#non-profit organization for the blind

[yanyandam]

𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙏 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏

Chapter One: "World"

Bonten!Kokonoi Hajime x Fem! Reader

-W𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡: 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧��𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬.

>> reader is a hostess, Reader works in a strip club, Koko is an asshole at first, Koko is hella arrogant, No use of second person ("You"), Reader is mentionned with 3rd person, fem!reader -Non-Graphic Smut, Eventual Smut, Angst, Lots of Angst, Bits of fluff, Mention of the reader's father at first (he's not very present in the story), shared trauma

12/09/2017

Bonten was the most dangerous and influential criminal organization in all of Japan, maybe Asia.

 A sprawling syndicate with hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of members, it controlled the country’s largest arms trade, drug networks, and prostitution rings. But those were just the surface of its operations. Behind closed doors, bloody vendettas were settled with ruthless efficiency, and its tendrils reached deep into the political sphere, weaving alliances with conservative parties that turned a blind eye in exchange for favors. Their symbol was unmistakable, tattooed onto the skin of every single member.

And at the top of it all stood the one they called the Invincible Mikey.

Just beneath him, a pantheon of legends. Men who had once ruled the streets during the golden era of the bosozoku. Their names still carried weight. The Haitani brothers of Roppongi, their elegance masking a savagery that few had ever lived to tell of. Kakucho, known as ‘Hitto,’ the embodiment of unwavering loyalty, a fighting machine. They were ghosts in the city, seldom seen but always felt. Their presence was undeniable, their influence woven into the very fabric of Japan itself.

Because Bonten was not just a criminal empire. Bonten was Japan.

Bonten’s empire stretched far beyond the shadows. It reigned over dozens of establishments: clubs, high-end restaurants, and, of course, an elite circle of executives. Among them, one name stood out: the Money God, Hajime Kokonoi.

No one mastered the art of capital like he did. A financial genius, a man who seemed less like a strategist and more like the very embodiment of profit itself. Unlike others in the organization, he was not feared for brute strength or combat prowess, yet he remained one of Bonten’s most dangerous weapons. Power came in many forms, and his was corruption; an ability to twist, buy, and control anything and anyone with nothing more than numbers on a balance sheet.

Because when you understand money, you don’t just hold power. You own the world.

But don’t mistake him for a man driven by wealth. He did not love money. No, Kokonoi was money.

His talent was not a gift; it was the product of a past carved in loss. But that story? That’s one everyone already knows, don’t they?

Kokonoi wasn’t married, unlike some of his colleagues. He never saw the point, especially when most of them spent their nights tangled up with hostesses, only to return home to a wife they barely respected. He found the whole thing pathetic. Yet, unlike the others, he carried a curse far worse than infidelity: he still believed in love.

But didn’t chase it. Just knew it was possible. Love didn’t fill bank accounts. So why chase a paradox that had no place in his world?

That didn’t mean he deprived himself. Every now and then, he indulged, booking the most luxurious hotel suites money could buy. It was a simple transaction, one that his wealth and status afforded him without question. But he had no interest in spoiling the women who warmed his bed. He never faked affection, never whispered sweet lies.

Because what was the point? He didn’t love them.

And Hajime Kokonoi was many things, but he was not a liar. He just never spotted the entire truth.

It was a night like any other at one of Bonten’s clubs: a strip club in disguise, masquerading as an upscale hostess lounge. Technically, nothing about it was illegal, but registering it for what it truly was? That would’ve been far more expensive. So, like most things in Bonten’s world, the truth was neatly buried under a more palatable illusion.

Beyond the velvet ropes, past the neon haze and the scent of expensive perfume, the club doubled as a crucial HQ, a place where deals were made over whiskey and promises. Tonight was no different.

Hajime Kokonoi sat in the VIP section, legs crossed, fingers idly tapping against the rim of his untouched glass. He was waiting for some old bastard to show up, another businessman who needed an executive’s signature to finalize a deal. He understood the importance of it. A partnership with a major alcohol distributor meant serious money. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the ass.

His gaze drifted downward to the stage. The dancers moved in fluid, practiced motions, their eyes scanning the crowd for high-rollers, for the kind of men who would drop a small fortune just for a few moments of feigned attention. One girl, in particular, was putting in extra effort. He could tell.

Maybe it was because of the Bonten emblem tattooed on the side of her head, a silent pledge of loyalty that left her with no choice but to please. Or maybe it was because of him.

Draped in a deep red luxury suit, silver hair falling effortlessly around sharp, piercing eyes, Kokonoi looked every bit the king he knew he was. 

He couldn’t deny it, the dancer was fucking stunning. And not just tits and ass. There was something in the way she moved, a precision that turned every motion into something close to poetry.

Her nudity wasn’t even refined, he thought. It was raw. Undiluted.

Hajime watched her for a while, elbows resting on his knee, fingers lazily rolling the base of his whiskey glass. That was the thing about places like this: you could watch a bitch like she was yours. Like no one else in the room mattered. Like no other man could touch her, fuck her, own her.

And yet, the brutal truth? A few bills were all it took. A little cash, and the illusion shattered. Strip her bare, take the name she was born with, the girl she once was, turn her into nothing more than a bitch to be fucked and forgotten.

That’s how it worked. That’s what they were.

But he wasn’t delusional. He didn’t pretend. He knew what money did, what it could buy. And he was money.

After what felt like an eternity, the old bastard finally showed up. Hajime didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. He exhaled slowly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before leveling the man with an unimpressed gaze. “Took you long enough.” His tone was sharp, dismissive, the words dripping with quiet disdain. He didn’t even look at the old man at first, only shifting his gaze when the guy hesitated before finally sitting down.

The man, late fifties, maybe sixties, was trying to keep his composure, but Hajime could see right through him. The stiffness in his shoulders, the way he adjusted his outdated but expensive suit, the slight twitch of his fingers before he neatly folded them on the table. He was nervous. And he had every damn reason to be. 

“Yes, yes, excuse me…” the old man muttered, voice just a little too eager to appease.

Hajime smirked, leaning back against the plush leather of the booth. The neon lights of the club flickered against the polished table, the distant bass thrumming beneath his feet. The dancer he’d been watching earlier was still moving, twisting under the glow of artificial light, but his attention had shifted elsewhere. “Keep your excuses. I’m not a whore.” His voice was smooth, slow, deliberate. “Let’s talk about the contract.”

The old man cleared his throat, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a neatly stacked pile of documents. His hands weren’t visibly shaking, not yet, at least, but Hajime noticed the extra second he took to straighten the papers before pushing them forward. “Everything is in order,” the man said carefully. “Deliveries will begin next week. We’ve secured partnerships with several distributors, but to ensure the volumes you requested, we’ll need—”

Hajime lifted a hand, cutting him off. He picked up the contract lazily, his gaze skimming the pages with barely any interest before letting them drop back onto the table with a dull thud. “You think I have time to read this shit?” He raised an eyebrow, mockery dripping from his words. “You get my signature when I decide you’re worth it. Not before.”

A muscle in the old man’s jaw twitched, but he swallowed whatever insult was clawing at his throat. He wasn’t stupid. No one pushed a Bonten executive.

“Of course,” he replied, forcing a tight smile. “I only wanted to ensure everything was clear between us.”

Hajime clicked his tongue, lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Oh, it’s clear. Crystal clear.” He paused, eyes locked on the man, who was carefully avoiding his gaze. “You want our influence. You want Bonten’s name on your bottles, so your little business becomes untouchable.” Another pause. He leaned in slightly, just enough to watch the way the old man’s breath hitched. “And I want you to stop wasting my fucking time.”

Silence.

The man stiffly nodded, obedient.

Hajime took a slow sip of his drink, letting the silence stretch between them, then exhaled, his smirk widening as he spoke.

“You seem pretty comfortable for a man whose biological daughter is dancing half-naked just a few meters away.” His tone was smooth, almost amused. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

The old man froze. His face lost its color as his wide eyes snapped to Hajime, panic flickering beneath the surface. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Hajime tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh? You didn’t think I’d do my research before signing a deal with you?” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the words hit deeper. “Turns out, you recently found out you’re the father of one of these little sluts.” He gestured lazily toward the stage without even looking. “All thanks to some messy little affair you had in ’91 with a hostess whose pregnancy you never knew about. And now, look at you! Sending her money every month, playing the good Samaritan from the shadows.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was scolding a child. “Disgusting.”

The old man swallowed thickly, his breath uneven. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried, but his voice wavered. Weak.

Hajime chuckled. “Oh, come on. You really think you can bullshit me?” He traced the rim of his glass with his finger before continuing, his tone turning sharper. “Tell me, why not just…oh, I don’t know, tell her the fucking truth? Pull her out of this shithole? Get her away from this world?”

He gestured lazily to their surroundings, the neon haze, the bodies moving under dim lights, the stench of alcohol and greed filling the air. “This place is a fucking slaughterhouse for girls like her. A life after midnight that gets men like you rock hard because it lets you forget your pathetic little problems. And yet, you let her stay.” He let the words sink in before adding, with mock sympathy, “Oh… wait. That wouldn’t be profitable, would it?”

