#vulture investors

[mitchipedia]

Suicide Mission: What Boeing did to all the guys who remember how to build a plane

John “Swampy” Barnett, a 26-year quality manager at Boeing, tried unsuccessfully to stop management from destroying the company for the benefit of vulture investors. He died of apparent suicide recently, but his former colleagues don’t believe his death was self-inflicted. By Maureen Tkacik. [prospect.org]

Cory Doctorow notes that whether or not Boeing assassinated Barnett, company CEO Jim McNerny and its leadership killed hundreds of people on crashed 737s through willful incompetence. McNerney was proudly contemptuous of competence, publicy calling senior engineers “phenomenally talented assholes" and rewarding managers who forced them out of the company. [pluralistic.net]

[cryptidcasanova]

Lover Boy

Mob!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

Warnings: Angst, light Smut, Language, Possessive Bucky.

3.5k

The poll results are in, and I couldn't help but think this might be a good way to remedy both sides.

You were mortified.

One hand fisted against quivering lips, and the other gripped at your clutch. As if anything else could go wrong tonight. Shaky steps guided you down the carpeted stairs.

There was another gala, another meeting of the power players in town. And it was another night wasted at the hands of James Barnes.

You hated how much you cared for him. You still cared for him even after all the stunts he pulled to pull you away from the Maximoff heir. Always had.

Ever since you were kids, you remembered having that love-sick look in your eyes. You grew up with inner-circle families and were friends with Rebecca, Sarah, and their brothers. And Bucky? Well, shit, he was always there with his dark hair and curious eyes. It was hard not to fall for him.

Even as you grew up, numbing yourself to the reality of the business and the choices that came with it, you couldn't ignore him forever. You knew that Bucky was raised to be powerful, honorable, and frightening. You knew the stories – of all the beautiful women who couldn't tie him down longer than a night or two. You knew how he flaunted some new girl at every event. It was hard not to overhear them whispering among the men.

'What about her?' and the laugh on his hips saying, 'She's just a family friend. Don't worry about her; I'd never be with her like that.'

You knew he would break your heart, and still. You loved him.

Again, mortified.

He was your first kiss on some lonely night when you couldn't help but ask him. But that had been ages ago. He was grown now, the head of the family and the king of his empire.

But there was something different about tonight, something predestined that started long before you stepped outside your door. It started out as Sam's idea weeks before, in the same bar where you ended up every weekend.

He wanted to try and get you to mingle among the local 'rabble-rousers' as if he pretended not to be one of them. Your laugh at his suggestion pulled Steve and Bucky's attention from across the bar.

"You want me to do what, exactly?" You teased. "Throw myself in the way of wealthy investors and scout out the competition? That's much more up Nat's alley; there's a reason why they call her the Black Widow, you know –"

"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, that charming grin on his lips. Once Sam got an idea, it took a lot of work to dissuade him. "Look, there's more to this life than watching shipments and making small talk with the hens in town." He paused, knowing all the time you spent logging backorders and saving face with the mercs' wives. "I want you to be happy. We all do."

You leaned against the bar, pressing your palms against the hardwood.

"So you think it's time for me to settle down?" You challenged with a smirk. "Get married to some silver-spoon jerk upstate?" Sam's smile turned close-lipped as he noticed the other's approach.

"We could help you find a good one." At least he sounded hopeful.

"In this town?" Steve overheard, tapping his beer on the hardtop. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

Your sneaking suspicion grew as they hounded like vultures. You looked from Sam to Steve with weary eyes. The only one with less enthusiasm was Bucky. Bucky, who usually was primmed with pressed shirts, was tired. His hair fell into his face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie long discarded at one of the tables.

"You want to help me find a man?"

Bucky looked to his friends with a hooded expression, letting his hand reach out before him. With the click of his tongue, he softly smirked.

"We'll help you find a man. Have we got a deal, doll?"

It was a business handshake, one full of promise. And as soon as you grasped Bucky's hand, one you'd come to regret.

You didn't expect their advice to work so well…or so quickly.  

At the gala, Bucky strolled over with that sly walk and pressed navy suit, conveniently carrying your favorite drink in hand after Pietro ordered you both dirty martinis. You never cared for the drink, but you weren't about to tell him that. But trouble started when Bucky slid between you with that close-lipped smirk.

"They must have made a mistake at the bar," He explained with a shrug. "I remember you liked these. Here, doll." Bucky said, swapping out the drink in your hand before sliding away. No one could fault you for your eyes lingering on him as he walked back to Sam and Steve.

Later in the night, when you were dancing along and finally falling into a rhythm with Pietro, Bucky interrupted again. It was the turn of the tides, the slow pace of the music building, until it felt like one of the underground clubs.

All the weeks spent flirting and learning more about the Maximoff family were crumbling before you. You were a fool to think it would last.

The music built to the familiar strum of old songs you used to listen to, and before you knew it, Sam, Natasha, and half the crew surrounded you on the dancefloor, pulling you away from your date. And it was all orchestrated by Bucky, leading them like a pack of wolves. You knew that look, the suave pull of his hand through slicked-back hair. And then, before you knew it, you were dragged away from the dancefloor.

