Ukraine army, neo-fascist death squads, and small, Nazi-throwback extreme right-wing parties, celebrated by the new leaders and incorporated into the Ukrainian state, went on a repression spree, a terror campaign, to crush protests and dissent against those who were unhappy with what transpired and to erase all things Russian, including an eight-year shelling and sniping war on civilians designed to create terror and ethnic cleansing in eastern Donbass. This was not a democracy but a monopoly on power to consolidate a vociferously, fanatically anti-Russian state.

Ukraine is (or now, was) merely a platform for a Western proxy war against Russia, a forward operations base, a front line state, its “foreign policy” directed by the American proconsul, its institutions “advised” by American/Western intelligence functionaries and embassy officials, whose job since 2014 was to ensure continuing aggravation and antagonism in Donbass to elicit, in fact, a Russian response justifying long-prepared sanctions, escalation and pretext for “confronting” Russia. [...]

The Russian offensive, therefore, occurred for a much more ominous reason than the Ukrainian state terrorism visited upon eastern Donbass: the US/West’s wordless wish is no less than demoralizing, weakening, bankrupting, and territorially fragmenting the Russian Federation, controlling its markets and resources, indebting its people and rendering them dependent on US-dominated financial institutions, and bringing Russia under American dependency.

A pivotal principle of American hegemony is to obstruct and destroy friendly, normal ties, much less integration, between Russia and Europe, Germany being the fulcrum.

More simply, the strategic US/CIA goal is to ensnare Russia in a protracted war, deplete it, damage it, regime-change it, install a supine leader—all as a prelude to the big fantasy: bringing down China.

The multifaceted war on Russia has been ongoing since at least the late 1990s, but really, it never stopped with the Soviet state’s disappearance. This veiled hostility and aggression certainly existed when Boris Yeltsin was in power (a good vassal according to Washington, this silly and funny man that made Bill Clinton laugh) but took off around 2005, after Washington understood that Vladimir Putin was putting Russia on an independent course, reversing the conditions overseen under the preceding, deplorable Yeltsin era, including steep economic, social, military, and developmental decline and the immiseration of the vast majority of the population, looting oligarchs, and economic “liberalization” designed in Washington. [...]

Russia has literally allowed itself to be cornered since 2014, though it needed time to achieve a conventional and nuclear deterrent. It’s not hard to see reality: Russia is given no quarter, no voice, its real concerns and grievances dismissed, its leader demonized, its marginalization doggedly pursued at every level of international and bilateral social and cultural interactions. No appeal to reason, to international law, to security, to evidence will do for the West, no amount of patient legal argument, explanation of Russian concerns, appeals, professional warnings, consummate diplomacy and transparency of Russian interests made an impression. Instead, the Western response was and is always to double down. [...]

Finance capitalism, the system of speculative bubbles, derivatives, debt, declining standards of living, and hyperinflation, is ruining Western economies, states and societies, destroying the middle classes. The US cannot tolerate Eurasian integration and China’s Belt and Road Initiative, determined to stop any alternative development model to hyper-capitalism enriching the few, cannibalizing the many; that reduces the US to one of a handful of important multipolar players.

Washington’s grave mismanagement of international relations, its self-defeating policies, has actually weakened genuine American interests and national security and the well-being and safety of the American people, a phenomenon that cannot be naively attributed to Democrats or Republicans, this or that president. Instead, the war-state is deeply embedded in the American political economy, in factions such as the “intelligence community,” the military-industrial complex, influential establishment neo-cons, and liberal interventionists, all living in a world of yesterday.

We are rushing headlong into extremely dangerous times in which facts are a threat to the state narrative and any dissent or differing opinion is treachery. Fascism does not come from below, always from the top.

[cindol]

Can you do a Connie with shy bimbo reader, and she's Ony sister that is off limit🙏🏿

Connie with a shy bimbo reader who’s also ony’s lil sister !

cw— reader is 23, Connie is 25, ma is used as a pet name, smut, pussy eating, clit sucking, cowgirl position,

a/n: usually don’t write this type of fics but hope u enjoy nonetheless anon 💙

wc: 1309 words

tags- @euphoricbi

The moment he saw shy!bimbo reader he wanted her. As Onyankopon introduced her with her by his side introducing her to the whole gang he just zoned out looking at her. He eyed her from the white earmuffs, pink sweater that matched with her comfortable looking pink skirt that fit her snug around her bottom and knee length pink platform boots.

Anything onyankopon was saying was going out one ear and out the other. When he caught her staring at him he did a small wave at her then smiled at her gasping then looking back down at the floor. He finally snapped out when onyankopon stopped his speech.”Hopefully you all welcome my lil sis nicely, she’s a part of the gang now yes?” Connie snorted at that, she was gonna be a part of the gang somehow by him

Connie didn’t respect onyankopon’s rule of her being off limits at all. When Onyankopon was in the living room chatting with all the other boys he snuck after her when he saw her head upstairs to the bathroom. He was gonna give her her own privacy to use the bathroom till he heard some crashing and yelp coming from her. He was hesitant, not wanting to invade her private time in there but concerned nevertheless so he twisted the doorknob opening it to a confused shy!bimbo reader on the floor with tissue on her face and shoes and what looked like toothpaste in her wig.

If this was anyone else he would’ve busted out laughing like he always does but came forward to her helping her up.”quite a fall huh?” She just trembled her lip pouting.”tried washing my hands.. heard toothpaste has like the same ingredients as regular soap.”

He sighed chuckling.”and where’d you hear that? Reddit?” “Mhm!” He nearly choked on his words from her simple hum and laughed taking the tissue off and kneeling down to the tissue off her boots then coming up to look at her hair, at the top was obvious white Colgate paste on her head.”never trust Reddit baby, now c'mon.. gotta convince your big bro somehow that this isn’t my fault even though it ain’t.”

shy!bimbo reader who sits in her brother's SUV while Connie gets told off by him. She didn’t know what words were exchanged but obviously harsh ones with onyankopon’s body language from her view of watching it through a window.

“Just stay away my little sister con, I know how you get. I don’t want your hands poisoning her.” Connie snorted.”I have no plans of “corrupting” her ‘kopon, was just helping the girl out. You should really teach her sense of direction and her surroundings because who knew how she would’ve ended up if I wasn’t around?”

Onyankopon just sighed touching the brim of his nose.”Just, stay away, yes? I know how you and eren can be so don’t try anything sneaky.” Connie waved him off groaning in a low voice then waving at y/n again when he caught her staring at him.

shy!bimbo reader didn’t listen to onyankopon’s warning at all and neither did Connie as they both found some way to get to know each other behind his back until he finally started to invite her to his house. On her first invite she was shy, hesitating to step inside and leave the front door. It was cute to Connie making him chuckle and lead her in by the small of her back.”Cmon ma, don’t be shy, come out that shell and c'mon in I won’t bite.”

shy!bimbo reader slowly but surely got comfortable with Connie with him showing and teaching her more things. When she told him how she never wanted to dress more proactive, not wanting to seem ‘easy’ he made a clicking sound with his tongue at that.”Bullshit, dress as nasty and inappropriate as you please, real men find that hot.” He said putting emphasis on hot, making her pouty lips make a o shape at that.

shy!bimbo reader for sure took his word though. Making his jaw drop when she would show up in a crop top pink jacket showing her belly and low waist jeans and a dark brunette straight lace with a more excited smile than a shy one at his foot step. Connie has a dry mouth before clearing his throat saying,”you look real different baby.”

shy!bimbo reader was always doing something to tease him now too and Connie couldn’t blame anyone but himself for teaching her these things. He was always caught by surprise when she would jump onto him when he was laying down and come in contact with his bulge making him groan whilst she giggled with a acrylic hand on her mouth. It was all playful to her in a way.”scared you didn’t I con?” While he was just groaning.”scared the damn pants off me nearly..” he mumbled under his breath.

shy!bimbo reader experiments more with connie. When they’re vibing she gets quiet at a flashing sex scene in a movie on the living room Tv and Connie could tell smirking at her when she looked away with her legs squished together.”That got you hot baby?” wrapping a hand around her waist for full effect.”hm?” He adds for full effect making her slowly nod and look at him.

“Wanna tell me what part you liked?” He paused the movie to stop the loud exaggerating moans coming from the flatscreen Tv. She bit her finger before answering.”liked the part where like.. he had her shoulders on his legs and had her screaming.” Connie’s hands started to inch towards her thighs.”oh yeah? Want me to do that huh baby?” His hands reached her inner thighs making her shiver a little and nod.

shy!bimbo reader gets whiny when Connie eats her out. Making whines and soft moans scratching at connie’s buzzcut head with her legs on his shoulders flailing around as he just eats so sloppily.”connieee!” He chuckled at how she was so lost in pleasure that she called him the wrong name and his laughter vibrated inside her pussy making her moan out and cry more arching her back onto the bed. When he pulls out tricks like tonguing and licking her clit it’s too much for her and her vision gets blurry letting out a final high moan and cumming.

shy!bimbo reader found out exactly what she liked doing with Connie especially in sex and that was riding him in the cowgirl position. She wouldn’t admit it because of Connie's teasing but it made her feel powerful to see him unravel from how she would ride him with her hands on his chest and her ass slapping right down everytime. His groans would turn into moans with him having to grip onto her waist to control himself.”Ugh fuck! m-ma! Slow down!” a stutter in his voice and his face just flushed unlike his usual cocky and joking self.

