#and i just played by what made the most sense to me personally

[firestorm09890]

hi can you tell me about limbus company specifically about don quixote and sancho. i’m trying to piece it together from context clues but i’m not doing well. basically as you may know i’m a huge mili fan and i’ve just been wanting to understand the context behind the song hero so i can appreciate it better

OMG I WOULD BE HONORED TO so the first thing you need to know is that Project Moon worldbuilding is a massive beast. There will be stuff I leave out because it's not entirely relevant to Hero, but I'll do the best I can to both explain everything and keep it "short".

...Not short enough that it can stay without a readmore.

The first thing you need to know is that most of the time in fandom, the name Don Quixote refers to this person

She is extremely passionate about justice and is described as someone who appears to be playing the role of a righteous knight.

Other important information here is that every playable character in Limbus Company has an icon

an associated emoji (🎠), an associated color (Oblivion Yellow; it's just the yellow above but the word Oblivion is important), an associated phrase ("To reach the unreachable star!"), and this thing called a personal EGO, which is basically a special attack that comes from the self or something. Don Quixote's is called "La Sangre de Sancho" and consists of her shouting "Onwards, Rocinante! Justice will prevail!", running at the enemy and stabbing a lance made of blood into them. Rocinante is the name of her shoes, but it was also the name of Don Quixote's horse in the book. This is what the art for that EGO attack looks like.

Lots of posters, she's playing dolls, you can ignore the barbed wire and bars on the windows because that's part of every personal EGO but you do not have to ignore the scary skeleton horse shadow or the fact that outside the window is a carousel where instead of horses, there are people impaled on sticks. This will all make sense later.

This is Sancho. She is the same person as the Don Quixote from above.

With Sancho, you might see someone else named Don Quixote, who looks like this

This white-haired man is the Don Quixote I will be referring to up until the yellow-haired girl takes his name.

Once upon a time, probably hundreds or even thousands of years ago, there was this vampire (henceforth called a "bloodfiend") named Don Quixote. He pulls inspiration from the literary Don Quixote but only some. He lived in a castle in the middle of nowhere by himself until the weight of his bloodthirst got to him and he went to go make some kindred to alleviate the pain (bloodfiends can each turn two people max into other bloodfiends, after that they kinda just become shambling zombies made of blood; the more generations a bloodfiend "family" has, the more spread out the collective bloodthirst gets, so it's in a bloodfiend's best interest to turn others). The first of Don Quixote's kindred was a woman named Sancho, who he found kinda just letting herself die in a ditch. He asked her to join him, and she accepted.

In Don Quixote, Sancho was Don Quixote's squire, who got roped into it by the promise that he would get an island to be the governor of. There's this whole thing in the book about Don Quixote's delusions becoming slightly more realistic as the story passes, while Sancho's ideals trended the opposite way. This will be important I promise.

Don Quixote made another kindred, and that kindred went on to make a bunch of other kindreds until there was a whole huge bloodfiend family living together in that castle in the middle of nowhere. Sancho was unusual for a bloodfiend, having no interest in making kindred herself and being far more skeptical of Don Quixote's whims than any bloodfiend (or squire) should be (they have an instinct to never go against the bloodstream). She was cold and distant from the rest of her family, except for DQ.

One day! A human knight appeared at the door! In the beginning Don Quixote didn't want her there but then she sparred against him to a draw (bloodfiends are EXTREMELY powerful, more powerful than humans) which made him gain a little bit of respect for her. This knight, Bari (not a character in Don Quixote, she has other shit going on), started regaling Don Quixote with tales of Fixers, humans in The City (Limbus Company's main setting) who are... essentially mercenaries but with class- once again a whole thing but essentially she got him thinking about knights and adventurers. She did this to inspire him to take the side of humans in a war against bloodfiends that was happening elsewhere, which he does. Sancho, who thinks Bari's stories are stupid and this interest is foolhardy, stands by his side in battle.

...But wait! Over time, Sancho too grows interested in Bari's stories, though she refuses to admit it. At one point Bari tells Don Quixote about amusement parks, which gets him thinking "waow maybe if we make an amusement park, my family of bloodfiends can coexist with humans!"

It was a lovely idea, and DQ and one of his lower kindred crafted this cool new thing called "hemobars" which were like a little bit of blood mixed with a bunch of other stuff to make a brick bloodfiends could eat to satisfy their need for blood. Guests would pay at the door in blood, and they would be made into hemobars to distribute to the bloodfiend family, who runs the amusement park.

Surprise surprise, the hemobars were not enough, and the family was getting restless. They wanted to drink blood so badly, but they couldn't go against Don Quixote's wishes because he's the patriarch. So, knowing that he was really into collecting cool artifacts, a few of the bloodfiends came up with a plan to even the playing field. They told him about the Helm of Mambrino, which makes anyone who wears it be perceived as being on the exact same level as those perceiving them, so they would be able to rebel against him (they did not tell him any of this aside from it being a cool helm). A wonderful adventure! And due to Sancho's interest in the knight stuff, the family did not tell her about the plan, and Don Quixote took her with him as his squire.

