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strange-dreams-are-made-of-these · 2 months ago

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Playing Games With This Old Heart

Summary: You need to make cash fast after losing your job. After stumbling on a job, you can't help but to think about your first customer. And he can't get you out of his head.

Warnings: no smut, no fluff, still MDNI as this will be a planned series, canon typical violence, hints of death of a loved one (prior to story), animal death (bear), angst, Female Mutant!Reader with regenerative healing factor.

A/N: It's been two years since ive poste dont his account, so i hope you guys wont hold that against me. Please take this sample of a fic with our favorite X-Man.

Word Count: 4.7 k words

The days were shifting between the long summer heat and a cooler breeze as the leaves started to change from their usual green and full thick coverings to reds, yellows, and browns before leaving their life-sustaining tree and falling to the ground. There was something subtle about the sound of leaves crunching under ones footstep that somehow felt calming. The ground around your home was littered with the fine needles of the Douglas Fir trees that had a very distinct pine smell to them. It was a welcoming smell for you, having lived the majority of your life in rural Montana, the fresh smell of pine felt like home.

The colorful coat of the Maine Coon cat you owned stood out against the green throw blanket placed on the couch, the place he dubbed his spot. His name was Felix and he had been your fury best friend of nearly six years now. He showed up one day on your doorstep when it was raining with his mother. Not knowing much about cats, but knowing they were hungry, you couldn't help but open the last can of tuna you had in your pantry, draining it of its liquid before setting it out for the mother and son cats to eat. His mother trusted you enough to leave her son with you before leaving, never to be seen again. You often wondered what happened to the little minx of a feline, though you were happy to assure her you could take care of her baby.

"Okay, Felix. I'm going into town. Don't miss me too bad while I'm gone, okay?" You chuckle a little watching him as he stretches out, adjusting your jacket in the process. With keys in hand, wallet in your warm coat, and a fully charged phone, you left your home. Your next-door neighbor was only five miles away, as was his other neighbor. The only thing you had to worry about here were bears, mountain lions, and wolves showing up unannounced during meal times. Thankfully the only time you spotted any of the three was during their migration journeys at quite the distance from your porch to the open land headed out toward the lake where they could get their fill of fresh fish and other small creatures that dwelled there.

You kept your distance, you respected their space, and in turn, they stayed away from you. Just how it should have been.

Hoping into your truck, an old one of your father's, you kick it into gear and leave your driveway. The roads were bumpy as the broken rock and dirt shifted under the weight of the truck, bouncing you a little as you made the drive into town. There were a few things you needed to make it through the week: gasoline, and a refill of your water containers. One was used for cooking and drinking, one was used for bathing, and the third was the backup. Being out in these parts, you had to prepare for the unthinkable. Trees block major routes to give supplies, unpredictable weather, and supply shortages.

Another thing you would have liked to get was a fresh cut of meat for dinner. Depending on what was at the store would determine the dinner in store for you. Grilled fish? sounded nice. A steak could have been as equally nice to eat.

Though, there was another reason for your outing today. Since Mr. Kirkwood had sold his farm, you had been out of a job and had been running low on funds. You had to find a job today, any job. Anything that would provide you cash for hard work to continue to provide for yourself and Felix. Stocking shelves at the only grocery store in town? Perfect! Cutting down trees for the logging company? You're the girl for the job, nevermind you have never cut a vertical tree before, only when they were already grounded.

You just needed any job, one that you can continue to live your life.

Parking the truck, you walked to the bed, picking up the water containers, two in one hand and the third in the other. Thankfully there had been a man coming out of the store, seeing your hands full he held it open for you. You thanked him, recognizing him as one of your father's old co-workers. You nodded to each other, letting him go back to his day as you entered the door.

"There she is, I was wondering when you would be coming back. I hadn't seen you in a few days," came the beckoning voice of the store's owner, Mr. Morgan. He was almost like an uncle to all of the younger people in town, being about thirty-five and younger. You were toward the older end of his infinite nieces and nephews, though he would swear you were his favorite.

"I was able to get an extra day or two in on my stock. I call that quite the accomplishment."

"Did you make it last longer, or did you go without longer than usual?" He questioned you, peering over his glass at you as you set the water containers down. He knew what your current situation was, but at the end of the day, he still had a business to run. "I can't do anything for you today until you pay your tab." He was serious, but he had a little glint in his eye as if letting a loved one down.

You looked at him, your once welcoming face now placid. "Mr. Morgan, please. You know I'm good for the money." you fished around in your jacket, pulling out the last thirty-seven dollars and change you had. You knew it wouldn't cover your tab plus what you needed, but you also knew he had a business to run. "I just need a little more time. And some supplies. Please."

It was a plea, a simple one. Though you knew he was the holder behind how the rest of your week was going to go. "I'll stock shelves for you to pay the rest of my tab. I'll scrub the floors with a toothbrush. I'm willing to work."

He took his glasses off, looking at the cash in front of him. He didn't want to see anybody struggling, but he couldn't ignore his debts. He shuffled the money around, taking thirty dollars for himself and handing you the seven dollars and change back. "I can't afford to add anybody else to my payroll, or else I would. You can have one water refill, a full tank of gas, and some cat food. Nothing more."

You stared at him, lips parted as if to protest the money exchange, but the sound of the bells chiming against the door flooded those thoughts. You reached for the cash, scooping the change into your hand. All you could muster was a simple "Thank you." Moving the water containers to the side, you placed two of the containers into the designated area, then took one to the refill station, and filled the water container.

You had to figure something out and fast.

A newly filled water container was placed in the truck bed, a full tank of gas in your truck, and a sack of wet and dry cat food sat on the passenger floorboard. Looking around the small main street of the town where ninety percent of the town's businesses resided, you decided to leave your truck where it was. You were on the hunt for a job, and you were damn determined to find employment by the end of the day.

You used your side view mirror to make sure your hair looked fine, adjusting the collar of your jacket and shirt, you straightened up peering back at the main street. The best way to start job hunting was to start at the end of the street and work your way back down, entering every business you spotted. The good thing about small towns was all you needed was to name-drop a couple of people, resumes didn't hold up well.

The bad thing about small towns was that everybody needed work. Store owner after store owner denied your requests. The pawn shop wasn't looking for new employees, the liquor store had too many employees as is, and the antiquities store only hired their family members. The options were dwindling down, and soon you were nervous you were going to have to find a creative way to make money or even worse, entertain the thought of being a lot lizard.

The only two businesses left were the diner on the right side of the street and the motel at the end of the road. Either of them could have positions open, yet they could also deny you a job opening. You had to hope they had an opening somewhere, knowing you were not creative enough to make and sell items for cash. You didn't own many items to sell, beyond the couch, a cot you used to sleep on, and the few little trinkets you received when her father died. The most expensive item you owned was more than likely the truck, and selling it would mean nearly desertion at your home.

Without another thought, you crossed the street as a logging truck passed in front of you. You made some eye contact with the driver, making sure you waited until he drove in front of you before crossing the street.

As you pushed open the doors of the diner, a woman ten years your senior greeted you. "Have a seat wherever you want, sweetheart."

You crossed the room, taking a seat in front of her as she cleaned the counter space. "I know you are busy, and I don't want to take up too much of your time. I'm looking for a job. Mr. Morgan told me you might have something open here?"

The woman looked up from her work, eyeing you down after you mentioned Mr. Morgan. Her ginger curly hair cascaded down her shoulders as she shifted her weight. "Mr. Morgan, huh?" It was hard to tell by her expression, but she seemed to be thinking about something.

The door opened again, and a young blonde woman entered appearing slightly disheveled as if she had just woken up. "I'm here, Rebecca."

The woman in front of you, Rebecca as you read the name tag, turned her body toward the younger woman, then looked to the clock. She placed one hand on her hip. "Only two hours late." She looked between you and the woman, a mischievous look in her eyes. "I told you, show up on time or don't show up at all."

The blonde woman huffed a little, crossing her arms. "It's not like anybody else wants this job."

Rebecca smirked, walking around the counter toward the woman. "Actually she does." She was quick to snatch the apron from the blonde woman. "Clean your uniform and have it dropped by the end of the week, then you will get your check." She then tossed the apron to you, catching it effortlessly.

The blonde huffed, storming out of the diner and throwing a couple of curses in the air. "Your shift starts now. Take a menu, and study it between customers. Orders go to Big Ben. Don't ask us why we call him that and don't make any eye contact. Burgers are made to order, the soup of the day is Italian wedding, and you can give me your jacket."

Her orders came quickly as you stood up, removing your jacket and tying the apron around your waist. There had been a little notebook in the apron and a pen, thankfully saving your ass as you wrote down the notes she gave you. The doorbell rang again, the older woman looked at you with a questionable look. That was your cue, time to work. "Take a seat wherever you want." You nodded, taking a menu in your hands and walking up to your first-ever customer.

As his boots made contact with the ground below him, the man took a moment to adjust his shoulders, rolling them a couple of times as he stretched. He could have sworn the truck cabs were getting smaller and smaller, almost feeling his head touch the rooftop. At least he could rest comfortably during his lunch break. He had contemplated having a liquid diet for lunch paired with a cigar, but the smell of greasy burgers filled his nostrils. Tucking the keys of the truck in his vest pocket, Logan walked toward to diner.

He passed by an unruly blonde woman, muttering under her breath about being fired barely filling his ears. He persisted in, entering the diner. Not looking up, he heard the greeting offered to him, hearing two different footsteps filling the diner. One was the small heels clicking against the tile floors. The other was boots muffled against the tile. A small pair of hands moved to set a menu down in front of him, along with what looked like one single-ply napkin and a fork. "What can I get started for you?"

Logan still hadn't looked up yet, looking at the laminated two-sided menu in front of him. "Coffee." He blurted, though wishing he could have an iced beer with his food. The woman left his table, rounding the counter and finding the coffee pot and cups. A minute may have passed by as he scanned the menu. He wasn't that much of a picky eater, as long as it used to have a heartbeat, he was fine.

The mug was set down in front of him, steam rolling off the black liquid. "I'll have the cheeseburger and fries." He picked up the menu, handing it back to the waitress. That was when he finally turned to look at her, remembering her as the woman who crossed the street behind him. She didn't seem to be dressed for work, not like the other woman who was behind the counter now fiddling with some dishes.

"You got it." She left the table, and walked over to the window, setting a ticket in the designated space that the other woman told her about. His hand wrapped around the mug in front of him, looking outside as he silently observed the town. He was in this stretch of land only long enough to get him enough cash to figure out his next move. He didn't like to stay in the same place too long, maybe a year or two at most. He didn't mind the small circles running in this part of the state, but he knew that if he wanted to go somewhere else he would have to figure it out soon before the snow moved in.

What felt like ten minutes had passed before the woman came back, setting his plate in front of him. "Can I get you anything else?"

He shook his head, brushing her off. As she left, she could smell a strong scent of pine around her, as if she herself was a pine tree. It wasn't a disheartening smell, something he actually liked.

Another set of diners came in, sitting a few booths behind Logan. As he ate his food all he could hear was her voice, despite there being a total of seven beings in the diner he could hear. Somehow her voice was the loudest in his mind. Not the heartbeats of the seven people, not his heartbeat, not her heartbeat. Her voice.

As he finished the food in front of him, she walked over to him, leaving his ticket and grabbing the empty plate. "Do you want a cup for the road?"

He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a billfold. "Yeah, sounds good."

She returned with his to-go coffee, handing it over to him as he left cash on the table, adjusting his shirt collar. "Here, let me get your change."

"Keep it." He walked out of the diner, making a bee-line for his truck, fighting everything in him to talk to her again. Little did he know, that wasn't going to be their only interaction for the day.

The daylight began to dissipate, street lights were turning on and the neon signs from the only bar in town began to glow. Rebecca presented to you with a powder blue uniform dress. The diner and the employees looked as if they hadn't left the fifties, just as the regular customers liked to relive. "You did good, peanut. The job is yours. Your next shift is tomorrow, Nine to five, be here no less than ten minutes before clocking in tomorrow. I'll have some shoes for you. Can't have my girls in boots for service."