Y/n just continued to slam herself down onto him.”Mmph no! Y-you’re-ah!- pay back for always teasin’ and picking on me!” She did this until all was heard was moans groans and high moans erupting from them.

shy!bimbo reader started getting even more bold in public with him outside of just things inside his room. She didn’t deliberately say she’s shacked up with Connie but there were hints. The way she giggled at his jokes whenever he was around at onyankopon’s house always got some good eyebrow raises from Jean eren and armin.

Once onyankopon left the room for a quick moment they were quick to stare at Connie and Connie just stuck his tongue out and shrugged his shoulders.”What ony don’t know won’t hurt him.”

[hanasnx]

mordecai seems like the type to say ily during missionary accidentally

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: the header is from @/teefumz on tiktok and instagram. i couldn’t find anything about their rules on reposts used for personal reasons such as this which is why i really stress go check out the original artist on their platforms linked. WARNINGS: human!mordecai | situationship | fwbs | explicit sexual content | praise | missionary | love confession.

"You're so hot, you're so fucking hot, I can't believe we're hooking up." MORDECAI murmurs, making your body bob with the force of his ruts. You can't help but snicker at him a little, tangling your fingers in his faded dyed blue hair as you let the pleasure carry you through it. He's gotten better at fucking you, ending the tumultuous session with a softer missionary. Sweetly, his lips press a messy trail from your ear to your neck and shoulder, burying his heated face in your skin as he savors the feeling of being this close to you.

"Right there, Kai, right there," you sigh, clutching onto him as you adjust underneath him, letting the angle do the work as he slowly sinks in and out. Your nails scrape his scalp, and tingles travel down his entire body, bottoming out with a snap, groaning in your ear. "You're so big, you know that?" you praise him with a curl to your lips, letting them brush the shell of his ear. "Never had anyone as big as you. You feel so good." Affectionately, you stroke down his hair, whispering your praises to keep him happy. You're not sure why you're so endeared by him, something about him—especially right now—draws you to be sweet on him.

A hand tucks under your knee, pushing your leg back to stretch you out. You gasp from the new sensation, letting him fit you around him by maneuvering you. "'Wanna cum, 'wanna cum so bad..." he murmurs, "M'close."

You brace yourself, angling your pelvis and holding him close, "Go ahead, Kai, c'mon," The pace hastens, a tremble in his pelvis, his chipped black fingernails digging into your skin as if to keep you exactly where you need to be.

Pathetic whimperings emit from his closed lips, squeezing the breath out of you as he works himself to the edge. "I..." Panting against your neck, he can barely get a word out. "I... love... you." he speaks between his ministrations. "I love... you. I love you," he says quicker, picking it up with his hips. You tense, your pussy closes up, it contracts from the shock but he uses it to his advantage. "Fuck—I love this pussy, I love you." You mutter a pitiful "Kai." but he doesn't hear you, moaning as he's lost in the feeling.

You fist his hair, yanking it to demand his attention. "Mordecai." you warn.

"I..." Broken out of his stupor, he slows to a stop. "I'm... I'm sorry. Uh," He props himself up on his elbows, emerging from the safety of your neck, a shade of vulnerability pink on his cheeks in the dull light, wide eyes meeting yours. "I'm sorry I didn't mean that. I don't know why I said that."

[p-eachbeam]

what i can't comprehend about the whole watcher fiasco is why they're in a rush to completely pull away from youtube when it's very clear that their company isn't a position to do so yet.

this is a four-year-old company who should be building more value to the watcher entertainment name. at this stage of their careers, they should be honed in on building a bigger and more consistent content library, reeling in more viewers, and finding ways to make watcher a household name.

but right now, they don't make enough content to justify a completely separate, paywalled streaming platform. they pump out new shows and new seasons every month, but their upload schedule is so sparse they can't even afford to upload new content for a full week.

and as much as this hurts to say, they don't even have a big enough audience to justify this decision. to the general public, they're still better known by the work they've done under a famous media conglomerate rather than the work they do now. that's not a good thing when you want to pull away from the biggest video sharing platform.

as someone who has been content creation adjacent for most of my professional career, the desire to be less reliant on sponsorships and make high-caliber content in a way that's sustainable is valid. i'm with them on this one. i want my favorite creators to be able to create the content they love without worrying about how they're going to pay their staff and how they're putting food on their table.

i'm just failing to understand how this is going to work out for them when a good chunk of their audience isn't in a position to shell out money for a streaming service. i don't know how they're going to find people who want to pay for watcher tv when their existing fanbase can't even see the value of their streaming service.

people more knowledgeable than i have pointed out that there are many ways for them to find people who are willing to pay to see the television caliber content they've wanted to make from the day they launched without pushing out the people who've also been there from the very start but don't have the financial means to follow them into this new stage of their company.

idk. i think i'm just more upset at how it seems like they didn't even try to find a middle ground between their vision and their audience.

[miguel-ohara-lover]

Miguel ohara x spiderwoman/single mom reader, where she brings her baby to work at the spider society

Ooooh yes yes yes. I thrive on dad!Miguel so this is amazing.

Miguel x Spider-Woman W/ a Baby

CW: Fluff, dad!Miguel, reader has a baby, Mig is a little tough at first but don’t worry… slight angst cuz of Gabi

I had to ask my mom some stuff cuz… I don’t know shit about babies… also I might have projected a little towards the end don’t mind me…

Part two

It’s not uncommon for spider-people to bring their children to the spider society. Hell, that’s what the day passes are for. Peter B started the trend with Mayday, and after that many spiders wanted to bring their little ones too.

Today you were no different, deciding to bring your baby girl, Alice, to the society. You knew of all places in the multiverse she’d be the safest here. A few folks were surprised to see you with the baby, some cooing and saying she’s adorable, but most kept to themselves.

You headed to the boss’s office, grabbing a coffee from the cafeteria along the way. You needed to make sure you weren’t assigned any missions today. As you walked in, Miguel turned to you to see what you needed, a familiar frown settling on his face when he saw your baby.

He had never liked all the spider people bringing their children. I mean, who would after what he’s been through. Peter seemed to love torturing him with Mayday constantly, but Miguel would never admit it hurt. You noticed the look and chose to keep some distance.

After a few seconds you spoke. “Hey, Miguel, I was just popping in to ask if I have any missions today?”

“Actually…” He turns to one of his screens. “You just got one. In an hour.”

“What? I can’t do a mission today, I have my daughter with me.”

“That’s not my problem.” Miguel doesn’t turn to look at you again. You huff and look around the room while debating what you should do, Alice cooing a little and looking around the unfamiliar room as well.

“Maybe… you could watch her?”

Miguel groaned a little. “Me? Why me?”

“Well I trust you’d keep her safe, boss. And she seems to like you.” You gesture to Alice making the cutest grabby hands at the big scary man. That makes Miguel’s hard outer shell crumble a little, images of his daughter flashing in his mind.

“Hm… how long…?”

“However long the mission is.” You smiled.

Miguel sighed. “Fine… fine… leave her with me…” He lowered his platform more and got down, holding his arms out to take the baby. You carefully handed off the baby to him, and he holds her expertly. He knew what he was doing.

You smiled up at him, a slight blush on your cheeks. “Thank you so much, Miguel.” Alice giggled and cooed at Miguel, waving her little hands at him. All he did was nod to you as a response, his eyes on the baby. You give her a gentle kiss to the forehead before heading off to get ready for your mission.

———

After the mission

———

You returned from your surprisingly easy mission, heading straight for Miguel’s office to retrieve your baby. When you walk in you see Miguel on his platform, holding Alice against his shoulder. He’s gently bouncing her and singing in Spanish, lulling her to sleep. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Miguel notices you and placed a finger to his lips, telling you to stay quiet. Once the baby was asleep he spoke in a very quiet whisper.

“You we’re gone longer than I thought you’d be, y/n. Run into any trouble?”

You shook your head no. “The mission was pretty easy, surprisingly.”

“That’s good. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to Alice’s mami.” His eyes were still on your baby, hand on her back as he continued to gently rock and bounce her as she slept so peacefully.

You look up at Miguel. “You make a lovely dad.” He froze for a moment and looked at you.

“Really…?” Is all he said. Your smile grew and you nodded. The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, and for the first time since you’ve known him, Miguel smiled. A real genuine smile.

You swing up to his platform and place a gentle hand on his free shoulder. He glanced at your hand, a little confused by the gesture. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks, and you could tell you finally cracked through those walls he had put up.

“I’m sure her father wouldn’t enjoy this.” He tried to pull away from you, tried to put his walls back up.

You shook your head again. “Her father isn’t in the picture…”

“Really? What kind of father would abandon his daughter?” His red eyes almost seem to glow as anger fills him. He couldn’t imagine a dad causing harm, mentally or otherwise, to his own child. The thought made him sick, made him want to hunt down your ex and-

“Hey.” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll have you…” You gave him a gentle smile. Miguel was surprised at that, but it made him happy. He loved the idea of being in Alice’s life more, of being a father figure to her.