They did adventure stuff, at some point Don Quixote turned a pair of shoes he got into a powerful artifact named Rocinante that will be important later. Don Quixote wants Sancho to get into the spirit of things, Sancho says it's ridiculously juvenile but tries to speak like she's in Shakespeare anyways, it's all great. They get the helm.

And then when they get back to the amusement park, everything's in shambles. Bloodfiends eating people. Don Quixote, who presumably can't take off the helm because it's cursed or something, seals the entirety of the park off (he can do that because he made it out of his own blood. it's normal), trapping everyone inside so they can't hurt more humans, but...

He orders Sancho to leave first. She was wearing the shoes at the time and those shoes take her away even though she doesn't want to go and there's lots of screaming and crying and it's horribly tragic.

Super depressed, she asks Bari to take her to Lethe, the River of Oblivion, a magic river that will wipe her memories. There's this whole thing about how drinking from the river hones some of your thoughts into a mad obsession which is only a tad relevant. She loses her memories and goes to live alone in a lighthouse in the vast outskirts surrounding the City.

I'm so sorry this was entirely backstory so far.

Cut to 200 years later, Sancho has been basically playing dolls by herself this whole time. Her obsession focuses entirely on Fixers, the sorts of heroes her father (oh yeah that's how bloodfiends work, the guy who turned her is her father now) used to love. She's silly now! She's believing the posters are talking to her! She doesn't know about the unglamorous, "hired mercenary" part of Fixer life, believing everything they do is for justice. After 200 years, this guy shows up to recruit her for Limbus Company and she accepts- at this point, she's forgotten her name, but she also hasn't taken off Rocinante, and who's name is written on Rocinante? ...Why, Don Quixote, of course! So she takes the name Don Quixote for herself.

In Limbus Company (company) she's extremely loud and passionate and will rush forward to fight for justice which causes problems for the team more than once. But the thing about Limbus Company is that everyone on the LCB team has to face their past for their mission to collect these things called Golden Boughs, and her turn eventually comes up. Coincidentally, the amusement park her father built has reappeared in the middle of the City, and it's luring people in.

She goes into this mission completely unaware of its connection to her, even as people recognize her and one guy actively tries to remind her of her past. In fact, she's extremely enthusiastic about vanquishing bloodfiends for their evil deeds. Eventually, though, there are circumstances that lead her to a point where she can't turn away subconsciously anymore, and she dismounts Rocinante (read: takes off her shoes)

The thing about Rocinante is that they have been binding her bloodfiend traits this entire time, and because she was wearing them when she drank from the river, taking them off means she remembers everything. And then she sees her father, the original Don Quixote, who, at this point, has been stabbed with thousands of stakes and is sort of merged with the ferris wheel and the Golden Bough that Limbus Company seeks is stabbed into him as well, which is a whole nother can of worms we don't need to get into

Okay at this point Sancho declares her 200 years as Don Quixote to be a dream that has ended. She fucks off to go be with her father in the center of the dungeon that's formed due to the Golden Bough, and the LCB team, the rest of our protagonists, chase her. A few other things happen but she's mostly bitter and sad.

Old Don Quixote, in his 200 years of being trapped with his starving bloodfiend kindred who have stabbed him a thousand times, has decided that his dream is dead too. There is no way humans and bloodfiends can coexist. The amusement park would have never worked. What's important now is that he feeds his family.

Unfortunately, the LCB's other objective aside from obtaining the Golden Bough is to apprehend the creator of the amusement park- Don Quixote. Sancho, ever loyal, stands in their way. There's this really long battle and whole sequence where they eventually break through to her- they remind her she's never been alone (Bari, the knight, was answering every single letter Sancho wrote to her Fixer idols. don't ask how she's still around), they remind her that the dream is still alive, and even though her father no longer believes in it, it really did become hers. Sancho struggles with the idea that the past 200 years was just a dream- even though she remembers everything from before that now, she can't just forget what she did then. That was also her. There's a cool part of her battle theme where her introductory line from the beginning of the game is incorporated into the music but cuts off before she can say her name. Anyway eventually she decides she'll give moving on with her new friends, the LCB, a chance.

Which means now she's standing against the original Don Quixote. This is the battle where Hero plays. I wish I could get into battle mechanics but that would make this explanation wayyyyy too long. He fights them all, and he's so powerful that eventually he almost kills all of them (including the narrator, who revives all the others; if they die, it's over for good), but Sancho stands in his way. They do an awesome anime clash, with Sancho using an upgraded version of her personal EGO (there is a qte. this game does not do qtes. it's supposed to represent her no longer galloping alone on Rocinante, but together) and Sancho wins. Everything that happens after is no longer relevant to Hero but I'll tell you anyway, as Don Quixote lays dying, he dissolves the amusement park (literally. into blood rain), Sancho cries over him, decides to put back on Rocinante and become the "new" Don Quixote, the one the dream will live on within.