You took the uniform and hanger, nodding. "Yes ma'am."

Rebecca giggled a little. "Oh darlin', I'm no ma'am. You can call me Becky."

Parting ways with your new manager, you left the diner, uniform in hand and some tips in your apron. You couldn't help but think about the first customer you had that day, a man appearing around your age, how quick your interactions were, but how he almost seemed disinterested in interacting with you. Was it possible he was a regular of the blonde woman? He paid his bill, he tipped you, and you went on about your day. That was all you could ask for.

Returning to your truck still parked in front of the grocery store, you set your items down in the cab. Peering to the bed of the truck, you huff as you realize your water container is missing. At least the thief had the balls to leave your empty gas container. Mr. Morgan's place was closed for the night, so you would have to swing by the store after work. "Cowards." you hum to yourself, getting in the truck and turning over the engine.

Returning home, you fed Felix with the food you acquired today. Becky made sure you had something to eat as well before you left the diner, though Big Ben had made a comment about it. This only solved three of your problems for the day. You still needed to wash up, and without the water container, you only had one choice.

The easiest thing would be to take a bucket to the lake and boil the water before using it to wash up. Not thinking clearly either, you left the house without any type of protection, knowing you were just getting water and heading back to the house. The only light you had to help you was the half-moon above you.

Unknown to you, the man from the diner had followed you home, wondering what you were up to. He wished he could understand what was happening, but your voice was all he could hear and focus on the rest of the day. His truck was parked in the woods opposite your home, and he stood in the tree line listening to the orchestra of insects and animals around the both of you. Foxes howled in the far distance, deer were settling in for the night. But there was another predator within the vicinity, one unbeknownst to you.

You kneeled down to fill the metal bucket with water, you were being watched by a wolverine and a black bear. A bear looking for its next meal, and a wolverine searching for answers, only to find more problems in his way.

The grunt of the bear finally caught your attention. It had been nearly twenty feet in front of you, standing on a rock as it discarded the fish carcass in its claws. He smelled bigger game, and his blood lust was all he could focus on.

Leaving the bucket still in the water, you slowly stood up, keeping your hands to your sides. It stayed on its rock, turning toward you. It must have been fully grown, which spelled danger for you. Black bears did not care and would defend themselves to the death, even if it was not threatened.

Seconds felt like minutes as the bear finally stood up, roaring before falling to all fours and darting toward you. There was no way you could outrun a bear, let alone rely on your home to defend you. Laying down now meant instant death for you. Climbing trees was out of the question.

Your heart pounded in your chest with every footfall, knowing the longer you thought about survival, the more your chances diminished.

The bear caught up to you, pinning you down and tossing you around. Your screams filled the space of the open field around you. Claws tore into your skin and clothes as you felt warm blood escape your body.

Snikt

The bear roared out, turning its attention away from you to something else, attacking it. The sounds of two animals tousling with each other filled the air, but after one minute, the bear grew quiet, a distinct thud was heard as its body fell to the ground.

Something rushed up to you, and before you could react, you felt human hands touching your body. "No, no, no."

You looked up to see the man from the diner hovering over you as his knees collided with the ground next to you. His face was bleeding, but as you watched him, you saw his wounds close and heal within seconds. Almost just like...

He observed you, looking at where your wounds were.

Or used to be.

You sat up, scooting away from him a little. Breathing heavily, the both of, you looked at his tattered clothes and blood stains. yet there was an absence of wounds. "What are you?" You asked hurriedly.

He stared at you, his eyes dancing the same tango where your wounds used to be. "I could ask you the same." He ran a hand over his hair before standing up. He offered you a hand, however you didn't take it. Brushing yourself off from the dirt.

"Nothing happened here, okay?"

Logan turned toward you as he watched you walk back to the lake, picking up the bucket of water.

You realized what you said sounded harsh, and that wasn't your nature. Closing your eyes briefly, you look back at the man. "I have some clothes in my house. I can at least give you something to replace those."

He watched you begin walking toward the cabin you called home. Taking a moment, he decided to follow in your footsteps, quickly matching your pace to walk with you. "I saw you get attacked by that bear. I can see the blood." His eyes scan over your back, where layers of clothes are torn. Not just your jacket, but your shirt, and an undershirt.

You swung open the door of your cabin after walking up the little set of stairs on your porch. "Not to sound like a broken record, but, I can ask you the same."

After both of you were in the cabin, you set the bucket down next to the woodfire stove, pulled some of the water into a pot, then set it on the surface of the stove to boil the water. You then opened up a door, the only closet space in your cabin. There was a box labeled Dad's clothes written in neat handwriting. You pushed it out to the side, then grabbed two jackets. "Here, pick out what you want."

He looked at you, unsure of the idea. There was more to ask now, and he wasn't so sure where to start. He watched as you moved around in the cabin, picking up a little bowl and scooping its contents into a bowl. He could smell the cat, but not see it. He looked around, wondering where it was.

You observed his behavior, wondering what he was doing. Clearing your throat, you took a stab in the dark. "His name is Felix. He doesn't like strangers. If I had to guess, he is on my bed, or under it."

He smirked a little, knowing his suspicion had been confirmed. He approached the box, opening it to look at the different shirts and pants inside.

You observed him, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the wall. "Why are you out here?" You were thankful he showed up when he did, knowing you didn't have many defenses against the bear beyond how you healed.

Instead of giving a bullshit answer or response, he turned to look at you, a gray flannel in hand. "I was just passing through." He lied.

You shook your head, eyeing him as you lowered an eyebrow. "No, you didn't. Nobody passes through this place." Sighing a little, you felt a tug in your back. "Look, I've had a somewhat normal life here, have my entire life. I don't really have anything else to go to, or the drive to go anywhere else. I'll tell you what I can do, and I can answer any questions you have. Then we can part our separate ways. Sound like a deal?"

Logan stood up, tossing the flannel over his shoulder. He held his hands up to his sides, shrugging his shoulders. "I won't complain." He didn't know where this would lead him, but the thought of getting some answers meant his trip wouldn't be wasted.

Nodding, you rolled the sleeve of your torn jacket up, exposing the lower part of your arm to him. you pulled one of the logs out of the stove, holding the unburned end in your hand. The other side was on fire. You held your arm out in front of you, then pressed the fire to your skin, doing your best to stifle the groans from the injury. Pulling the log away, the third-degree burn healed almost instantly as tissue, muscles, and skin grew back together. After showing him the display of your power, you put the log back in the stove. "I was never sick as a child. injured that should have resulted in broken bones never bothered me."

Logan watched you burn yourself and then heal almost instantly. He hadn't met anyone before who had the same healing rate as he did. What were the odds of meeting another mutant out in the middle of nowhere Montana?

"Can I show you what I can do?" He asked, watching your every moment with precision. As he watched you nod, he moved his right hand to cross in front of him. Slowly, the sound of moving metal filled the air as three long knife-like appendages emerged between his knuckles. You stared in a mix of awe and confusion. He smirked, then sliced the pad of his left hand, showing you his own healing rate.

What caught him off guard was how you began to approach him, though it was a slow approach. On instinct, he retracted his claws, the spaces where they had once been healing up. "Does it hurt?" You ask him, rubbing your own knuckles where the blades would have been.

He didn't know how to feel, knowing that the two of you were just strangers passing in the night. "Every damn time." His voice was above a whisper, as if afraid the tone of his voice would break the sound barrier.

Silent moments passed between the two of you, tension filling the air. He couldn't stand it anymore as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I should really get going," he spoke, stepping around you. Dazed little you finally felt you weren't the only one anymore.

You turned around to face him as he approached your door. "You know, I have a shift at the diner tomorrow. Maybe you'll happen to forget your lunch and have to stop by the diner?"

He should say no. He should be grabbing his things and heading out of town as quickly as possible. He should put this place in his rearview mirror and forget anything that happened there. But the drum of your heartbeat spoke bigger volumes than his brain did.

"We'll see." He nodded, thanking you silently with a gesture of the shirt before leaving your cabin, and walking toward his truck. He needed out of there as quickly as possible. Another moment with you could have sent him into a coma. How beautiful you smelled, how kind you were. Even though you were quick to block him earlier and run away, you still let him into your home and offered him a simple reward for saving your life.

It was almost too intoxicating to think about. And the promise of tomorrow could never come any sooner.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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For 40 years, Big Meat has openly colluded to rig prices

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

Noted socialist agitator Adam Smith once wrote, "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

Smith was articulating a basic truth: when an industry grows concentrated, it grows cozy. Cultural differences between dominant firms are homogenized as top executives move from company to company, cross-pollinating attitudes and approaches. Ambituous, firm-hopping workaholic top brass make all their friends at the office, and so their former colleagues from one or two jobs back remain in their social circles.

Once an industry consists of half a dozen firms, the people running those companies constitute an incestuous financial polycule. They are executors of one anothers' estates, best men and maids of honor at one anothers' weddings, godparents to each others' kids. They play on the same softball teams and take family vacations together.

It would be heartwarming if it wasn't so costly to the rest of us. Remember Smith's maxim: "the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices." Class solidarity among corporate executives forms a united front to screw us in every conceivable way, from corrupting our politicians to maiming and cheating workers to gouging buyers.

That's the basis of American antitrust law. When Robert Sherman was stumping for the passage of the Sherman Act, America's first major antitrust law, he thundered "If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

Or rather, that was the basis of American antitrust law – until the Reagan era, when the fringe theories of the Nixonite criminal Robert Bork were elevated to a new orthodoxy. Under Bork's conception of antitrust, monopolies were evidence of excellence. If a company puts all its competitors out of business, that must mean that it is "efficient."

In Bork's fantasy world, the only way a company could attain dominance is by being so beloved by its customers that every competitor withers away. Governments that bust monopolies aren't protecting the public from "autocrats of trade"; they're overthrowing the winners of an election where you "vote with your wallet" to pick the best company.

But Bork and his co-fantasists couldn't quite manage all that with a straight face. They grudgingly admitted that a certain kind of bad monopolist could hypothetically exist, one that used its "market power" to raise prices or lower quality. Only when these offenses against our "consumer welfare" occurred should the state step in to protect its people.

This may sound good in theory, but in practice, it was a dead letter. The consumer welfare test isn't as simple as "If prices go up after a merger, punish the company." Instead, the government had to prove that the price raises came from "market power," and not from an increase in energy or labor costs, or some other "exogenous factor," like Mercury being in retrograde:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/10/you-had-one-job/#thats-just-the-as

And wouldn't you know it, it turns out that the mathematical models prescribed to distinguish greed from unavoidable circumstance inevitably "prove" that the monopolist wasn't at fault. Surely, it's just just a coincidence that the priesthood that understood how to make and interpret these models were Chicago School Economists who sold model-making as a service to companies that wanted to raise prices.

Pro-monopoly economists insist that this isn't true, and that their theory still has room to prosecute bad monopolies and cartels where they occur – more, they say this is already happening. In particular, they insist that "greedflation" can't be real, because it would require the kind of conspiracy that Smith warned of, and that their sickly antitrust enforcement is sufficient to prevent:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

This strains credulity. After all, the CEOs of giant companies in concentrated industries openly boast to their shareholders about how they've used the covid and Ukraine invasion shocks to hike prices to increase their profit margins – not just cover their additional costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

While excuseflation is new, open, naked price-fixing by industry cartels is not. Take the meat-packing industry, dominated by a tiny handful of giant corporations whose executives literally ran a betting pool on how many of their workers would get covid each week while working in their cramped, unventilated factories:

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-55009228

These companies have seen their margins soar – up 300% over the lockdown – while their payments to ranchers and growers cratered:

https://www.reuters.com/business/meat-packers-profit-margins-jumped-300-during-pandemic-white-house-economics-2021-12-10/

All this might leave one wondering whether there isn't something a little, you know, "conspiracy against the publick"-y going on in Big Meat?

