#punisher collection

[punishercollection]

Aaaand here's the final sketch of the Apocalypse Jumpsuit!

When I went back and more clearly defined this idea, I made the jumpsuit a little more boxy / masc. I really like the little details I added, like the pleats and the pockets. I can't wait for this one to be real! I want to wear it!!

I imagine it would be made out of a denim or canvas, dip dyed to create the ombre effect. The chemtrail lines would be bleached, and the planes embroidered.

[odinsblog]

This is unconscionable. (more)

[agentfascinateur]

Found in Gaza...

[ot3]

i don't care how much of a cliche it may be there's nothing i eat up more than a well-written character who has a good heart and strong morals but will become sickeningly violent when pushed too far

[i-am-aprl]

After the ICJs ruling on provisional measures, the headline you would have expected is that western countries ceased funding and arming Israel.

Instead, they are pausing funding for a UN agency for Palestinian refugees, when there are almost 2 million of them in Gaza who are in dire need of humanitarian assistance as acknowledged by the ICJ itself!!!

All because of Israel allegations that 12 out of 13,000 of the agencies employees MAY have been involved in Oct 7th.

Even IF this were true, this amounts to #collectivepunishment of Palestinians in Gaza and failure to abide by state’s obligations to prevent acts of genocide.

Please consider donating directly to unrwa so they can continue their life-saving work. You can find the donation link in their instagram account or webpage.

Please also make your voice heard; demand your government resumes\continues funding unrwa and don’t stop speaking up for Palestine.

In our thousands, in our millions we are all Palestinians!! 🇵🇸❤️🍉

[feral-ballad]

Maya C. Popa, from Wound is the Origin of Wonder: Poems: “Dear Life”

[solidsmax]

MARVEL vs. CAPCOM Fighting Collection: Arcade Classics

[krysmcscience]

Don't mind me, just slacking on a big Billford comic by making other far more ridiculous Billford comics and also some AU art (please excuse my slapdash human!Bill thank you please, also before anyone asks the art style is messy and all over the place because idgaf LOL)

This started out as an excuse to design a Bill Cipher-inspired "wedding" dress, but then spiraled wildly out of control. Various rambles and a bunch more human!Bill arts under the cut, including another silly little comic at the end! (Feel free to skip the rambles, I won't be offended. I know I'm bad at shutting up. XD)

I may or may not write some comedy stuff for this AU, which I'm calling 'For Better Or Worse (But Mostly Worse)'. While Ford DOES remember getting sloshed enough for one thing to lead to making out with another after karaoke, neither he nor Bill remember this wedding, At All. The Love God did nothing to dissuade them from going hog wild on their marriage spending, either, so it got...uh. Exorbitantly Expensive. As in, the grand total could probably buy the entire fucking MOON sort of expensive. (It's fine, don't worry, Bill's good enough at crime to be able to afford it.) Also, because the logic of this AU is mostly dictated by Rule of Funny, the Love God's powers are close to unlimited when it comes to matters of romance, but ONLY when it comes to matters of romance. (Like weddings!)

Want an empty human vessel to smash the soul of a triangle into for date nights or when it's convenient, or perhaps even when it's NOT convenient? Easy peasy! Want the marriage to be recognized in every corner of the multiverse from now until the end of time, thus making any potential future divorce nigh-on impossible? Can do! Want to buy an entire beach for the ceremony and honeymoon and in general, and totally not at all because it would be Super Hilarious to prevent any specific movies from being made on that very same beach in the future? Fine, whatever, it's not his finances he's ruining!

Does the Love God also provide special rings that just so happen to turn incorporeal as long as the "happy couple" doesn't remember that they barged into his dreams to bully him into presiding over their marriage? ...No comment!

He spends the next thirty years trying and failing to get in touch with either of them for payment. This is why you should always demand half the money up front, my guy!

Also it's absolutely a traditional Jewish wedding, because I like the idea of Bill demanding all the keepsakes from the marriage that he paid for, and being completely confused when one of the things he's handed is a fancy container full of broken glass. He gets it later, but in the moment, he thinks the Love God is just fucking with him some more.