"Hey," Pietro called over the music, pulling you to the side. "I like you. I do, but this isn't working."

"Wait –" You tried, reaching for his arm. But he was quick to deflect, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks.

"Whatever you're looking for," his eyes moved from Bucky and dropped when you noticed. He looked down with a sad smile. "Whoever you're looking for, I hope you find it."

It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Please don't go."

But it was too late. Your plea was lost as he pushed himself away. Everyone saw it. All your friends' efforts and your attempts to find the one were wasted. Your feet carried you away too fast to notice the somber look Steve gave Bucky.

"You're running out of time, punk."

The city lights passed in a blur as a taxi drove you farther from the gala. The searing ache in your chest left you confused.

For years, you dreamed of Bucky Barnes, hope a dangerous feeling companion of yours. But you knew how he felt. You were nothing more than a friend; he had made that abundantly clear. But you couldn't cut the tether, even while someone else caught your interest. Pietro Maximoff was handsome and kind and loved his sister more than the world. But with Bucky's interruptions, it was no wonder why he didn't want to get involved.

But it still hurt.

A sob was swallowed back, but you couldn't stop the tears from rising. You were pitiful. It was the last time you'd ever ask the guys for help.

But the thought was gone with the sudden screeching of brakes. It made you hold on to the headrest in front of you. Trying to peer around at the commotion, you didn't expect to be cut off by two black SUVs. A moment later, a ringed hand banged on the taxi's hood.

"Get out of the car."

You knew that voice. And as you looked through the windshield, you could see Bucky Barnes peering back.

He was as poised as he was at the party, and the sharp look had you bracing the seat. The bitter spark of rejection caught the light, burning into brutal frustration. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him. Not now.

"No."

He tilted his head to the side at the challenge.

"Get out of the fucking car." Bucky gritted. "I need to talk to you."

His voice was teetering dangerously into territory you had only heard about. It was his back rooms, no nonsense voice that snapped you back into the moment. Like hell it would work on you. So it was to be a standoff, one that that you weren't ready to back down from.

Once Bucky realized your position, he took a new approach. You could hear his intentional steps against the pavement as he reached the driver. He didn't say anything but dug into his pants pocket, his fingers flicking through his wallet smoothly.

"Unlock the car," Bucky ordered, pressing cash bills against the window.

The immediate click of the locks didn't help your bellyache, nor did the split second of peace you had before Bucky forced the door open and pulled you out of the cab.

"Are you crazy?" You barked, forcing him to release you as the cab sped off in the other direction.

But you were left in the middle of the road in Barnes territory, the sweep of their dark SUVs cutting off any chance to get out of this conversation.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I didn't want you to leave the party." He explained, his words softer now. "Not like that."

You couldn't believe him. You followed their advice to try and bag a good guy, but to what end?

"What?" You dared to challenge. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not in the mood, James."

The curl of his name lingered, making your intentions clear. You never called him by his first name. And Bucky didn't like it one bit.

"Let me take you home."

As if you had a choice.

You choked on a frustrated snarl, wanting to hide and cry away your worries and wanting to claw at him like a villain. You hated it. You hated the pressure of his eyes, blue and dark against the night, to get in the car.

So you lifted your head high, took a steeling breath, and walked ahead of him. You were separated from the rest of the world in the backseat of his company car. The divider was a saving grace. You didn't want one of the drivers to see you like this.

But Bucky followed behind so quickly, getting in and closing the door before you could protest for space. You chose to stare out the window instead of looking back at him. The car lurched forward, and you took a moment to find balance.

"You're unhappy."

"No shit."

"Please," He started, turning his shoulders in toward you. Even out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wouldn't let this go. "Please talk to me. Don't close me out. I hated seeing you leave like that. Whatever Maximoff did, I'll fix it."

"You can't fix it!" You finally said, turning to him and gripping his shoulder in frustration. "You say you want me to be happy, to find someone, and then manage to scare off anyone that has the potential to do it." As your voice raised, heat radiated from your cheeks down your neck. His eyes were wide, listening to your grief. "He left because of you. It's not like you have feelings for me. What's the matter with you?"

You couldn't stand to look at him, not when he was so close. His cologne burned your nose, and you desperately needed him to get out of your system.

"Doll," Bucky breathed. He inched his way closer, not letting the anger of your words settle over him. "What if I did have feelings for you?" You would almost call his stare desperate. And then you confirmed it as his shoulders dropped, turning toward you. "It's all that I've wanted to tell you. And I can't see you with him." He admitted.

He moved with purpose all night, not intending to ruin your time with Pietro but to show you that he was the one who needed you. He should have been the one to hold you between dances and order you fine drinks. He should have picked you up so that you would never dare to get in a yellow cab.

But you weren't some wilting flower. You knew the risks of your following words.

"We're friends, Buck."

You held yourself together. You were strong and brave and gripping your heartstrings.