WITH THAT CONTEXT GO FORTH!!!

Also the boss fight itself is long as fuck so the mix made to emulate the in-game experience is 23 minutes long but I can show you the cutscene featuring the final clash (only 2 minutes long), which starts from the line "Stand up, gallop on" and is so fucking awesome and imo seeing what's happening during "I am my biggest fan, I am my biggest fan" is peak

This is the in-game mix if you want it lmao

[ai-art-thieves]

they're calling us ableist for pointing out ai art XD

Ok. Let me understand what's going on here

You try to alert someone about this, but it didn't go too well and now rjalker is demanding for a witchhunt for anyone that goes against crippled-peeper.

And I thought shit like this only happens on twitter....

Might as well clear my name and debunk the claims present here.

To clarify, transmisic is not a misspelling of transmisogynic. It is another word for "transphobic".

First of all, I had never interacted with crippled-peeper before I got the tip from anon. At all.

I never even heard of that user before in my life.

I probably bet that the users that rjalker claim to be ableist or transmisic have never heard of or interacted with crippled-peeper either.

Next point:

Let me answer rjalker's question with a question. Have you ever seen JPEG artifacts before?

And, more specifically, do you know the difference between ai pixel art and regular pixel art?

The fact that it don't show evidence/proof that the icon is not ai generated and shows examples of jpeg artifacting clearly shows that its post is a reactionary response. (I know this sentence structure sounds kind of weird, but I'm trying my best with the pronouns that I have been provided.)

Luckily, I can debunk that claim right away because I am quite familiar with pixel art myself.

I have done my fair share of sprite edits.

And before this user claims that I'm stealing another person's art, no. I am not. My main account is @magicalmysteryperson, and here is the proof.

Here's links to the pieces as well.

Now, with that out of the way, allow me to prove why rjalker's claims make no sense.

By redrawing the image from scratch. Here's the image.

here's the original, for reference

Already something is amiss.

There are a whole bunch of varying line weights and splotches that are considered by most sprite artists as serious faux pas.

Some parts of the image are blending with each other.

The gradients with both the floor and the wall are way too smooth for an image like this.

And the small leaves on the soil are an extremely big give away that the image was ai generated.

I am not demonizing the person for ai generating their icon.

Yes, ai art is bad, but some people do use it, even disabled artists.

I'm not going to demonize someone just because they play with that tool.

It's the dishonesty that is the main issue here.

Remember: their story behind this icon was that they made it over three years ago.

And their stance on AI on September 25th, 2024:

However, the claim that they made the image over three years ago is put into question when in 2021, 2022, and 2023, they had various other icons... as well as using ai art constantly.

The images in the latter two screenshots have not been archived by the wayback machine, and these posts have been scrubbed by the user. Again, everything prior to 2023 is scrubbed from the account.

I will also do what rjalker did and provide wayback machine links. here, and here, and here, and especially here.

Now, let's tackle the second claim: "It's JPEG compression".

Here's both the png and the jpeg files of the plant I drew.

Note that with the jpeg compression, you can also see that even though the image looks softer, there is still a form of pixelation. It's still made up of little squares, not rounded splotches.

You can simply look up "compression artifacts" and find that what's going on in crippled-peeper's image is not the result of jpeg compression artifacting.

If you want to see what my image looks like in a bigger form, here you go.

I have also did numerous forms of jpeg compression to see if I could replicate what crippled-peeper did.

I wasn't able to.

I just got more cronch and more pixels.

And before rjalker claims that the icon was an ai upscale of a jpeg...

I upscaled my own images on various sites to check if that claim even had any legs to stand on.

While some of the effects were present, it wasn't enough for me to replicate what crippled-peeper did unless I made the same thing with an ai image generator.

Until crippled-peeper has proof that the image was made over three years ago and made on a tablet in the hospital, the allegations presented here stand.

And please, do not harass rjalker.

I get that it made a post that, while it had the best intentions, was poorly researched and reactionary.

But I don't want that post to ruin its life.

I want that post to be used as a teachable moment.

To think before you type or post.

Don't let your gut control you. Just stop and think.

You don't want to post a call out post that completely backfires and hits you instead.

Not that it matters, they already blocked me.

[idiashroudshusband]

Loading… // Idia Shroud x Reader - Fluff

The dormitory of Ignihyde was silent, save for the soft hum of computer fans and the flickering glow of blue flames that danced in the darkness. It was past midnight—Idia’s favorite time of day. A time when he didn’t have to worry about forced social interactions or the suffocating expectations of the outside world.

And yet… tonight felt different.

You were sitting in his room, curled up on his bed, bathed in the soft neon glow of his monitors. One of Idia’s favorite animes was playing on a monitor, both of you watching it. Idia still couldn’t quite process how this happened. How you happened.