“Would you… perhaps like to get dinner later?” Miguel looked into your eyes, and you could see the anger dissipating, being replaced with love.

“I’d love that.” You lean up and give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

[rizlowwritessortof]

@jacklesversebingo Square #3!

Written for Jacklesversebingo2024. The prompt for this one is 'Come on. I'll show you how to dance.' This went a little bit of a different direction than I expected, but I think I like it - hope you do, too!

The big Founder's Day party for Vought International is a 70's disco theme, and your friend Camille has talked you into going, even though you'd rather stay home with a book and glass of wine. You never imagined you'd be dancing the night away with your superhero crush.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2992

Warnings: Nothing but smut (and maybe a little glimpse through the cracks in Soldier Boy's armor)

Dividers thanks to @firefly-graphics

You walk up to the entrance, shivering a little as a brisk late-October breeze dances around your bare legs and ruffles your skirt. You hand the expressionless suited man at the door your Vought ID, and he nods, waving you by.

You’re not sure why you came. You are a low-level executive assistant at Vought, and you’re honestly surprised that they have bothered to invite people at your pay grade to this Founder’s Day party. You know very few people that you work with, and you would much rather be at home in front of your fireplace in your fuzzy socks with a glass of wine. But you had promised your coworker, Camille, that you would come.

“It’ll be fun! We get to dress up retro and cut loose on the company’s dime! And who knows? You might get a chance to dance with a supe!”

The whole night was planned around a 70’s disco theme. You had raided a vintage clothing store and found the perfect dress, a jewel-toned blue that shimmers in the light, the fabric soft and clingy, with a skirt that will whirl when you dance. If you dance. And if you don’t break your neck in the platform heels you’re wearing. You even tried to curl your hair in the Farrah Fawcett style, but you’re not sure if you really succeeded. Oh, well, not like anybody will really notice anyway, right?

Vought has rented the entire night club for the event, and you’re a little intimidated at the number of people attending. Once again, visions of sitting by your fireplace where you’re safe and alone flash through your mind, and you’re tempted to turn around and leave. But you hear your name, and turn to see Camille rushing towards you, her mouth open in amazement. “Oh my God, girl, you look fantastic! Where did you find that dress?”

She proceeds to pull you into the main room, over to a table she has already claimed, and you hang your jacket on the back of your chair and let her lead you to the bar. “Tequila sunrise, please,” you order, glancing around the room. They have gone all out for this – two huge mirrored disco balls hang above a lighted dance floor, both inactive at the moment. There is music playing in the background, but the DJ hasn’t started the show yet, giving more people a chance to arrive. The bartender slides your drink over with a wink and flirty smile, and you smile back. He’s dressed for the theme, right down to his puka shell choker.

By the time the DJ is in full swing, you are actually enjoying yourself. Of course, the tequila is probably helping, but you had expected to be heading back home by this time. A few people are on the dance floor, but you haven’t ventured out there yet. More tequila is probably needed for that.

It’s fun seeing all the 70’s costumes, but most of the supes in attendance are just wearing their normal suits, and it’s kind of a disappointment. Of course, they’re all in their own orbit – most of them wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with Vought peons.

Flirty bartender has just handed you your third (you think?) drink when a smooth, deep baritone interrupts your conversation. “Well, well, well - where has Vought been hiding you?”

You turn to face a broad chest, leading up to even broader shoulders, and from there… “S-Soldier Boy?” you stammer, instantly star-struck. You have never actually seen him in person, and he’s more than impressive. He has actually embraced the theme, dressed in a silky shirt swirled with iridescent blues and purples, open far enough to expose a pair of gold chains gleaming against his tanned chest. His light-colored bell bottoms are clinging to his powerful thighs, and they are doing nothing to hide his other – assets.

“Oh, kitten, you can call me Ben.” The tone of his voice is like a caress, and you nod, unable to speak at the moment. You take a swallow of your drink, watching as he turns to lean an elbow on the bar. “Seriously, why have I never seen you before?”

You clear your throat, trying to keep your heart from pounding its way out of your chest. “I work in the accounting department. I don’t suppose you get in there very often.”

He scoffed. “Never. Numbers are not my job. But I might have to find a reason to check in once in a while, if they’re keeping gems like you hidden in there.” You’re blushing, or it’s the alcohol, but either way, your temperature is rising. “So – how about a dance?”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “I – I don’t really know how. Especially this kind of dancing, I’ve never…”

He reaches over to take your hand in his, caressing it with his thumb, and your mind immediately begins to imagine his touch on other more intimate parts of your body. “Come on. I’ll show you how to dance. After all, I was here in the 70’s, you know. I practically invented The Hustle.”

You’re a little panicked as he leads you towards the dance floor, and you glance back at your table. Camille is staring at you with her mouth hanging open. The flashing lights make you a little dizzy as he pulls you close, his hand large and firm on the small of your back, holding you close to his body. He’s warm, and solid, and when he starts to move, he just guides you along with him. “It’s just like making love, baby doll – feel the rhythm and go with it.”

By the time you’re almost through the second song, you’re getting the hang of it. “You’re doing great. All you have to do is let your body do what it feels.” He leans closer, his lips next to your ear. “Your body’s got my body feeling all kinds of things I can’t do out here on the dance floor.” His hand moves down a little farther, and the movement of his hips is causing sparks to run up your spine. “Hold on, kitten,” he says, then spins you out away from him, twirling you and then bringing you back close, grinning down at you as he dips you back before bringing you upright again. You look up at him, your eyes sparkling as you laugh. “See, you just have to let go. Having fun?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you answer a little breathlessly, letting him have the lead and following as best you can. You’re not perfect, but he’s strong enough and accomplished enough to keep you where you need to be, and you are not hating the feeling of being held tight in his arms. The two of you are drawing some attention, and he obviously loves it, shamelessly showing off and bringing you along for the ride. You dance your way through Stayin’ Alive, Car Wash, Boogie Fever, Funky Town and yes, even The Hustle. When the DJ announces that he’s taking a break, you are a little relieved. You need a cold drink and to get off your feet for a while.

You move to head towards the bar, but Ben stops you, grabbing hold of your hand. “Come with me – I’ve got a nice, quiet spot where we can cool off.”

As soon as the two of you leave the main room, Ben backs you against the wall, his eyes fixed on yours. He bends to kiss you, slow and sensual, and when he finally raises his head, you stand there stunned for a moment. Of course, like many women, you’ve dreamed of this – but it’s so much more than you could have imagined. Then he takes you by the hand, and you follow him around the corner and down the hall. He opens a door and leads you into a lavish office, complete with a living room area and a full bar. “Want a drink?”

“I just need some water,” you say, your eyes scanning the room. “So – do you own this place or something?”

Ben laughs. “No, just a frequent flyer. Owner lets me use this room if I need, you know, a little privacy.” He hands you a bottle of water, opening one for himself and downing almost the whole bottle.

You stare at his lips and his throat as he swallows, feeling your body flush hot, finally pulling your eyes away and drinking a good portion of your water as well. You wander around the room, examining things here and there, the whole night feeling a little surreal. “So – can I ask you a question?”

“I’m an open book, baby doll.”

You pause your exploring, leaning your back against the front of the bar, looking up at him as he moves to stand in front of you. “Why am I here? I mean, why are you spending time with me? You go out with supermodels and movie stars. I’m just an executive assistant in the accounting department, just an ordinary girl, nowhere close to the glamorous people you’re usually with.”

He looks down at you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek. “The thing is – the people around me, they are always putting on an act. Trying to do or be or look like what they think I want. Not an authentic one in the bunch. It gets old. Sometimes – well, sometimes I just want to be with somebody real. Someone sweet and genuine,” he says as he gazes into your eyes. “Somebody who doesn’t put on an act. Somebody who just is who they are. So maybe I can fucking let down my guard for a little while.” There’s a fleeting flash of vulnerability in his eyes, gone so quickly you’re not sure you actually saw it.

His response to your question is unexpected, and you look up at him, debating with yourself for a moment. Then you step up close to him and reach to put your hands behind his neck, standing on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He sets his water behind you on the bar and slips a hand around to your back, urging you closer, the fingers of his other hand tangling in your hair as he angles his mouth over yours and deepens the kiss.

You cling tighter to him, your heart pounding, as he scoops you up and carries you over to the large sofa, lowering you down and hovering over you, your lips still sealed with his. Your eyes flutter open as he lifts his head, and he stares down at you with a warmth in his eyes that sets your pulse racing. “If you don’t want this, now’s the time to tell me,” he says, watching you closely for a reaction, but you pull him back down and kiss him again, no question at all in your mind. You want him, and you’re pretty sure your stars won’t align this way again.

Somehow he manages to slip his hands underneath you and unzip your dress, and he soon has it down around your waist. He stops, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks his fill. “You’re a beautiful girl,” he says, his voice rough with arousal as he palms your breast with one large hand, bending to flick his tongue over the nipple of the other. You let out a breathless moan, and he chuckles quietly as he sucks a mark into your soft flesh, one hand slipping up beneath your dress to explore the heat between your thighs. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, his mouth still teasing at your nipples, making you arch up underneath him. You are aching with the desire for more, and you let out a desperate whine.