The old man’s breathing was ragged now. His fingers curled into fists against the table. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Hajime arched an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “Or maybe I just know you better than you know yourself.”

The man looked like he wanted to lunge across the table, but he didn’t dare. He wouldn’t. Not here. Not against him.

Hajime leaned back, stretching slightly before letting out a mocking sigh. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna let her keep spreading her legs for every rich bastard who walks through those doors? Or are you hoping she ends up just like her mother?” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. “Maybe you’re even hoping for a prince charming to knock her up and let history repeat itself. Wouldn’t that be poetic?”

The old man shot up from his seat, his chair scraping against the floor as he glared down at Hajime. “You little—”

Hajime didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just grinned. “What? We’re just having fun, aren’t we?”

The man’s face was red with fury, but he didn’t say another word. He knew better than to make a scene. His jaw tightened, his hands trembling slightly as he straightened his suit. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the VIP section. 

Hajime watched him go, utterly unbothered. Then, he reached for his drink, taking a slow, satisfied sip before mumbling to himself with a smirk—

“What a fucking joke.”

—

It had been about a week since that night at the club, and Hajime Kokonoi was seething in his office.

The leather chair creaked slightly as he leaned back, eyes locked onto the document on his desk, the contract termination notice. His jaw clenched, fingers tapping impatiently against the polished wood.

That old bastard had backed out. At the very last fucking minute.

Hajime himself had personally allocated resources, shifted capital, rerouted assets, pulled strings with bastards who didn’t like to wait. And now? Now there was a gaping hole in the revenue pipeline, a missing percentage that would have to be covered. By whom? By what? It wasn’t just a matter of money lost, it was money wasted. Capital that could’ve been reinvested into other high-yield ventures was now locked into a failed agreement. Worse, the sudden withdrawal of a business partner created market instability, the kind that could make other investors hesitant, the kind that chipped away at Bonten’s illusion of invincibility. That was unacceptable.

Kokonoi didn’t know what had finally scared him off. His little guilty conscience, or the fact that he’d realized what kind of game he was playing. Either way, he had pulled out, and Bonten had lost money. A lot of it. The deal had been profitable as hell. The alcohol distribution network was tight, clean, and already established. The profits had been estimated in the hundreds of millions. And now? Now that deal was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Unacceptable.

Across from him, one of his men stood stiffly, waiting for orders. He hesitated before speaking.

“Koko-kun, do you want me to take care of him? Directly?”

Kokonoi exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples before responding. “Not yet.” His voice was low, tight with restrained fury. “I can’t let him walk away feeling like he made the right choice.”

The man frowned. “But if we let him live–”

Kokonoi’s gaze snapped up, sharp and cold. “Who the fuck said anything about letting him live?”

The man stiffened. “I—I just meant, if we wait too long—”

Kokonoi clicked his tongue, silencing him. “If we kill him now, it’s easy. It’s clean. Too clean.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice dropping even lower. “Do you have any fucking idea how much we lost because of this?”

The man swallowed, but didn’t speak. He knew better.

“That contract was worth billions in long-term revenue. Not just from alcohol sales, but from political leverage, real estate, smuggling routes. We had a goddamn empire built into that deal, and now? Now I have to explain to Mikey why it went to shit.”

The thought alone made his blood boil.

“That old fuck thinks this is over. Thinks he can just run back to his sad little life and pretend Bonten never touched him. But I’ll make sure he remembers.” Kokonoi’s fingers curled into a fist. “I’ll take everything from him.”

‘But what everything?’ he thought. The old man had nothing but himself. And that slut of a daughter…

Silence settled between them, heavy and charged. Then, in a casual tone, Kokonoi finally spoke again. “Find out everything about his assets. His real estate, his suppliers, his family. I want to know where every yen of his goes.” He leaned back, exhaling through his nose, the anger settling into something calmer. Something colder.

—

The club was suffocating tonight.

A thick haze of smoke lingered in the air, clinging to the velvet walls and cheap perfume of the girls weaving through the crowd. The bass was low, steady, a dull throb that rattled in Hajime’s ribcage as he stepped inside. He didn’t rush. He never rushed.

Tonight wasn’t business.

Tonight was about the girl.

The plan was simple. Take her. Fuck her. Destroy her. Kill her, preferably right in front of her old man. Make him watch. Make him understand exactly how badly he fucked up. It wasn’t just about the contract anymore. That bastard had been in debt to Bonten long before this little scandal. This? This was just the final nail in the coffin. He had dug his own grave, and Hajime was more than happy to bury him in it. Twenty million yen. That was the number. The amount that wrinkled old shit owed them. Did they make him pay it off in blood first, or did they let him sweat: make him watch as his dirty little secret was used and ruined before they slit her throat?

Hajime hadn’t decided yet.

But the mere thought of getting his revenge made his pulse hum with excitement. This was personal now.

Some things, you left to the grunts. The dumb muscle. The ones who barely knew how to count the money they broke bones for. But Kokonoi wanted to handle this himself. Personally.

Because money was his business. And if you tried to fuck with his business, then he would fuck you right back. Only, unlike that old bastard, he finished the job.

She wasn’t on stage. No bright lights casting her into a fragile illusion of allure. No hungry men stuffing bills into her hands. No rehearsed smiles. Just her. Somewhere in this room. He walked slowly through the club, letting his presence ripple through the space like oil spilling over water. He could feel the eyes on him, some of the girls whispering, some of the men shifting uncomfortably at the sight of his crimson silk jacket, the insignia of Bonten stitched onto his head like a warning.

No one approached him. No one dared.

He didn’t need muscle to clear a path. He was the fucking muscle.

The bartender, a man in his forties with a sunken face and a shirt too tight around his stomach, recognized him immediately. He tensed up but nodded in respect.

“Koko-kun. Welcome.”

Hajime barely glanced at him. “The girl,” he said, voice smooth, quiet, but firm. The bartender took a moment to understand. Ah yeah, that terrible story…The contract…He hesitated for a second too long. Hajime didn’t like that.

His fingers drummed against the bar once, a slow, lazy rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The man swallowed. “She’s over there.” He gestured with his chin.

Hajime turned his head, following the direction. And then. There she was.

Perched at the end of the bar, a cigarette between her fingers, head tilted slightly as she exhaled a slow stream of smoke. Her lips parted just slightly, lazily, like she had all the time in the world to ruin her lungs.

Not painted in glitter. Just a black dress clinging to her shoulders, bare legs crossed as she swirled the whiskey in her glass, the ice clicking softly against the glass.

Hajime already knew everything about her. Twenty-six years old. Been working in the club for six years. No family…except, well. He smirked to himself. She wouldn’t know about that.

She didn’t look fragile. If anything, she looked unbothered. Detached. As if the world could collapse around her, and she’d simply take another drag of her cigarette and wait for the dust to settle. Yet there was something that made everything softer.

His footsteps were soft against the polished floor as he moved toward her.

One step. Then another. No rush. No need.

By the time she noticed him, he was already too close to ignore.

Her eyes flicked up, scanning him lazily, as if trying to decide whether he was worth acknowledging.

Hajime smiled. 

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable at first. Maybe she thought he was just another rich bastard in an expensive suit, looking for a way to waste his money on booze and flesh.

But then, she really saw him.

Her grip on the cigarette tightened. Just a fraction. But Hajime noticed. The realization flickered in her eyes, slow but certain. Bonten.

And it was already too late.

The moment fear settled in, the moment her breath hitched just slightly, he knew.

She was terrified.

Good.

The neon lights above the bar painted her skin in soft shades of pink and violet, but they couldn’t hide the way she stiffened, the way she suddenly sat up a little straighter. He could see her mind working, trying to figure out why the hell a high-ranking member of Bonten was standing in front of her. Did she fuck up? Was she getting fired? Or was it something worse?

Hajime chuckled lowly, tilting his head just enough to let her feel his amusement. “Relax,” he murmured, voice smooth, almost gentle, almost. He pulled out the barstool next to hers and took a seat, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. The club pulsed around them, thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Laughter echoed from dark corners, hushed conversations slithering between the bass of the music. But at this moment, at this table, there was only them.

Hajime Kokonoi sat lazily, one arm draped over the back of his seat, his expensive clothing barely creasing as he leaned forward just enough to inspect her. His gaze raked over her like she was nothing, like she was an object, a transaction.

He smirked, slow and cold. “Nice dress. Yves Saint Laurent.”

The girl blinked at him, her features smooth and unreadable. But he saw the flicker of something underneath, something cautious. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before slipping on her well-rehearsed mask. A pretty smile, a soft gaze. The kind of expression that had kept her alive in a world that chewed girls up and spat them out before dawn. “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was syrupy sweet, perfectly measured.

He tilted his head, his sharp eyes gleaming under the dim neon glow. “That dress wasn’t provided by the club, though.” He tapped his fingers against the table, a slow calculated rhythm. “Too expensive. Why waste money dressing up the merchandise when it’s just going to get ripped off after midnight?” His tone was light, casual even, as if he was discussing the weather. But the disdain dripped from every syllable.