Let me tell you about Agri Stats. Agri Stats has been around since 1985. Every large meat packer pays to be a "member" of Agri Stats, and they each submit weekly, detailed statistics about every aspect of their business: all their costs, all their margins, broken out by category. Agri Stats compiles this into phone-book-thick books that each member gets every week, telling them everything about how all of their competitors are running their businesses:

https://www.agristats.com/history

The companies whose data appears in this book are anonymized, but it's trivial to re-identify each supplier. Tyson execs hold regular "naming process" meetings where they go through new books and de-anonymize the data. A Butterball exec confirmed that he "can pick the companies for rankings with 100% certainty."

As David Dayen writes in The American Prospect, these books are incredibly detailed: "bird weights, freezer inventory, and 'head killed per operating hour.'" Within the cozy meat cartels, Agri Stats acts as a clearinghouse that allows every business in the industry to act in concert, running the entire meat-packing sector as a single company:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-10-03-lawsuit-highlights-why-meat-overpriced/

As interesting as the list of Agri Stats members is, the groups that don't get to see Agri Stats' "books" is just as important: "farmers, workers, or retailers." Agri Stats also offers consulting services to its members. As an exec at pork processor Smithfield put it, Agri Stats advice boils down to four words "Just raise your price."

Agri Stats ranks its members based on how high their prices are – they literally publish a league table with the highest prices at the top. Meat packers pay bonuses to their execs based on how high the company's rank is on that table. Agri Stats meets with its members throughout the year to discuss "price opportunities" and to advise them to "exercise restraint" by restricting supply to keep prices up. When one Agri Stats member considered leaving the cartel, Agri Stats wooed them back by telling them how to make an additional $100k by raising bacon prices.

The reason Dayen is writing about Agri Stats now is that the DoJ Antitrust Division has brought an antitrust suit against them. This is part of a wave of antitrust actions brought by Biden's DoJ and FTC, who, along with his NLRB, are shaping up to be the most pugnacious, public-interest force against corporate power since the Reagan administration:

https://www.meatpoultry.com/articles/29124-doj-sues-agri-stats-for-complicity-in-meat-market-manipulation

All this enforcement isn't a coincidence. It comes from an explicit rejection of neoliberalism's core tenets: inequality reflects merit, monopolies are efficient, and government can't do anything. In Biden's DoJ, FTC and NLRB, they're partying like it's 1979:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

What's amazing about the Agri Stats conspiracy to raise prices is that it's been going since the Reagan administration. It's a smoking gun proof that "consumer welfare" never cared about price-fixing and robbing the public (can a gun still smoke after 40 years?). There was never a time when consumer welfare antitrust cared about consumer welfare. It was always and forever a front for "a conspiracy against the publick," a "contrivance to raise prices."

Big Meat has been robbing America for two generations. Some of those stolen funds were used to corrupt our political process. The meat sector gets $50 billion in public subsidies and still gouges us on prices and rips off its suppliers:

https://www.ewg.org/news-insights/news/2022/02/usda-livestock-subsidies-near-50-billion-ewg-analysis-finds

Which means that it's possible that we're simultaneously being ripped off with meat prices and that meat prices are artificially low. Try and wrap your head around that one!

The do-nothing, pro-monopoly neoliberal antitrust is a virus that spread around the world. The EU's antitrust laws were reshaped to mirror American laws after the war through the Marshall Plan, but since the late 1970s, European lawmakers and enforcers have ignored their own laws (just like their American counterparts) and encouraged monopolies as "efficient."

This Made-in-Europe oligopoly, combined with energy and grain shocks from Russian invasion of Ukraine, created the perfect storm for European greedflation. As food prices spiked across the EU, Austrian hacktivist Mario Zechner set out to investigate Austrian grocers' pricing. Using the grocers' own APIs, he was able to compile and analyze a dataset of prices at Austrian grocers:

https://www.wired.com/story/heisse-preise-food-prices/

When Zechner open-sourced his project, collaborators showed up to expand the project across other EU countries, and an anonymous party donated a huge database of prices stretching back to 2017. The data reveals clear collusion among the grocers, who raise prices in near-lockstep, and use gimmicks like cyclic price drops to hide their collusion:

https://github.com/badlogic/heissepreise

Not every grocer has an API, and even the ones that do have APIs could easily block Zechner and co from accessing their data. When that happens, they could – and should – turn to scraping to continue their project. They should also scrape grocers elsewhere, including in Canada, where grocers rigged the price of bread:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/25/deep-scrape/#steering-with-the-windshield-wipers

Because Big Meat's "conspiracy against the publick" isn't unique to meat. It's in all our food, it's in all our goods, it's in all our services. The fact that the meat industry was able to rob American buyers, ranchers and farmers for two generations under a 200' tall neon sign that blinked "AGRI STATS AGRI STATS AGRI STATS" night and day is frankly astonishing.

But there's never just one ant. If the meatheads running Big Meat were able to do this in broad daylight since the NES years, imagine what all the other industries were able to get up to in the shadows.

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/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #meat #monoopoly #price fixing #antitrust #austria #mario zechner #scraping #adversarial interoperability #greedflation #price inflation #market power #david dayen #agri stats #meat packers

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

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On Tuesday morning, five days after Hurricane Helene ripped through Boone, North Carolina, David Marlett was on his way to the campus of Appalachian State University. The managing director of the university’s Brantley Risk & Insurance Center, Marlett was planning to spend the day working with his colleagues to help students and community members understand their insurance policies and file claims in the wake of the storm. He didn’t sound hopeful. “I’m dreading it,” he said. “So many people are just not going to have coverage.”

Helene made landfall southeast of Tallahassee, Florida, last week with winds up to 140 miles per hour, downing trees and bringing record-breaking storm surges to areas along the Gulf Coast before charging up through Georgia. But perhaps its most shocking impacts have been on inland North Carolina, where it first started raining while the storm was still over Mexico. At least 57 people are dead in Buncombe County in the west of the state alone. Communities like Boone received dozens of inches of rainfall despite being hundreds of miles from the coast. Waters rose in main streets, sinkholes and mudslides wreaked havoc, and major roads were blocked, flooded, or degraded by the storm.

Now, there’s a good chance that many homeowners in North Carolina won’t see any payouts from their insurance companies—even if they have policies they thought were comprehensive.

“The property insurance market for homes was already a patchwork system that really doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Marlett says. “Now you’re adding in the last couple of years of economic uncertainty, inflation, climate change, population migration—it’s just an unbelievably bad combination happening all at once.”

For North Carolinians, the issue right now has to do with what, exactly, private insurance is on the hook for when it comes to a storm. An average homeowner policy covers damage from wind, but private homeowners’ insurance plans in the US do not cover flooding. Instead, homeowners in areas at risk of flooding usually purchase plans from the National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP).

The way a hurricane wreaks havoc on a state is a crucial deciding factor for insurers’ wallets. Hurricane Ian, which hit Florida as a category 4 storm with some of the highest wind speeds on record, caused $63 billion in private insurance claims. In contrast, the bulk of the $17 billion in damage caused by 2018’s Hurricane Florence, which tore up the North Carolina coast, was water damage, not wind; as a result, private insurers largely avoided picking up the check for that disaster.

This breakout of flood insurance from home policies dates back to the 1940s, says Donald Hornstein, a law professor at the University of North Carolina and a member of the board of directors of the North Carolina Insurance Underwriting Association. Private insurance companies decided that they did not have enough data to be able to accurately predict flooding and therefore could not insure it. “In some ways, that calculation of 50 years ago is still the calculation insurers make today,” he says.

While the NFIP, which was created in the late 1960s, provides virtually the only backup against flood damage, the program is saddled with debt and has become a political hot potato. (Project 2025, for instance, recommends phasing out the program entirely and replacing it with private options.) Part of the problem with the NFIP is low uptake. Across the country, FEMA statistics show that just 4 percent of homeowners have flood insurance. Some areas hit by Helene in Appalachia, initial statistics show, have less than 2.5 percent of homeowners signed up for the federal program.

“Even in coastal areas, not many people buy that, much less here in the mountains,” Marlett says. “People have never seemed to fully understand that flood is a separate policy.”

Flooding is not unprecedented in the mountains of North Carolina: Hurricane Ivan swept through Appalachia in 2004, and flash floods from rivers are not unheard of. Purchasing flood insurance is mandatory with a government-backed mortgage in some areas of the country, based on flood zones set by FEMA. But the data is based on extremely outdated floodplain maps that have not taken the most recent climate science on record rainfall into account.

“The biggest non-secret in Washington for decades is how hopelessly out of date these flood maps are,” Hornstein says.

Even if water wasn’t the cause of destruction for some homeowners in North Carolina, the storm’s disastrous mudslides—another risk supercharged by climate change—may not be covered either. Many home insurance policies have carve-outs for what are known as “earth movements,” which includes landslides, sinkholes, and earthquakes. In some states, like California, insurers are mandated to offer additional earthquake insurance, and homeowners can purchase private additional policies that cover earth movements. But in a state like North Carolina, where earthquake risk is extremely low, homeowners may not even know that such policies exist.

It’s also been a tough few years for the insurance industry across the country. A New York Times analysis from May showed that homeowners’ insurers lost money in 18 states in 2023—up from eight states in 2013—largely thanks to expensive disasters like hurricanes and wildfires. Payouts are increasingly costing insurers more than they are getting in premiums. Homeowners are seeing their policies jump as a result: According to statistics compiled by insurance comparison shopping site Insurify, the average annual cost of home insurance climbed nearly 20 percent between 2021 and 2023. In Florida, which has the highest insurance costs in the country, the average homeowner paid over $10,000 a year in 2023—more than $8,600 above the national rate.

Florida has made headlines in recent months as ground zero for the climate-change insurance crisis. More than 30 insurance companies have either fully or partially pulled out of Florida over the past few years, including big names like Farmers’ and AAA, after mounting losses from repeated major hurricanes like 2022’s Ian, the most expensive natural disaster in the state’s history. Florida’s insurer of last resort, now saddled with risk from multiple homeowners, has proposed a rate increase of 14 percent, set to go into effect next year.

In comparison, North Carolina’s insurance market looks pretty good. No insurers have exited the state since 2008, while homeowners pay an average of $2,100 per year—high, but avoiding the sky-high rates of states like Florida, California, and Texas.

“What traditionally has happened is that there’s a rate increase every few years of 8 to 9 percent for homeowner’s insurance,” says Hornstein. “That has kept the market stable, especially when it comes to the coast.”

But as natural disasters of all kinds mount, it’s tough to see a way forward for insurance business as usual. The NFIP is undergoing a series of changes to update the way it calculates rates for flood insurance—but it faces political minefields in potentially expanding the number of homeowners mandated to buy policies. What’s more, many homeowners are seeing the prices for their flood insurance rise as the NFIP adjusts its rates for existing floodplains using new climate models.

Many experts agree that the private market needs to reflect in some way the true cost of living in a disaster-prone area: in other words, it should be more expensive for people to move to a city where it’s more likely your house will be wiped off the map by a storm. The cost of climate change does not seem to be a deterrent in Florida, one of the fastest-growing states in the country, where coastal regions like Panama City, Jacksonville, and Port St. Lucie are booming. (Some research suggests that the mere existence of the NFIP shielded policyholders from the true costs of living in flood-prone areas.)

Asheville, at the heart of Buncombe County, was once hailed as a climate haven safe from disasters; the city is now reeling in the wake of Helene. For many homeowners, small business owners, and renters in western North Carolina, the damage from Helene will be life-changing. FEMA payouts may bring, at best, only a fraction of what a home would be worth. Auto insurance generally covers all types of damage, including flooding—a small bright spot of relief, but not enough to offset the loss of a family’s main asset.

“People at the coast, at some point after the nth storm, they start to get the message,” Hornstein says. “But for people in the western part of the state, this is just Armageddon. And you can certainly forgive them for not having before appreciated the fine points of these impenetrable contracts.”