He tugs at your nipple with his teeth before raising his head to look down at you, then standing up and taking your hand to help you to your feet. “Let’s get rid of this dress, shall we?” He slips the silky garment over your head and tosses it over a nearby chair. “Much better. And you won’t be needing these.” He tears your panties apart with one tug, dropping them to the floor, then pushes you gently back down on the couch. “Now, where were we?”

His lips are hungry as he bends to kiss you, his hands roaming over your skin. He finally slips a finger inside you, and your hips lift up to meet his touch. “Oh, you want more,” he teases as he lifts his head to watch your face, adding another finger and stroking inside you until he gets the reaction he’s waiting for. “Feel good, baby doll?” You nod, soft little noises escaping your lips, and you buck up hard as he begins to rub at your clit with his thumb. He ramps up the speed, and you are almost in tears, so desperate to relieve the tension in your body. When he moves his other hand to pull and twist at your nipple, that tension snaps and you cry out as you come, faintly hearing his soft, victorious laugh.

When he pulls his fingers free, you slowly let your eyes drift open, watching him suck his fingers clean. “You think that was good, just wait,” he says, raising up to one knee, his other foot planted on the floor as he unfastens his pants and pulls them down to free himself. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the sight – he is bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you’re a little uneasy.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll take it slow,” he says, and you swallow hard, nodding as he watches you. He lowers himself down, scooping one arm beneath your knee as he slots himself between your thighs and begins to push inside you. He nuzzles at your neck, whispering, “Relax,” and you take a deep breath and try. He’s not hurting you, but the stretch is intense, and you grasp at his biceps, your nails digging in. He continues slowly, a low groan in his throat when he is finally flush with your body. “Good girl.”

You shudder hard, and he crushes his lips to yours again as he moves, just slightly at first, allowing you to adjust to him. Then he raises his head, looking into your eyes as he begins to thrust, slowly building up to a steady rhythm, each stroke becoming harder, deeper. Your quiet little whimpers and moans are getting louder as he ramps up, fucking into you at a furious pace, so deep it almost aches, but it feels so damn good that you never want it to stop. “Such a sweet, tight pussy,” he growls out, and you begin to wail and shout his name as he pounds into you. “Come on, baby doll, I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

And you do, so hard it feels as if every cell in your body explodes, your cunt gripping him so tight he swears. “Fuck!” He keeps driving into you as you clutch mindlessly at him, hoarsely crying out his name. You are finally starting to come down when he lets out a long, low moan and unloads, flooding you with heat and sending aftershocks through you that make you clench your teeth, whimpering as you finally go limp underneath him.

When you walk out of the bathroom a while later, after getting dressed and doing damage control to your hair and makeup, Ben is standing at the bar. He finishes snorting something white off the bar top before tossing back the remainder of his whiskey. “So, time for the real party to start?” you ask quietly, going to retrieve your shoes from beside the door.

He clears his throat. “Gotta go mingle with the elite, part of the job,” he says, watching you slip your shoes back on. “And doing that sober? No thanks.”

“Then why do you do it?”

His voice is different when he answers – cocky, arrogant. “Hey, I’m America’s first superhero. That’s my fucking life, baby doll.” He turns to look at you. “Looks like maybe you’re done for the night.” He smirks. “Did I wear you out?”

You stare back at him. “I liked you better before. When you were just being Ben. Soldier Boy might be a superhero, but I think he’s kind of a dick.” You reach for the door handle, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“How about I walk you out. My driver can take you home, if you want.” He sounds softer again, and you hesitate for a moment before nodding.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

He escorts you back through the club, stopping to grab your jacket. Camille is on the dance floor, so you’re spared explaining where you’ve been. He keeps a hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the crowd, and you take a deep breath of the cool, crisp air when you finally make it outside. The quiet compared to the deafening noise inside the club is a relief, and you turn to face him with a smile as his driver pulls up to the curb. “Thank you, Ben. I really did have a great time tonight.”

He responds with a crooked smile, raising a hand to touch your face. “Yeah. Me, too.” He bends to place an almost chaste kiss on your lips, then another not so chaste, leaving you with face upturned and eyes slowly fluttering open. “Do me a favor, kitten. Stay just the way you are.”

You smile up at him a little shyly, then get into the back of the car when he opens the door for you. “Good night, Ben.” You watch him standing there, lighting a cigarette (or a blunt, you’re not sure) as you pull away. “Good night, Soldier Boy,” you whisper to yourself.

Tags for my lovelies: 

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   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

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        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

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   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

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 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl    @muhahaha303    @deansimpalababy    @kr804573  

@suckitands33    @ej13928    @lmhf1

[armoredisopod]

Codename: Tin Man

Race: Undisclosed

Origin: Undisclosed

Specialization: Interrogation, Intelligence Gathering, Personnel Management, Archaeology, Oral History

"I really like the Rhodes Island deck, the view is great."

Illustrator: 树豚 | Shutun

CN CV: 刘北辰 | Liu Beizhan

JP CV: 木内秀信 | Hidenobu Kuichi

Tin Man - 5* Alchemist Specialist

Can throw Alchemical Units to assist in combat

First Talent

In [IS#5 The Endless Tales of the Sarkaz], Tin Man consumes less Hope and increases Tipping Point Threshold even further when assigned to help with Mental Load

Second Talent

Enemies within the range of Tin Man's alchemical units take increased damage from Damage Over Time effects

Skill 1 - "Old Fogey"

When skill is activated, throws an alchemical unit that inflicts Enfeeble and deals Arts damage every second to ground enemies in its range

Skill 2 - "Big Larry"

When skill is activated, throws an alchemical unit that deals Arts damage every second to ground enemies in its range and heals all allies in its range every second

Can store charge(s)

Quick explanation on the IS5 mechanic so that his first talent makes sense

Like how IS3 had Enlightenment/Rejections and how IS4 had Foldartals, IS5 has a new central mechanic that translates as "Mental Load" and "Thoughts"

Thoughts are another type of collectibles, Mental Load limits how many Thoughts you can carry

Thoughts have buffs and debuffs attached to them. The debuffs are initially inactive but if you go past the first Threshold "Tipping Point", the Thought debuffs will activate

If you go even further you will hit the "Blocking Point" where your Thoughts will deactivate and you're not allowed to select the subsequent nodes

You can organize your Thoughts on the map or the battle preparation screen where you can either consume "instant-use" Thoughts or discard Thoughts you don't need

Players can assign up to 3 operators to raise the Tipping Point Threshold, the amount increased is based on the operators' Rarity and Promotion Level, operators assigned to raise the threshold can still be brought to battle normally

____________

"At last we finally meet again after parting ways in Trimounts, Doctor. Detective Tin Man, representing the Maylander Foundation. Effective immediately, we will be cooperating with Rhodes Island in various fields, sharing resources... and secrets."

____________

"The Tin Man from the fairy tale has appeared on Rhodes Island."

As soon as the news spread, the children began to search with great excitement. And when they "caught" the Tin Man in the cafeteria, the Tin Man graciously put down his pipe, took off his hat to greet the children, and announced that he would buy each child who "caught the detective" a hot dog.

The kids argued about whether the Tin Man was wearing armor or was really just an empty metal shell. The relatively bizarre speculation came from Popukar, who had been reading a lot of comic books recently. She claimed that the Tin Man was a combination of all the Operation Platforms on Rhodes Island. After hearing this, the Tin Man raised an objection, saying that he was a nomadic city that had taken on a human form after being packed and compressed, pushing the debate even further.

The children argued so fiercely that they completely forgot about the Tin Man's existence. The Tin Man quietly placed hot dogs next to each child and left quietly.

The children eventually realized this and became extremely anxious. However, after learning that the Tin Man will be on Rhodes Island for the time being, they all agreed to start a second Tin Man search operation the next day. The Tin Man himself has not yet made any comments on this.

[fickleminder]

the animal inside of you

Kirana bonds with a sea creature of her own at the aquarium, but the others have some Concerns.

I only just got around to reading the Aquarium event story yesterday so here’s a little drabble on what aquatic animal my F!OC might be paired with… 🤭

Sitting on a platform at the edge of the main tank, Kirana idly kicked her legs in the water as she brainstormed ideas for what Beel’s evil octopus could do to earn more Grimm. For such a spindly thing, it sure could rival the demon in terms of appetite.

A few of the more curious inhabitants of the tank swam closer to her while she sat there thinking, but none had really stuck around for long after watching their fill of the human.

Well, except for one.

Kirana giggled as her toes were tickled by the rainbow-colored creature, who playfully darted away when she wriggled her feet at it in response. It kept coming back to nudge at her legs, engaging her in what seemed like a mock fight, and its large eyes blinked excitedly at her when she managed to tap it with her feet.

The creature didn’t seem to have any major grievances with the aquarium; it was just bored and wanted to play, and Kirana was more than happy to indulge it.