Ramble over! Here's the full dress that caused the comic to happen, along with what Ford wound up wearing at the wedding (and begrudgingly agreeing to put on again later for Reasons), aaaaand also a close-up of Bill's ring:

I may have forgotten to draw Bill's hair floofier when drawing the back of the dress, lmao

Since double ring ceremonies have been leaking over into Jewish wedding customs for a while now, Ford also has a ring, but his is the much more traditional plain gold band. There's definitely a message engraved on the inside - embarrassing, cringe, or incriminating somehow - but I haven't decided what it is yet, so use your imagination for now. XD Bill, on the other hand, saw the phrase 'traditional plain gold band' and said "No Thank You" before proceeding to embellish his ring to his liking. And because he's a secret sap who adores Ford's extra fingers, the triangle points add up to twelve, as do the engraved stars. Yes, they're stars, not dots, I just got lazy. There's also six lashes on the eye gem, and probably an eye engraving on the inside with another six lashes. (Bill's got it BAD, okay? We all know this.)

Here are the initial scribbles of Bill's custom vessel in more casual attire, please ignore the wonky anatomy and the fact that I flat out refuse to ever draw him with a proper top hat:

He does actually need a cane in this vessel; since Bill tends to possess men and especially Ford more often than not, he's used to having a higher center of gravity when in a human body, so his ability to balance is pretty garbage. (He may or may not topple over with concerning regularity.) As for his empty eye socket, his bangs don't do much to hide it since he's so high-energy (dude is constantly on the move), and he also refuses to wear a patch over it, because 1.) why bother, and 2.) it's more fun to freak people out.

To better align with Ford's attraction towards the strange, the vessel was designed with super minor shapeshifting ability - Bill can look like a perfectly normal human, but he can also make the teeth and fingers sharper whenever he likes (which is mostly just when he's angry or being more of a menace than usual), as well as slit down the pupils or outright ditch the irises altogether. He can also have whatever he wants in the downstairs department, just because I'm an indecisive bitch on that front, lmao. Maybe he can have boobs if he wants them, too, but I ain't drawin' tits on no triangle, nuh-uh, no sir. His powers are otherwise limited down to what humans can do, because for some reason, the Love God doesn't trust Bill to not snap into Immediate Apocalypse Mode if he's given a physical form that's actually all his and no one else's.

Due to the body being all his and no one else's, it's also not really a standard possession so much as it is just...Bill being temporarily human. He's a lot more aware of and in tune with his human body's senses than he ever was with his "puppets", which makes things like pain a lot more intense. (He is mostly fine with this, because he's a fukken masochist.)

A bit more fashion stuff, including beach and party attire~

The beach outfit was mostly me trying and failing to nail down his body shape, which is still not bottom-heavy enough. I then decided to slap a bikini on it, before making it supremely unsexy with a pair of fugly shorts, because Bill's fashion choices are not allowed to be conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, the party outfit was mostly me looking at the casual attire I designed, asking 'how would Bill make this Worse', and then drawing the result. The mismatched thigh-highs are killing me inside! :D

No, his vessel can't actually summon fire, I just drew it for funzies before I decided on said vessel's limitations. Yes, the gold brick tattoos are absolutely a reference to the fic 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I simply could not resist.

I also HAD to draw Bill in one of his canonical(?) shirts, just made tank-top'd:

He is absolutely about to over-correct and fall backwards after this. USE YOUR CANE, GOOFBALL!!! (I meant to draw Bill closer to this degree of bottom-heavy in the other images, but. Alas. I am bad at anatomy, LOL)

And, last but not least before More Comic Time, I attempted to draw him closer to Gravity Falls style:

Jury's out on whether or not I succeeded, but - hey. I tried. Now have some Handyman Bill AU, but with my goofy human design, instead:

Hey, it's a 'mystery snack', and the guy wanted A BITE to eat - the joke was right there, guys!!! (Based on this post, because it just screamed BILL CIPHER to me.)

whoops i forgor bills ring and cracks ahaha too late now

I WILL SHUT UP AND STOP RAMBLING NOW K THX BYYYYYE

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Doublethink sump linkdump

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Trigger warning for #eikositriophobia: this is my 23d linkdump (Hail Discordia!), an erratic Saturday purge of the open tabs I haven't managed to blog this week; here's the previous 22:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

When I was a kid, I idolized Harlan Ellison. I loved his prose styling, his stage presence, the way he blended activism and fiction, and the way he mixed critical nonfiction with fiction. As a 17 year old, I attended a writing workshop that Ann Crispin was giving at a local science fiction convention and she told me that I had the makings of a great writer, just as soon as I stopped trying to be Harlan Ellison.

But Harlan was a complicated figure. I attended the Clarion Workshop in 1992 specifically because he was our instructor, and came away bitterly disillusioned after he targeted one of my fellow students for relentless, cruel bullying, a performance that was so ugly that the board fired the director and permanently barred him from teaching the workshop.