"Yes," He agreed. "But we…"

And for once, he was at a loss of words. The years wasted pining after him would finally be out in the open. You could finally be free of his torment. His eye contact was overwhelming; if he looked away, you would disappear.

"Look, We've been friends for a long time." And with an ounce more of bravery, you sighed. "But I'd like to be more than friends." You admitted. "I want to be so much more than that."

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bucky leaned closer in earnest, over the seat and bringing his face close. There was no teasing, no torment in his expression.

And with the tip of his chin, you were lost, pulled tight into a kiss and letting it blossom as cold metal snaked around your waist. You dreamed of his touch, and it burned down your throat like honey whiskey.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky had moved. He was no longer in the seat, now chest to chest with you. He was kneeling in the cramped space, the divider shielding you from the driver and the outside world.

"Do you know why Sam offered to help in the first place?" His words were slow as he pulled away, loud enough to hear. "Do you know why Steve jumped on board and corralled us to join? It's because he is tired of me dragging my fucking feet."  

"Bucky-"

But he closed the space for another set of slow kisses, deep and intentional.

"I've been an idiot." He admitted. "The guys know how I feel about you. I think they've always known." Another kiss as you pulled back, gripping the shoulders of his jacket. Expensive fabric under your fingertips, hot breath against yours. You were dizzy.

"And you agreed to help with this idea." You noted.

It wasn't a question, no challenge in your words. He agreed to help find you a man. Bucky took a hefty exhale.

"You know the business. It's not safe –" but you raised your hand with a groan, not buying his excuse.

Your fingers brushed over the curve of his chin, the sharp line of his beard a welcome sensation. God, you only ever dreamed of this. You savored the feel of him, your hand moving up his ear and combing your fingers through his air. Buck's eyes were darker than you've ever seen, his open mouth curving up in awe.

"'s not safe." He whispered. "I'm not gonna put you through that."

It was a weak defense. You knew the coterie of mercs, the warehouses, the shipments. You knew all of it and were aware of the danger. But it wasn't like you could cut ties and leave your life behind. You weren't sure you even wanted to.

"You wanted me to find someone else?" You dared to ask. The whisper died as he shook his head.

"All this deal did was make me jealous." He affirmed. "And tonight," His eyes raked down your frame. He never did finish his thought as lust washed over him. A breath passed between you two. "I never meant for you to hurt over it."

The limited space lets you mimic his actions, noting his heaving chest, blue eyes, and the pout of his kissed lips. How he kneeled down in front of you, crowding your space, made you dizzy. While your mouth curved up into a wanton grin, you couldn't help but chase another kiss.

Each touch melted the last of your anguish. The night was long forgotten as soon as he pressed forward, flattening you against the back of the seat. While you pulled up for air, his other hand moved to cup your chin. And then, with your eyes locked on his, he tilted your chin, eyes staring into the roof of the sedan as you felt lips against your jaw.

Hot, languid kisses burned against your pulse. The scrape of his teeth and burn of his beard drove you wild. And as he pulled back, his hand released your chin, following a mesmerized pattern down your skin.

The palm of his hand cupped your neck, down your shoulder, pulling down the thin strap of your dress. Your soft skin was on display, and Bucky's expression was wonderous. But his hand continued mapping, cupping the curve of your breast. A tactful squeeze left your head falling against the seat, a soft gasp on your lips, and your hand blindly reaching up to cover his. With a sharp breath, you found his eyes again. His pink lips were parted, eyes pleading with you.

You knew Bucky was a man of action, but this was uncharted territory. Your nod and an affectionate squeeze of his hand pulled him from his reverie.

He needed more, craving your skin. And as his hand fell from your chest to a solid grip on your ankle, you craved his exploration.

Shallow breaths were traded for deep, hungry kisses. Years of longing, of yearning for his touch and affection, finally were coming to a head. The brush of his tongue left your mind reeling, and regardless of the heat, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. Under your dress, he lingered over the smooth skin of your calf, over your knee, up your thigh, and to the meat of your hip. Rough, dexterous fingers carved prints into your skin hot enough to burn.

You refuse to miss a moment, eyes fixed on Bucky's as his palm covers the top of your thigh, the intention sitting heavy in your stomach. A live wire of nerves, you can feel him from the heat of your cheeks buzzing down to your toes.

And then, palming where you needed him most, your mouth dropped open with the softest of moans.

Bucky's eyes are wide, but it doesn't last as he finally lets himself get lost. As his eyes close, you admire the curve of his nose and his soft, dark eyelashes. But Buck is greedy, and as he peels his way under the cloth of your panties, you, too, close your eyes. Fingers are nimble, caressing your dripping seam under the dress.

You're a vision.

Convulsing under his touch, rogue pulls off his fingers drip honey down your thighs. Your breath is heaving, and your chest is dangerously close to falling out of the dress. Bucky finds refuge by rubbing slow, devastating circles against your clit. Every hitch of your breath and moan spur him on until you are staring at him with such reverence he thinks he'll collapse.