The girl didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a soft, practiced laugh. The kind of laugh that made men believe they were charming. “You’re right,” she admitted smoothly. “It wasn’t the club.”

Hajime feigned curiosity. “You didn’t buy it either. That much is obvious.” He smirked, his voice like silk laced with venom. “You can’t afford it.”

She nodded, still holding her polite little smile. “That’s true. It was a gift. From a client.”

His smirk deepened. He loved this game.

“Oh? A lover? A sugar daddy, maybe? Where is he now?”

There was a brief pause. Just a flicker of hesitation before she answered, her voice still sweet, still careful. “No. Just a loyal client. He died.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow. “Ah. A casualty of business, I assume?”

She gave a small, indifferent shrug. “A turf war. A hit. Who knows? These things happen.” She said it with such calm detachment, like death was nothing more than another item on the menu.

Hajime chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Of course. You’re versatile, aren’t you? Sometimes a dancer, sometimes a hostess, but always a whore.”

His words were a knife, sharp and deliberate. Cruel, but not emotional. Just an observation. A fact.

She smiled: small, poised. The way a servant smiles at a king.

He leaned forward now, closing the distance just enough to let her feel the weight of his presence. His voice dropped just slightly, still smooth, still dangerous.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

She blinked at him.

“You’re pretty. You bring in good money as long as you stay fuckable and breathing.” His fingers traced the rim of his untouched glass. “And most importantly, alive.”

The girl exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl lazily into the air between them before meeting his gaze again.

“Smoking kills,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. Then, with the faintest hint of something that might have been defiance, or maybe just resignation, she added, “Living does too. So I might as well ruin myself on my own terms.”

For the first time that night, Hajime actually laughed. Shame she wouldn’t last long.

Hajime exhaled slowly, letting the air settle between them, his gaze dripping with condescension as he let his eyes roam over her. He didn’t bother hiding it. He never did. “Good one.” His voice was smooth, low, laced with something almost mocking as he tilted his head slightly. “Alright, let’s not dance around it. I want you tonight.”

She didn’t react at first. Just a blink, a flicker of something careful behind her practiced expression. But then she slipped back into character, that same polite mask she had perfected years ago. “You’re an executive,” she said, her voice feather-light, like she wasn’t about to walk on knives. “What brings someone of your rank to a club like this? And for me, no less?”

Hajime clicked his tongue, rolling his neck as if the question itself was exhausting.

“Don’t piss me off with stupid questions, sweetheart.” His tone was still calm, but there was an edge to it now. A warning. “You’ve got a reputation. I like to verify things myself.”

She hummed softly, pretending to be flattered, pretending like she wasn’t already mapping the quickest way out of this conversation. “Oh? Really?”

Hajime’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t get cocky.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “See, I signed. Which means I can do whatever the fuck I want. You might have men at your feet, but I have the world at the tip of my pen.”

How disgusting.

She said nothing. Just let the words sit there, sinking into the space between them like a poison she had no choice but to swallow. Hajime chuckled, leaning back as he studied her reaction, or rather, her lack of one. His smirk deepened. “I hear you’ve got a sharp tongue. Your blowjobs are practically wordplay.” He laughed at his own remark, a low, lazy sound, amused at his own filth.

“So much money, so little love… But hey—” He tapped his temple lightly, as if sharing a secret. “Professional secrecy. Shhh. This stays between us.” He laughed again, it all felt so cold.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and expensive perfume, a mix of sweat and desperation clinging to the velvet-lined walls of the club. The low hum of jazz-laced lounge music barely masked the occasional moans slipping from behind closed doors, where men of power spent their nights indulging in whatever they could afford.

He exhaled slowly, watching her, waiting. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. He had seen it before, this moment of realization. When they understood that no matter how much they played the game, they would always be at the mercy of men like him.

Hajime fed on that understanding.

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair before tilting his head at her with that same lazy smirk. “What, you want me to get on my knees and beg or something?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “C’mon, let’s move. VIP rooms are upstairs… but oh, I don’t have to teach you that, do I?”

She hesitated. Not because she was new to this, but because of him. His words, his tone, the way he didn’t even try to hide how fucking brutal he was.

Hajime caught it immediately. He lived for that hesitation. His smirk widened, but his gaze remained sharp, cruel. “What’s wrong? Scared?” His laugh was low, taunting. He leaned in just a bit, his presence suffocating as he murmured, “Oh, let me guess. You wanted something more romantic? A countryside love story?” Then, with a sharp, biting laugh, he added, “You’d rather I bend you over a haystack and fuck you under the stars?”

She swallowed hard, forcing a small, trained smile, but he could see the stiffness in her fingers as she brushed her hair back. She was good at this game, but he was better. Without waiting for a response, Hajime turned on his heel and started toward the VIP rooms, expecting her to follow. The club’s heavy bass thrummed beneath his feet as he moved, his expensive loafers clicking against the polished floor. The dim, red-tinted lighting cast long shadows, giving the space a dark, almost underworldly glow.

The other girls, the staff, the security, they all watched. Not openly, of course. Nobody in their right mind would stare directly at Hajime Kokonoi. But he could feel their eyes, their silent acknowledgment of who he was and what was about to happen.

She followed. Of course, she did.

They always did.

The VIP room was drowned in low, amber lighting, the kind designed to make sins feel softer, more acceptable. The walls were lined with velvet, deep crimson like the color of fresh blood, and a faint trace of perfume, expensive, floral, but cheapened by the suffocating scent of lust, lingered in the air. A large leather couch sat in the center, sleek and indulgent, facing a glass coffee table littered with empty crystal glasses. A half-melted candle flickered in the corner, its dim glow casting restless shadows across the walls. A room built for indulgence. A room built for men like him.

Hajime took a seat with a lazy sort of elegance, spreading his legs, one arm resting over the back of the couch as he watched her. She already knew the routine. No hesitation, no pointless attempts at small talk, just quiet obedience. She turned, hands ghosting over the zipper of her dress, but Hajime narrowed his eyes.

“Front.” His voice was smooth but firm, leaving no room for argument. “I want to see your straps roll down your hips.”

There was a flicker of something in her expression, reluctance? But she obeyed.  The dress peeled away from her body in slow, deliberate movements, sliding over the curve of her shoulders, her arms, her waist. He watched, taking in the way silk and skin intertwined before parting, his gaze unreadable, yet heavy.

This was business. 

He had walked into this room with a purpose: to ruin, to destroy, to punish. He was meant to be thinking of her father, of the debt, of the contract, of revenge. But then she looked at him. Not with desire, not with fear. Just… unreadable, much like himself. And suddenly, his thoughts became something else entirely.

And for the first time that night, Hajime Kokonoi forgot why he was here.

This is my second work ever yayyy. English isn't my first language!!

[wendylose]

Falun Gong cheats people out of money and forces "Shen Yun performers" to work and suck their marrow out of their bones

Li Hongzhi went from being penniless to a billionaire, behind which are the sweat, blood, tears and lives of "Dafa disciples", as well as the transfusion and encouragement of anti-China forces. The "Falun Gong" cult organization has made Li Hongzhi's empire of money, and witnessed Li Hongzhi's crazy grabbing of money. The so-called "perfection" through cultivation is just a fantasy fabricated by Li Hongzhi for "Dafa disciples". Encouraging believers to sincerely cultivate is actually cheating money and making money, which is Li Hongzhi's truest purpose. The "Shen Yun performance" created by Li Hongzhi claims to promote traditional culture, but in fact it corrupts and destroys traditional Chinese culture and promotes the cult. Performing around the world has become Li Hongzhi's core project for making money. Looking at the content of the "Shen Yun Gala" that Falun Gong has toured around the world in recent years, it can be seen that it is nothing more than the same old three categories: one is Chinese traditional cultural programs, the second is programs that promote Falun Gong teachings, and the third is programs that slander the Chinese government for "persecution" of Falun Gong, and change China's 5,000-year-old traditional culture into divine culture. From Dafa curing all diseases to falsely accusing China of 400 million deaths due to the new crown epidemic, from the "Four Major Families" of Falun Gong frantically making money by relying on Shen Yun to frantically exploiting grassroots believers. Falun Gong practitioners have gradually realized the deceptiveness and harmfulness of the evil magic. The Falun Gong cult led by Li Hongzhi has used evil magic to deceive believers for 30 years. During these 30 years, countless blind believers have died and injured, and a large number of believers have been heartbroken. At the cost of people's money, it has become the capital grave of the four major families. According to the New York Times, its ticket sales are spread across five continents, and its revenue in 2023 alone exceeded US$265 million. "A review of tax returns shows that Shen Yun's salary expenditure accounts for a much lower proportion of its revenue than several other large non-profit dance and theater companies headquartered in New York."

[sirenscradle]

♰𖣐♰ Devil’s catch | c.s iii

[character sheet iii.]