Later on, Harlan became the kind of copyright maximalist who called for arbitrary internet surveillance and censorship in the name of shutting down ebook piracy. During a panel about this at a sf convention, he called one of the other panelists a "motherfucker" and threatened to punch him in the face. He took to badmouthing me in interviews, painting my position – whose nuances he certainly understood – in crude caricature.

But Harlan and I had many friends in common, people I really liked, and they were adamant that Harlan's flaws were not the whole story: if Harlan liked you, he would do anything to stand up for you, no matter the cost to himself. Famously, when Harlan taught Octavia Butler's Clarion, he demanded to know why she wasn't writing full time, and she replied that there was the inconvenient matter of making rent and groceries. He replied, "If that's all that's stopping you, come live in my guest house for as long as it takes, eat my groceries, and write." Which she did.

Which is great, but also: one of my own Clarion students told me about when his then-teenaged mother met Harlan at a sf convention and told him that she dreamed of becoming a writer, and he propositioned her. She was so turned off that she stopped writing forever (her son, my student, is now an accomplished writer).

So Harlan was a mixed bag. He did very, very good things. He did very, very bad things. When Harlan died, in 2018, I wrote an obit where I grappled with these two facts:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/28/rip-harlan-ellison/

In it, I proposed a way of thinking about people that tried to make sense of both Harlans – and of all the people in our lives. There's an unfortunate tendency to think of the people that matter to us as having their deeds recorded in a ledger, with good deeds in one column and wicked deeds down the other.

In this formulation, we add up the good deeds and the bad deeds and subtract the bad from the good. If the result is a positive number, we say the good outweighs the bad, and therefore the person is, on balance, good. On the other hand, if the bad outweighs the good, then the person is bad, and the good deeds are irrelevant.

This gets us into no end of trouble. It means that when someone we admire slips up, we give them a pass, because "they've earned it." And when someone who's hurt us does something selfless and kind and brave, we treat that as though it doesn't matter, because they're an asshole.

But the truth is, no amount of good deeds can wipe away the bad. If you hurt someone, the fact that you've helped someone else doesn't make that hurt any easier to bear. And the kindnesses you do for other people make their lives better, no matter what bad things you've done to others.

Rather than calculating the balance of our goodness or badness, I think we should just, you know, sit with our sins and virtues. Let all the harm and joy exist in a state of superposition. Don't cancel out the harm. Don't wave away the good. They both exist, neither cancels the other, and we should strive to help more, and to do less harm. We should do everything we can to help those we harm. No one owes us a pass because of the good we've done.

That's the lesson Harlan taught me, and he taught it to me by absolutely failing to live his life this way – a fact that exists alongside all of the good he did, including the great art he made, which I love, and which inspired me.

Not long after Harlan's death, I got a phone call from J Michael Straczynski, Harlan's literary executor. As part of his care for Harlan's literary legacy, Joe was editing a new anthology of short stories, The Last Dangerous Visions, and did I want to contribute a story?

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/harlan-ellison-last-dangerous-vision-1235117069/

Of course I did. Harlan edited Dangerous Visions in 1967: a groundbreaking anthology of uncomfortable science fiction that featured everyone from Philip K Dick to Samuel Delany. The followup, 1972's Again, Dangerous Visions, was, if anything, even more influential, including Le Guin's The Word For World IS Forest, as well as work by Joanna Russ, Kurt Vonnegut, David Gerrold, and James Tiptree, Jr.

Though some of the stories in these books haven't aged well, together, they completely changed my view of what science fiction was and what it could be. But The Last Dangerous Visions was a different (ahem) story. For complicated reasons (which all cashed out to "Harlan being very difficult to work with, sometimes for damned good reasons, other times for completely petty ones), TLDV was, at the time of Harlan's death, fifty years behind schedule. It was "science fiction's most famous unpublished book." Harlan had bought early work from writers who had gone on to have major careers – like Bruce Sterling – and had sat on them for half a century.

Then Joe called me to tell me that he was starting over with TLDV and did I want to contribute a story – and of course I did. I wrote a story for him with the title "Jeffty Is Five," part of my series of stories with the same titles as famous works of sf:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

Joe liked the story, but not the title. He thought Harlan wouldn't have approved of this kind of appropriation, and he wanted to do right by the memory of his old friend. My first reaction was very Harlan-like: this is supposed to make you mad, it's my art, and if it offends you, that's your problem.