You, who somehow weren’t put off by his reclusive nature.

You, who laughed and payed attention at his ramblings about obscure game lore instead of getting bored.

You, who leaned close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo, making his heart rate skyrocket like he was facing a final boss with no HP left.

“Idia?” Your voice right next to him pulled him out of his spiral, and he jolted, nearly knocking over his energy drink.

“W-W-What?” He tugged his hoodie down over his face, soft pink flames sparking erratically at the tips. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like that! Critical damage to my heart gauge…”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your palm. “I’ve been here the whole time, you know.”

“Th-that’s even worse,” he muttered, burying his face deeper into his hood.

It had started with small things. You bringing him food when he forgot to eat (that wasnt just energy drinks and candy, though you did buy some for him on occasion), waiting for him outside the mandatory classes he had to attend, even when he insisted he was completley fine going alone, coaxing him out of his shell little by little. And now? Now you were in his personal space, sitting in his room, watching his favorite anime with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If this were an otome game, you’d definitely be on the true romance route, and that terrified him.

“…You okay?”

Idia stiffened when he felt your fingers brush against his wrist, hesitant but warm. He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to hide behind his screen where it was safe. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath and mumbled, “I just… I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Because I want to be?”

“That’s—” His brain short-circuited. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’m not exactly protagonist material. I’m not cool and confident like the other housewardens, I don’t do well in crowds, and I—” He hesitated. “I’m… kind of a pain to be around.”

You frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” He forced a laugh. “I mean, I literally have a stat debuff in social situations. If this were a dating sim, my affection points would be so low that I wouldn’t even unlock the friendship ending-”

“Idia.”

You said his name so softly, so gently, that it stopped him cold. Before he could spiral further, you scooted closer and took his hand in yours. His entire system crashed.

“I like you,” you said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Not in a ‘background NPC’ way, or in a ‘pity route’ way. Just… you.”

His throat clenched. His fingers twitched in your grasp, as if debating whether to hold on or pull away. The warmth of your touch, so foreign yet addicting, made his head spin.

“B-But…”

“No buts,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to be some overpowered anime protagonist. You’re you, and that’s more than enough. I like you for being you.”

Idia’s heart thudded against his ribs, his flames flickering a soft, pastel pink—his face dusted with a soft rosy blush. His mind still screamed that this had to be some elaborate dream, a rare gacha pull that he’d wake up from any second.

But then you smiled at him, patient and unwavering, and suddenly, for the first time in a long time… he didn’t mind the idea of stepping outside his comfort zone.

Just a little.

Maybe.

If it was with you.

I love writing silly cute fanfics about my favorite little guy <3333

[beldcm]

Charlotte's words made sense. Tatum had seen it firsthand while working for the brunette. Lies were so easily spread about the actress; rumours came out of nowhere, and people simply filled in the gaps when it came to parts of her life that weren't public. There was no escaping it. All Charlotte could do was ignore it and simply carry on with her life. Tatum figured that that was easier said than done—it always was. Before accepting the job offer, Tatum hadn't really taken much interest in Hollywood. The rich and famous wasn't a crowd they saw themselves mingling in. That, of course, changed quickly; they were essentially paid to do it. After seeing how Charlotte was treated, especially by her so-called fans, Tatum had a newfound respect for those in show business. 

"That's exactly what I'm doing," Tatum kept up the light-hearted banter. It was nice to see Charlotte relax. Tatum couldn't help but feel a sense of smugness; they hadn't seen Charlotte this calm and herself in a long time. There was no façade or false persona she needed to put on here. Tatum had seen the brunette at her worst, but God, was she captivating at her best. "Just next to all your appointments, I make sure to draw tiny little stick figures or short people accommodations that they will have to make. The best thing is, now that you know, it's not like you can reach to take the diary off of me." Most people wouldn't dare to tease their boss in this manner, and usually Tatum kept their comments tame. But there was something about this setting that changed the dynamic, at least for Tatum. Even though they weren't actually in a romantic relationship, somehow the pretending was starting to blur the professional lines.

"What?!" Tatum piped up in a playfully dramatic tone. "My services are great, thank you. In fact, they are the best, the talk of the town. I've never had any complaints about my services; you've just not experienced them properly." There had been an intentional, flirtatious hidden meaning behind their words. Now that they had been put out into the world, Tatum quickly hoped that Charlotte wouldn't catch on. Tatum shifted a little, arms awkwardly folding across their chest. They had allowed things to get a little too relaxed. At least Tatum could play it off as method acting; they wouldn't be acting like the assistant/boss if they were actually engaged.