There's a magnetism, the long-lasting chemistry drawing you nearer to him. He swallows your moan as he slides a finger inside. You're in a desperate frenzy, pulling him close and arching into his body. He spurs on a need you've never had, demanding his smoldering kiss as you shake in his arms.

He's all you've ever wanted. You're crazy to think it could have ever been anyone else.

And then the car jerked to a stop.

There's a breathless laugh as he pulls away, Bucky's forehead resting on yours. You kept a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing his chin. Maybe, if you just ignored it, the outside world would go away.

That is, until you see a porch light turn on from your periphery. You try not to let embarrassment flood your system as you realize your situation, with one of your closest friends knuckle deep in the back seat.

Bucky doesn't share your distress.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, finally pulling his head back. Bucky smiled. His fingers lingered longer before pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting.

You must have looked as desperate as him, finally looking down at the brutal strain in his pants. But you had no time to overthink as his fingers carefully plucked at your dress strap. He was putting you back together, smoothing out the burn of his touch as he sat up.

If you begged, you were sure that he'd ravage you right there in the seat. But you tilted your head to look outside. You needed a distraction, anything to regain your good sense.

As you focused on the brownstone, you knew where he took you. You were in front of his house – the Barnes family house. He said he was taking you home.

"This isn't my place."

His smirk reached his eyes, and as he pulled open the door and jumped out, his gaze was fixed on you.

"For fucks sake, doll," Bucky's eyes were soft, still blown out. He held a hand out. "We've known each other our whole lives. I'm crazy about you. Are you gonna come up with me or not?"

And with an ardent stare, as if he hung the stars himself, you reached for his hand.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The long, bloody lineage of private equity's looting

Tomorrow (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Fans of the Sopranos will remember the “bust out” as a mob tactic in which a business is taken over, loaded up with debt, and driven into the ground, wrecking the lives of the business’s workers, customers and suppliers. When the mafia does this, we call it a bust out; when Wall Street does it, we call it “private equity.”

It used to be that we rarely heard about private equity, but then, as national chains and iconic companies started to vanish, this mysterious financial arrangement popped up with increasing frequency. When a finance bro’s presentation on why Olive Garden needed to be re-orged when viral, there was a lot off snickering about the decline of a tacky business whose value prop was unlimited carbs. But the bro was working for Starboard Value, a hedge fund that specialized in buhying out and killing off companies, pocketing billions while destroying profitable businesses.

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

Starboard Value’s game was straightforward: buy a business, load it with debt, sell off its physical plant — the buildings it did business out of — pay itself, and then have the business lease back the buildings, bleeding out money until it collapsed. They pulled it with Red Lobster,and the point of the viral Olive Garden dis track was to soften up the company for its own bust out.

The bust out tactic wasn’t limited to mocking middlebrow family restaurants. For years, the crooks who ran these ops did a brisk trade in blaming the internet. Why did Sears tank? Everyone knows that the 19th century business was an antique, incapable of mounting a challenge in the age of e-commerce. That was a great smokescreen for an old-fashioned bust out that saw corporate looters make off with hundreds of millions, leaving behind empty storefronts and emptier pension accounts for the workers who built the wealth the looters stole:

https://prospect.org/economy/vulture-capitalism-killed-sears/

Same goes for Toys R Us: it wasn’t Amazon that killed the iconic toy retailer — it was the PE bosses who extracted $200m from the chain, then walked away, hands in pockets and whistling, while the businesses collapsed and the workers got zero severance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/business/wp/2018/06/01/how-can-they-walk-away-with-millions-and-leave-workers-with-zero-toys-r-us-workers-say-they-deserve-severance/

It’s a good racket — for the racketeers. Private equity has grown from a finance sideshow to Wall Street’s apex predator, and it’s devouring the real economy through a string of audactious bust outs, each more consequential and depraved than the last.

As PE shows that it can turn profitable businesses gigantic windfalls, sticking the rest of us with the job of sorting out the smoking craters they leave behind, more and more investors are piling in. Today, the PE sector loves a rollup, which is when they buy several related businesses and merge them into one firm. The nominal business-case for a rollup is that the new, bigger firm is more “efficient.” In reality, a rollup’s strength is in eliminating competition. When all the pet groomers, or funeral homes, or urgent care clinics for ten miles share the same owner, they can raise prices, lower wages, and fuck over suppliers.

They can also borrow. A quirk of the credit markets is that a standalone small business is valued at about 3–5x its annual revenues. But if that business is part of a large firm, it is valued at 10–20x annual turnover. That means that when a private equity company rolls up a comedy club, ad agency or water bottler (all businesses presently experiencing PE rollup), with $1m in annual revenues, it shows up on the PE company’s balance sheet as an asset worth $10–20m. That’s $10–20m worth of collateral the PE fund can stake for loans that let it buy and roll up more small businesses.