But I remembered the most important lesson I learned from Harlan, about good deeds and bad ones, and I thought about Joe, a writer I admired and liked, who was grappling with his grief and his commitment to Harlan's legacy, and I changed my mind and told him of course I'd change the title. I changed the title because Harlan would never have done so, and that's rather the point of the story.The story is (now)) called "The Weight of a Heart, the Weight of a Feather" (a very Harlanish title), and it's about the legacy of complicated people, whose lives are full of noble selflessness *and careless or deliberate cruelty. It's about throwing away the ledger and just letting all those facts sit together, about lives that are neither washed of sin by virtue, nor washed of virtue by sin.

It's a good story, I think, and I'm proud of it, and I'm interested in what the rest of you think now that the book is out:

https://www.blackstonepublishing.com/products/book-fyhm

Harlan was the writer who made me want to get good at reading my stories aloud. I was a charter member of the Harlan Ellison Record Club, as you can see for yourself from the time Harlan (accidentally) doxed me:

http://harlanellison.com/text/paladin.txt

After nearly 20 years of podcasting, I'm actually pretty good at this stuff. I'm going to be podcasting a reading of this story – eventually. I am nearly done "de-googling" my podcast feed, ripping it out of Feedburner, a service that I started using nearly two decades ago to convert a WordPress RSS feed to a podcast feed. In the intervening years, WordPress has come to support this natively and Feedburner has become a division of Google, so I've been methodically removing Feedburner's hooks from my feed, which is now proudly available here, without any surveillance or analytics:

https://craphound.com/feeds/doctorow_podcast

I'll be writing up the process eventually. In the meantime, I'm about to embark on another podcast fiction project, serializing my novella Spill, a "Little Brother" story that Tor's Reactor just published:

https://reactormag.com/spill-cory-doctorow/

The first part of "Spill" will go out tomorrow or Monday. Reactor also just published another "Little Brother" story, "Vigilant," which I read in last week's podcast:

https://craphound.com/littlebrother/2024/09/29/vigilant-a-little-brother-story/

One of my long-running beefs with Harlan was his insistence that the answer of copyright infringement online was to create an obligation on intermediaries – like ISPs – to censor their users' communications on demand from anyone claiming to have been wronged by a post or upload.

This would be bad for free expression under any circumstances, but it's an especially dangerous vision for ISPs, who are among the worst-run, most venal businesses in modern society ("We don't care, we don't have to, we're the phone company" -L Tomlin).

It's hard to overstate just how terrible ISPs are, but even in a field that includes Charter and Comcast, there's one company that rises above the pack when it comes to being grotesquely, imaginatively awful: Cox Communications.

Here's the latest from Cox: they sell "unlimited" gigabit data plans that cost $100 for the base plan and $50 to add the "unlimited" data. But – as Jon Brodkin writes for Ars Technica – Cox uniquely defines "unlimited" as severely limited:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2020/06/cox-slows-internet-speeds-in-entire-neighborhoods-to-punish-any-heavy-users/

Now, you're probably thinking, ho-hum, another company that offered unlimited service and then acted like dicks when a customer treated it as unlimited, ::laughs in American Airlines::

https://www.forbes.com/sites/jamesasquith/2019/11/13/unlimited-first-class-flights-for-lifehow-american-airlines-made-the-most-expensive-mistake-in-aviation-history/

But that's not the Cox story! Cox doesn't just throttle "unlimited" customers' internet to 2006-vintage DSL speeds – they slow down the entire neighborhood around the unlimited customer to those speeds.

As Brodkin writes, every Cox customer in the same neighborhood as an "unlimited" customer named "Mike" had their upload speeds reduced by more than two thirds, from 35mbps to 10mbps, to punish Mike. And they're not the only ones!

https://www.reddit.com/r/GNV/comments/gkicjg/comment/fr670cx/

Cox confirmed they were doing this, saying "performance can be improved for all customers in the neighborhood by temporarily increasing or maintaining download speeds and changing upload speeds for some of our service tiers."

Cox has been on a roll lately, really going for the shitty-telecoms-company gold. Back in August, 404 Media published a leaked pitch deck in which Cox promised advertisers that they were secretly listening to their customers' smart devices, transcribing their private conversations, and using them to target ads:

https://www.404media.co/heres-the-pitch-deck-for-active-listening-ad-targeting/

This isn't just appalling, it's also almost certainly fraudulent. As terrible as "smart" devices are (and oh God are they terrible), the vast majority of them don't do this. That's something a lot of security researchers have investigated, doing things like hooking up a protocol analyzer to a LAN with a smart device on it and looking for data transmissions that correspond to ambient speech in earshot of the gadget's mic.