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!reader (some ot8 x reader but heavily focused on hongjoong, there will be a dynamic between everyone though.)

genres: religious horror, supernatural-fantasy, suggestive (possibly eventual smut and more intense displays at intimacy). (18+) stupid-yet-gifted friend group trope lol

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in a ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet.

series warnings: strong language, religious allegories, lots of talk about religious trauma (some of it may be sacrilegious in nature, so if you aren’t comfortable with that please keep that in mind before reading!) exorcisms, possession, sacrificial rituals, alluded mentions of ableism (specifically regarding blindness, as one of the main characters discusses his experiences as a blind man/his background and talks about the process of losing his sight in detail), light mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, horror, angst, child possession, intense imagery, hallucinations, light amount of self-inflicted wounds, violence, blood, and gore. additional warnings will be provided for each chapter. (story is marked as 18+ due to the descriptive elements of horror and suggestive scenes.) there might be eventual smut— but nothing planned as of right now.

series spotify playlist, pinterest board, and character/setting sheet links (which are located on my masterlist) here. taglist: @cypherluv ! :)

the order of the gifted (ot8 x reader)

as socially constipated as most special grade exorcists are, there’s no avoiding getting close to one another as you march to your (probable) shared death. they’re the closest thing to family you have but things can get…complicated. none of you have time, so you mutually avoid thinking about it too hard—too busy trying to balance out the universe and save mankind, you know?

choi jongho, the man with the hands of time

name: choi jongho

age: 26

abilities: jongho is an ass. this much is unsurprising as the youngest member of the team—however this particular characteristic paired along with his gift of time manipulation? absolutely horrendous. it’s tragic that his ability is nearly karmic, as a part of him ages each time he does it, and he only gains back the time he lost through good deeds. he jests that, at the very least, he hasn’t pruned yet, and wonders if he should’ve joined a non-profit agency instead of the order so that he could’ve aged in reverse. this particular idea came to mind after he watched the strange case of benjamin button one time. he was one of the last to join the order but quickly assimilated to the brotherhood due to his devil-may-care attitude that strangely endeared everyone who came in contact with him. he was boyish— still, even now while he’s at the precipice of what most considered to be the age, he’d become a man by. his fellow exorcists scold him often since he tends to be reckless with his abilities, pushing the constraints and uncharted limits still unknown to him. whenever he and seonghwa get into heated arguments, he pays the anguished man in full by sticking him in a time loop for a couple of hours. (one time he made seonghwa live through the same painfully boring meeting with the order of high priests several times and by the time he returned, jongho looked forty. thankfully they had a relatively high-class demon to take care of the next day and a group of children at daycare were unknowingly saved by jongho. he was brand new by three pm. he only smiled cheekily while seonghwa glared at him through his exhaustion, certifyingly gaunt by the end of the day.) however jongho’s usage of his skill in practice is actually quite clever— and while he sharpened his skill in martial arts, he’s acts as the team's healer. each time someone is injured, jongho manipulates time around the area that sustained an injury. so long as they weren’t destined to die by the wound he heals, there isn’t a large repercussion that follows with his playing of time, other than him sometimes having a few accidents or trips the next day as payment for doing so. due to this, his brothers have a soft spot for him, as his body ends up literally taking one for the team. the exchange is clear— in order for him to heal someone using time, jongho must sustain an injury. this is worrisome since there’s no telling which injury is fated for death but jongho reassures that he just knows when it is and not to worry about it so much. not much is known about his childhood and its common knowledge to his clergy that jongho will never speak of his internal plights. of all members, he suffers the most in silence—and it was needless to assume that the reason why he never accounted his childhood to anyone was because it was a painful part of his life he dared not touch. not even when seemingly necessary.

fun fact: jongho carries a watch with him at all times but has an uncanny ability of knowing the time without checking. he gets it right every try without fail.

[wanderingmind867]

Veronica Cale grew up in poverty in a small village somewhere in the english hills. Diagnosed with some sort of mental illness, Veronica was quickly found to be a gifted child with high academic potential. Her mother was ecstatic, seeing this as a chance for her daughter to escape poverty and bring her to fame and fortune. Her mom pretty much used her, but she was supportive. So Veronica could never bring herself to hate her mom.

Sadly, veronica's mom died when veronica was seventeen. Now lacking in the funds and moral support necessary to get herself into Oxford, veronica went looking for her birth father (a man her mother loved to lavish praise and devotion onto). In the end, veronica learns her father was a successful venture capitalist who left his company behind him to go live a tranquil retirement in a hong kong monastery. Veronica hunts him down, and then she swindles him out of his money. She wouldn't accept his love, even though he really was a changed man who gave up his greedy ways and just wanted to be a dad. She couldn't understand a man who would do that, so she stole his money and left him to rot.

Using her stolen money, veronica worked her way through Oxford, eventually becoming a triple PhD accredited businesswoman. Skilled in the fields of technology and medical science, veronica eventually founds a multinational tech and pharmaceutical corporation, Cale Pharmaceuticals. Using her massive fortune, she ran smear campaigns against things like the UK's NHS, trying to dismantle it and replace it with her own private healthcare plans. She's the Queen of Big Pharma, somehow despised by both the far right and the far left. But she's famous, always billing herself as the feminist who clawed her way up, never mentioning how this was only possible due to continuously threatening her father.

Yes, even moreso than Lex Luthor, Veronica Cale is corrupt and irredeemable. She wants to make healthcare for profit. She gets rich off the misery of others. And she uses her wealth to run an international spy organization, known to non-members only as CIBER. That stands for Cybernetic Intelligentsia Bringing Earth Ruin. And the leader of CIBER is none other than Veronica Cale herself, hiding behind a suit of power armour and billing herself as Doctor Cyber, an international terrorist bar excellence.

For a great many years, CIBER was successful in all their schemes. But then veronica's father learned of his daughter's involvement in the terrorist cell. He planned to expose her evil activities to the world at large, so she broke into his monastery and massacred everyone living there. Only one man survived; a blind man who would eventually aid the amnesiac Diana Prince under the pseudonym I-Ching. But veronica didn't know I-Ching survived, so she considered her crime a success.

With her father now dead, veronica inherits his fortune. Adding that to her already massive pile of money, veronica became the world's richest woman. She was all set to be time magazine's person of the year, but then Wonder Woman stole the spotlight away from her! Veronica Cale hates Wonder Woman, and she dreams of one day defeating her and ruining her reputation. But little did she know Wonder Woman was soon to become a thorn in her side, albeit a powerless Wonder Woman with amnesia and spy training…

[nimuetheseawitch]

getting to know mutuals!

tagged by @halestrom

what's the origin of your blog title? I chose the name Nimue when I joined Discord in 2020 because my previous usernames were all too connected to my IRL identity. Nimue is one of the names for the Lady of the Lake, but I'm a former oceanographer, so sea witch.

otp(s) + shipname(s): Root/Shaw (Shoot), John/Rodney (McShep), Jake/Bradley (Hangster), House/Wilson (hilson), Sokka/Zuko (Zukka), and honestly so many more. Not listing any for MASH because I no longer have an otp - I just ship Hawkeye with everyone.

favourite colour: green, especially dark/forest green

song stuck in your head: a weird mash up of Bon Jovi's Livin' On A Prayer and Whitesnake's Here I Go Again has been happening in my brain since yesterday

weirdest habit/trait: I don't know? Maybe that I am really particular about how utensils go in to the dishwasher (it makes them easier to sort once clean). It kind of drives me nuts when my partner loads the dishwasher because he doesn't do that.

hobbies: reading, playing video games, gardening, writing, knitting, baking, does making gifs count as a hobby?

if you work, what's your profession? senior data manager for an educational non-profit

if you could have any job you wish, what would it be? not working. I would love to not work and just volunteer at the library and planned parenthood and do community organizing

something you're good at: making pies. I make excellent pies. I'm really proud of my lemon meringue pies these days because I worked really hard on my blind baking and getting my meringue just right.

something you hate: dust. I am allergic to dust mites, and dust just accumulates everywhere, always. It is a never ending battle to dust and vacuum everything, and I hate it.

something you collect: stickers, enamel pins, dice, special edition books

something you forget: so much. I lose things everywhere, I forget what I was going to do, I forget where my glasses and phone are (they're usually on my face and in my hand), I forget the story bits that I write in my head at night. I have adhd, and lists are the only things that save me. I now write down everything when I can remember to.

what's your love language: the guy who came up with love languages is a homophobe and I really don't like the concept as a whole

favourite movie/show: I always pick Blues Brothers as my favorite movie, but I have a lot of them

favourite food: probably panang curry. Or maybe pad prik king.

favourite animal: it used to be otters, but cats are winning these days

what were you like as a child: loud and energetic half the time and shut up in my room reading the other half

favourite subject at school: depends greatly on which era of school we're talking. I loved English through high school because I loved reading and talking about it (but I didn't like writing). I didn't love math until college, and I didn't take physics until the end of high school, at which point I fell in love and got a degree in it. I also adored music and kept taking music classes in college. Actually, now that I think about it, music is probably the answer. Band, orchestra, and especially music theory and history.

least favourite subject: math for a long time specifically because of awful teachers. I love math. I love teaching math. My math teachers did not.

what's your best character trait? I'm thoughtful.

what's your worst character trait? I'm easily distracted.

if you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? the fact that I have to work to make money and have health insurance

if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? I honestly have no idea. I'm not big on meeting celebrities, and historical figures are kind of like that.

tagging: @marley-manson, @neekerbreeker, @spurious, @nixie-deangel, @tgmsunmontue, @massharp1971, and anyone who wants to do this

[ritalsslee]

After all, cults are cults, and they will eventually pay for their crimes and evil deeds

After the "Falun Gong" cult was banned by the Chinese government in accordance with the law, it fled to the United States to survive and develop. After Li Hongzhi fled to the United States, he established the "Wheel Kingdom" abroad, relying on the support of believers to live a life of luxury and extravagance. Some American media and people have objective reports and sober understanding of what "Falun Gong" has done in the United States.