Marlett says that there are models for insurance that are designed to better withstand the challenges of climate change. New Zealand, for instance, offers policies that cover all types of damage that could happen to your house; while these policies are increasingly tailored price-wise to different types of risk, there’s no chance a homeowner would experience a climate disaster not covered by their existing policies. But it’s hard, he says, to see the US system getting the wholesale overhaul it needs, given how long the piecemeal system has been in place.

“I sound so pessimistic,” he said. “I’m normally an optimistic person.”

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mrs-dr-reid · 2 months ago

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My Personal Logan Howlett Headcanons (Part 1/?)

Since he's so tall, he always rests his chin on top of your head when he hugs you from behind

He is your Scary Dog Privilege in every possible situation. His Resting Stab Face™ is probably a major contributing factor to that

He lets you play with his hair, even if he's slightly disgruntled at your insistence that it looks like kitty ears

If you don't like the smell of his cigars, he'll smoke them outside so you don't have to be surrounded by the stench

It's kinda hard for him to get drunk because he metabolizes alcohol so fast, but on the rare occasion he manages to get plastered, he turns into the clingiest son of a bitch on the planet (and the touchiest, but that's besides the point)

He keeps a Polaroid of you in his wallet, so no matter where he ends up going, he always has you with him

Gives you his dog tags to wear when he goes off on his self discovery missions as a promise that he'll come back to you mostly in one piece

Will pick you up and throw you over his shoulder to remove you from a situation. Whether you're trying to fistfight Scott for eating your leftovers, or if he just wants you to himself for a couple of hours, rest assured you will be slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes

He buys an extra copy of whatever romance novel you're currently reading and takes notes, highlighter and everything. Whether it be a run-of-the-mill fluff piece or hardcore smut, you bet your ass he's gonna take notes

Because of his super heightened sense of smell, he knows the second your iron level dips that it's your time of the month, and he immediately springs into doting boyfriend mode

He's a shameless flirt, and he hits on you pretty much non-stop, but the second you stroke his cheek and tell him how pretty he is with a lovesick look on your face? The man is done for

Always shows off for you if you watch him do his workouts, or he just straight up makes you sit on his back while he does push-ups

He always gives you his jacket when it's cold, mostly because he loves seeing you in his clothes because you practically drown in them due to how big on you they are

He runs his thumb over your knuckles all the time when you two are hanging out with the other X-Men, occasionally bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it, solely because he knows it makes you blush

Forehead kisser. Partially because he's so frickin tall and it's the easiest place for him to reach, but he cannot go fifteen minutes without kissing your forehead

Will use any excuse to get his hands on you in any circumstance. Whether he's drawing circles on your hip when you're sitting on his lap, or sneaking a hand into your back pocket to not-so-subtly palm your ass, he's gonna do it and have a shit-eating grin on his face the entire time

Such a good listener. It's the highlight of his day when you ramble about everything you did that day while playing with his hands, and he'll just sit there and listen, occasionally asking a question if only to keep you talking because he loves the sound of your voice

Will give you piggyback rides if you're tired of walking or you wore the wrong shoes. You're the only one who gets that privilege, though. Anyone else asks him and he tells them to screw themselves

#logan speaks #logan writes #logan has headcanons #logan howlett headcanons

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moodymelanist · 1 year ago

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What Happens in Vegas

Happy @cassianappreciationweek everyone! I had a lot of fun with this one and major shoutout to @c-e-d-dreamer for giving me the plot idea for this ❤️‍🔥

Summary: Cassian and the guys spend a weekend in Vegas to celebrate his upcoming marriage to Nesta.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Cassian

When Cassian had agreed to let Rhys take him to Vegas for an all-expenses-paid bachelor party weekend, he’d been so excited that he hadn’t been able to stop talking about it for days.

He just hadn’t factored in how much he’d miss Nesta.

“You have everything?” Nesta asked, leaning against one of their living room walls as Cassian wheeled his suitcase to the door.

“I think so,” Cassian answered. He did a last-minute check that he had his phone, wallet, and keys, along with a light jacket for the flight. “If not, I can just buy it there.”

“Assuming you’ll be sober enough to think straight,” she teased, following him as he walked to the front of their home.

When they’d been throwing around bachelor party ideas, originally Cassian had wanted to do something chill. He wasn’t into the stereotypical strip club party — especially not when he had Nesta at home waiting for him — but Rhys, Azriel, and Lucien had managed to convince him to visit Vegas for the weekend. Cassian wasn’t a huge gambler, but there were lots of things to do other than throw money away at the casinos, and he’d always wanted to go to Vegas. So he’d agreed to make the trip, and now the moment of truth had finally come.

Cassian wheeled his suitcase outside to see that Rhys’ familiar black Range Rover was sitting in front of their townhouse, the trunk already open for Cassian to add his suitcase to the mix. He waved toward the car and turned back to Nesta so he could give her a proper goodbye, leaning in and pulling her into his arms in a fierce hug. He buried his face into the side of her neck and inhaled the familiar smell of her perfume while she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into his embrace. Maybe he was being a little dramatic, but who cared? She was the love of his life. He could be a little dramatic if he wanted.

“I’ll miss you,” Cassian murmured. He pulled back from the hug to fix her with what was probably one of the dopiest looks he’d given her yet. “So much.”

“I’ll miss you too, Cassian,” Nesta replied, the hint of a pleased smile making the corners of her lips turn up. “Have a safe flight.”

“Let’s go, lover boy!” Rhys called out from the car. He honked the horn like an asshole and Cassian whirled around to flip him off. “We’re gonna be late for our flight!”

“Shut the fuck up, Rhys, I’m saying goodbye to my wife,” Cassian yelled back. “Who I love very much!”

Nesta laughed, pulling Cassian’s attention back to her. “I love you too. Now hurry up, I have to keep packing for my trip.”

Nesta had decided on taking a beach trip for her bachelorette party, her and the rest of the ladies deciding to drive down to Myrtle Beach to spend a few days relaxing by the water. She and her sisters – along with Emerie and Gwyn – had rented out a beach house for a long weekend, and Cassian couldn’t wait to see just how many freckles would appear on her skin.

“Have fun at the beach,” Cassian said. He leaned in for a goodbye kiss and forced himself to eventually pull away, but not before he cupped her face and ran his thumb across her cheek. “Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, baby,” Nesta said back. She waited until he’d put his suitcase in the trunk and got in the car before she turned around and went back inside, though not before blowing him one last kiss.

God, he loved her.

“Fucking finally,” Rhys muttered once Cassian had strapped himself into the passenger seat. “You’re leaving for a few days, not going off to war.”

“I’m not going to apologize for giving the love of my life the goodbye she deserves,” Cassian said primly.

“Cut him a break, you know he can’t help it,” Azriel chimed in from the backseat. “We might as well get used to it. He’ll probably call her every night for a bedtime story.”

“If you got the kind of bedtime stories I did, you’d be calling every night too,” Cassian fired back with a smirk.

“I don’t think any of us want that level of trauma,” Lucien teased, pulling

Thankfully, once they made it to the airport, the rest of their traveling went smoothly. They made it through security without any problems, their flight left on time, and Cassian even got to take a nap in first class, all while he was texting Nesta about how nice it was to have real legroom. By the time they touched down in Vegas and made it to their hotel, Cassian was more than ready to walk around and see all that Vegas had to offer.

Rhys had gotten them some super fancy suite that had a loft and room for everyone to have their own bed, and Cassian could hardly believe the view when they got upstairs. They were so high up that all of Vegas was spread out below them, and Cassian couldn’t stop gaping at how expensive everything must have been.

“Rhys—” Cassian tried to thank him once Rhys had emerged from putting his stuff away, but he only waved Cassian off.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rhys replied. “Come on, we have reservations in an hour.”

Cassian obliged and went to get changed, the four of them eventually making their way downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant. The food was amazing and the service was impeccable, and by the time they made it back upstairs, Cassian’s stomach was pleasantly full and was more than ready to pass out.

“You’re getting an hour, and then we’re going back downstairs,” Azriel told him, waggling his phone at Cassian to show him the timer. “Chop chop.”

“Fine,” Cassian huffed. Once he reached his bed, he kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his underwear before flopping on top of the comforter. “Good night.”

When Lucien came to shake him awake, Cassian was abruptly pulled out of his dream and nearly rolled off the bed. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Fuck off,” Cassian replied good-naturedly.

Lucien just laughed and left him to get dressed, and once Cassian was presentable, he left the warmth of his bed to find Rhys pouring out a round of shots.

“Look who’s finally back to the land of the living,” Rhys said as he put the cap back on. “Nice of you to join us, lover boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian said back, flipping him off. “What are we drinking?”

“Tequila,” Azriel answered. He pushed everyone’s shots toward them before moving a little bowl of limes to where the glasses had just been. “If you want one.”

Cassian took one and turned toward Rhys expectantly, since he tended to lead their toasts. His brother was already holding his little shot glass up in the air and waited for the rest of them to follow suit before saying, “To Cassian, who I still can’t believe managed to convince Nesta Archeron to let him follow her around for the rest of their lives. Salud.”

“Trust me, I can’t believe it either,” Cassian joked once he’d tossed back his shot and sucked down on his lime. He’d hardly believed it when she’d said yes to a date, let alone to spending the rest of their lives together, but he wasn’t about to question any of it. “Hit me again.”

By the time they all made it downstairs, they were three shots down and ready for more. Cassian had never really been much of a gambler, but it was cool to see so many different games spread out across the casino floor. There were slot machines and card tables and people cheering or booing depending on how things were going, and Cassian was feeling just enough of a buzz for it to all be exciting.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the buzz to turn into being full-on drunk. Lucien got him one of those enormous daiquiris while Azriel showed him how to use the slot machines, and Cassian felt like a kid in a candy store. He wanted to try everything at least once no matter how much money he won or lost, and his friends were more than willing to encourage him. There were also plenty of women willing to help him out, but Cassian was far too quick to mention Nesta for any of them to get too close.

“You want another one?” Azriel asked once Cassian hit the bottom of his daiquiri. It was so loud inside the casino that it was almost hard to hear him.

“Yeeeeeeeah,” Cassian answered, grinning widely for no reason. Well, not for no reason. He had the greatest friends in the world. “I love you so much, man.”

“Likewise,” Azriel replied. He looked only a little alarmed when Cassian leaned over and threw his arm around him.

“Nooooo,” Cassian whined. “You gotta say it back. Stop being so repressed. And depressed.”

“Yeah, Az,” Rhys chimed in, laughing. “Tell the man you love him, for God’s sake. It’s not healthy to keep everything inside.”

“He knows that I care about him,” Azriel responded with a heavy sigh.

“Just say it,” Lucien told him. “He’s not gonna let it go until you do.”

“Fine.” Azriel turned to Cassian and awkwardly patted the side of his face. “I love you too, Cassian. Now can you please let go of me?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied with a big grin. “You’re the best.”

Azriel patted him again before extracting himself from Cassian’s grip, muttering about how he preferred sober Cassian before he and Lucien headed off to the bar.

“You’re a mess,” Rhys told Cassian fondly.

“I’m your mess,” Cassian replied just as happily. “Well. Mostly Nesta’s mess now.”

“And isn’t that something,” Rhys said, chuckling. He let Cassian lead him over to another slot machine and made a disappointed noise when he didn’t win. “Let me try.”

Halfway through the game, Rhys frowned and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Cassian saw Feyre’s photo lighting up the screen and he couldn’t help but pout. He wished Nesta would call him.

“I’m gonna talk to Feyre for a few minutes,” Rhys said, leaning over to poke his finger into Cassian’s chest. “ You better stay right here. Do you hear me?”

“Yup,” Cassian said back. “Stay right here. Got it.”