My guess is that Cox has done a deal with a couple of the bottom-feedingest "smart TV" companies (as a cable operator, Cox will have relationships with a lot of these companies) to engage in this conduct. Smart TVs have emerged as one of the worst categories of consumer technology, on every axis: performance, privacy, repairability. The field has raced to the bottom, hit it, and then started digging to find new lows to sink to. This is just my hunch here, but I think it's highly likely that if there's a class of devices that are bugging your living room and selling the data to Cox, it's gonna be a smart TV (top tip: buy a computer monitor instead, and use your phone or laptop to stream to it).

Ask a certain kind of very smooth-brained, Samuelson-pilled economist about the enshittification of smart TVs and they'll tell you that this is a "revealed preference":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revealed_preference

As in, sure, you may say that you don't want your TV to secretly record your private conversations and sell them to Cox, but actually you quite like it, because you have a TV.

While this is a facially very stupid argument, it's routinely made by people who think they're very smart, a point famously made by Matt Bors's "Mr Gotcha":

https://thenib.com/mister-gotcha/

Comics turn out to be a very good medium for stringing up the revealed preferences crowd on their own petards. This week, Juan Santapau's "The Secret Knots" added to the Mr Gotcha canon with an equally brilliant webcomic, albeit one with a very different vibe, entitled "Remind Me Later":

https://thesecretknots.com/comic/remind-me-later/

Santapau really catches the zeitgeist with this one, which is more of a slow burn than a zinger, and which shows how online "revealed preferences" nonsense grooms us for the same bullshit in every corner of our lives, even our psychotherapist's office. Highly recommended – an instant classic.

"Revealed preferences" comes from the Chicago School of Economics, a field that decided that a) economics should be a discipline grounded in mathematical models; and b) it was impossible to factor power relationships into these models; so c) power doesn't matter.

Once you understand this fact, everything else snaps into focus – like, why the Chicago School loves monopolies. If you model an economy dominated by monopolists without factoring the power that monopolists wield, then you can very easily assume that any monopoly you discover is the result of a lot of people voluntarily choosing to spend all their money with the company they love best.

The fact that we all hate the monopolists we have to deal with is dismissed by these economists as a mirage: "sure, you say you hate them, but you do business with them, therefore, your 'revealed preference' shows that you actually love them."

Which is how we end up with absolutely outrageous rackets like the scholarly publishing cartel. Scholarly journals acquire academics' work for free; get other academics to edit the work for free; acquire lifetime copyright to those finished works; and charge the institutions that paid those "volunteer" academics salaries millions of dollars to access their publications:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/16/the-public-sphere/#not-the-elsevier

These companies don't just lock up knowledge and tie an anchor around the scientists' and scholars' ankles, dragging them down. Their market power means that they can hurt their customers and users in every way, including through rampant privacy violations.

A new study from SPARC investigates the privacy practices of Springerlink, and finds them to be a cesspit of invasive, abusive conduct that would make even a Cox executive blush:

https://zenodo.org/records/13886473

Yes, on the one hand, this isn't surprising. If a company can screw you on pricing, why wouldn't they scruple to give you the shaft on privacy as well? But The fact that a company as terrible as Springer can be the dominant firm in the sector is still shocking, somehow.

But that's terminal-stage capitalism for you. It's not just that bad companies companies thrive – it's that being a bad company is a predictor of sky-high valuations and fawning coverage from the finance press.

Take Openai, a company that the press treats as a heptillion-dollar money-printer whose valuation will eventually exceed the rest of the known universe. Openai has a lot of problems – a mass exodus of key personnel, a product that doesn't work for nearly all the things it's claimed as a solution to – but the biggest one is that it's a bad business.

That's the theme of a fantastic, characteristically scathing-but-deep Ed Zitron article called (what else?) "Openai is a bad business":

https://www.wheresyoured.at/oai-business/

Zitron does something that no one else in the business press does: takes Openai's claims about its business fundamentals – its costs, its prices, its competitors, and even its capabilities – at face value, and then asks, "Even if this is all true, will Openai ever turn a profit?"

The answer is a pretty convincing "no." Zitron calls it a "subprime AI crisis" in a nod to Tim Hwang's must-read 2020 book about the ad-tech bezzle, Subprime Attention Crisis:

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

The fascinating thing about both Zitron and Hwang's analysis isn't that there are big companies that suck – it's that they are able to suck up so much money and credulous excitement, despite how badly they suck.

That's where power – the thing that neoliberal economists say doesn't matter – comes in. Monopoly power is a self-accelerating flywheel, as Amazon's famous investor pitch explains:

https://vimeo.com/739486256/00a0a7379a

Once a monopolist or a cartel wields market power, they can continue to dominate a sector, even though they're very bad – and even if they use their power to rip off both their customers and very powerful suppliers.