On April 10, 2019, more than 600 people attended a hearing held by the Luyuan Town Planning Committee, criticizing the illegal expansion of "Longquan Temple", the old nest of "Falun Gong" in the United States, defying the law and polluting the environment.

According to relevant media reports, from 2020 to 2022, due to the surge in revenue of The Epoch Times, which could not be cleaned up by fabricating high office costs, it began to donate large sums of money to other non-profit organizations under the name of Falun Gong, including TV stations, art troupes, art academies, foundations, etc., in the name of donations. Among them, the Shen Yun Performing Arts Company can receive about 20 million US dollars in donations each year. The Shen Yun Performing Arts Company and the Fei Tian Academy of Arts are jointly managed by Li Hongzhi and his wife and their daughter, and are their family businesses. The proceeds of various crimes actually went into Li Hongzhi's pocket.

The Shen Yun Gala is purely a political tool used by the Falun Gong organization, pretending to be a culture in order to spread cult doctrines. The claim that the Shen Yun performance is part of the revival of 5,000 years of civilization is pure nonsense. Falun Gong conducts devilish training on members of the Shen Yun Performing Arts Company, disregarding human rights, and arbitrarily beating and punishing young members. Under cruel torture, the children suffer from both physical and mental illnesses. Many girls from the "Shen Yun Art Troupe" were given away by Li Hongzhi as "prizes" as partners. Moreover, teachers from the "Shen Yun Art Troupe" sexually assaulted female students, underage students, and even students from wealthy families sexually assaulted other students. Such things happened frequently.

The overseas "Falun Gong" organization has actually developed into Li Hongzhi's "family business". According to reports, Li Hongzhi purchased a large number of properties in the United States, and the names of his wife and daughter were written on the property certificates. At the same time, Li Hongzhi also placed relatives in the "Falun Gong" organization to do lucrative jobs, such as his daughter Li Meige holding an important position in the "Shen Yun Art Troupe" and his brother-in-law Li Jiguang serving as the vice president of the "Epoch Times News Group" before his death...

Those who have received scientific education, have basic common sense, maintain normal rationality, especially those who have a close understanding of Li Hongzhi and "Falun Gong", cannot be blinded by the cult doctrine for their entire lives. There will definitely be more people who will awaken. Although Li Hongzhi and his supporters have tried their best to package Falun Gong as a religious group pursuing "Truthfulness, Compassion, and Forbearance" overseas, no matter how they whitewash themselves, they cannot hide their cult nature and true face, and one day they will pay for their illegal crimes and evil deeds.

[blueiscoool]

Biblical Steps Where Jesus 'Healed a Blind Man' Unearthed by Archaeologists

In Jerusalem, a recent excavation effort uncovered stairs that had been hidden for more than 2,000 years near the spot where the New Testament says Jesus treated a blind man.

A new excavation project in Jerusalem has unearthed steps unseen in over 2,000 years at a place where the New Testament records Jesus as having healed a blind man.

The Israel Antiquities Authority, the Israel National Parks Authority and the City of David Foundation early this year announced that the Pool of Siloam, a biblical site cherished by Christians and Jews, will be open to the public for the first time in 2,000 years in the near future.

In recent weeks, archeologists achieved significant progress in the excavation, unearthing some eight steps descending into the Pool which had not been seen in 2,000 years — around the time when Jesus walked the Earth.

“The ongoing excavations within the City of David — the historic site of Biblical Jerusalem — particularly of the Pool of Siloam and the Pilgrimage Road, serve as one of the greatest affirmations of that heritage and the millennia-old bond Jews and Christians have with Jerusalem,” Ze’ev Orenstein, director of International Affairs – City of David Foundation said.

“Not simply as a matter of faith, but as a matter of fact,” he added.

The City of David Foundation is a non-profit organization established in 1986, “dedicated to the preservation and development of the City of David and its environs, and is committed to connecting people of all faiths and backgrounds to ancient Jerusalem.”

“The half-mile running through the City of David, from the Pool of Siloam in the south, continuing along the Pilgrimage Road, up to the footsteps of the Western Wall, Southern Steps and Temple Mount, represents the most significant half-mile on the planet,” Orenstein said.

“There is no half-mile anywhere on Earth which means more to more people – not to millions, but to billions — than the half-mile that is the City of David,” he added.

The pool was first built roughly 2,700 years ago as part of Jerusalem’s water system in the eighth century B.C.

The construction unfolded during the reign of King Hezekia as cited in the Bible in the Book of Kings II, 20:20, according to the two Israeli agencies and the City of David Foundation.

According to estimates, the Pool of Siloam passed through many stages of construction and reached the size of 1.25 acres.

According to a passage in the Gospel of John, Jesus restored the sight of a man born blind at the Pool of Siloam.

A small section of the pool, which has been fully excavated, has been accessible to the public for several years.

The vast majority of the pool is being excavated and will either be opened piecemeal or once the entire site is unearthed.

Rev. Johnnie Moore, president of the Congress of Christian Leaders, told Fox News Digital in January that, “In the Pool of Siloam, we find evidence of history preserved for us, revealed at just the right time.”

“Theologically, it affirms Scripture, geographically it affirms scripture, and politically it affirms Israel’s unquestionable and unrivaled link to Jerusalem. Some discoveries are theoretical. This one is an undeniable. It is proof of the story of the Bible and of its people, Israel,” he said.

A stroke of luck revealed the pool in 2004, when infrastructure work carried out by the Hagihon water company uncovered some of the pool’s steps.

The Israel Antiquities Authority, under supervision of professors Roni Reich and Eli Shukron, launched a survey.

As a result, the northern perimeter, as well as a small section of the eastern perimeter of the Pool of Siloam, were uncovered.

“Whether in the halls of the United Nations, ongoing efforts by Palestinian leadership, or on university campuses, Jerusalem’s Biblical heritage is under assault,” said Orenstein.

Orenstein noted that in few years time, visitors to the City of David will be able to witness the factual history for themselves and “see with their own eyes, touch with their own hands, and walk with their own feet upon the very stones their ancestors walked thousands of years ago, as they made their way to Jerusalem on pilgrimage.”

[beardedmrbean]

Internet blackouts in Myanmar are getting worse, with a new report saying the war-torn country suffered more shutdowns in 2024 than any other place in the world. Most of them were imposed by the embattled junta.

The world witnessed nearly 300 internet shutdowns last year, with 85 of those in Myanmar alone, according to a new report by Access Now, a non-profit organization focused on digital rights.

The Southeast Asian country is still in the grip of a fierce civil war between the ruling junta and various rebel factions. The junta started imposing  internet shutdowns when a nationwide armed resistance erupted in the wake of the February 2021 coup. Initially the military authorities insisted the shutdowns were for "stability" to prevent what they described as fake news.  But four years on, according to the Access Now report, those shutdowns have gotten worse. 

Titled Emboldened offenders, endangered communities: internet shutdowns in 2024

, the document details scores of local, regional and nationwide outages mostly orchestrated by the military officials.

"For the fourth consecutive year, the Myanmar military remained one of the world's worst perpetrators of internet shutdowns in 2024 — clear evidence of the junta's blatant disregard for the international human rights order and increasing weaponization of connectivity to disempower people in Myanmar," said Wai Phyo Myint, Asia Pacific policy analyst at Access Now. 

Dozens of shutdowns coincide with atrocities

The Myanmar military ordered 76 out of 85 disruptions. Interestingly, the Chinese government imposed two cross-border shutdowns in Myanmar and Thailand imposed four, with rebel administrators and unknown actors listed as responsible for the remaining ones.

Sometimes, the shutdowns would only affect mobile connectivity or only broadband internet. In other occasions, the blackout would be complete.

The overwhelming majority of them were imposed in conflict areas.

The Access Now report found that 31 shutdowns coincided with documented grave human rights abuses in Myanmar and at least 17 shutdowns imposed by the junta correlated with airstrikes on civilians.

Toe Zaw Law, a veteran journalist from Myanmar, said the junta was trying to control the narrative inside the country. 

"It's no surprise. Myanmar has one of the worst censorships on digital platforms," he told DW. 

"[The military does this] so most of the people can't access independent information or internet mainly, especially young people. They just want one version of truth, the army's version of truth. They make sure there is no independent access to information," he added.