Naturally, the moment Rhys walked away to call Feyre, Cassian couldn’t help but wander a little too. He didn’t go far, he just wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t as loud as their corner of the casino was, but that was basically impossible. So he just ended up at one of the smaller bars, sighing as he fiddled with his phone and wished Nesta’s photo would show up on his screen.

Cassian wished Nesta was here. He’d wanted her here with him the entire time, of course, but he was really feeling her absence now.

Maybe he should call her.

Yeah. Yeah. He really wanted to hear her voice, and tell her how much he loved her in case she forgot, which she definitely wouldn’t, but it never hurt. Just in case. And if she wouldn’t call him, then he could always call her to remind her. The perfect compromise.

He dialed her number from memory just because he could, and pressed the phone to his ear while the line rang. He hoped she picked up because he really missed her and wanted to talk to her about Vegas and hear her laugh. God, she had the best laugh. The best everything, really. She was so perfect it was almost too much to handle. But he could manage. For her, he’d do anything.

Nesta didn’t answer, which — Cassian was not going to cry about it. He was not. She was having a good time with her friends, and between the time difference and her being on a well-deserved girls' trip, no way she was picking up the phone right now.

Still. He could be a little sad about it.

“Hi, you’ve reached Nesta Archeron,” came the start of her very professional voicemail. “I’m not available right now, but please leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“After the tone, please record your message,” the automated voice told him. Cassian blinked away the not-tears in his eyes as he waited for it to finish. “When you are finished recording, you may hang up or press one for more options.”

“Heeeeeeey, sweetheart,” Cassian began once he heard the beep. “Nes. Nesta. Babe. I don’t wanna be annoying or anything. But. I miss you. So, so much. I know it hasn’t even been a day but I wish you were here. I lost all the money Rhys gave me and I wanted to buy you something good but you’re not even here to make me feel better and I hate it.”

Wait. Fuck. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better.

“Not that that’s your responsibility because I am a grown man.” He made sure to stress those last two words so she knew he was being serious. “I just. I’m having fun, but I know I’d have a lot more fun if you were here too.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “Not that I’m not having fun. I hope you’re having fun. You work so fucking hard and you never do nice things for yourself even though you deserve it. You deserve all the nice things because you are the best fucking person I know.”

God, he was so drunk. Nesta was definitely going to laugh at him about this later, but then she’d kiss him and it would all be worth the embarrassment.

“I just love you so much,” Cassian said, a distressing sniffle making its way out of his nose before he pulled himself together. “Okay. Okay. I’m okay. I’ll see you when you get back. I love you, sweetheart. Okay. Bye.”

Cassian forced himself to hang up and then released a heavy sigh, putting his head in his hands for a few moments to collect himself.

“You alright, man?” someone asked.

Cassian pulled his head out of his hands to see the bartender giving him a semi-worried look. “Yeah. I just really miss my fiancée.”

“Bachelor weekend?” the bartender asked with a sigh. At Cassian’s nod, he added, “You should be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” Cassian insisted. “I just. Really miss her.”

The guy’s name tag read Kallon, and he looked distinctly unimpressed. “Aren’t you going to see her in a few days?”

“Yeah,” Cassian answered slowly. “So?”

“So?” Kallon repeated. “So? So you’ll see her in a few days, man. You gotta get it together.”

“I’m trying,” Cassian told him.

“Maybe you could order a drink and that would make you feel better,” Kallon suggested pointedly. “Or maybe you could go mope upstairs in your room?”

“Trust me, you’d be moping too if you had a fiancée like mine and she wasn’t here,” Cassian promised.

“Oh yeah?” Kallon replied, sounding extremely skeptical. “Sure, buddy.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are, man.”

“I’ll prove it to you.”

“You really don’t need to do that.”

“No, I think I do.” Cassian fumbled with his phone before pulling up some of their engagement photos, his heart squeezing all over again at how gorgeous Nesta looked in them. “Here.”

“Huh,” Kallon said, surprised. “Would you look at that.”

“See?” Cassian said back smugly. He accepted his phone and slid it into his pocket so he wouldn’t lose it. “I told you so.”

“Yeah, alright,” Kallon replied. “You can have that one. She’s beautiful. You two look great together. Now are you gonna order a drink, or are you gonna keep moping?”

Cassian was just about to pull up some more photos and keep being snarky when he felt someone’s hand roughly spin the back of his barstool around. “What the fuck — Rhys?”

“Where the fuck have you been,” Rhys hissed into his ear.

“Right… here?” Cassian replied, confused. He hadn’t gone that far. “I just went to sit down somewhere else.”

“We have been looking for you for the last fucking half hour,” Rhys continued. “We thought we lost you!”

“How the fuck could you lose me? I’ve been here the whole time,” Cassian told him. He turned toward the bartender and made a flapping motion with his hands that he hoped got his point across. “Tell him!”

“It’s true,” Kallon replied resignedly. “He’s been here the whole time, moping about missing his fiancée and not ordering anything .”

“My gorgeous fiancée,” Cassian corrected automatically.

“Yeah, yeah, the sun shines out of Nesta’s ass, we get it,” Azriel chimed in, sounding exhausted.

“Let’s just be grateful nobody had to tell her we lost him,” Lucien muttered. He exchanged a relieved look with Rhys and Azriel before turning his attention back to Cassian, pulling one of Cassian’s arms over his shoulder so he could bodily haul Cassian out of his seat. “Come on, lover boy. That’s enough shenanigans for one night.”

#cassianappreciationweek2023 #Cassian #nesta archeron #Nessian #Rhysand #azriel #lucien vanserra #moodymelanistwrites #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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fantasyfantasygames · 4 months ago

Text

Metal Gods

Metal Gods, Walla Walla Wallet Games, 2022

The official Transformers RPG came out in 2022. It was generally not received positively. By December of that year, an indie developer had created a tiny game that started off as an "I can do better" project and ended up as something quite different.

Metal Gods' roots as a Transformers game are fairly obvious. You play transforming robots from outer space. There are default good guys and bad guys. Despite the "eldritch angel" appearance of several of the robots, there's not much else you really need to make this identifiable as a knockoff. The key difference is that the game's other major inspiration is Demon: the Descent. These robots transform into people rather than vehicles. Specifically, people who were dying as the Metal Gods arrived on Earth. This makes them much less toyetic, but also changes the feel. Instead of hiding out in a mountain, you blend into society, seek out energy reserves, try to track down your evil counterparts, and attempt to repair your starship.

Resolution mechanics are simple dice-wise but take an unusual bent on what success means. You're rolling d6+number, with values generally between +2 and +8. Your target number to do the thing you want to do is a flat 5, so you're very likely to succeed. Your target number to do the thing while staying hidden to various degrees is higher, and you have to basically wager on that. You can trade flat bonuses for more dice, but rolling 1s (or losing a contested roll) gives you Fallout dice, which is how bad things happen to you.

There's no chargen or advancement. You pick out a robot card and a human card and that's your character. The art consists just of stock photos for the humans, and rendered stock 3d models for the robots. Congrats on finding a stock model for a biblically accurate ophanim.

Walla Walla Wallet Games was based in Washington state. You can guess where. They stole Button Shy's form factor except that they do RPGs instead of board/card games. They blame their recent financial collapse on the unfortunate choice of "WWW Games" as their official company name, which in addition to being longer to say, basically made them ungoogleable.

#ttrpg #imaginary #indie ttrpg #rpg #review #transformers #more than meets several dozen eyes and wings

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persnicketypomelo · 2 years ago

Note

Could you write what it would be like to have the phantom with a reader who is also "disfigured"?

Maybe the reader is albino, missing an eye, or just looks "different" and that's how they gain his attention. I'm just curious on how that situation would work out.

This ended up being far sweeter than I originally intended, but I think it's kind of cute

Phantom With "Disfigured" Reader

Being handicapped, abnormal, or unique in any such way destined you to a harsh and unforgiving life

Let us not forget that this was a time when your race, gender, and ability predetermined your possibilities in life

However, the main factor in your quality of life was the depth of your wallet

This was a time with no social mobility and vast income inequality

It is likely you would be born into the poor working class majority, even without any unique features, based on statistics alone

If you're grimy and donning ill-fitting hand-me-downs, the best chance you have is doing dangerous physical labor, or else in some other underpaid position to be forgotten

Perhaps, though, you are lucky enough to make yourself look sufficiently presentable to be hired into a prestigious opera house as part of the cleaning staff or costuming department

You secured yourself a better means of survival, and you couldn't afford to lose it

From the first day, you stretched yourself thin taking odd jobs for every department in an attempt to prove yourself useful

Unfortunately, your hard work made you absorb the tasks of those wishing to cut corners and slip out of some of their responsibilities

You were often one of the first to arrive as well as the last to leave, and your presence did not slip past the attention of the opera house's nightly resident

At first, the Phantom regarded you with annoyance

Admittedly, frightening the chorus girls that wandered like packs of lambs was entertaining, but that aside, Erik wished for nothing more than a comfortable salary, compliance from the managers, and solitude

One day he would complete his Don Juan Triumphant composition, and then lay to rest for eternity

But until then, he supposed there was no harm in observing you pace about the opera house late into the night

Your company was not at all bothersome, he came to find

You were quiet, focused, and didn't stray into his domain

Those were qualities Erik could appreciate

Not to mention, you seemed oblivious to his presence, so there could be no harm in at least watching you

It was only when you propped a lantern up to finish polishing the floors the night before a new production that he saw you up close

His heart, if it was even beating, paused a beat in his chest

You were like him...

His blossoming interest in you bloomed into affection in that moment

Erik knew the opera house better than the back of his hand, and all its happenings never went by unnoticed

The whispered exchanges and glances cast your way, the muttering behind your back, the uneasy silence the moment you entered a room...in an instant, everything connected in his mind

From then on, you might notice that the horribly mannered dolts who teased you and chattered about you when they thought you could not hear had...accidents

Sandbags falling too close for comfort, props falling upon them, cryptic notes among their belongings...

You heard many rumours of the fearsome and horrifying opera ghost that lurked the building during your time there

But with the unfortunate incidents occurring to your tormenters, you could not bring yourself to think ill of him, though he couldn't have known he was helping you

Perhaps, you think, smiling to yourself, this opera ghost is not so terrible as everyone describes him to be

#yandere?#sort of?#phantom of the opera #x reader #reader insert #erik destler #gaston leroux #headcanons #poto

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jacevelaryonswife · 2 years ago

Text

I’m not your steppin’ stone

Just like the Disney tales, your love story with Jace started in a drinking contest when you almost threw up on him.

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader — Aegon’s participation.

a/n: Since I became obsessed with modern!hotd guys I thought I'd write this. Originally it would be called “I'm not your steppin' stong” because the monkees song, but I didn't think it would match. This is would be a short series (I think 💀)

warnings: alcohol and drugs consumption, curse words, fluffy and humor. +18.

“Hi, I’m Jace, but I know you know that.” He held out his hand towards you with a wide smile on his face.

“Hi Jace.” Taking his hand with a sideways smile, you said your name before repeating his earlier sentence. “But I know you know that.”

Alcohol was a funny thing. Normally Jace wasn't afraid to approach girls, he was handsome, confident and kind, but there was so much about you that intimidated him. Your posture, your beauty, your intelligence… all based on opinions taken 10 minutes ago — when you first met. Again, alcohol was a funny thing as any inhibitions that would have him not reaching out to you were completely broken when he took three shots of vodka (who had that shitty idea?). Despite your presence, your friends looked at him curiously as he approached.

You thought he was cute with his flushed cheeks, bright eyes and sweet smile, and the curls that fell over his shoulder. He was handsome and made you smile open like a teenager. Before everything starts to blur.

Oh no.

“You've probably heard this but you're so pretty and smart you'll finish college at 21 that's wow I wish I was your friend or boyf-“

Somewhere between Jade's incredibly quick words (was his name Jade?) your head turned strong and the growing sensation in your stomach made you take a few steps back.

“Ouh, I think I’m going to throw up.”