That's the lesson of Michael Jordan's lawsuit against NASCAR, as Matt Stoller explains in his latest BIG newsletter:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/michael-jordan-anti-monopolist

Jordan is one of the most famous basketball players, but after retiring from the game, he became a NASCAR owner, and as such, has been embroiled in a monopoly whose abuses are both eerily familiar to anyone who pays attention to, say the pharmacy benefit manager racket:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen

But on the other hand, the fact this is all happening to race-cars and not pharmacies makes it very weird indeed. As with, say, PBMs, NASCAR's monopoly isn't just victimizing the individuals who watch racing, but also the racecar teams. These teams are owned by rich, powerful people (like Jordan), but are "almost always on the verge of bankruptcy."

Why is that? NASCAR rips them off. For example, teams have to buy all their parts from NASCAR, at huge markups, and the purchase contract prohibits them from racing at any rival event. There are a million petty schemes like this, and NASCAR carefully titrates its bleed-off to leave its victims almost at death's door, but still (barely) solvent enough to keep racing.

NASCAR also bought out all the rival leagues, and most of the tracks, and then locked the remaining tracks to exclusivity deals. Then the teams all had to sign noncompetes as a condition of competing in NASCAR, the only game in town – forever.

Hence Michael Jordan, a person who steadfastly refused to involve himself in politics during his basketball career, becoming a firebreathing trustbuster. Stoller cites Jordan's transformation as reason to believe that the anti-monopoly agenda will survive even in the event that Harris wins but bows to corporate donors who insist on purging the Biden administration's trustbusters.

That's a hopeful note, and I'd add my own to it: the fact that the NASCAR scam is so similar to the pharma swindles, academic publishing swindles, and all the other monopoly rip-offs means that there is a potential class alliance between university professors, NASCAR owners, and people with chronic health conditions and big pharmaceutical bills.

That high note brings me to the end of this week's linkdump! And here's a little dessert in case you've got room for one more little link: Kitowares "Medieval Mules", a forthcoming clog styled as trompe l'oeil plate armor:

https://www.kitowares.la/

Pair with old favorites like lycra armor leggings:

https://loricaclothing.com/collections/leggings-1/products/the-augsburg-legging

And a DIY crotcheted knight's helmet:

https://www.etsy.com/listing/590854477/knights-helmet-w-detachable-visor

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER s tories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; a nd SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/05/farrago/#jeffty-is-five

[harmonysanreads]

Yanderes who, when you misbehave, force you to watch horror movies as a form of punishment.

Fortunately for them and unfortunately for you, the movies don't scare the Yanderes themselves. So, by way of their utmost generosity, they decide to even remain in your now-torture room. You would've to sunk through the crevice of the cushions even, if the way you sit at the farthest end of the couch is anything of evidence. Nails digging into the sinews of your arms due to the absence of a pillow or blanket, expression schooled with crumbling nonchalance — you paint such an entertaining picture.

To further unsettle things, they don't attempt to shift closer towards you either like usual instances, knowing very well what the outcome of your defiance will be. The movies themselves are littered with jump-scares, annoyingly immersive sound design and disturbing imagery. The strategy works due to your nerves being frayed from prolonged captivity, the sudden onslaught of stimulus making you particularly jumpy.

The metal cuffs fastened around your ankle and wrists render you immobile from making an escape. You don't even process the shadows blanketing the room twisting and merging to form simulacrums of your fears until your eyes frantically search for them, looking almost bored as screams ricochet off of the walls of your enclosure. The fact that your subconscious gravitated towards your captor for comfort, creates a far uncomfortable ripple throughout your nervous-system than the slaughter taking place on the big screen.

And this show will continue without pause until you beg to be cradled in their embrace once more, promising to never be disobedient again.

[alaydabug2]

Like half of Sophie's detentions are because she was sitting with Keefe and he decided to get mouthy with the teachers 😭

She ain't done nothing wrong

FREE HER 😭✊️

[punishercollection]

Here are two of my mood boards from the very beginning of my collection that I haven't posted yet. Exploring the themes of death, blood, and decay in Phoebe's work / brain storming how to translate those ideas into clothes. Also some inspo pics from Edward Scissorhands, a movie that lent some strong vibes to this collection.

I loveee bloodstains on clothes, but it's difficult to use them in a way that doesn't feel too literal or Halloween.

I didn't stick too strictly to my mood-boarded ideas while sketching and designing my looks, but it's fun to look back now and review the origins of some of my ideas.