2.9 million Boomer-owned businesses, employing 32m people, are expected to sell in the next couple years as their owners retire. Most of these businesses will sell to PE firms, who can afford to pay more for them as a prelude to a bust out than anyone intending to operate them as a productive business could ever pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

PE’s most ghastly impact is felt in the health care sector. Whole towns’ worth of emergency rooms, family practices, labs and other health firms have been scooped up by PE, which has spent more than $1t since 2012 on health acquisitions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

Once a health care company is owned by PE, it is significantly more likely to commit medicare fraud. It also cuts wages and staffing for doctors and nurses. PE-owned facilities do more unnecessary and often dangerous procedures. Appointments get shorter. The companies get embroiled in kickback scandals. PE-backed dentists hack away at children’s mouths, filling them full of root-canals.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

The Healthcare Private Equity Association boasts that its members are poised to spend more than $3t to create “the future of healthcare.”

https://hcpea.org/#!event-list

As bad as PE is for healthcare, it’s worse for long-term care. PE-owned nursing homes are charnel houses, and there’s a particularly nasty PE scam where elderly patients are tricked into signing up for palliative care, which is never delivered (and isn’t needed, because the patients aren’t dying!). These fake “hospices” get huge payouts from medicare — and the patient is made permanently ineligible for future medicare, because they are recorded being in their final decline:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Every part of the health care sector is being busted out by PE. Another ugly PE trick, the “club deal,” is devouring the medical supply business. Club deals were huge in the 2000s, destroying rent-controlled housing, energy companies, Mervyn’s department stores, Harrah’s, and Old Country Joe. Now it’s doing the same to medical supplies:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

Private equity is behind the mass rollup of single-family homes across America. Wall Street landlords are the worst landlords in America, who load up your rent with junk fees, leave your home in a state of dangerous disrepair, and evict you at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/16/die-miete-ist-zu-hoch/#assets-v-human-rights

As these houses decay through neglect, private equity makes a bundle from tenants and even more borrowing against the houses. In a few short years, much of America’s desperately undersupplied housing stock will be beyond repair. It’s a bust out.

You know all those exploding trains filled with dangerous chemicals that poison entire towns? Private equity bust outs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/04/up-your-nose/#rail-barons

Where did PE come from? How can these people look themselves in the mirror? Why do we let them get away with it? How do we stop them?

Today in The American Prospect, Maureen Tkacik reviews two new books that try to answer all four of these questions, but really only manage to answer the first three:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

The first of these books is These Are the Plunderers: How Private Equity Runs — and Wrecks — America by Gretchen Morgenson and Joshua Rosner:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/These-Are-the-Plunderers/Gretchen-Morgenson/9781982191283

The second is Plunder: Private Equity’s Plan to Pillage America, by Brendan Ballou:

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/brendan-ballou/plunder/9781541702103/

Both books describe the bust out from the inside. For example, PetSmart — looted for $30 billion by RaymondSvider and his PE fund BC Partners — is a slaughterhouse for animals. The company systematically neglects animals — failing to pay workers to come in and feed them, say, or refusing to provide backup power to run during power outages, letting animals freeze or roast to death. Though PetSmart has its own vet clinics, the company doesn’t want to pay its vets to nurse the animals it damages, so it denies them care. But the company is also too cheap to euthanize those animals, so it lets them starve to death. PetSmart is also too cheap to cremate the animals, so its traumatized staff are ordered to smuggle the dead, rotting animals into random dumpsters.

All this happened while PetSmart’s sales increased by 60%, matched by growth in the company’s gross margins. All that money went to the bust out.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/antoinegara/2021/09/27/the-30-billion-kitty-meet-the-investor-who-made-a-fortune-on-pet-food/

Tkacik says these books show that we’re finally getting wise to PE. Back in the Clinton years, the PE critique painted the perps as sharp operators who reduced quality and jacked up prices. Today, books like these paint these “investors” as the monsters they are — crooks whose bust ups are crimes, not clever finance hacks.

Take the Carlyle Group, which pioneered nursing home rollups. As Carlyle slashed wages, its workers suffered — but its elderly patients suffered more. Thousands of Carlyle “customers” died of “dehydration, gangrenous bedsores, and preventable falls” in the pre-covid years.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/opioid-overdoses-bedsores-and-broken-bones-what-happened-when-a-private-equity-firm-sought-profits-in-caring-for-societys-most-vulnerable/2018/11/25/09089a4a-ed14-11e8-baac-2a674e91502b_story.html

KKR, another PE monster, bought a second-hand chain of homes for mentally disabled adults from another PE company, then squeezed it for the last drops of blood left in the corpse. KKR cut wages to $8/hour and increased shifts to 36 hours, then threatened to have workers who went home early arrested and charged with “patient abandonment.” Many of these homes were often left with no staff at all, with patients left to starve and stew in their own waste.

PE loves to pick on people who can’t fight back: kids, sick people, disabled people, old people. No surprise, then, that PE loves prisons — the ultimate captive audience. HIG Capital is a $55b fund that owns TKC Holdings, who got the contract to feed the prisoners at 400 institutions. They got the contract after the prisons fired Aramark, owned by PE giant Warburg Pincus, whose food was so inedible that it provoked riots. TKC got a million bucks extra to take over the food at Michigan’s Kinross Correctional Facility, then, incredibly, made the food worse. A chef who refused to serve 100 bags of rotten potatoes (“the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in my life”) was fired:

https://www.wzzm13.com/article/news/local/michigan/prison-food-worker-i-was-fired-for-refusing-to-serve-rotten-potatoes/69-467297770

TKC doesn’t just operate prison kitchens — it operates prison commissaries, where it gouges prisoners on junk food to replace the inedible slop it serves in the cafeteria. The prisoners buy this food with money they make working in the prison workshops, for $0.10–0.25/hour. Those workshops are also run by TKC.