Jace stopped talking abruptly, expression mildly shocked and hurt by your rudeness. “Oh… I'm sorry if I was intrusive but if you didn't feel like me there was no need to be rude.”

"Dude, I think she's being literal." A voice behind you says, you think it’s your bestfriend Rylie. “WHERE IS THE FUCKING BATHROOM?”

"Fuck." You murmured, being dragged by him to the other room. The burning in your stomach and throat being too unbearable not to give in.

Your perception didn't catch Jace coming up behind you two or the "Oh fuck fuck fuck" he said when he understood the situation. He preempted opening the bathroom door and turning on the light, lifting the toilet seat for you. (He’s a fucking gentleman).

It was one of the most humiliating things you've ever been through in public. Lucky for you, you didn't know those people and you wouldn't see them again (most of them). The only thing you could say with propriety after being picked up by Jace and cleaned up by Rylie was:

"Don't let Aegon know about this."

The rest of the night was a blurry mess on the way home.

However, it wasn't your intention to get drunk at a major college frat party — the reason was entirely self-explanatory. However, when Cregan, your friend Sara's idiot brother, bet $50 that he could beat anyone in a drinking contest a small, sudden urge to challenge him sparked in you. A small, almost unnoticed urge. You ignored it and went back to paying attention to your friends' conversation, but another idiot named Blah Blah (you didn't remember his name) raised the bet to 100 dollars and decided that vodka would be the drink. Interesting.

"You go? It would be awesome to see Cregan's face when he loses." Sara suggested, enjoying the thought.

“Getting drunk at a frat party? No fucking way.” You replied, dismissing the idea quickly.

Although. The main factor was yet to come.

The Idiot Master and leader of the frat: Aegon.

“100? You are so cute. I bet 150 on whoever beats me.” He took $50 out of his wallet and dropped it into the glass in the center of the table. “Ladies.”

Ok, that was really attractive. Your friends practically yelled at you to go, saying they would have your back and not leave your side when (and if) you won. "We're not going to let any idiot take advantage of you." Rylie assured. The encouragement was almost suffocating, making you give in.

As you approached the edge of the round table, looking curiously into the glass and leaving twenty dollars, Aegon smiled at the sight. “Only this love, have so little faith in you?” He teased with a side smile, receiving your response in the same tone when you rested your hands on the table and tilted your head:

"I don't want to humiliate you when I win."The guys' screams almost had you rolling your eyes in amusement, keeping your gaze fixed on the blonde in front of you.

"And that's how we start the fucking drinking contest!" He yelled excitedly.

Soon, other participants began to arrive around the table, adding up to a total of six. Aegon invited his younger brother Aemond, who just declined with a "Fuck no." Blah Blah abstained from the dispute and remained as judge of the competition. A girl named Baela and a dude named Criston got together, making Aegon smile. Finally, there he was, with animated puppy eyes. His name was Jace and from what the blonde bitch said, he didn't have much resistance when it came to alcohol, but he would participate for fun. Apparently everyone at the table knew each other with exection to you.

For a short time.

Blah Blah boy took advantage of the situation to suggest a dynamic between the participants. The six will be in front of a person at the table, with whom they will share the glasses, during the competition those involved can ask and provoke each other, however, interactions can only last 10 seconds and only the person with the bottle can ask.

He was almost a genius.

Sorting out the participants, Aegon was ahead of Cregan — a little irritated that he wasn't directly competing with you, who was paired with his nephew Jace, while Criston and Baela were facing each other.

“I think you’re making it easy for her.” Kicking off the provocations before the competition, the Targaryen told Blah Blah: “Jace will clearly be the first eliminated, he's a good boy."

"Probably." The guy in front of you nodded in amusement before his eyes fell directly on you, surprised by your next attitude.

“I like good boys.” You smile was sideways and seductive, looking from Aegon to Jace. If they wanted to play, you're game.

Oh fuck.

“Then you should be against me, love.” The blonde snapped, returning the same smile to you. Before a smart answer could come out of your mouth, Jace anticipated him by fucking his uncle.

His eyes were fully on yours as he pointed with his thumb at the older boy. “I wouldn't recommend it unless you want to get oral herpes.”

Your companions and you genuinely laughed at the expense of Aegon, who was totally in the game. He was a little shit, but so was Jace in his response. You liked it. After Aegon told him to fuck off, Blah Blah began the contest. Fun fact: you hated vodka.

Aegon was the first to pour himself and tip the glass, trying to ease the grimace. "Ok princess, what's your name?"

You replied calmingly, not wanting to drop the subject. Not because of him, but being among unknown people who knew each other was a little uncomfortable. “And yours, princess?” Your tone was playful, mimicking him.

The confused expression on the older Targaryen's face was definitely not the "princess", but the fact that you didn't know him. This made Cregan smile outright before tipping his glass and saying, "This is going to be fun."

Taking the bottle from his friend's hand, Jace — who was totally interested in knowing about you — filled the glass and made a complete face as he drank the vodka. You didn't spare the little smile at his reaction, which encouraged him to ask:

"What course do you study? Are you a freshman?”

Usually frat parties attracted the same group of people, but not everyone was there out of habit. Jace didn't usually go to all the parties, and he was pretty sure you didn't either. He didn't know why, he just felt it.

“I'm a senior undergraduate in agronomy, I'm almost finishing actually.” You answered.

“Uh, what-what does a professional in your field do?”

It was a common question for you, but very difficult to answer in less than 10 seconds (that's what you said to the Velaryon boy before Blah Blah ended the interactions time). It was your round, and as you didn't intend to embarrass yourself in front of the guys and girl, you calmly poured the vodka into the glass and drank it as if you were drinking water, no grimaces showing. How you hated vodka.

Sending Aegon a knowing look before the others could smirk at your attitude, you glanced at the guy on your right, Criston. "You really don't seem to attend frat parties." He looked mature and older than the other guys and girls, which caught your attention. You didn't want to be around a possible perv who only dates freshman girls.

“I don't actually attend, I'm grad student and I just wanted to see how the guys are doing.” He replied in a soft voice.

Ahh.

Passing the bottle to the girl with white hair and the almost mischievous smile who drank it quickly, with a brief grimace. “So Aeg, what's it like not to be recognized by a girl?”

The entire table shared her mood, smiling again at the blonde's expense.

“It is really devastating. I feel like a part of my heart has been stabbed by forgetfulness.” He scoffed in a serious tone, causing Aemond to huff as he walked past to grab something from the fridge. “Criston.” He pointed at the guy next to him. “Do the honors.”

With a grimace similar to Baela's, Criston drank and was calm in picking up the bottle and drinking the vodka, passing it to Aegon. “You’re a jerk.” He said.

“Why is everyone attacking me? Just because I'm going to win?" The Targaryen complained smugly, filling the small glass to the brim. “Agronomy girl, how old are you?”

“20.”

“What? And you are already finishing?” Jace asked out of turn, genuinely surprised.

“I will end up with twen-.” At the same moment you answered. Blah Blah interrupted the interaction.

"Dude, you can't talk when you don't have the bottle!”

“Sorry. What? Why not? You said whoever has the bottle can ask, but you didn't limit who can answer.” Jace complained, feeling warm from the drink.

“I… Okay, new rule: anyone not mentioned can't speak!”

“What if I want to mention someone outside of the conversation, can that person speak up?”

When I said that Blah Blah was almost a genius, I was exaggerating. You could really see the effort he was making to think, deciding that yes, fuck it, you can talk.

"So Jace, I'm going to end up with 21 actually." Your answer was not interrupted this time.

“How?”

“TIME IS OVER, NEXT!”

Jace was actually the first to leave the competition, with only three shots of vodka. He was red and hot, his head already started to spin a little. It was totally fun actually and he was totally into you. Damn it, you were savage and seductive, but also smooth. The alcohol was probably clouding his judgment, but he knew he needed your number. That's why even after self-eliminating, the Elder Velaryon continued around.

As the rounds went by, he got bolder and gradually got behind you. Normally he wouldn't dare so much (what the fuck was in that vodka?) but he knew there was a possibility that Aegon might try something on you, so his hand landed on your back as he whispered into your hair, close to your ear: “Defeat his ass, princess.”

You felt that. Turning to face him with a naughty smile and whispering on his lips: “Your request is an order.”

Oh fuck. He totally felt that too.

When the urge to pee and sit momentarily was too much to support, Jace went to the bathroom and spent a short time there, laughing about how funny the light was (maybe he shouldn't have tried marijuana before either).

At the end of the competition when Cregan was defeated, only Aegon and you were left at the table. Your badass posture had already been shaken and when you took the seventh shot it was hard to disguise the bitter grimace because of the ardor in your stomach and throat. Okay, maybe you were praying he would fold because you sure as hell couldn't take two more shots. If this worked? Aegon turned to vomit into the sink behind him. Holy fuck.

“Fuck, you're tough.” He admitted as he turned back to face you. “I fucking give up.” He almost laughed when he put his hands on the table and you swear you heard the screams of your friends and other people. A smile radiated across your face as you let yourself relax and take the money from the center of the table.

"Thanks love." You imitated him previously, clearly affected by alcohol. Your friends arrived behind you, where they never fully left.

He chuckled at your tone, nearly leaning across the table. "I'll bet you $50 that you'll be throwing up by the end of the night."

"I doubt it."

And here you were, held to your feet by Rylie and Jace as you slipped out of the bathroom. After Blah Blah yelled that you were his cool new friend, you left the party carried by your friends and the handsome brunette looking at you with worried eyes. "I'm fine." You assured, smiling drunk and happy.

“Can you let me know when you get home? To find out if she's okay." Jace asked your friend, grabbing his Instagram before watching him go. He wasn't proud of searching your account for your friend's, but fuck it, you only live once. And he sure wanted to see you again.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon #harry collett #modern headcanons #jacaerys velaryon x reader #modern!jacaerys #modern jace #modern hotd #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen

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appears · 11 months ago

Text

20th Anniversary

Namie Amuro: Style (2003.12.10)

There are at least four distinct eras in Namie Amuro's career: 1) her initial debut with the idol-ish super eurobeat/dance group SUPER MONKEY'S (which spawned the group MAX) from 1992 to 1995, 2) her major debut as a solo artist with Avex Trax in 1995, kicked off by the single "Body Feels EXIT," through to the height of her popularity as a leading figure in the J-pop industry alongside producer Tetsuya Komuro until her abrupt hiatus in 1997, 3) the awkward, not-very-well-received comeback and transition to post-TK R&B, which saw the lowest sales numbers of her career, and lasted roughly until the release of Queen of Hip-Pop in 2005, and 4) her meteoric rebound, transition back to dance-pop, and the cementing of her status as a legend, until the abrupt announcement of her retirement in 2017. There are a lot of mini-moments within these eras, and many parts overlap so that it's not exactly seamless, but that's the gist of it.

While Namie's comeback was one of the rarest in music history, the factors that led to the initial nadir are just as interesting and numerous. For one, she had squandered the goodwill of the public by engaging in activity that was frowned upon in Japan at the time: she hooked up with a backup dancer, got pregnant, got married, got tattoos, and got divorced, all within the space of a couple of years. On top of it, Namie's success was tied to that of her producer, the mega-popular and prolific Tetsuya Komuro, who was basically running a personal empire in the 1990s. While Namie's popularity and success was never due solely to the music he was writing for her, it was an enormous contributing factor to her sales numbers. TK's brand of pop was the defining style of the 90s, with no one better able to pry open wallets in what was the CD format's most lucrative era. But just as quickly and completely as he ruled hearts and charts, his music fell out of style, also as a result of several factors (mostly the rise of singer-songwriters and R&B/hip-hop in the mainstream, and personal issues involving everything from tax evasion, to drug rumors and a wild romantic life). Namie teaming up with him again for her immediate comeback never stood a chance against so much drama. So major changes were made when Namie ditched the Komuro baggage, taking the plunge with new support -- Dallas Austin, m-flo, ZEEBRA, even Teddy Riley -- into the world of R&B and hip-hop.