"Of course you deserve it; everybody does." While Tatum wasn't a 'love at first sight' kind of person, they definitely believed in true love. There were people out there made for you; it was just, unfortunately, some went their entire lives without finding them. Tatum was picky. There was always something wrong with the person they dated, giving them the excuse to cut ties. There's no point in settling and being unhappy, they would say as friends would roll their eyes. Tatum figured that Charlotte had very different reasonings to be put off when it came to dating. "There's someone perfect out there for you, someone who can easily handle all the glitz and glamour of the rich and famous. Right now, that person is me, at least that's what we need people to believe." A part of Tatum felt a quick spark of both jealousy and protectiveness at the thought of Charlotte dating. Tatum immediately shut the lid on that thought, pushing it back to the dark depths of their brain to never see daylight again. 

"We can do that, but nothing flashy, not in this town. We can just host something small in the barn. All my family and friends will care about is if there's alcohol involved." The people in Tatum's life were simple with simple pleasures. Box wine and cheap beer were enough for them all to have a great night that went deep into the early hours. 

As Charlotte accepted the offer of drinks that evening, Tatum adjusted their posture, straightening their back. A genuine smile plastered over their face, "the difference is while this town isn't cute, you're not boring." There had been a compliment there that Tatum hoped Charlotte would catch on to. "You really don't want to know what I got up to as a teenager. We have to leave some things as a mystery in our relationship. Now, get ready because I'm taking you out." Tatum moved towards the closet, pulling out some clothes before they left the room. Leaving Charlotte alone to get ready in private.

After showering in the main bathroom and changing into a simple pair of pants and a casual shirt, Tatum was ready. Tatum headed downstairs, waiting for Charlotte so they could leave.

tatum's question took charlotte a little by surprise — no-one had asked her that before, how having her personal information out for the world to see was something she was use to. she shook her head, "not at all. i feel like people too easily build up this image and idea of me in their heads by what they read and what they see. i think they forget that i'm just a person too." it ran far deeper than just that but she didn't want to bore tatum with her personal insecurities and as easy as talking with them felt, this was still a professional working relationship. when she had set out to follow in the footsteps of her mother, fame was the last thing she had expected. it had all been quite the whirlwind for her and she was just along for the ride. at the end of the day, she loved what she did, interacting with audiences, discussing important topics and being able to be a positive influence on others.

with news of her engagement, came the news of her sexuality, something she'd kept hidden to anyone outside her inner circle but if she was to get married, even if for a visa, she didn't want to lie about that. as expected the reactions among older viewers had been mixed but at the same time, had never felt more supported by her community. she admired tatum for the way they handled being thrust into the spotlight and the tabloids knowing they were being spoken about. charlotte knew that there wasn't anyone more capable than tatum and they proved that over and over. playfully rolling her eyes, she laughed at them, "i knew it wasn't notes that you were writing down in your diary — it's filled with comments and jokes about my height but that's okay because i'm good at this game. you tall people don't scare me." in fact, it was quite the opposite and there was no denying that she hadn't taken notice of their height difference. there were a lot of things that charlie was starting to take notice of when it came to tatum but that was not something she was wanting to admit. the banter was fun and it was nice to be able to let herself enjoy conversing with her assistant the way she was.

"i'd be willing to negotiate if you were able to prove that your services are worth paying double for. i can't just be handing out that kind of money." charlotte did her best to keep a straight face before a dimpled smile broke out over her features as she looked over at them, "i was hoping to make a good impression, i don't know if avoiding eye contact will help me accomplish that." even though she was teasing, there was truth in her words. of course she wanted to make an impression on the woman, it was just who she was naturally and this unique situation didn't change that.

"it sounds like maybe you are the one that needed security." tatum's words about dating resonated so deeply with charlie, knowing all too well how much easier it was just not to date. to instead focus on her career. it had been hard for her to trust people's intentions, work out whether or not they were genuinely interested in who she was and not just who she was to the nation. "i agree, it is easier, it's so hard to find genuine people who want to put in the effort. i know my situation isn't exactly ideal for people but that doesn't mean i don't deserve to find happiness." charlotte's words had trailed off by the end of what she had to say, shrugging, her body becoming noticeably softer speaking of love. she was a hopeless romantic at heart, a part of her that she protected from the disappointment of being let down which felt like a shame knowing how much love she had to give someone.

at the mention of tatum's friends, charlotte perked up, a smile growing on her lips once more, "we could always throw an engagement celebration, they would be more than welcome to come along, i'd love to meet them, hear all of your embarrassing stories seeing as i can't look at your mother in the eye." buying her own engagement ring felt so wrong, an unnecessarily weight on her finger. she made sure that it was nothing like what she would actually want but big enough to seem believable, to be noticed by paps. she toyed with the ring as she listened to tatum's suggestion to go out causing her to smile as it hadn't been a suggestion she'd expected, an opportunity to let her hair down and maybe genuinely enjoy herself. "i'd really like that, tatum. small and boring can be cute, i mean look at me," she teased playfully, "i'm sure you had your fair share of fun here as a teenager and i'm sure we can find our own."