[odinsblog]

The Israeli army is just shooting anyone they think is Palestinian, much the same way that Israel is indiscriminately bombing all of Gaza, including the “safe zones” where they have directed noncombatant civilians to go right before they bomb them anyway. It’s war crimes, plain and simple.

[bellaxgiornata]

Sweet of You

Pairing: Frank Castle x Mom!Reader Word Count: 1.6k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: just fluff and a soft dad!Frank

Summary: Waking up in the hospital the morning after giving birth, you find Frank missing from his makeshift bed. But when you learn the reason for his disappearance, you're even more grateful that he's part of your life.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love a soft Frank. Especially a soft dad!Frank. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Sunlight beat against the backs of your eyelids, the brightness of it pulling you straight from sleep. Gradually opening your eyes, you immediately squinted at the warm light shining in through the hospital room’s windows. Blinking hard as you attempted to adjust to the unexpected morning light, you began to wonder exactly when the blinds had been opened; you knew Frank had certainly closed them last night while you’d still been in labor.

The thought of Frank had your eyes shifting away from the windows that overlooked the back of the hospital’s parking lot, your gaze instead lowering to the couch that folded out into a bed. It sat in front of the windows, the blankets a mess from having been tossed to the side. Frank’s pillow was still indented from where he’d been curled up with it last night, but Frank himself was missing from the makeshift bed, no longer buried beneath the blankets. 

A frown settled onto your lips as you carefully pushed yourself upright in the hospital bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in your body as you did. But as you moved, a soft, contented sigh caught your attention, the noise quickly distracting you. 

Your little baby girl was sound asleep in the hospital bassinet next to your bed, her small body bundled neatly in her purple swaddle and matching tiny hat. Her head was turned in your direction, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She looked so peaceful sleeping there–a complete change from the screaming and crying she’d done when she’d first come into the world just a few hours ago.

Staring down at your daughter, who’s mouth you already swore was the same as Frank’s, you found yourself entirely forgetting that he was missing from the hospital room. Instead, you'd become entranced by her tiny little face, watching the faint twitches along her lips as she slept. She was already a perfect mix of you and him.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been lost in thought just staring at the swaddled bundle before you heard the hospital room door open behind you. The noise pulled your attention away from your daughter as you turned around on the bed, expecting to see one of the many nurses coming into your room–because they’d certainly popped in and out of your room plenty of times throughout the night. But instead you spotted Frank carefully closing the door behind himself with his shoulder, a bag in one hand and a drink tray unmistakably holding two coffees in his other. 

“Where'd you go?” you asked.

At the sound of your voice, Frank’s eyes darted up from the drink tray in his hand that he'd been focused on balancing before they landed on you. A small smile pulled at his lips when he saw you sitting there awake before he strode across the room, making his way around your hospital bed as he walked. As you watched him, you saw how his gaze shifted to your sleeping baby girl, noticing how the smile on his face had grown somehow brighter, lighting it up in a way you'd never seen before. Though your stomach growled at the scent of food when he passed by you, and that had your attention switching curiously to the bag in his hand.

“Woke up early. You were still asleep so I thought I'd grab us breakfast,” he told you, placing the coffees and bag onto the little table near your bed. “Figured you deserved somethin’ better than hospital food after what you just went through. And,” he said, pulling one of the massive to-go cups from the drink tray and holding it out to you, “I figured you deserved a large coffee. Know how excited you've been about not needing to watch your caffeine anymore.”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the coffee cup he held out towards you, your hands already eagerly reaching for it. “You're my hero,” you gushed, accepting the hot cup from his hands. “Forget knights in shining armor or superheroes, all I need is you bringing me coffee.”

He chuckled lightly as he turned and began untying the knot on the bag he'd carried in. As you took a long drink from your cup, relishing the coffee you didn't feel guilty for drinking since you were no longer pregnant, your mind began to race at what might be in the bag.

“Don't know about that, honey,” Frank muttered, undoing the knot. “But I did get you somethin’ else.”

Your eyes narrowed curiously as Frank reached into the bag, pulling out a styrofoam container. He leaned over and set it onto the hospital tray beside your bed before rolling that over closer to you. Setting your coffee onto the tray beside the container, you opened the lid and were hit with the delicious scent of food. 

And then you realized what he'd actually brought you. A vegetable egg benedict that you recognized from the brunch place you both frequented. Your favorite item to order whenever you went there, but something you'd been unable to have despite craving it for nine long months.

Eyes growing wide, your head darted over your shoulder towards Frank. He was grinning proudly back at you.