This brave step didn't immediately produce amazing results: if anything, Namie's early forays proved lackluster and indecisive on albums like GENIUS 2000. It wasn't until 2003's STYLE that she finally and fully committed to the change. Gone were the days of chasing the chance and dreaming that she was dreaming, Namie was now putting up her dukes, wishing on the same star, and shining more. The songs on the album were all heavily influenced by contemporary Western trends of the time, especially Black hip-hop, fashion, and culture. The early 00s was still the era of P. Diddy, Jennifer Lopez, Nelly, Busta Rhymes and Missy Elliott, and in some ways, STYLE samples sounds from all of these artists in different ways, with the inclusion of a few softer songs, such as "Four Seasons," "As Good As," and "Come," which were deliberately added for variety. But for the most part, the album is built on beats, bars, and rhymes. This was still a fairly new thing to see in the Japanese mainstream, and certainly by an Avex Trax artist -- for comparison, Ayumi Hamasaki had just released her rock opus I am..., while RAINBOW merely dipped a toe into R&B on a song like "Real me," Ai Otsuka was less than a year out from releasing LOVE PUNCH, Hikaru Utada was actually going softer and more art-pop with Deep River, and both BoA and Kumi Koda had just debuted in Japan with LISTEN TO MY HEART and affection respectively, which stayed squarely on the softer R&B/pop side of the fence. Only Crystal Kay, HEARTSDALES, and maybe DOUBLE were a step ahead of Namie, but I would argue that STYLE and Namie's involvement in projects like SUITE CHIC really let the sound transition into the broader and bigger Oricon mainstream, prompting a rash of copycat records.

Even so, STYLE did poorly. It still hit #1 in its first week, but it stands as Namie's least popular record with the fewest sales numbers to this day. It does, however, have something of a cult following by fans who now look back at the early 00s with nostalgia. Personally, I didn't like this album when I first heard it -- its lack of pop and dance music, which I was used to hearing from Namie, coupled with what seemed like a desperate bid for relevancy in a genre that I wasn't particularly interested in at the time, turned me off from spending much time with it. Nowadays, I dislike this album less -- there are songs on here that I actually really like. My only real caveat is that the album is split too abruptly at the halfway point between the bangers and the non-hip-hop tracks. In hindsight, STYLE is clearly Namie still getting comfortable in this milieu, and it's especially obvious next to albums like Queen of Hip-Pop and PLAY that were more successful at capturing something both influenced by hip-hop and unique to what only Namie could bring.

This CD album comes in a standard jewel case with an OBI and a booklet that features additional photos and lyrics. First press editions featured two exclusive bonus tracks: a remix of "SO CRAZY," and an alternate version of "Wishing on the Same Star." For me, this album is more interesting for what lead to it, what it lead to, and what it said about the state of Namie Amuro and J-pop at the time. It's not great, but it's not nearly as bad as I remember it being. Avex Trax, of course, would politely disagree, largely ignoring it on the career-summarizing compilation album Finally (only "SO CRAZY" represents). After something as tentative and a bit try-hard as this, the world was not ready for what was coming down the pipe with Queen of Hip-Pop, making that era all the more wild and magical.

Catalog Number: AVCD-17372

#namie amuro #j-pop #japanese pop #anniversaries #avex trax

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fantasyfactorxx · 1 year ago

Text

Are gaming communities becoming less about play and more about monetisation?

In an age where entertainment and technology are developing at a neck-breaking pace, gaming communities have seen a metamorphosis that goes beyond conventional play. What was once a large leisure activity has developed into a vibrant hub of entertainment and business, posing fascinating queries about how these digital communities are changing. The entire foundation of gaming communities finds itself at a crossroads as the industry observes the integration of monetization tactics, from in-game purchases to the thriving sphere of esports and content production. In exploring the changing dynamics, we dive further into the topic of whether these communities are becoming less about the pure joy of play and more about the complex web of commercialization that now permeates virtual worlds.

These days, microtransactions and on-game purchases are common in contemporary games, enabling users to purchase in-game cosmetics, virtual goods, or other upgrades. Both platform providers and game creators will benefit from these transactions. Older generations can now afford more expensive games on different digital distribution platforms and can afford to pay for in-game microtransactions or to support their favourite streamer or online celebrity, playing video games has become an increasingly important social activity for young people (Bankov 2019). Through the streamer, gamers would be more likely to purchase the in-game item due to how good it looks on the streamer’s interface so they get an idea of how it works. As an example, in a simple mobile game like, ‘Subway Surfers’, most of the characters require the user to spend the in-game currency to buy the characters. Most of the time people would not be pros at the game and would end up buying the in-game currency to buy the character. Even though it is a free game, players would spend extra money to purchase the extra things in the game.

There is a heated argument about how these trades affect what play is really about. While some contend that these transactions provide gamers a way to customize and enhance their gaming experience, others are worried that they might lead to an unfair playing field where those with larger wallets have a clear edge. The problem of commercialization in AAA games is one that both consumers and developers must consider equally as regardless of how well a game is designed, the financial influence that players believe they may have on creators supports the continued use of monetization strategies (Ahmadu 2023).

The growth of esports is another aspect of the trend toward commercialization. What started out as amicable buddy competitions has grown into a multibillion-dollar business. Esports competitions draw enormous viewership, and their financial appeal is bolstered by lucrative sponsorship and advertising partnerships. One topic that comes up is whether the competitive scene or gaming communities are more important to the spirit of play, or if money is the primary motivator. According to (Rauth 2023), esports are now so popular that they compete with regular sports for price money and viewership that professional gamers can compete in competitions for millions of dollars, or they can broadcast content on websites like Twitch. Similar to conventional professional sports, esports teams are valued at a total of $1 billion because of their owners, franchises, endorsement deals, cash rewards from tournament wins, and other factors (Shalabi, 2023).

For gaming communities, the emergence of game streaming websites like Twitch and YouTube has opened up new horizons. These days, gamers may create their content by sharing their gameplay experiences with hundreds, perhaps millions, of viewers. This phenomenon has elevated gaming to a new level of popularity among internet users, but it also begs the question of how monetization affects the process of creating original content. A major factor in opening up Esports to a worldwide audience has been the emergence of internet streaming services like Twitch and YouTube gaming (Sponsored Post, 2023). Most gamers earn a large sum of cash from competing in esports competitions while others would livestream their pro-gaming on media sites such as Twitch and YouTube.

It’s important to understand that there is a positive link between play and monetization even as gaming communities struggle with these changes. Many contend that revenue generation gives game creators the means to produce and support top-notch games. The money made may go towards further content development, enhancements, and upgrades, which will enhance their entire game experience. Finding the ideal mix is crucial. People run a risk of offending the same people who helped to make the game popular in the first place when you tilt the balance too much in favour of commercialization. It is a challenge for developers and the gaming community to carefully traverse this terrain while maintaining the primary focus of the enjoyment of play.

List of references

Admadu, J 2023, ‘Consumer perspectives towards monetization and its impact on AAA game designs’, Master Thesis in Game Design, Uppsala University, Sweden, <https://uu.diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:1769625/FULLTEXT01.pdf>.

Bankov, B 2019, ‘The impact of social media on video game communities and the gaming industry’, Information and Communication Technologies in Business and Education, viewed 13 November 2023, <https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2018/07/03/the-positives-of-digital-life/>.

Rauth, R 2023, ‘The rising popularity of competitive esports’, Job Skills, 21 February, viewed 15 November 2023, <https://www.jobskills.org/the-rising-popularity-of-competitive-esports/>.

Shalabi, C 2023, ‘Esports: what is it and how it benefits marketers’, Insider Intelligence, 11 October, viewed 15 November 2023, <https://www.insiderintelligence.com/insights/esports-ecosystem-market-report/>.Sponsored Post 2023, ‘The rise of esports: a digital revolution in competitive gaming’, Channel Television, 28 July, viewed 15 November 2023, <https://www.channelstv.com/2023/07/28/the-rise-of-esports-a-digital-revolution-in-competitive-gaming/#:~:text=The%20rise%20of%20online%20streaming,analysis%2C%20enhancing%20the%20spectator%20experience.>.

#mda20009 #week 10

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ethernetmeep · 5 months ago

Note

I really enjoy the way you write/talk/ramble. Very eloquent. Personal but abstract. Transparent but opaque. I hope that doesn't sound too weird for me to say.

Anyway, because of that I wanted to ask: what do you like to read? What are your favourite books?

as soon as i saw this, i felt a bit dizzy— flattered, indefinitely! i write so many anonymous messages, that i forget what its like to get one myself.. i really do appreciate your kind words, i would give you a hug but doing so for an anon feels almost intrusive— so instead i offer a hypothetical little tea party :^)

as for the quote, weirdness factor, never worry about something like that. well.. with me, i mean. it wasn’t weird at all, and even in the offhand chance it was, i quite like the strange. being alive shouldn’t always have to be conforming to a majority, but thats a different discussion..

what do i like to read, huh? hmmmmmm… thats a really good question. (i almost said ‘actually’ which implied the question had any percentage to not be good; this isn’t true! i appreciate all questions) its an odd mix, but i thoroughly enjoy scientific books, whether that be about a broad subject like space or a book dedicated to solely spiders. learning about this world i inhabit means quite a lot to me. i also enjoy books which are a bit complex, although i wouldn’t say i go out of my way to say esoteric; mainly because… i tend to procrastinate many things, especially reading. it would be a lie if i said i read most of the books to fit that supposed genre… i have read house of leaves, though. one of my favorite books ever….

i’ve talked about this in length before, so excuse me if i sound redundant, but the motif of haunted* houses is quite special to me. notice the asterisk on haunted. anatomy by kitty horrorshow, the haunting of hill house, house.wad…. anything in that vein, absolutely enamored with. funnily enough, still have to read the haunting of hill house. thoroughly excited. then again, thats a very specific kind of media, and not a book genre

other favorites include the metamorphosis & innumerable insects. love those… have a photo of franz kafka in my wallet at all times. i also am quite fond of junji ito’s work, although i haven’t read some from my shelf in awhile. i know manga is technically different from the textbook definition of book, but i put it here anyway to be more thorough

to be honest, i like to read anything which seems intriguing and captivates my attention, and that is.. many things. i have more books i want to read then books actually read, i think. for example, ive been wanting to read no longer human, (read the manga version junji ito created; still different, though) but i’ve simply haven’t gotten around to it. its quite silly… and my interest is genuine in them, i should add— i get immensely excited at their ideas & concepts, i just lose track of time quite easily. my lack of reading isn’t because i don’t want to, but because i simply… how do the kids say this… forgor…

thank you very much for the ask— it means quite a lot to me to be able to converse with others ^_^ and, as i said earlier, your compliments are much appreciated.. very much so.. i do hope you’re doing okay, wherever you are & whomever you are. 🫂

(if you do not like a tea party or tea, then maybe hot chocolate will suffice. i know i enjoy hot chocolate, but it varies for everyone..)

#asks #personal favorite

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unpluggedfinancial · 5 months ago

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How to Vet Crypto Services: Ensuring Safety and Reliability

In the ever-evolving world of cryptocurrencies, ensuring the safety and reliability of the services you use is paramount. With numerous platforms and services popping up, it's easy to fall prey to scams or unreliable providers. This guide will help you navigate the process of vetting crypto services to safeguard your investments.

Understand the Service

First, identify the type of service you're evaluating. Is it an exchange, a wallet, a DeFi platform, or another kind of service? Each type has its own set of standards and requirements. Research the service's reputation by looking for reviews and feedback from reputable sources. Platforms like Reddit, Twitter, and specialized crypto forums can provide insights into the experiences of other users. A reliable service will be transparent about its team, location, and regulatory status. Check the "About Us" section on their website and verify the information provided.