Tkacic traces private equity back to the “corporate raiders” of the 1950s and 1960s, who “stealthily borrowed money to buy up enough shares in a small or midsized company to control its biggest bloc of votes, then force a stock swap and install himself as CEO.”

The most famous of these raiders was Eli Black, who took over United Fruit with this gambit — a company that had a long association with the CIA, who had obligingly toppled democratically elected governments and installed dictators friendly to United’s interests (this is where the term “banana republic” comes from).

Eli Black’s son is Leon Black, a notorious PE predator. Leon Black got his start working for the junk-bonds kingpin Michael Milken, optimizing Milken’s operation, which was the most terrifying bust out machine of its day, buying, debt-loading and wrecking a string of beloved American businesses. Milken bought 2,000 companies and put 200 of them through bankruptcy, leaving the survivors in a brittle, weakened state.

It got so bad that the Business Roundtable complained about the practice to Congress, calling Milken, Black, et al, “a small group is systematically extracting the equity from corporations and replacing it with debt, and incidentally accumulating major wealth.”

Black stabbed Milken in the back and tanked his business, then set out on his own. Among the businesses he destroyed was Samsonite, “a bankrupt-but-healthy company he subjected to 12 humiliating years of repeated fee extractions, debt-funded dividend payments, brutal plant closings, and hideous schemes to induce employees to buy its worthless stock.”

The money to buy Samsonite — and many other businesses — came through a shadowy deal between Black and John Garamendi, then a California insurance commissioner, now a California congressman. Garamendi helped Black buy a $6b portfolio of junk bonds from an insurance company in a wildly shady deal. Garamendi wrote down the bonds by $3.9b, stealing money “from innocent people who needed the money to pay for loved ones’ funerals, irreparable injuries, etc.”

Black ended up getting all kinds of favors from powerful politicians — including former Connecticut governor John Rowland and Donald Trump. He also wired $188m to Jeffrey Epstein for reasons that remain opaque.

Black’s shady deals are a marked contrast with the exalted political circles he travels in. Despite private equity’s obviously shady conduct, it is the preferred partner for cities and states, who buy everything from ambulance services to infrastructure from PE-owned companies, with disastrous results. Federal agencies turn a blind eye to their ripoffs, or even abet them. 38 state houses passed legislation immunizing nursing homes from liability during the start of the covid crisis.

PE barons are shameless about presenting themselves as upstanding cits, unfairly maligned. When Obama made an empty promise to tax billionaires in 2010, Blackstone founder SteveS chwarzman declared, “It’s a war. It’s like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.”

Since we’re on the subject of Hitler, this is a good spot to bring up Monowitz, a private-sector satellite of Auschwitz operated by IG Farben as a slave labor camp to make rubber and other materiel it supplied at a substantial markup to the wermacht. I’d never heard of Monowitz, but Tkacik’s description of the camp is chilling, even in comparison to Auschwitz itself.

Farben used slave laborers from Auschwitz to work at its rubber plant, but was frustrated by the logistics of moving those slaves down the 4.5m stretch of road to the facility. So the company bought 25,000 slaves — preferring children, who were cheaper — and installed them in a co-located death-camp called Monowitz:

https://www.commentary.org/articles/r-tannenbaum/the-devils-chemists-by-josiah-e-dubois-jr/

Monowitz was — incredibly — worse than Auschwitz. It was so bad, the SS guards who worked at it complained to Berlin about the conditions. The SS demanded more hospitals for the workers who dropped from beatings and overwork — Farben refused, citing the cost. The factory never produced a steady supply of rubber, but thanks to its gouging and the brutal treatment of its slaves, the camp was still profitable and returned large dividends to Farben’s investors.

Apologists for slavery sometimes claim that slavers are at least incentivized to maintain the health of their captive workforce. This was definitely not true of Farben. Monowitz slaves died on average after three months in the camp. And Farben’s subsidiary, Degesch, made the special Zyklon B formulation used in Auschwitz’s gas chambers.

Tkacik’s point is that the Nazis killed for ideology and were unimaginably cruel. Farben killed for money — and they were even worse. The banality of evil gets even more banal when it’s done in service to maximizing shareholder value.

As Farben historian Joseph Borkin wrote, the company “reduced slave labor to a consumable raw material, a human ore from which the mineral of life was systematically extracted”:

https://www.scribd.com/document/517797736/The-Crime-and-Punishment-of-I-G-Farben

Farben’s connection to the Nazis was a the subject of Germany’s Master Plan: The Story of Industrial Offensive, a 1943 bestseller by Borkin, who was also an antitrust lawyer. It described how Farben had manipulated global commodities markets in order to create shortages that “guaranteed Hitler’s early victories.”