“Kirana, the aquarium’s about to close!” Levi called out from somewhere behind her, his footsteps getting louder as he approached. “We can come back tomorrow and…”

The demon fell silent, so Kirana turned around to reply. “Okay, can you grab my shoes—”

“Don’t. Move.”

She immediately froze. Levi was staring at her, or more specifically at the tank, with wide-eyed horror, his palms facing out in a soothing gesture. Did he notice something dangerous that had shown up while she wasn’t looking? Kirana felt the creature she’d been playing with climb up her left calf and hug it reassuringly.

“Shit. Um, uhh, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay— LUCIFER HELP!”

“What is it now…” Lucifer marched over with a sigh. The rest of the group followed behind him, wondering what the commotion was. He took one look at the situation and stilled, his arm automatically shooting out to the side when Satan attempted to rush forward, blocking the other demon from any hasty movements.

“Guys, you are freaking me out. What is it?” Kirana’s mind was spinning. Was it a kraken? A megalodon? An ancient dinosaur?

“Smiting mantis shrimp,” Simeon answered, the calm smile on his face completely forced. “Native to the Celestial Realm, and an apex predator among aquatic beings of its size. It has claws that can literally punch a hole through walls and spear through the toughest of shells. Its rainbow-colored armor—”

“Oh, you mean this little guy?” Kirana reached down to pet said shrimp, who was as big and long as her entire leg. It waved its antennae in delight at the attention. “He’s such a sweetheart! I decided to call him Ali. Say hello, Ali!”

The crustacean’s eyes locked onto the group and it released its hold on Kirana to flex one of its large claws, daring them to come at it.

“I don’t understand…” Luke whimpered from behind a slack-jawed Solomon. “Kirana has nothing in common with that— that—”

“My Lord, we need to exercise extreme caution,” Barbatos solemnly advised the prince, who had grown steadily paler as Simeon described the creature.

Asmo tried holding eye contact with the rainbow monster to charm it into letting his favorite human go, but its large beady eyes made him crack first and look away with a shiver.

“Kirana, I’ve got your shoes right here.” Belphie held them up like an enticing treat. “Why don’t you come down and put them on and then we can all go home, hm?”

It was getting quite late so Kirana had to bid her new friend goodbye, but not without promising to come back and play again the next day. The second her feet touched the ground, Satan quickly bundled her up in his arms and planted himself between her and the tank, all while making hissing noises at it. Beel wordlessly put her shoes on for her.

“Take that, you stupid shrimp!” Mammon crowed as they made to leave. “Kirana belongs to us and don’t you forget it—”

Ali jabbed at the thick glass with a loud THUNK, creating a hairline fracture and causing Mammon to scream.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paying for it doesn't make it a market

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Anyone who says "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product" has been suckered in by Big Tech, whose cargo-cult version of markets and the discipline they impose on companies.

Here's the way that story goes: companies that fear losing your business will treat you better, because treating you worse will cost them money. Since ad-supported media gets paid by advertisers, they are fine with abusing you to make advertisers happy, because the advertiser is the customer, and you are the product.

This represents a profound misunderstanding of how even capitalism's champions describe its workings. The purported virtue of capitalism is that it transforms the capitalist's greed into something of broad public value, by appealing to the capitalist's fear. A successful capitalist isn't merely someone figures out how to please their customers – they're also someone who figures out how to please their suppliers.

That's why tech platforms were – until recently – very good to (some of) their workforce. Technical labor was scarce and so platforms built whimsical "campuses" for tech workers, with amenities ranging from stock options to gourmet cafeterias to egg-freezing services for those workers planning to stay at their desks through their fertile years. Those workers weren't the "customer" – but they were treated better than any advertiser or user.

But when it came to easily replaced labor – testers, cleaning crew, the staff in those fancy cafeterias – the situation was much worse. Those workers were hired through cut-out shell companies, denied benefits, even made to enter via separate entrances on shifts that were scheduled to minimize the chance that they would ever interact with one of the highly paid tech workers at the firm.

Likewise, advertisers may be the tech companies' "customers" but that doesn't mean the platforms treat them well. Advertisers get ripped off just like the rest of us. The platforms gouge them on price, lie to them about advertising reach, and collude with one another to fix prices and defraud advertisers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

Now, it's true that the advertisers used to get a good deal from the platforms, and that it came at the expense of the users. Facebook lured in users by falsely promising never to spy on them. Then, once the users were locked in, Facebook flipped a switch, started spying on users from asshole to appetite, and then offered rock-bottom-priced, fine-grained, highly reliable ad-targeting to advertisers:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

But once those advertisers were locked in, Facebook turned on them, too. Of course they did. The point of monopoly power isn't just getting too big to fail and too big to jail – it's getting too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

This is the thing that "if you're not paying for the product, you're the product" fails to comprehend. "If you're not paying for the product" is grounded in a cartoonish vision of markets in which "the customer is king" and successful businesses are those who cater to their customers – even at the expense of their workers and suppliers – will succeed.

In this frame, the advertiser is the platforms' customer, the customer is king, the platform inflicts unlimited harm upon all other stakeholders in service to those advertisers, the advertisers are so pleased with this white-glove service that they willingly pay a handsome premium to use the platform, and so the platform grows unimaginably wealthy.

But of course, if the platforms inflict unlimited harms upon their users, those users will depart, and then no amount of obsequious catering to advertisers will convince them to spend money on ads that no one sees. In the cargo-cult conception of platform capitalism, the platforms are able to solve this problem by "hacking our dopamine loops" – depriving us of our free will with "addictive" technologies that keep us locked to their platforms even when they grow so terrible that we all hate using them.

This means that we can divide the platform economy into "capitalists" who sell you things, and "surveillance capitalists" who use surveillance data to control your mind, then sell your compulsive use of their products to their cherished customers, the advertisers.

Surveillance capitalists like Google are thus said to have only been shamming when they offered us a high-quality product. That was just a means to an end: the good service Google offered in its golden age was just bait to trick us into handing over enough surveillance data that they could tune their mind-control technology, strip us of our free will, and then sell us to their beloved advertisers, for whom nothing is too good.

Meanwhile, the traditional capitalists – the companies that sell you things – are the good capitalists. Apple and Microsoft are disciplined by market dynamics. They won't spy on you because you're their customer, and so they have to keep you happy.

All this leads to an inexorable conclusion: unless we pay for things with money, we are doomed. Any attempt to pay with attention will end in a free-for-all where the platforms use their Big Data mind-control rays to drain us of all our attention. It is only when we pay with money that we can dicker over price and arrive at a fair and freely chosen offer.

This theory is great for tech companies: it elevates giving them money to a democracy-preserving virtue. It reframes handing your cash over to a multi-trillion dollar tech monopolist as good civics. It's easy to see why those tech giants would like that story, but boy, are you a sap if you buy it.

Because all capitalists are surveillance capitalists…when they can get away with it. Sure, Apple blocked Facebook from spying on Ios users…and then started illegally, secretly spying on those users and lying about it, in order to target ads to those users:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

And Microsoft spies on every Office 365 user and rats them out to their bosses ("Marge, this analytics dashboard says you're the division's eleventh-worst speller and twelfth-worst typist. Shape up or ship out!"). But the joke's on your boss: Microsoft also spies on your whole company and sells the data about it to your competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revengel

The platforms screw anyone they can. Sure, they lured in advertisers with good treatment, but once those advertisers were locked in, they fucked them over just as surely as they fucked over their users.

The surveillance capitalism hypothesis depends on the existence of a hypothetical – and wildly improbably – Big Data mind-control technology that keeps users locked to platforms even when the platform decays. Mind-control rays are an extraordinary claim supported by the thinnest of evidence (marketing materials from the companies as they seek to justify charging a premium to advertisers, combined with the self-serving humblebrags of millionaire Prodigal Tech Bros who claim to have awakened to the evil of using their dopamine-hacking sorcerous powers on behalf of their billionaire employers).

There is a much simpler explanation for why users stay on platforms even as they decline in quality: they are enmeshed in a social service that encompasses their friends, loved ones, customers, and communities. Even if everyone in this sprawling set of interlocking communities agrees that the platform is terrible, they will struggle to agree on what to do about it: where to go next and when to leave. This is the economists' "collective action problem" – a phenomenon with a much better evidentiary basis than the hypothetical, far-fetched "dopamine loop" theory.

To understand whom a platform treats well and whom it abuses, look not to who pays it and who doesn't. Instead, ask yourself: who has the platform managed to lock in? The more any stakeholder to a platform stands to lose by leaving, the worse the platform can treat them without risking their departure. Thus the beneficent face that tech companies turn to their most cherished tech workers, and the hierarchy of progressively more-abusive conditions for other workers – worse treatment for those whose work-visas are tied to their employment, and the very worst treatment for contractors testing the code, writing the documentation, labelling the data or cleaning the toilets.

If you care about how people are treated by platforms, you can't just tell them to pay for services instead of using ad-supported media. The most important factor in getting decent treatment out of a tech company isn't whether you pay with cash instead of attention – it's whether you're locked in, and thus a flight risk whom the platform must cater to.