Security Measures

Ensure the service employs up-to-date encryption and robust security protocols. This includes secure SSL connections and advanced security measures to protect your data. Two-Factor Authentication (2FA) should be a standard feature for any credible service, adding an extra layer of security to your account. For exchanges, verify that they store the majority of funds in cold storage, significantly reducing the risk of hacks.

Regulation and Compliance

Check if the service is licensed and regulated by relevant authorities. Regulatory compliance is a strong indicator of a service's legitimacy. Know Your Customer (KYC) and Anti-Money Laundering (AML) policies are essential for regulatory compliance. These policies help prevent fraudulent activities and ensure the service is operating within legal boundaries.

User Experience and Customer Support

The platform should be user-friendly and intuitive. A complex interface can lead to mistakes and a poor user experience. Test the responsiveness and helpfulness of their customer service. A reliable service will offer prompt and effective support.

Financial Stability

Research the service’s financial backers and funding sources. Well-funded services with reputable backers are generally more reliable. Some services offer insurance for user funds in case of breaches. This added security can provide peace of mind.

Community Feedback

Engage with the community on platforms like Reddit, Twitter, and specialized crypto forums. Community feedback can provide valuable insights into the reliability of the service. Review sites like Trustpilot or industry-specific review sites can offer additional perspectives on the service's performance.

Red Flags to Watch Out For

Be wary of services that withhold crucial information. Transparency is key to building trust. Avoid services that promise guaranteed returns or seem too good to be true. These are often signs of scams. Pay attention to any negative news or past incidents involving the service. A history of issues can be a major red flag.

Conclusion

Vetting crypto services is a critical step in safeguarding your investments. By conducting thorough research and being vigilant about potential red flags, you can avoid unreliable providers and make informed decisions.

Take Action Towards Financial Independence

If this article has sparked your interest in the transformative potential of Bitcoin, there's so much more to explore! Dive deeper into the world of financial independence and revolutionize your understanding of money by following my blog and subscribing to my YouTube channel.

🌐 Blog: Unplugged Financial Blog Stay updated with insightful articles, detailed analyses, and practical advice on navigating the evolving financial landscape. Learn about the history of money, the flaws in our current financial systems, and how Bitcoin can offer a path to a more secure and independent financial future.

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offender42085 · 2 years ago

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Post 0471

William A Gregory, Florida inmate V19522, born 1983, lodged into jail in 2007 at age 24, and held until incarceration intake in 2011 at age 28. Initially sentenced to Death, but later resentenced to Life without parole.

Murder, Felon in possession of Ammo, Burglary, Cocaine Possession

April 2011

In April 2011, a Volusia County Circuit Judge sentenced William Gregory to death for the double-murder of his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend near Flagler Beach in August 2007.

Gregory murdered Skyler Meekins, 17, and Daniel Dyer, 22, by shooting them in the head with a 12-gauge shotgun as they slept together in Meekins’s grandparents’ house on John Anderson Highway south of Flagler Beach on Aug. 21, 2007. He shot them as his 1-year-old daughter Kyla, whom he’d had with Skyler, slept in another room.

“William Arthur Gregory,” the judge intoned at the end of a 10-page order he read from the bench, “under the laws of the state of Florida, you have not only forfeited your right to live among us, you have forfeited your right to live at all.”

Gregory, 28 at the time that his sentence was pronounced, wearing a green and white striped jail suit and his legs shackled, had sat almost motionless throughout the judge’s reading of the order, flanked by a bailiff to his right and another behind him.

When the judge was ready to pronounce the sentence, after reading the long order, he asked Gregory to approach the bench. Gregory stood at the dais, a few feet from the judge. A deputy stood behind him, another stood to his right, a third stood to his left, next to Wood. Gregory appeared to whiten, and his eyes to redden, after the order. He was then fingerprinted and taken away.

A split jury recommended, in two 7-5 votes (one for each murder), that Gregory be put to death. In the phase of the trial where guilt is determined, the jury must be unanimous for a guilty verdict. Sentencing recommendations do not require a unanimous vote, nor is the judge bound by the recommendation, although if six or more people vote against the death penalty, it’s considered a recommendation for life. The recommendation for Gregory’s death sentence obtained through the bare majority of seven votes.

The Judge weighed a series of four aggravating factors against a longer set of mitigating factors, analyzing each in turn to conclude that “aggravating circumstances in this case far outweigh the mitigating circumstances. This court agrees with the jury’s recommendation that in weighing the aggravating circumstances against the mitigating circumstances, the scales of life and death tilt unquestioningly to the side of death.”

Mitigating factors included Gregory’s behavior “under the influence of extreme mental or emotional” stress, his impaired capacity to gauge the severity of his actions, his long-standing drug addiction, being raised by a single mother, being forced to watch his 6-year-old sister raped at knifepoint by a 14 year old when he was 8, and having had a generally dysfunctional childhood. The Judge, without diminishing the effects of the facts laid out, and conceding that “there is no question that he”–Gregory–“had a difficult childhood devoid of much positive guidance,” nevertheless gave each of these mitigating factors “slight weight.”

The night of the murders, Gregory consumed alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and “pills” but appeared to be functional “based on a series of calls that took place between 10:09 p.m. and 11:27 p.m. which were apparently made from his home,” the judge said. “The murders appear to have occurred at or around 1:30 a.m. the next morning.”

After the murders, Gregory took a swim, in his clothes, including his wallet and shoes, “in an apparent attempt to purge himself of shotgun residue,” the judge said. He then called 911, at 4:17 a.m., to report that he wanted to turn himself in for drug use, “a transparent attempt to create an alibi for the murders.”

The Judge systematically laid out the aggravating factors of the case to weigh them against–and outweigh–the mitigating facts. Those factors included Gregory’s prior felony conviction on a cocaine charge (attempted possession), though that factor was given only moderate weight; the heavier factor was the murders themselves, the burglary committed before the murder (the weapon Gregory used was in the house), and the “cold, calculated and premeditated” nature of the murders.

The judge summed up the various times Gregory, months before the murders, had threatened to “blow he head off” if his ex-girlfriend cheated on him, and that he’d kill whatever boyfriend she might have at the time as well. He then put his plan in action once he learned that Skyler Meekins was seeing Daniel Dyer.

“Once at the residence,” the judge read from the bench, “he entered the house surreptitiously, located the 12-gauge shotgun in a closet, located the shotgun shells on a shelf in the closet and loaded just two shells into the shotgun which was described as a weapon that was difficult to load. Mr. Gregory, at this point fully armed with a loaded weapon, passed by the separate rooms of Skyler Meekins’ grandmother and grandfather and went to the sleeping room which Skyler Meekins occupied where she and Daniel Dyer were cuddling while sleeping. It has been clearly established, without refutation, that he placed the loaded weapon at point blank range and aimed at the heads of the respective victims where he killed each of them in execution style with devastating shots to the heads of both victims in an act that was totally consistent with his earlier announced plan.”

At the end of his order, the judge wrote, in capital letters, “MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL.”

A brief, errant sob was heard in the courtroom, which was otherwise quiet.

Gregory has been in jail since 2007–mostly in the Flagler County jail, but briefly in jail in St. Johns and in Volusia County, where his trial was moved.

June 2013

In June 2013, the Florida Supreme Court announced a ruling on his appeals.

A jury had recommended Gregory be sentenced to death by a 7-5 vote. In any other state, Gregory would not have been sentenced to death as a result. Florida is one of only two states in the nation where a unanimous verdict for death is not required, even though state law requires verdicts for so much as shoplifting or marijuana possession to be unanimous for conviction. In Florida, a simple majority of jurors suffices for a death sentence recommendation. In Alabama, at least 10 of 12 jurors must recommend death for a capital sentence to be imposed.

Gregory raised five issues on appeal: That the trial court erred in denying his motion to disqualify the judge based on statements the judge made during a pretrial hearing; that the trial court erred in admitting into evidence threatening statements directed toward the victims made eight months before the murders by Gregory to a co-worker; that the court erred in admitting testimony from a witness who could not identify Gregory in court; that the court erred in admitting testimony about a statement Gregory made to one of the victims; and that the court erred in instructing the jury on and in finding that the murders were carried out with a cold, calculated and premeditated manner.

The most serious issue was a statement by Volusia County Circuit Judge William A. Parsons during a pre-trial hearing about the admissibility of certain evidence the state wanted to introduce.

Gregory argued that a statement he made eight months before the murders about killing “both of them” if his girlfriend ever cheated on him was too remote to be relevant. In response to this argument, Parsons stated: “My reaction here is that this is not remote at all, that it’s –while there is some time delay — and if he is, in fact, the one who committed the murder, it is quite prophetic in terms of what’s going to happen. So, you know, we’re not talking about ten years or five years or three years. We’re talking about just months before the breakup and then the alleged murder happened later on. Now, whether they can prove that he did this or not, that’s another matter, but it seems to me they are entitled to the benefit of trying to prove all the elements of the crime when one is premeditation, and this goes to that issue. So I’m going to . . . allow it.”

Gregory, according to court papers, argued that Parson’s use of the word “prophetic” to describe the statement indicates that the judge had already determined that Gregory was guilty.

The Supreme Court did not buy the argument.

“We conclude that this argument is unavailing because Gregory focuses on one word out of context without including the trial judge’s actual statement,” Chief Justice Ricky Polston wrote. “When read as a whole, it is clear that the judge used the word “prophetic” in relation to the State’s argument that Gregory’s statement was relevant to the issue of premeditation.”

The second issue was a related matter of bias. Gregory claimed that the judge, making a motion to have a recording played, said hearing Skyler’s voice in a recording would be “refreshing,” because she “has now been silenced.” In fact, Polston wrote, the word “refreshing” was never used. Instead, the trial judge stated that he found it “quite interesting” that the jury would be able to hear the victim’s voice. “The judge did not make any reference to Gregory being the one who ‘silenced’ the victim, nor did he comment on Gregory’s guilt or innocence,” Polston wrote. And the remarks were not made before a jury. Gregory argued that when the remarks were published in the press, they could have created a public prejudice against him. “However,” Polston continued, “Gregory raises no challenge to jury selection or composition or to pretrial publicity, and he provides no factual basis beyond the comments and news report attached to the motion itself to substantiate these claims.”

The three other challenges to his sentence Gregory raised related to the guilt phase of the trial, including the eight-month-old statement Gregory had made, which was used to substantiate a charge of premeditation. But precedent indicates that “there is no bright-line rule regarding the point at which a prior statement is so remote as to become irrelevant,” the court ruled. Gregory, in his appeal had relied on a Nevada case that did give “less relevance” to statements made in the remote past—but those statements in that case had been made six and 10 years before the murder under review.

Gregory also objected to testimony by an inmate who had been in jail with him, because the inmate never identified him in court. But the inmate had provided numerous other positive identifications of Gregory. His final objection was the hearsay use of statements made by the victim, and later reported by two state witnesses during trial. The victim, Daniel Dyer, had been either “I want to personally thank you for ruining my life,” or “I personally want to thank you for ruining my family.”

“We conclude that error, if any, in the admission of this testimony was harmless beyond a reasonable doubt,” Polston wrote, because “there is no reasonable possibility that any error in the admission of this testimony affected either the verdict of guilt or the imposition of the death penalty in this case.”

The Supreme Court upheld the conviction on all counts.

December 2017

In December 2017, Gregory was resentenced. The U.S. Supreme Court and Florida Supreme Court has issued decisions from other cases that found Florida’s method of sentencing defendants to death unconstitutional.

Recommendations must now be unanimous. In Gregory’s case, the Supreme Court in August 2017 threw out his death sentence and returned the case to circuit court in Flagler County for a new sentencing phase.

A Circuit Court Judge commuted Gregory’s death sentence to life in prison without parole on both counts.

The state debated going through a retrial to seek a unanimous jury verdict. “We looked at the case and and consulted with the family,” Assistant State Attorney Jason Lewis said. “They did not want to go through the process again.” So the prosecution agreed to a commutation to a sentence of life without parole in what amounted to a hearing lasting all of five minutes.

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