Master Plan became a rallying point in the movement to shatter corporate power. But large US firms like Dow Chemical and Standard Oil waged war on the book, demanding that it be retracted. Borkin was forced into resignation and obscurity in 1945.

Meanwhile, in Nuremberg, 24 Farben executives were tried for their war crimes, and they cited their obligations to their shareholders in their defense. All but five were acquitted on this basis.

Seen in that light, the plunderers of today’s PE firms are part of a long and dishonorable tradition, one that puts profit ahead of every other priority or consideration. It’s a defense that wowed the judges at Nuremberg, so should we be surprised that it still plays in 2023?

Tkacik is frustrated that neither of these books have much to offer by way of solutions, but she understands why that would be. After all, if we can’t even close the carried interest tax loophole, how can we hope to do anything meaningful?

“Carried interest” comes up in every election cycle. Most of us assume it has something to do with “interest payments,” but that’s not true. The carried interest loophole relates to the “interest” that 16th-century sea captains had in their cargo. It’s a 600-year-old tax loophole that private equity bosses use to pay little or no tax on their billions. The fact that it’s still on the books tells you everything you need to know about whether our political class wants to do anything about PE’s plundering.

Notwithstanding Tkacik’s (entirely justified) skepticism of the weaksauce remedies proposed in these books, there is some hope of meaningful action. Private equity’s rollups are only possible because they skate under the $101m threshold for merger scrutiny. However, there is good — but unenforced — law that allows antitrust enforcers to block these mergers. This is the “incipiency standard” — Sec 7 of the Clayton Act — the idea that a relatively small merger might not be big enough to trigger enforcement action on its own, but regulators can still act to block it if it creates an incipient monopoly.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

The US has a new crop of aggressive — fearless — top antitrust enforcers and they’ve been systematically reviving these old laws to go after monopolies.

That’s long overdue. Markets are machines for eroding our moral values: “In comparison to non-market decisions, moral standards are significantly lower if people participate in markets.”

https://web.archive.org/web/20130607154129/https://www.uni-bonn.de/Press-releases/markets-erode-moral-values

The crimes that monsters commit in the name of ideology pale in comparison to the crimes the wealthy commit for money.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

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/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farbenizers

[Image ID: An overgrown graveyard, rendered in silver nitrate monochrome. A green-tinted businessman  with a moneybag in place of a head looms up from behind a gravestone. The right side of the image is spattered in blood.]

[randomshyperson]

Mess is Mine - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Being divorced from Wanda Maximoff implies never getting over her.

Warnings: (+18), language, brief smut, divorced ladies who are very still much in love with each other, unspecified age gap, marriage going wrong, hopeful ending, mild angst, fluff.| Words: 3.949k.

A/N-> There's this divorced couple in a Brazilian soap opera with so much chemistry in their scenes together because of the intimacy gained during marriage (even though that didn't work out) and they won't leave my tik tok ; at some point, my brain thought about this fic. I would love to write more of this trope in the future.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Wanda had a persistent migraine, and the pile of work in front of her was not helping.

Still, all her stubborn brain could focus on instead of her real job was the stupid headline of the gossip magazine on her desk.

A cheap and badly angled photo of her ex-wife with colorful captions that read 'The newest business killer couple?" and dozens more insinuations about a secret high-society romance made her stomach churn.

Wanda tried not to be affected by the gossip, but you looked so happy in the photo that she couldn't help it.

The sudden opening of her door made Wanda jump in her seat, in one quick pull close the magazine and sigh with relief when she saw it was only Natasha.

"Why are you here?" Her long-time friend and co-worker asked. Wanda frowned in confusion.

"It's still my company..."

Nat rolled her eyes, walking into the office and taking long strides to her desk. "I meant in here, smarty-pants. The event is starting in an hour, the staff wanted some words of encouragement or something."

Wanda sighed wearily, massaging her forehead with one hand. "Can't you do that for me, Nat? I gotta make some calls."

Nat hummed in agreement, but her gaze caught the closed magazine on the table and she raised a brow at her friend. "One of those calls includes your ex-wife, I suppose."

Wanda chuckled dryly, taking the magazine out to one of the drawers and adjusting herself to reach the desk phone. "There's nothing else for me to say to her."

Her friend hid a smile that said that she didn't believe this one bit. "Okay, whatever you say. See you later, boss."

Wanda waved goodbye, with the phone to her ear. Her immediate instinct was to dial known numbers but she shook her head to push that ridiculous idea away and went back to work.

Several hours after the peak of the event when the company was filled with guests, from potential clients to journalists looking for any news like vultures at the carrion, Wanda was at her second glass of champagne, trying to keep the rest of her patience intact after having answered so many questions for gossip magazines regarding the headline from earlier in the day.

She absolutely did not want to discuss a possible romance between her ex-wife and the heiress of Bishop Industries. 