“You got my favorite from Buttermilk?” you asked in awe.

“Knew how much you've been missing it,” he replied with a shrug. “Figured it'd go perfect with your coffee. You know, now that you don't need to avoid runny yolk, either.”

“Marry me,” you blurted with a straight face.

Frank's grin grew wider. “Thought I was s’posed to be the one asking you that?” he teased. Gesturing a hand at the container of food, he ordered, “Eat. Before it’s cold.”

“Thank you, Frank,” you replied, pushing the button to more comfortably raise your hospital bed upright so you could eat. “This was sweet of you. Now I feel like I owe you.”

“Don't owe me nothin’, sweetheart,” Frank assured you, settling down onto his makeshift bed with his own food. “You and our girl there are all I need. Don't need anything else.”

Pausing with your fork hovering above your food, your gaze returned to him. Frank sat there on the fold out couch staring at your sleeping daughter in the bassinet. The corners of his lips were curled into a warm, gentle smile, one of the rare ones that truly reached his eyes. And his eyes–those soft brown eyes of his that you loved so much–were visibly full of emotion.

Sitting there watching him, your coffee and breakfast both temporarily forgotten, you found yourself growing emotional, too. You damn well knew what that little girl meant to him, long before she'd even taken her first breath in this world. And right now it was written all over his face.

The purple little bundle beside your bed suddenly moved, your little girl gradually beginning to fight against the confines of her swaddle. Her face scrunched up in discontent as she let out a grunt. You reached out to push the hospital tray off to the side, prepared to check her diaper or offer her a bottle, but Frank's soft voice stopped you.

“Don't,” he said. “I got her. Just eat your breakfast.”

Your eyes darted up to Frank, watching as he set his container of breakfast off to the side. He rose to his feet, his eyes on your little newborn as he stepped over to the bassinet. 

“C'mere, baby girl,” he cooed softly, his large hands gently sliding underneath her body. “That's it, I got ya.”

He gradually pulled her up and into his arms, carefully cradling her against his chest. Her tiny eyes slowly blinked open, focusing somewhere near Frank’s chin. The look of discontent she’d had was gone as she continued to quietly stare up at him.

“Had a rough introduction to this world, huh?” he asked her softly, sitting back down on the bed with her. “Don't blame you for crying about it. But let me tell you something. You've got the best mom over there,” he said. Frank glanced up, shooting you a wink that quickly had a warmth spreading through you. “We're both lucky she’s ours.”

Biting back the smile threatening to overtake your face, you focused back down on your container of food. Stabbing your fork into the top of one of the eggs, you watched as the delicious yolk you'd had to avoid for months oozed out over the english muffin beneath it. 

“And I'll tell you somethin’ else, baby girl,” Frank continued on, his voice a soft, soothing rumble as he spoke. “If anyone ever hurts you, I can promise they'll have me to deal with. Especially any future assholes thinkin’ they can take you out.”

Eyes going wide in surprise at what he'd said, your head darted over your shoulder towards him once more. “ Frank !” you scolded, though you couldn't stop the laughter that slipped out of you. 

Frank looked up at you, cocking his head to the side as one of his brows slowly rose up onto his forehead. “What?” he asked. 

You shook your head, trying to stifle your laughter. “She's not even twenty-four hours old,” you pointed out. “Can’t you hold off a little longer before you start threatening her future significant others?”

“Why?” he asked back. 

“Because she's only just a baby and–” you stopped short before shaking your head and focusing back on your breakfast. “You know what? Nevermind,” you said. “But I fear for her future dates because you're probably going to have them pissing their pants.”

“Good,” he stated. “Should be scared. ‘Cause no one's gonna hurt either of my girls. Ever.”

Grinning, you speared a vegetable with your fork before bringing it to your mouth. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Frank would keep his word, making sure to take damn good care of the both of you for as long as he was a part of your lives.

[news4dzhozhar]

If Germany were as committed to standing against genocide as they claim, they'd be supporting Palestinians. 90 year old guilt has then enabling the very thing they are supposedly trying to prevent. I guess "never again" was just a slogan. What would their defense case even look like? Just claiming for hours that Israel can do whatever they want because of WWII?

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

You’ve been a very naughty little fucking thing, Machine.

You killed... a lot. Pretty much everybody. Pretty much everybody you encountered, you killed.

That is why, with extreme prejudice, I sentence you to gay baby jail.

May you rust in there forevermore.

Your only source of entertainment? Twitch.tv/getgianni

Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm going to go bot on TF2.

Audio source