[vi-visected]

i see you as Liquid cat

very accurate considering the one time i’ve ever played uno i accidentally cheated my way to victory

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[arolesbianism]

I wanna take a crack at making some fake screenshot graphics for my Sif Odile duo loopers au but I do not feel confident enough in my ability to mimic isat's art style and I also have a crippling fear of drawing backgrounds

[britneyshakespeare]

i love hearing old ladies share about their vintage fashion doll collections. like doll collectors on social media skew very young bc duh it's social media but there's something extremely comforting about pre-internet era collectors sharing their knowledge and history.

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[himblebo]

God the joy I see every time one of my interpreters puts on their costume for the first time is unparalleled

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[synthetic-sonata]

really awesome day to think everythings going alright and then you wake up and get hit in the face twice in a row

[waywardsalt]

likely going to delete this later but i am like. is the three-branching og loz timeline confusing? or do people just say that bc they hate it

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

theres something so funny to me when hermits are talking about redstone and theyre like "and then theres an etho hopper clock here-"

like. of course they use etho hopper clocks, itd be weirder if they actively avoided using it, considering its like. a redstone thingy that is very useful and still works even after all this time, and from what i understand it was like. a pretty big deal in terms of useful things you could do with redstone back when he first made it because it opened up ways to do even more things with redstone

and like for the most part theyve probably been referring to that particular thing as an etho hopper clock for longer than theyve even known etho personally, considering the etho hopper clock predates his joining hermitcraft by at least 1-2 years, and several of the other hermits joining hermitcraft by even more. so of course they still call it that

on a related note, most of them likely had at least heard of etho before meeting him, even if they didnt personally watch him (tho i know some did) since he was an old school minecraft youtuber. like his original season 1 of "lets play minecraft" started when minecraft was so new it hadnt been officially released yet. literally back in minecraft alpha. he was a minecraft youtuber OG

so with those two points taken into consideration it completely makes sense that "etho hopper clock" is something ingrained into the terminology of anyone that does stuff with redstone somewhat regularly. theres no reason it wouldnt be

but when you put it into contrast with like. their actual interactions with etho. it kind of cracks me up???

its like. in my head the vibes are this: imagine building something and being like "okay guys, for this machine we need to use an archimedes screw, which is named of course after its inventor archimedes, a man so genius that to this day he is regarded as one of the most brilliant inventors and mathematicians to ever walk this earth" and then like thirty minutes later you go to a restaurant and you see archimedes, of classic antiquity fame, trying to eat a sandwich but the ingredients keep falling out in increasingly comedic manners. so you of course call him pathetic to his face, and then ask if he wants to try out your new totally-not-a-scam product that you carry on you at all times for opportunities like these. and for some reason he doesnt just say yes, but buys two

[hoshifighting]

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. 

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bossware is unfair (in the legal sense, too)

You can get into a lot of trouble by assuming that rich people know what they're doing. For example, might assume that ad-tech works – bypassing peoples' critical faculties, reaching inside their minds and brainwashing them with Big Data insights, because if that's not what's happening, then why would rich people pour billions into those ads?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/06/surveillance-tulip-bulbs/#adtech-bubble

You might assume that private equity looters make their investors rich, because otherwise, why would rich people hand over trillions for them to play with?

https://thenextrecession.wordpress.com/2024/11/19/private-equity-vampire-capital/

The truth is, rich people are suckers like the rest of us. If anything, succeeding once or twice makes you an even bigger mark, with a sense of your own infallibility that inflates to fill the bubble your yes-men seal you inside of.

Rich people fall for scams just like you and me. Anyone can be a mark. I was:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

But though rich people can fall for scams the same way you and I do, the way those scams play out is very different when the marks are wealthy. As Keynes had it, "The market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent." When the marks are rich (or worse, super-rich), they can be played for much longer before they go bust, creating the appearance of solidity.

Noted Keynesian John Kenneth Galbraith had his own thoughts on this. Galbraith coined the term "bezzle" to describe "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In that magic interval, everyone feels better off: the mark thinks he's up, and the con artist knows he's up.

Rich marks have looong bezzles. Empirically incorrect ideas grounded in the most outrageous superstition and junk science can take over whole sections of your life, simply because a rich person – or rich people – are convinced that they're good for you.

Take "scientific management." In the early 20th century, the con artist Frederick Taylor convinced rich industrialists that he could increase their workers' productivity through a kind of caliper-and-stopwatch driven choreographry:

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

Taylor and his army of labcoated sadists perched at the elbows of factory workers (whom Taylor referred to as "stupid," "mentally sluggish," and as "an ox") and scripted their motions to a fare-the-well, transforming their work into a kind of kabuki of obedience. They weren't more efficient, but they looked smart, like obedient robots, and this made their bosses happy. The bosses shelled out fortunes for Taylor's services, even though the workers who followed his prescriptions were less efficient and generated fewer profits. Bosses were so dazzled by the spectacle of a factory floor of crisply moving people interfacing with crisply working machines that they failed to understand that they were losing money on the whole business.