It's perfectly possible for market dynamics to play out in a system in which we pay with our attention by watching ads. More than 50% of all web users have installed an ad-blocker, the largest boycott in the history of civilization:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Ad-supported companies make an offer: How about in exchange for looking at this content, you let us spy on you in ways that would make Orwell blush and then cram a torrent of targeted ads into your eyeballs?" Ad-blockers let you make a counter-offer: "How about 'nah'?"

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

But ad-blocking is only possible on an open platform. A closed, locked-down platform that is illegal to modify isn't a walled garden, a fortress that keeps out the bad guys – it's a walled prison that locks you in, a prisoner of the worst impulses of the tech giant that built it. Apple can defend you from other companies' spying ways, but when Apple decides to spy on you, it's a felony to jailbreak your Iphone and block Apple's surveillance:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

I am no true believer in markets – but the people who say that paying for products will "align incentives" and make tech better claim to believe in the power of markets to make everyone better off. But real markets aren't just places where companies sell things – they're also places where companies buy things. Monopolies short-circuit the power of customer choice to force companies to do better. But monopsonies – markets dominated by powerful buyers – are just as poisonous to the claimed benefits of markets.

Even if you are "the product" – that is, even if you're selling your attention to a platform to package up and sell to an advertiser – that in no way precludes your getting decent treatment from the platform. A world where we can avail ourselves of blockers, where interoperablity eases our exodus from abusive platforms, where privacy law sets a floor below which we cannot bargain is a world where it doesn't matter if you're "the product" or "the customer" – you can still get a square deal.

The platforms used to treat us well and now treat us badly. That's not because they were setting a patient trap, luring us in with good treatment in the expectation of locking us in and turning on us. Tech bosses do not have the executive function to lie in wait for years and years.

Rather, as tech platforms eliminated competition, captured their regulators and expanded their IP rights so that interoperability was no longer a threat, they became too big to care whether any of their stakeholders were happy. First they came for the users, sure, but then they turned on the publishers, the advertisers, and finally, even their once-pampered tech workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

MLK said that "the law can't make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me." It's impossible to get tech bosses to believe you deserve care and decency, but you can stop them from abusing you. The way to do that is by making them fear you – by abolishing the laws that create lock-in, by legally enshrining a right to privacy, by protecting competition.

It's not by giving them money. Paying for a service does not make a company fear you, and anyone who thinks they can buy a platform's loyalty by paying for a service is a simp. A corporation is an immortal, transhuman colony organism that uses us as inconvenient gut-flora: no matter how much you love it, it will never love you back. It can't experience love – only fear.

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/2024/04/22/kargo-kult-kaptialism/#dont-buy-it

[imagionationstation]

Mismatched Twins - Take Two

Leo really should have known better than to portal without a set destination. He can still picture Donnie walking into his bedroom with his trajectory board to explain the one hundred and one reasons to never do that, but he’d made the mistake of lecturing while Leo had a video with subtitles playing, so it’s really his big-brained brother’s fault that his attention had been rightfully preoccupied.

He’s always been more of a learn-on-the-job kinda hero.

And now that he’s free-falling hundreds of feet with the turtle that he intended to save- he’s definitely learned something here.

Impossible danger is excellent teaching material.

He almost loses his grip when their decent begins, scanning for any kind of landing point. As the turtle screams and Krang roars, Leo locks onto what he’s looking for. The familiar glow of blue tears at his chest and flickers his vision, but they land safety on crumbling rock.

He’s bumped off of him because his grip laxes without his consent, momentum sending him into a weak roll.

Every contact with the rock is like a blade jabbed through a crack in shell, twisted and titled to widen the entryway. His inhale comes in a wheeze, pressure heavy on his chest as he tries to breath through a swaying world.

He gags on the thick liquid in his throat, spitting out the scarlet gunk and tiny splotch of white. He’s pretty sure he liked that tooth.

He’s no longer holding his sword, clumsily scrambling onto his arms, lunging for the hilt. His fingertips scrap it and he doesn’t dare use a spurt of power for convenience, dragging himself to it.

It’s in his hands. He can roll over and let air into his lungs.

He does, photo and sword clung tightly to his chest, and exhales.

He closes his eyes, blood rushing and heart hammering, and tries not to think about his burning eyes and the throbbing ache that has nothing to do with the wounds across flesh.

He opens his eyes, blinking hazily.

There’s a voice behind his daze.

Time to faceman.

He looks up, bringing his blade closer, taking in the upside-down turtle face with frazzled eyes. Leo smirks as he watches him gesture to the sword, not taking in a single syllable through the high-pitch ringing. He could use a nap.

“Never seen ninpo before?” Oh, wow, his voice is weeiiird to his own brain. Does it sound as cool as it should? “Your loss.”

The turtle stares at him. The way his chest moves say that there might be slight hyperventilating going on. Leo’s pretty sure he was the same way during his first Krang battle.

The turtle looks away, alert and panicked. Leo rolls to his plastron, hating every second of it, and watches as a bright streak of purple crashes into the nearby floating island. He hears the distant sound of rocks crumbling under mass before a whoosh of air welcomes another crash. It happens twice more as Leo struggles to get his bearings, looking to the turtle that stares back at him.

He tries to stand, only to crumble under the weight of agony, but the turtle catches him to take him to his knees.

He says something, but Leo misses it. His heart is pounding too loud as he watches the dust clear. He doesn’t want to see what’s down there. He doesn’t want Krang to look back.

Who needs to learn lessons anyway.

“‘Kay.” Leo instructs with the sparse air, tucking the picture safely away. He meets wide brown eyes with a weak grin. “‘aat’s my cue.”

His ninpo flares.

FLASH.

They’re on a different terrain.

Krang screams, “I’LL GET YOU, YOU ROTTEN LITTLE-”

FLASH.

“-YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM-”

FLASH.

“-FIND YOU AND CRUSH-”

FLASH.

Bare, floating islands are apparently out of style. The world changes so that everything is coated black. There’s a rock wall dosed in his perfect ninpo light beside him. The turtle starts to speak, but he’s cut off as something shrieks in the dark. The grip around Leo tightens as their world is swallowed in the safe blue.

FLASH.

They land on a platform and come face-to-face with a massive, leering Krang suit, and it’s false face is inches from Leo’s and someone screams.

He tries to kick away from in, pressing further into the grip that holds him, burying his face away from the danger. The torment must have already started because his breaths are sharp and broken, each inhale like lightning in his chest. It takes him too long to realize that the shrill ringing in stale air is his because he’s going to die and he’s still here when he should already be gone.

“Hey, hey, woah-”

The voice in unfamiliar and the shadow swallows him and he knows pain is about to rain down like he’d fallin’ into hell itself and he squeezes his eyes shut and runs.

“Look, it’s emp-”

FLASH!

FLASH!

FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH-!

Leo falls into the safe, mindless panic and unleashes his portals in rapid-fire spurts. He doesn’t care where he’s going or where he ends up, as long as it’s far, far from Krang. He tears and claws at everything his ninpo can offer and then some, ignoring the way it fizzles and sparks as he clutches what’s his and runs.

“STOP!”

His eyes shoot open and his ninpo stutters, dropping him off on stable surroundings. His companion has torn away from him and he locks his hands over his head in panic, knees curled up to his chest. Electricity is bouncing off his skin to strike the danger. It’s not a beautiful whirlwind of power- it’s scattered and desperate and wild. It’s not him, not his intention, not his doing- it’s his ninpo reacting, almost like an injured animal lashing out.

And yet- and yet when he closes his eyes and focuses, when he reaches to console what’s scared, what’s his, it ducks away.

And he doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand how something so infinite and fundamental to his very essence, his very being, could feel so broken and ragged. It’s the Hamato legacy imprinted on his soul and it’s dying after he did everything in his power to preserve it, to protect his friends, his city, his family back home-

Back home. Back home.

And then he understands.

His soul is still clinging to what the mind knows that it can’t have, searching for the other three parts that make the living legacy whole.

He preserved their legacy, and then he left it behind.

He did everything right so why does it feel so wrong?

Everything hurts- every inch of skin down to his very soul. His ninpo can't hurt and shouldn't hurt but it does- shattered and torn and barely sputtering with life- did he do that?

This place- It’s a dimension created by magic. It was made as a barrier to keep everything in. To keep anything from reaching out.

He did this. He tore his ninpo away from the web of power and then ripped it to pieces as it struggled on its own. He’s no better than the Krang. He’s lucky the string remains intact at all.

He focuses on it like he’s cradling an injured child, willing it back together with devastated apologizes and shaking hands. The pieces sputter and spark, insignificant and torn, and he aches as he concentrates on his home and his family and the drive that brought him to this prison to suffer so they could flourish.

The prickling leaves his skin and the warmth fills his chest as the delicate pieces knit themselves together. His ninpo is dull and tiny, but it pulses like a heartbeat, still reaching for the fourfold connection that it will never find.

And for the second time that day, Leo tears himself away from something that he needs more than the air in his lungs, releasing the one link that he has to his family so he doesn’t erase it entirely.

He needs it.

Leo needs it, so when he dies, he still has a chance to find Karai.

He can still feel it, faint but alive, and he opens his eyes as the marks fade from his blade. He’s freezing, now, empty without the familiar strength to draw from. The hilt falls uselessly from a limp hand and he thinks that now would be a good time to curl up and die.