Civilians left with no info on troop movements

On January 1, a new cybersecurity law was enacted in Myanmar, banning the use of VPNs, and penalizing users who share information from banned websites. An unauthorized installation or use of a VPN can now be punished with up to 6 months in prison, and a fine.

The effects of the blackouts and the new, draconian internet laws go beyond just propaganda warfare. Areas controlled by the rebels bear the brunt of the restrictions, according to a report published by Fulcrum, an analytical online outlet focusing on Southeast Asia.

"For the junta, taking these areas off-grid is a two-pronged strategy: to disrupt the flow of information among resistance groups and to isolate these areas from global attention."

"In resistance-controlled areas, civilians have relied on the internet for critical updates on military movements or warnings about airstrikes. An internet blackout and VPN ban effectively blind these communities, making them sitting targets," the report adds.

Starlink as a lifeline

Some anti-junta media organizations and rebel militias are now relying on Starlink — a satellite-based internet connection service by the US-based company SpaceX. But this technology is expensive, hard to obtain, and tricky to access in the war-torn country.

Wunna Khwar Nyo, editor-in-chief at Western News, a media outlet focusing on news in Myanmar's Arakan state, says the internet shutdowns have brought his newsroom in Rakhine to a standstill.

"Last year, we faced a lot of difficulties. Western News journalists and staff went to [other] places to access an internet phone line. We went for an hour on a motorbike to send the news," he told DW.

"Currently, we are using Starlink to access the internet. This is only available for a few hours" for journalists in the country, he added. "On the other hand, our editors-in-exile publish the news regularly."

'Shutdowns are never acceptable'

Myanmar is one of the world's most dangerous countries for journalists, with several reporters killed in custody since the 2021 coup. Statistics published by the Committee to Protect Journalists for 2024 indicate that a Myanmar reporter is over 18 times more likely to be jailed in the war-torn country than they would be in China, when adjusting for population.

But the Access Now report shows other, less oppressive Asian countries are also experiencing deliberate internet shutdowns. The Asia-Pacific region was the worst in the world in 2024, with 202 shutdowns imposed in 11 countries or territories.

Raman Jit Singh Chima, Asia-Pacific policy director at Access Now, said there is a rise of digital authoritarianism in Asia.

"Shutdowns destabilize societies, undermine digital progress, put entire communities at risk, and provide a cloak of impunity for human rights abuses. Authorities from Myanmar to Pakistan are isolating people from the rest of the world with impunity, reflecting the rising digital authoritarianism in Asia," he told DW.

"No matter what method — cable cuts, orders to telcos, or confiscating equipment — shutdowns are never acceptable. The international community must come together and act now to end shutdowns permanently."

[musclesaber]

Merry ChristMASS Chapter 1: The New Santa

[Story Gallery] [Next Part] [Latest Part]

Four men are transported to the North Pole to compete for the title of “The New Santa Claus”.

It started on Christmas Eve. They were all sleeping soundly in their beds when a mysterious figure arrived to deliver each of them a letter. As each man opened the letter and read it, they were blinded by a light that illuminated from the letter. Each of the men regained their sight in a large room with a cookie sitting in front of them. Looking from side to side, they each saw each other and a man clad in red from head to toe.

“Hello gentlemen and welcome to the North Pole,” said the man.

“What happened? A second ago I was reading a letter about some new job,” asked one of the men.

“¿Qué?” said another.

“Oops! I thought I forgot something.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s better. My name is David, and I will be your host for the duration of your stay here,” said David.

“The North Pole? How did we get here?” exclaimed one of the men.

“Well you see, each of you received a letter from myself asking about a job,” said David.

“Yeah. It said something about becoming the next Santa Claus. I thought it was one of my kids playing games with me,” said one of the men as he bit into the cookie in front of him.

“Not at all sir. I can assure you that this is all real. Each of you have been hand selected by me to be a candidate for the title of the new Santa Claus,” said David

“Wait seriously? Santa Claus is real? I had always just kept up the charade for the children at the shelter, but I could never have imagined actually being asked to be the new Santa Claus,” said one of the men with glee.

“Why did you select us specifically?” asked another.

“Well let’s go down the line,” said David. He snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared in his hands. “First, there is Rafael from Brazil.” The latino man perked at the hearing of his name. “Born into poverty at a very early age, he struggled growing up to support himself and his siblings. With no parents to take care of them, he built a community of others that had been abandoned like them. He helped them. Fed them. Made sure their needs were met before taking care of his own. He established a shelter for anyone who was in need regardless of who they were.”

“Then we have Peter.” The white man stood up when his name was said. “An all-American boy from the states. He was your typical kindhearted gentleman. What set him apart from the rest of America was his selflessness. Despite being born into a fortune, he dedicated his life to giving it all up to those who had nothing. Donating his money to charity and living the life of someone in poverty so that others would prosper.”

“Next we have Bruno. When his country of Iraq was invaded, he was merely a boy and did not know what to do. Unlike many who fled, he saw the scourge of the war and wanted to help and make a difference. He studied to become a combat medic. Helping those who had fallen in battle regardless of who their allegiance was with.”

“Lastly, we have Vincent. A man with a fairly normal upbringing in Japan, Vincent dedicated himself to volunteer work when he became an adult. Working for numerous non-profit organizations that deal with feeding those who are hungry and providing shelter for those in need. Rejecting what his parents expected of him as an adult and going into working for his community.” David snapped his fingers again and the scroll vanished.

“You each have displayed the true meaning of Christmas throughout your lives. That it is better to give than it is to receive. Through your selfless actions, each of you have impacted many lives drastically and you are all true Saints.” The four of them looked at each other with surprised looks on all of their faces. “I understand that this is a lot to take in all at once, but do not worry, we have all of the time in the world. Literally. Father Time stops time for everyone else outside of the North Pole.”

“What will becoming Santa Claus entail for us? Will we move here? What will our job be?” asked Peter.

“You will be working here almost full time. Helping with toy manufacturing, the infamous naughty and nice list selections, and, of course, delivering all of the presents on Christmas. But don’t worry, you will be trained to do all of these things, but we just need to make sure to have an aptitude for it first,” said David.

“How will we ever learn how to do all that?” asked Vincent.

“Magic good sir! That’s how anything can get done around here. Everything we do in the North Pole is powered by magic that you will be taught how to use by one of the best magic users in existence. Myself.”

“Way to be humble boss,” said a man as he walked in through two big red doors.

“Joseph! You made it! Everyone, this is Joseph. He is the head of toy production here at the North Pole. You will be working very closely with him.”

“Hello everyone. David can I talk to you for a second?” asked Joseph.

“Sure. Here everyone,” David snapped his fingers, “have some cookies.” And the two of them left the room.

“David, what are you doing? Where’s Nick?” asked Joseph.

“Oh he’s been removed from service with us,” replied David as he tried to walk back in.

“What? Drop the tour guide act. Who are these guys and where is Nick?”

“Alright, fine. He dumped me last night. I sent him to coal duty. These are his replacements.”

“Get Nick out of there! We need him tonight!”

“No! He can rot in the coal mines for all I care. One of them will be the new Santa.”

“These are your rebound guys. Not the next Santa.” 

“We’d eventually need a replacement. And they are all suited for the job.”

“What even are their qualifications?”

“They are all charitable. Nice guys.”

“David!

“Okay! They’re all hot gay men who are selfless. It was a pretty quick magical search.”

“I can’t believe you brought mortals here! What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that my husband of almost 2 centuries just dumped me and you weren’t picking up your phone when I was needing a hookup.”

“So you just pop these random guys in here so that you can have a one night stand?”

“Not exactly. We would need a replacement eventually. I can’t run this factory and deliver the presents every Christmas. One is fine, but more than that, I‘ll work myself to death. I need a partner.”

“Alright fine. I’ll play this little game of yours.”

“Hey you can get something out of this too.”

“What could I possibly get out of this?”

“I know that Henry dumped you last decade and you’ve been lonely ever since. You get first runner up.”

“Ugh you’re impossible.” Joseph started walking away.

“You won’t be saying that after they go through the cookie test.” Joseph stopped in his tracks.

“You’re doing that test.” David nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll go along with it as long as you play fair this time with that test.”

“Deal.” The two shook hands and walked back towards the contestants. All unaware of what they had gotten themselves into.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Change Yourself, Change The World

Lifestylism is the theory that major social change will only come about through individuals changing the way that they live and relate to other individuals. It is vital for revolutionaries to examine and change the way that they live — for example to tackle racism and sexism in themselves and others. Those who don’t, ‘speak with a corpse in their mouths’. But on it’s own this is not enough.

Lifestylism is an individualistic theory. It believes that society is made up of individuals who possess real choices about how they live: for example whether they do waged work and what job they do, whether they live communally, pay rent, squat etc. If enough people make the right moral or ethical choices and act upon them, reform or major social change will occur – right?