To the extent they noticed that their revenues were declining after implementing Taylorism, they assumed that this was because they needed more scientific management. Taylor had a sweet con: the worse his advice performed, the more reasons their were to pay him for more advice.

Taylorism is a perfect con to run on the wealthy and powerful. It feeds into their prejudice and mistrust of their workers, and into their misplaced confidence in their own ability to understand their workers' jobs better than their workers do. There's always a long dollar to be made playing the "scientific management" con.

Today, there's an app for that. "Bossware" is a class of technology that monitors and disciplines workers, and it was supercharged by the pandemic and the rise of work-from-home. Combine bossware with work-from-home and your boss gets to control your life even when in your own place – "work from home" becomes "live at work":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Gig workers are at the white-hot center of bossware. Gig work promises "be your own boss," but bossware puts a Taylorist caliper wielder into your phone, monitoring and disciplining you as you drive your wn car around delivering parcels or picking up passengers.

In automation terms, a worker hitched to an app this way is a "reverse centaur." Automation theorists call a human augmented by a machine a "centaur" – a human head supported by a machine's tireless and strong body. A "reverse centaur" is a machine augmented by a human – like the Amazon delivery driver whose app goads them to make inhuman delivery quotas while punishing them for looking in the "wrong" direction or even singing along with the radio:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

Bossware pre-dates the current AI bubble, but AI mania has supercharged it. AI pumpers insist that AI can do things it positively cannot do – rolling out an "autonomous robot" that turns out to be a guy in a robot suit, say – and rich people are groomed to buy the services of "AI-powered" bossware:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

For an AI scammer like Elon Musk or Sam Altman, the fact that an AI can't do your job is irrelevant. From a business perspective, the only thing that matters is whether a salesperson can convince your boss that an AI can do your job – whether or not that's true:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

The fact that AI can't do your job, but that your boss can be convinced to fire you and replace you with the AI that can't do your job, is the central fact of the 21st century labor market. AI has created a world of "algorithmic management" where humans are demoted to reverse centaurs, monitored and bossed about by an app.

The techbro's overwhelming conceit is that nothing is a crime, so long as you do it with an app. Just as fintech is designed to be a bank that's exempt from banking regulations, the gig economy is meant to be a workplace that's exempt from labor law. But this wheeze is transparent, and easily pierced by enforcers, so long as those enforcers want to do their jobs. One such enforcer is Alvaro Bedoya, an FTC commissioner with a keen interest in antitrust's relationship to labor protection.

Bedoya understands that antitrust has a checkered history when it comes to labor. As he's written, the history of antitrust is a series of incidents in which Congress revised the law to make it clear that forming a union was not the same thing as forming a cartel, only to be ignored by boss-friendly judges:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Bedoya is no mere historian. He's an FTC Commissioner, one of the most powerful regulators in the world, and he's profoundly interested in using that power to help workers, especially gig workers, whose misery starts with systemic, wide-scale misclassification as contractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/02/upward-redistribution/

In a new speech to NYU's Wagner School of Public Service, Bedoya argues that the FTC's existing authority allows it to crack down on algorithmic management – that is, algorithmic management is illegal, even if you break the law with an app:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-remarks-unfairness-in-workplace-surveillance-and-automated-management.pdf

Bedoya starts with a delightful analogy to The Hawtch-Hawtch, a mythical town from a Dr Seuss poem. The Hawtch-Hawtch economy is based on beekeeping, and the Hawtchers develop an overwhelming obsession with their bee's laziness, and determine to wring more work (and more honey) out of him. So they appoint a "bee-watcher." But the bee doesn't produce any more honey, which leads the Hawtchers to suspect their bee-watcher might be sleeping on the job, so they hire a bee-watcher-watcher. When that doesn't work, they hire a bee-watcher-watcher-watcher, and so on and on.

For gig workers, it's bee-watchers all the way down. Call center workers are subjected to "AI" video monitoring, and "AI" voice monitoring that purports to measure their empathy. Another AI times their calls. Two more AIs analyze the "sentiment" of the calls and the success of workers in meeting arbitrary metrics. On average, a call-center worker is subjected to five forms of bossware, which stand at their shoulders, marking them down and brooking no debate.

For example, when an experienced call center operator fielded a call from a customer with a flooded house who wanted to know why no one from her boss's repair plan system had come out to address the flooding, the operator was punished by the AI for failing to try to sell the customer a repair plan. There was no way for the operator to protest that the customer had a repair plan already, and had called to complain about it.