He attempts the curling up part, but he’s distracted from the latter with a hand on his arm. The turtle is still here, kneeling down at his side. He’s pointing into the distance but Leo is not moving ever again, thanks.

The turtle tries again but he doesn’t sound like he’s using words. Maybe he never was and Leo’s brain just pretended that he did.

He waves at him, vaguely. “No hablo… That.”

The turtle takes in this information. He looks off to the side and then seems to make up his mind. He ignores the sputtered complaints as he grabs his arm to drag him up.

Leo tries to fight it, but he quickly loses the energy to do so. The turtle forces his slumped body to sit up, frustrated when Leo keeps every muscle slack and tries to go back down. His back burns when his shell is forced straight up, so unless the turtle has pain killers, he’s happily staying on the ground.

The turtle has different ideas. He forces him back up, positions hands under his knees and above his carapace, and then hoists him into the air. He yelps and his sword sparks.

Leo quickly tears away from the power that flows back, stamping down stubbornly on the disconnect.

The turtle keeps walking, and Leo can feel that limp, so why this is happening is beyond his understanding. He’s set down against a leaning surface, and the turtle disappears from his vision, only to return cradling a large rock. Leo squints at him as he drops it and shoves it to Leo’s side. He grabs Leo’s upper bicep, to which Leo obviously attempts to bite the offending arm.

The turtle glares and Leo gives him a grumpy look.

The turtle gets up and walks away.

For a moment, he’s the winner, but then his opponent returns.

The turtle is not to be deterred, and before Leo sees the dastardly act coming, his sword is in the turtle’s hand. He sets in on the other side of the rock and Leo lurches for it, catching the hilt in his fingers. Then the turtle is behind him, a steady hand on his carapace to keep Leo’s plastron against the rock, other hand running down the cracks in his previously perfect shell.

It’s an uncomfortable position, but it doesn’t hurt like sitting up does. He drops his arm over the rock to rest his chin on, flinching when a finger touches the deepest crack along his middle. He hisses at the sudden pain and the turtle murmurs softly.

A hand on his elbow helps him back to the smooth, bent surface. He leans against it, giving the invasive turtle the stink-eye. He doesn’t look up, frowning when a soft pressure against his plastron has Leo flinching. That’s the area where his ribs are. That can’t be good.

A gentle hand moves over his plastron, testing the stability of grooves and brushing against cracks. His plastron is annoyingly more sensitive than his carapace and he kinda wants to knee this guy in the chin to stop him from ever laying hands on him again.

Instead, he allows the shudders and the hands lift immediately, concern pinching calculating brow, and all Leo can think to say is, “At least take a guy on a first date.”

The turtle says something, muffled but definitely sarcastic, and reaches for his head. He runs a hand over Leon’s cheek, temple, and skull, probably testing for fractures with as many times as Krang decided to go for the face. He tries to focus on the discomfort of the fingers pressing against the bruise on his jaw and not the ever-present memory of fiery eyes and metal meeting bone.

There's something building up on his tongue. It travels down to his throat and he gags, tilting his head to spit it out, red dotted with white splattering the rock that the turtle had brought over.

Leo only realizes that the turtle asks a question after his mouth has finished moving, and even then he can't remember what it is.

The turtle wipes the blood from his mouth and then gently presses against the sides of his jaw to open it. Leo's guess is that he's trying to make sure the blood is all from his gums and not internal.

He only lets him because he doesn't have a mirror to check himself, hoping it doesn't look as bad as he suspects it is. Only a fiend like the Krang would dare deprive the world of his beautiful smile.

Then again, Leo supposes that he did that himself.

His stomach twists, an invisible force pressing down on it.

The turtle is unwrapping his hand, faded white revealing some of the scarred palm underneath. He takes a tiny knife from his belt- aw, man, what's that called, a kani? Kuani? He's close he knows it- and cuts through with an obvious practiced precision, letting the loose part hang as he begins wrapping Leo’s skull.

“Can’t do anything about the mask.” The turtle admits and wow, Leo can hear again, that’s neat. “But if there’s one thing to be thankful for, it’s that he was more focused on your jaw than your brain.”

“Yay.” He croaks, a weak fist raised to the sky.

The turtle’s expression changes as he looks down to meet his gaze, almost softer. “Cognitive awareness. That’s a good sign. Is anything numb?”

Leo stares at his arm, dripping on the rocks below him and practically coated in red. “You’re bleeding out.”

“It’s fine. Let’s worry about your spine first.” He regards him anxiously. “Anything numb?”

“Everything is on fire.” He announces triumphantly, because his spine is too tough to break that easily. He eyes the wound in front of him. “And that’s going to get infected.”

“Okay. I’m just going to hope for the best then.” The turtle ignores him completely and turns his attention back to his skull. “Lil’ worried about potential brain damage. Cool with you if I ask you some questions?”

“Name’s Leo, fifteen years old, my favorite color is blue, I have three brothers and one sister, boy does my head hurt, and yes, I can count to ten in two languages- applause not necessary- uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez.” The turtle tightens the end of the bandage as he finishes and Leo preens, “Family physicist, at your service. No concussion here!”

“Leo, huh?” The turtle’s movements have slowed, forehead creased as he peeks at Leo’s sword. “Short for anything?”

“Leonardo.” He studies his face, all-to-aware if the brief shock that flashes before he quickly looks away. “Got a problem with that?”

“No.” He says, a bit to fast. “It’s just… Interesting…” He adjusts the blue mask, a new splotch of red on the side, back down over the bandage- he removed it? When did he- “And you mean physician.”

He levels him with a superior look. “I’d think I’d know what I am.”

“And yet you don’t.” He collapses backward with a sigh, bringing his fingers to press against the blood staining trails down his arm. He winces and mutters, “You said you had three brothers?”

“And the world’s best sister.” He decides because while sister’s not technically official, he’d like to die with that thought in mind. He makes grabby hands. “Lemme see.”

The turtle shakes his head, but his face is definitely paler than it was before. Leo does not think it’s all blood loss. “Dude, you’re clearly not good with bodily fluids, hand it over.”

“It’s just blood. I can handle blood. It’s a perfectly normal bodily function even if a lot of it happens to be leaking-” His face has gone three shades paler and definitely queasy. He groans, “I hate blood. Holy mother of mutations, I hate blood.”

“Dude, you just wrapped me.” Leo remarks, amused by the glare that he earns. “Of course, I did. I had too.”

“But it’s different when you’re seeing your own?” Leo offers a cheeky grin. The turtle looks uncomfortable. “Classic. C’mon. The real medic says hand it over and stop being a bad patient.”

“That’s ironic coming from the limp noodle.” He agreeably drags himself from the ground and plops down next to Leon, looking the other way as Dr. Leo examines the wounds.

“Sooo.” Leo drawls as he notes that the turtle needs stitches and wonders how he’s going to accomplish that here. “Do I get a name, Broody, or do I get to make one up?”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Pshhaw, your name can’t be that bad.”

The turtle side-eyes him, affronted. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with my name.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Leo presses against the wounds to stop the consistent flow; the black wrappings on his palm stained with red. “Give it to me.”

A beat of silence. “Donnie.”

“Aw, hey, that’s not too crazy.” He reassures brightly, since he doesn’t want to tease the guy that’s clearly insecure. “I actually know someone who-”

“It’s a nickname. Short for Donatello.”

“Heh.” He quirks a smile. “Kinda a coinkydink ‘cause-”

“Hamato Donatello.” Leo’s head shoots up and the turtle looks back. “My brothers are Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo. They have nicknames too. Mikey, Raph…” He tilts his head, urging, “Leo.”

Leo stares, looking for any sign of deception. The turtle keeps talking, almost as if he’s trying to get the words out before his brain can catch up. “We’re a team. We fight crime and save people. I have a father. We call him Splinter. He’s a rat. Used to be a human. Adopted me and my brothers, taught us ninjitsu.”

Leo’s paralyzed. He waits for the snickers, or for the punchline.

The turtle does not shirk away, eyes bright with the maniac look that Donnie gets when he proves a theory correct and is dying for a single person to acknowledge that he’s the smartest being on planet earth.

“So. Leo.” It’s conversational, calm, eager. “What’s your family like?”

Previous Current Next

[yuurivoice]

i swear i ask this genuinely and in complete good faith, but stemming from the bit where you talked about systems of oppression and your allyship with those oppressed even if you can't completely relate to them, what do you take into account when making the decision to not talk muchhh about politics and current events as someone with a bit of a larger platform? Is it just because of the nature of YuuriVoiceTM, like fandom and escapism, and, consequently, not because people go somewhere to hear political takes?

For reference, the line for me was the election.

I think, largely, my work is so intertwined with the soul I put into it that the characters people are falling in love with are incompatible with hate. My bottom line can take a hit if someone finds those beliefs opposed to their own, I am okay with that.

My personal and professional approach has been, for the most part, speak on what I directly am impacted by and support those voices who are better suited to tackle that which is beyond my scope.