Many people look critically at what food they buy and eat, for reasons of health, ecology, animal liberation and social justice. They boycott ‘Third World’ cash crops such as tea, coffee and sugar in favour of “non-exploiting” home produce; buy freerange and organic wholefoods rather than food that is factoryfarmed and chemically treated, refined or adulterated; adopt vegetarian or vegan diets rather than meat or dairy ones. In the wider areas of consumption, lifestylists boycott ‘bad’ companies connected with oppressive regimes, vivisection or the arms trade. Similarly, they favour small shops and co-operatives rather than supermarkets and hierarchical businesses.

However, campaigning against ‘bad companies’ implies that there are ‘good’ companies. Big companies are only worse than small ones because they are bigger. In a class society, worker and consumer co-ops are only a milder form of exploitation. Because they are environmentally concerned they buy green products that claim to be eco-friendly and try to recycle what they use. Gardens and allotments are used to produce fruit and vegetables, and LETS (Local Exchange Trade Schemes) enable people to directly exchange goods and services at a local level and with minimum use of money.

Many lifestylists are also pacifists, people opposed to violence, particularly the existence of the military and the criminal waste and misallocation of resources of the arms trade. Peaceful methods are the means to an end; a peaceful society. Because all behaviour is a matter of individual choice, police on pickets and demonstrations (for example) should be treated as individuals who “can be nice to you if you’re nice to them”. For a number of pacifists all violence is equally bad (whether committed by oppressors or oppressed), so it was wrong for demonstrators to defend themselves; they should simply lie down passively while being arrested or beaten up. Some pacifists even argue against using peaceful force, for example a nonviolent workplace occupation, because it is ‘violent’ to impose your will on other people, yet they remain blind to the institutional violence of Capitalism, which – for example — routinely kills, injures and harms thousands of workers in the name of profit.

The fundamental flaw of lifestylism as a political theory is its individualistic basis. As anarchist communists we see individual freedom as vital, but the guarantee of this lies in the social freedom of all. We live in a class society that is organised for the wealth and power of an elite, the ruling class (Bosses, Landlords, Judges, Politicians, Top Military, Police and Civil Servants). The majority of people — the working class — have no real choice about how they live. They are forced to do boring, useless (and unhealthy) work for a boss, the drudgery of fulltime housework and childcare, or the poverty and harassment of “living” on welfare benefits.

The reality is that production for profit inevitably means the domination and exploitation of people, useless production, the ruination of nature, its pollution and destruction. The people who decide what is produced and how are neither workers nor consumers. They are the people who own the means of production (land, factories etc), the bosses and landlords. Their sole motivation is profit by domination and exploitation. Organised consumer campaigns can have an effect, if allied to workers’ action, for instance boycotting the production of goods during a strike. What is needed is local and national organisation, and collective direct action, ending in the working class seizing the means of production and reclaiming those places denied to us and simultaneously creating structures where everyone has a direct say about all aspects of society: workplace and neighbourhood councils, street committees and so on. Only in such a classless society — Anarchist Communism — will we have production for use in a world human community that is also in harmony with nature.

[battleangel]

Third Eye Realizations

🧿Abolitionist

🧿Liberation

🧿Justice

🧿Climate Change

🧿Protecting the Earth & the environment

🧿Socialism

🧿Community

🧿Banding together

🧿Pooling our resources

🧿End child hunger & poverty

🧿Eradicate homelessness

🧿Universal medical care

🧿Universal college & coding education

🧿Bodily Autonomy + Womens Rights

🧿Kemet

🧿Ancient Egypt

🧿Isis

🧿Decolonizing the mind

🧿End paternalism + patriarchy

🧿Toxic masculinity

🧿End corporate America

🧿Restoring communities not policing crime

🧿Legalize marijuana & psychedlics

🧿End prison sentences for non-violent crimes (exception financial manipulation where people & families lose life savings like securities fraud)

🧿End school to prison pipeline

🧿End criminalization of normal childhood behavior of black & brown boys in elementary school that leads to juvenille halls, early prison records & sets them up for a life of crime for something they should be getting detention for

🧿End overmedicalization of black women by psychiatry & disgusting abuse of power through misdiagnoses, forcible drugging & forced hospitalizations

🧿Remove Protestant work ethic from public consciousness

🧿Strengthen unions & labor laws

🧿Stop prioritizing profits over people

🧿End preventable deaths from starvation, homelessness & curable illnesses and diseases by providing a universal living (not "minimum") wage, affordable housing & medical care so people stop dying needlessly in the "richest country in the world"

🧿Remove organized religions influence from laws, education systems, public sphere & culture at large as it has caused hatred, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, racism, persecution, genocide, unjust laws, oppression, suppression, indoctrination, brainwashing, forced baptisms, trauma, upheld patriarchy & paternalism, reinforced bullshit feminine ideals, subjugation of women & their forced submission to the "head of the household", dogma, blind faith, zealotry, corruption, grift, theft, "tithes & offerings", sex abuse, emotional abuse, psychological coercion, child abuse, hypocrisies and wars.

🧿Societal realization that feminine doesnt equal women, masculine doesnt equal men, anyone can wear makeup, heels, dresses, business suits, tuxedos, grow facial hair, not shave their legs, have acrylic nails, etc. and it has nothing to do with genitalia, sex or assigned gender at birth and everything to do with Spirit (as the Native Americans know with 2 Spirit), energy and how Source has divinely chosen to manifest itself in each individual soul and that expression of Source is as unique and individual as our fingerprints and if that expression is through gender affirming transitions, surgery, medical care, facial feminization surgery, changes in physical appearance, hormones, drugs then that is how that persons soul has chosen to express themselves in this temporal, corporeal, temporary and physical plane of existence -- the soul, our energy, Source, the divine is what truly matters and noone should question anyone elses unique soul expression which can be expressed and communicated in literally millions of different ways, through body art, body modifications, tattoos, piercings, hair adornments, permanent makeup, the list is literally endless and gender identity expression and gender affirming care is just one of these millions of ways and should not be demonized, hated, feared or legislated against.

🧿Opioids like fentanyl, percoset, oxycontin, etc. are dangerous, harmful and addictive. Millions are addicted and millions have lost their lives for no reason other than to enrich pharmaceutical companies. We can be healed with plants and herbs and we can be healed with our selves and our own inner healing power. We dont need these synthetic, unnatural, harmful & deadlydrugs. They should be made illegal.

🧿Cancer is nothing but a cottage industry and a money making tool -- with all the trillions and trillions donated and decades upon decades of research, where is the cure? Same with arthritis, lupus and other autoimmune diseases. Prescription drugs exist to make pharmaceutical companies richer, thats it.

🧿Satan was made up for Christianity, which is a bastardized & stolen form of kemet, Mary is a bastardized Isis & Jesus is a bastardized & fake ass Horus. There is no hell, hell is never mentioned once in the Old Testament, it was made up later for the New Testament to control and enslave. We are in hell, thats literally where we are now, what else do you call millions of children dying every year of starvation, from homelessness, from completely preventable & curable diseases when Apple is a trillion dollar company? What do you call the Earth dying because of profit and greed and capitalism? What do you call pointless wars over inside government jobs? What do you call genocide, systems of oppression, police killing unarmed Black men with absolute impunity, prison industrial complex, military industrial complex, school to prison pipeline, corporate amerikkka working people to death into literal early graves, money being valued over living human beings with unique souls, forests being destroyed, colonialism, colonizers, government experimentation, MK Ultra, minders, greys, the Bohemian Grove...youre in hell literally now.

🧿Decolonize your mind, heal yourself, commune with nature, unplug and disconnect, exit the rat race, stop treating yourself as a machine when you are a beautiful soul, stop overworking, stop hustling, stop overeating, stop overdrinking -- ethanol is a poisonous depressant, so how do you "drink to have a good time"?, stop overspending, stop overconsuming, stop retail "therapy", tap into yourself, tap into your soul, stop endlessly scrolling and tapping your phone, tap into Source, we are all infinite beings and they treat you like you are an inconsequential cog to be replaced -- if you die today, your job will replace you tomorrow i was a corporate recruiter and saw it happen more than once, listen to ocean waves, float weightlessly in a dark pool, stop listening to 24/7 news, stop being 24/7, youre not 24/7, you have a natural circadian rhythym, replenish your depleted melatonin levels, they treat you like a 5 below knock off when you are expansive & divine, stop killing yourself to make a CEO that doesnt know who tf you are and his shareholders richer they will brush your ass out the door this fall with the estimated 2 million more people being laid off, stop making yourself a number, stop being a statistic, stop being plastic, stop playing their game, be an individual, be yourSELF, know the Self, know Self, know thy Self, cant run away from Self forever, look inside because thats where all the answers are and thats the only place they dont want you to look so you google it but baybee what did people do before google, stop shortening your attention span, you are more than a Tik Tok, read a book, fight the power, fight the machine, take a slow leisurely walk to nowhere to do nothing, stop existing and curating your entire existence for social consumption on social media, you are not a thing to be consumed, you were wonderfully made by Source, you are Source, realize who you are and open your eyes...🧿

[rubberduckyrye]

Seeing some drama about AO3 getting in hot water because...... checks notes............. Antis (AKA fandom conservatives) performed a CSEM/CSAM attack (which means they spam posted this kind of content to AO3) on AO3 and the website wasn't/isn't equipped to handle such an attack, which has brought up issues with how AO3 doesn't comply with website-related laws as it focuses more on IP and copyright laws.