Workers report being sickened by this kind of surveillance, literally – stressed to the point of nausea and insomnia. Ironically, one of the most pervasive sources of automation-driven sickness are the "AI wellness" apps that bosses are sold by AI hucksters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/15/wellness-taylorism/#sick-of-spying

The FTC has broad authority to block "unfair trade practices," and Bedoya builds the case that this is an unfair trade practice. Proving an unfair trade practice is a three-part test: a practice is unfair if it causes "substantial injury," can't be "reasonably avoided," and isn't outweighed by a "countervailing benefit." In his speech, Bedoya makes the case that algorithmic management satisfies all three steps and is thus illegal.

On the question of "substantial injury," Bedoya describes the workday of warehouse workers working for ecommerce sites. He describes one worker who is monitored by an AI that requires him to pick and drop an object off a moving belt every 10 seconds, for ten hours per day. The worker's performance is tracked by a leaderboard, and supervisors punish and scold workers who don't make quota, and the algorithm auto-fires if you fail to meet it.

Under those conditions, it was only a matter of time until the worker experienced injuries to two of his discs and was permanently disabled, with the company being found 100% responsible for this injury. OSHA found a "direct connection" between the algorithm and the injury. No wonder warehouses sport vending machines that sell painkillers rather than sodas. It's clear that algorithmic management leads to "substantial injury."

What about "reasonably avoidable?" Can workers avoid the harms of algorithmic management? Bedoya describes the experience of NYC rideshare drivers who attended a round-table with him. The drivers describe logging tens of thousands of successful rides for the apps they work for, on promise of "being their own boss." But then the apps start randomly suspending them, telling them they aren't eligible to book a ride for hours at a time, sending them across town to serve an underserved area and still suspending them. Drivers who stop for coffee or a pee are locked out of the apps for hours as punishment, and so drive 12-hour shifts without a single break, in hopes of pleasing the inscrutable, high-handed app.

All this, as drivers' pay is falling and their credit card debts are mounting. No one will explain to drivers how their pay is determined, though the legal scholar Veena Dubal's work on "algorithmic wage discrimination" reveals that rideshare apps temporarily increase the pay of drivers who refuse rides, only to lower it again once they're back behind the wheel:

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

This is like the pit boss who gives a losing gambler some freebies to lure them back to the table, over and over, until they're broke. No wonder they call this a "casino mechanic." There's only two major rideshare apps, and they both use the same high-handed tactics. For Bedoya, this satisfies the second test for an "unfair practice" – it can't be reasonably avoided. If you drive rideshare, you're trapped by the harmful conduct.

The final prong of the "unfair practice" test is whether the conduct has "countervailing value" that makes up for this harm.

To address this, Bedoya goes back to the call center, where operators' performance is assessed by "Speech Emotion Recognition" algorithms, a psuedoscientific hoax that purports to be able to determine your emotions from your voice. These SERs don't work – for example, they might interpret a customer's laughter as anger. But they fail differently for different kinds of workers: workers with accents – from the American south, or the Philippines – attract more disapprobation from the AI. Half of all call center workers are monitored by SERs, and a quarter of workers have SERs scoring them "constantly."

Bossware AIs also produce transcripts of these workers' calls, but workers with accents find them "riddled with errors." These are consequential errors, since their bosses assess their performance based on the transcripts, and yet another AI produces automated work scores based on them.

In other words, algorithmic management is a procession of bee-watchers, bee-watcher-watchers, and bee-watcher-watcher-watchers, stretching to infinity. It's junk science. It's not producing better call center workers. It's producing arbitrary punishments, often against the best workers in the call center.

There is no "countervailing benefit" to offset the unavoidable substantial injury of life under algorithmic management. In other words, algorithmic management fails all three prongs of the "unfair practice" test, and it's illegal.

What should we do about it? Bedoya builds the case for the FTC acting on workers' behalf under its "unfair practice" authority, but he also points out that the lack of worker privacy is at the root of this hellscape of algorithmic management.

He's right. The last major update Congress made to US privacy law was in 1988, when they banned video-store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented. The US is long overdue for a new privacy regime, and workers under algorithmic management are part of a broad coalition that's closer than ever to making that happen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Workers should have the right to know which of their data is being collected, who it's being shared by, and how it's being used. We all should have that right. That's what the actors' strike was partly motivated by: actors who were being ordered to wear mocap suits to produce data that could be used to produce a digital double of them, "training their replacement," but the replacement was a deepfake.

With a Trump administration on the horizon, the future of the FTC is in doubt. But the coalition for a new privacy law includes many of Trumpland's most powerful blocs – like Jan 6 rioters whose location was swept up by Google and handed over to the FBI. A strong privacy law would protect their Fourth Amendment rights – but also the rights of BLM protesters who experienced this far more often, and with far worse consequences, than the insurrectionists.

The "we do it with an app, so it's not illegal" ruse is wearing thinner by the day. When you have a boss for an app, your real boss gets an accountability sink, a convenient scapegoat that can be blamed for your misery.

The fact that this makes you worse at your job, that it loses your boss money, is no guarantee that you will be spared. Rich people make great marks, and they can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent. Markets won't solve this one – but worker power can.

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

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