I think an example of where big creators have sorta gotten themselves into a quandary is Critical Role, where they've unintentionally or otherwise created an expectation for them to be very loud and active as a whole unit, and segments of the fandom have mistaken silence for indifference. But that's because they set that expectation and are held to it, and fandoms rarely have patience or make a good faith assumption off the rip. They do a lot of great stuff, but also because internet, if they do not take immediate and direct action via fundraising, making statements, etc. there's going to be someone who assumes the worst.

Side bar: You could write a whole thesis on the way CR is under constant subject to purity tests, despite showing clear growth and genuine effort to learn and grow from past failings. I'm not even a viewer, just intrigued by the business and those involved.

Obviously, asking for nuance and patience online is a dead end conversation, but...ya know.

So when it comes to me, I try to let the themes, heart, and voice of my writing speak on where I stand. For example, I've never publicly said anything about Palestine, but you can definitely infer how I feel without even a single episode of Evalas stuff being out. And this story existed before current events unfolded, it's not reactionary, but reflective of the heartbreaking truth that for whatever reason in this world there is wickedness that convinces someone to rob another of their dignity, home, and life.

And I can't pretend I'm a super educated dude, I'm not, there's so much I don't know. A decade ago, I had no clue what it meant to be a trans person. A decade before that, I was terrified of queerness. It took me a while to figure out, but every time I was faced with situations beyond my scope, I tried to light my path forward with love instead of fear. I wanted to go forward instead of shell up.

So I'll always try to humble myself and listen with an open mind, and always strive to be empathetic. Not because I want to be "the guy who gets it" or somebody's savior, or be right. I just recognize that I've been wrong, and learned, and grew. And that's...like, really cool? It's cool that people can do that.

With time, I hope that's the sort of thing that lets people know where my heart is and where I stand. To the point that I don't ever get questions like "why haven't you talked about xyz" because...well, people know how I get down, even if I'm not super public about it.

I think I don't have so much of a fear of times where I might have to be vocal or the work might make some bold statements someone may disagree with, because I also try to afford that grace to those who might be where I was when I was ignorant or confused. There are lines drawn, of course, but in general I try to hold on to hope that everyone is born with the right parts to live a life where they lead with love and understanding instead of fear. And just like the systems that oppress us, that same wickedness tries to indoctrinate the scared and confused. This isn't a "but guys, don't be mad, they just ACCIDENTALLY voted away your rights!" type of thing, but more of a...

...if we can't fix the brokenness, we're doomed. If we can't speak with people and show them the way, we will lose, and continue to lose. And maybe that's like...some hippie pie in the sky bullshit philosophy. It probably is. But I have to believe that words can heal, that love can mend, that there's actually something in this fucked up universe that can redeem us. It has many names, and has come in countless forms. Just like the wickedness, there is some unnamed thing that works in the opposite direction. It's love, it's hope, it's light. And I don't care what you want to name it, or what form speaks to you the most, or if you don't think it's there at all.

If it doesn't work like that, if it's all just fucked, then I'll keep dreaming of worlds where it does and sharing them with those who want to dream with me, until I can't anymore.

This is probably the best thing I've written today. Thank you for the question.

[starbunii]

I FINALLY PULLED GOROU SO CAN I GET HCS OF USING HIS EARS TO CALM HIM DOWN AFTER A NIGHTMARE OR WHEN HE'S REALLY ANGRY BY SCRATCHING AND PETTING THEM OK THANK YOU BYE /AFF

# . ears 𓂃 ♥︎

𝜗𝜚 ┈ gorou x reader ! ｡

notes: AHHHH CONGRATULATIONSSSS IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!! I HOPE U LOVE LOVE LOOOVE PLAYING HIM, HES SO CUTE <3

oneshot ノ fluffノgn! reader ノcanon universe

second person pov !! please enjoy! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

-- ♡ --

He couldn't fall back asleep. Not after the dream he just had. He was left all alone; you were nowhere in sight, neither were his men, or any of his friends. Even Miss Sangonomiya was missing. Normally, being by himself wouldn't be such a big deal to him. He was used to it, finding confidence in whatever solitude he was forced into. But this seclusion felt so much different. This time it felt...lonely. Cold. Everything around him was destroyed; a shell of the beautiful island it was mere moments ago. The sunshine turned into the remnant of a battlefield in seconds. Naturally, he woke with a start, immediately making sure you were still in bed beside him. Luckily, you were; resting peacefully, not knowing the fears lingering in his mind. His ear twitched as he curled up ever so slightly. He laid back down, but he obviously couldn't fall back asleep. It still felt so lonely, even if he was awake now. Gorou let out a small whimper, gently nudging your back with his head. He felt pathetic, groveling for your attention in this way.

But he couldn't help it. Something about that dream just..made him ill at ease. He couldn't understand why... Maybe it was how quiet everything was...the way the wind wooshed in his oh so delicate ears, wishing that it would be replaced with your voice; the sweet, soft sound that always helped him to relax. Instead of a desolate village that had been overrun with the violence of battle, he longed to see your face. The way your nose crinkled whenever you smiled, the lines on your face showing how much you enjoyed one of his ironic jokes...anything about you would've helped in this case. "Gorou...?" You were finally awake, turning to face him. He prayed to the archons that you didn't notice the tear tracks on his face, or the way his ears were pressed flat against his head. Of course you noticed. You just weren't gonna say anything. "...Bad dream." He nodded, trying so hard to ignore the way his voice cracked. "Mm...do you wanna talk about it..?" You carefully sat up, trying to shake off your grogginess. Once he shook his head, you nodded, hugging him close to your chest. "Just..." He sniffled. "I'm sorry...I don't want to put so much pressure on you..or force you to support me..." "Honey...I'm your partner. I want to support you.." You gently rubbed the inside of his ears, cooing softly to him. "I love you...you do the same for me, don't you? I like helping you.." "Mmhh..." He groaned softly, his tail beginning to thump against the bed. He loved this; the feeling of your hands gently tousling through his hair, rubbing his ears with such sweet, gentle tenderness. After such a long day followed by such a horrible dream, this is exactly what he needed. Exactly it. After a few moments, he was already laying back in bed, letting out loud whines and soft barks as you continued to pet him, tail wagging swiftly against the sheets. He was finally smiling, giggling and yipping like a newborn puppy. After a while, the cuteness aggression finally took over, causing him to pounce on you. He gently nipped you, taking in your scent with whimsical glee, adoring the pets you were still applying on his head. After letting out all that energy...he was finally back asleep in your arms, snoring peacefully.

starbunii 2024 — all rights reserved. do not redistribute or translate to any other platforms

[wc-confessions]

Would be actually interesting to see a spec evo AU where distinctions between Clans are more prominent that just their primary food source and average body type. Cats are very invasive and can drive other animals to extinction by eating their natural prey. So, as long as warriors reproduce, they will eventually get rid of other small and medium predators like mustelids, beavers, large birds, probably foxes. At least on their territory. Free ecological niches will be taken.

Windclan now has longer legs similar to Eohippus. They inhabit their home fields, lower parts of Highstones, and areas near the orchard. Omnivores, play a major role in dispersal of seeds. One of their toes still has a claw to aid in hunting. Think deinonychus. Don't make nests and often migrate form one place to another, moving closer to orchards for winter.

Riverclan has short sleek fur and a lot of fat. Have long body, relatively short webbed paws, a visible sagittal crest and bigger jaws. Inhabit the lake, rivers, and brackish waters of the sea shore. Can use jaws to break shells. Eat mostly fish and mollusks, but can occasionally set traps and snatch greedy seagulls. They make floating platforms out of twoleg garbage (plastic bottles), ropes, sticks and plants.

Skyclan has bigger skin flaps under their front paws. They can not only slow down falling, but also let them soar from tree to tree. Have opposable thumbs on each paw for a better grip. Still mostly carnivores, but don't miss an opportunity to snack on fruits. Live in woven basket-like dens in the treetops. Inhabit Highstones and forests, often share territory with the four clans, but they don't mind much, as they have different ecological niches. Can use primitive instruments to carve out dens and make spears.

Shadowclan have longer bodies, shorter but stronger paws. Poor vision but greas sence of smell and hearing. Dig tunnels underground. In their lifestyle, resemble mustelids they have driven to extinction. Prey on snakes, lizards, bird eggs and chicks, ground nesting birds, mice and rats. They also have the ability to dig deep pits equipped with sharpened sticks to trap much larger prey. Each pit has a separate entrance to the underground system. Even if the prey wasn't impaled with sticks, warriors will surely finish it before it finds a way out. Even if it dies before it's found, Shadowclan can digest carrion.

Thunderclan evolved the least of the five visually, but became larger, reaching the size of a bobcat. Only the sisters can rival them in size. Sturdy build, big paws with thick claws, thick fur. Fur on their pack is extremely coarse, borderline needle-like, which makes attacking them from behind very hard. Omnivorous, dig up mushrooms, maggots, moles and insects. Devour fallen fruits, cones and nuts. Take a niche of a fox and a pig. Near impervious to bee stings. Their digestive system can deal with higher amounts of sugar, unlike in normal cats, allowing them to eat honey.

The tribe? No one knows where they are. Rumors are, they went underground, so far away even Shadowclan couldn't reach them.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