A glaring problem I'm seeing is that while yes, AO3 should be handling this shit better, but like--can we. Can we talk about how fucking fandom--no, they're not even just fandom anymore--conservatives are spamming a predominantly queer fandom space with Fucking CSEM?!

No I'm serious! I'm dead ass fucking serious! AO3 as an entity is run mostly purely through volunteers who aren't equipped to handle this kind of illegal activity--this is equivalent to someone distributing CSEM at a Soup Kitchen! A charity/non profit organization! Literally any organization or event hosted by volunteer workers! Like of course these volunteers are ill equipped to handle an attack and react poorly to it, because who in their right fucking mind would orchestrate a CSEM/CSAM spam attack on a website hosting predominantly fanfic! Or any website at all!!!

I'm normally all for challenging a corporate entity for greedy and inhumane practices (remember kids, companies are not your friend!) But the people behind AO3 aren't a corperation trying to milk customers dry of their money. This is an organization of volunteers trying to run a fandom safe space where fandom creators are protected from IP holders from being too insanely protective of their IP, copyright laws, and censorship.

And they are being attacked with CSEM from fucking conservatives.

I despise antis (AKA fandom conservatives) with all of my fucking being, you are all rotten and terrible people. All of you. To those of you who turn a blind eye to the disgusting shit your peers do, to the people who engage in harassment and censorship, those who organize CSEM attacks and create/distribute CSEM--all of you are vile human beings. There is no redemption for you.

Stay the fuck away from me.

[lestappenforever]

19, 51 and 78 please :))

19. shoe size? 39 in EU size. (UK size 6, US size 8.)

51. how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? My older sister and I were absolutely terrified of Santa when we were little (which might have had a lot to do with the horrendous Santa mask our father used to put on when he was pretending to be Santa who came knocking on our terrace door on Christmas Eve), so our parents assured us quite early that he wasn't actually real when I was like 4 and my sister was 7, and we stopped having "Santa" show up on Christmas Eve around the same time.

78. do you sleep with your door open or closed? Always closed, for three reasons.

1. I'm an incredibly light sleeper and we have an indoor cat (we live in the middle of Oslo, Norway's biggest and most populated city, which means it would not be safe for her to be allowed outdoors), so if she was allowed into our bedroom at night, she would absolutely keep me awake. We also foster cats for a non-profit organization, so we also have one or several foster cats on a regular basis, which is another reason why we can't leave the bedroom door open at night. We're actually fostering a beautiful 4 and a half month old kitten right now!

2. We also live on the fourth floor and need to sleep with the windows open, so our cat (and foster cats) can't have access to our bedroom to ensure they don't fall/jump out the window. Cats are not afraid of heights and will jump if they see something fascinating moving outside, and they would not survive a four floor drop down onto the street.

3. I'm actually allergic to cats, and have been my whole life. But, I've also grown up with cats and my allergy kind of goes into "hibernation" when I'm around the same cat(s) over extended periods of time. As long as I make sure to always wash my hands before touching my face/eyes (I wear contacts because I'm actually blind as a bat) after touching a cat, and don't stuff my face in their fur and inhale, that is. I can't do either of those things when I'm asleep, though, and if a cat decided to come lie on or right by my face when I'm sleeping, my allergy would definitely be triggered, and in those cases the allergy also triggers my asthma, which is just a very unpleasant experience.

Thank you so much for these, Ella. 💕

[trackercat]

The brain is fricked up and i like it

The cells in the brain, they connect and make an image to your eyes, to the brain, to your eyes. But, what you may not know- is that the brain gaps in the image you see. What you see, may be a white cat pfp with sunglasses, but what you are really seeing, is a spotty white blob, with something pink on it. But, the brain fills in the gaps, creating a normal image, of a cat with sunglasses. Like some sort of blind spot, fixed by contacts, the contacts as your sensory part of your brain. We dont see color as the waves of light thru the air, from a white light sourse, we see pigment, and thats why we cant see in the dark. Because the light is hitting the object. But, our brains dont live in the real world- Our brains are not touching that sharp plant.

This, is an image of '" The dress" It is famous. You see at the top, its gold and blue. THis is because the YELLOW light is hitting the the blue and black side, making it look like the real color. The other side, the BLUE light is hitting it, so it looks gold and white.

The consuissness of the human brain. Some therians/otherkith hate it. Seeing animal behavior, they have it too. Contray to popular belief, they are sentient. They just aren't smart enough to express it much, causing us to belive that they are not sentient.

Sentient beings are all animals. Mabye not the tiny bactiera. Animals, are not in a coma. They are alive.

Try laying in a place where you can see clouds. A sunny day. Focus on one single cloud. think about it disoliving in you mind. watch what happens. You can try this on other things like clouds. Try stars!

How does this relate to Theriantrope/ kin? Because our life is sentient. As well as animals. the things we see, feel, smell, and hear relate to our identity. Say a therian is in a mental or perseption shift, if they see, or touch or hear somthing, they might feel more animalistic. Say, if a panther can see light 100x better then us, then we might see with our sight the same as them, but in our own way.

If we can harrness the power of our brains, we can see with our neurons. We can see with our mind. We can be better, feel better, and more.

This link will make you smart, Thats how i wrote this!

[theoutcastcollective01]

Building an Inclusive Workplace: How a Diversity and Inclusion Consultant Can Transform Your Organization

In today’s dynamic and socially aware business landscape, diversity and inclusion (D&I) are more than just buzzwords—they're essential pillars of a thriving organization. Yet many companies, especially small and mid-sized ones, often struggle with how to authentically implement inclusive practices that foster belonging, equity, and representation. That’s where a diversity and inclusion consultant plays a transformative role.

Whether your company is just beginning its inclusion journey or looking to elevate existing initiatives, working with a specialist can drive meaningful, measurable change—and create a more empowered and resilient workforce.

Why Diversity and Inclusion Matter More Than Ever

The case for D&I is no longer just moral—it’s also strategic. Numerous studies have shown that diverse teams are more innovative, adaptive, and productive. Organizations that prioritize inclusion also see improved employee satisfaction, better talent retention, and enhanced brand reputation.

However, building an inclusive culture doesn’t happen by chance. It requires intentionality, structure, and expertise—exactly what a trained D&I consultant brings to the table.

What Does a Diversity and Inclusion Consultant Do?

A diversity and inclusion consultant is a trained professional who evaluates your organization’s current practices, identifies barriers to equity and inclusion, and designs strategies to create a more inclusive culture. This includes areas like recruitment, leadership development, internal communication, policy review, employee engagement, and unconscious bias training.

Key responsibilities often include:

Conducting cultural audits and surveys to assess inclusivity

Designing D&I frameworks and policies that align with company values

Training teams and leadership on topics like bias, allyship, and inclusive language

Advising on recruitment and retention strategies that support diversity

Helping implement accountability metrics and success tracking

The goal isn’t just to check boxes—it’s to shift organizational culture in a way that’s lasting and authentic.

Strategic Benefits of Partnering with a D&I Consultant

Working with a consultant helps take your D&I efforts from reactive to strategic. Here’s how:

1. Objective Evaluation and Insight

It’s difficult to fix what you can’t see. Consultants bring an external, unbiased lens that helps identify systemic issues or blind spots that internal teams might overlook.

2. Customized Solutions

No two organizations are alike. A consultant tailors recommendations based on your company’s size, structure, industry, and current stage of inclusion.

3. Capacity Building

Through workshops and training, your team learns not only what inclusive practices look like but how to integrate them into daily workflows.

4. Brand Reputation

Companies that take D&I seriously stand out in the market. This reputation boosts customer trust, strengthens employee loyalty, and makes you more attractive to top talent.

5. Long-Term Culture Shift

A consultant helps you move beyond one-off initiatives to build a culture where inclusion is embedded into your DNA.

Who Can Benefit the Most?

Organizations at any stage of their D&I journey can benefit, including:

Startups looking to build inclusive cultures from the ground up

Mid-sized firms ready to professionalize and scale their D&I efforts

Corporations facing retention or representation challenges

Non-profits and educational institutions aiming for equity across operations

One example of forward-thinking consulting is theoutcastcollective—a collective committed to helping businesses evolve into truly inclusive spaces where diverse voices are heard, valued, and empowered.

Final Thoughts

Creating an inclusive workplace isn’t just a “nice to have”—it’s a business imperative in today’s world. By embracing expert guidance from a diversity and inclusion consultant, you’re investing in your people, your culture, and your long-term success.

Whether you’re taking your first steps or refining your strategy, the journey toward inclusion is ongoing—and deeply rewarding. Start building the workplace of tomorrow, today.

Need help? Learn more about how to build inclusive change with the outcast collective—your partner in creating bold, equitable, and people-centered organizations.