Years before, any of them would have been afraid to question her about something so ridiculous, but that was before you came along. And melted your way into the Business Ice Queen, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff, or whatever insensitive nickname they invented about her back then. Before breaking down all of Wanda's walls, making her a better person, and of course, before you left her.

It was definitely the alcohol's fault that she was thinking about this, and with these stupid tears welling up in her eyes. Wanda swallowed all the emotion, burying it deep and making sure that no one had noticed her broken expression. With an excuse to a group of investors who were boring her into a corner, she retreated to an area far away from the company's outdoor gardens, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The beautiful view of the state lake was most welcome.

So of course the reason for her almost minor breakdown had to show up wearing her favorite suit.

"Are you running away from your guests, Maximoff?" Your tone was casual, the smile provocative. She snorted to herself, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes on the lake. You didn't mind, walking over to her at a slow pace until you were beside her on the edge. 

"I just needed some air." She merely replies. With one hand in your pockets, you adjust your own hair, and Wanda hates that she can smell the shampoo, her body betraying her and shuddering as if your scent were addictive. 

"You're avoiding me today." You comment lightheartedly, studying her face. "I arrived an hour ago and it took me almost all this time to find you."

Wanda forced a smile, finally facing you back, but her angry look made you hesitate. "I thought your chaperone was keeping you busy."

You glanced back at the party, stealing a quick check on Kate at the food stand, chatting with a blonde girl, before turning your attention back to Wanda.

"I forgot how hot you get when you're jealous."

Wanda huffs away, her cheeks burning which she tries to hide by staring at the lake. "Don't even start." She warns between teeth. 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, but don't insist. You turn your attention to the lake as well. "I wanted to let you know that the boys have already arrived in King Cross. I spoke to them and Charles on the phone."

"I know, Pietro texted me." She retorts more harshly than she meant to and bites the inside of her cheek as she sees you lower your head in upset. With a sigh, she mumbles, "I meant, thanks for letting me know."

You smile, nodding before turning your gaze back to the party. "What do you think of Miss Bishop?" 

Wanda locks her jaw; How dare you honestly. A list of curses lays ready on the tip of her tongue, but she remembers where you two are, and takes a deep breath. You were clearly trying for some kind of reaction from her, and she's not going to let you have this victory today.

"She's beautiful." Wanda replies. "As young as you were when I met you."

You chuckle shortly, raising an eyebrow at her. "What are you implying, Maximoff?"

Wanda shrugs her shoulders softly, turning to leave. "You're quite clever, Y/N, I'm sure you follow." She hits back, but you step forward into her path. You are suddenly too close, and Wanda finds herself holding her breath. She needs to take a step back to avoid stopping breathing for good.

Your eyes stare into theirs. "Not that this is any of your business, darling, but my relationship with Kate is strictly professional."

You assure her in a low tone, and Wanda swallows hard as your gaze moves down to her lips for a long moment before focusing on her eyes again. A smile forms on your mouth next. "Besides this, I've always had a thing for older women."

Wanda sighs heavily, using all her mental control to pull away at once. "Go pay attention to your chaperone, Y/N. Especially if she's a potential client."

You roll your eyes at the business tip; you already know them by heart, the vast majority learned from Wanda. And your ex-wife makes mention of leaving, so you slide your hand down her forearm gently, taking some amusement in seeing the way she shivers.

"I wanted to talk to you about something, Wanda." You let her know, with a serious tone but a tender look. The redhead swallows dryly at the closeness of your faces now that you're standing side by side, your hands connected. "Later, after the party, okay?"

"I-I..."

"It's important." You assure her, knowing her hesitation is so as not to break your agreement about relapses. With a gentle expression, you insist, "Please, it won't take more than five minutes."

She licks her lips, and you almost kiss her. Lucky for her she agrees and walks away because God knows you would have done it, right there in that garden for all the New York reporters to have a week's news about.

Without Wanda's perfume around you, you take a deep breath and try to clear your mind, having to wait a few more minutes in the garden for your heart to stop beating so fast.

As the event nears its end and Wanda needs to give a closing speech, you say goodbye to Kate before the parking area. You ignore all the journalists who try to insinuate something about you having taken the girl to the car and exchange a glance with Wanda in the small crowd before moving toward the elevator.

Wanda has always known you so well, and with a nod, she knows exactly where she has to go.

Her work floor is completely deserted as she makes her way to her own office. But she still closes the door as she enters, letting out a tired laugh at your figure sitting on her armchair.

Her smile fades when she sees what you are reading.

"Headlines nowadays are getting creative..." You wryly chuckle, laughing at your ex-wife's caught expression. "It says here that I might have an eye to the Bishop's fortune. How silly, you gave me almost half of yours in the divorce, why would I need more money?"

"Very funny." Wanda dryly retorts, reaching up to snatch the magazine from your hands with a tug, and raking the item into the trash afterward. She crosses her arms as she looks at you. "What did you want to tell me?"

You flashed a small, sideways smile. "You used to be more polite when you wanted to sleep with me. At least offer me a drink."

Wanda chuckled dryly, rolling her eyes and begrudgingly moving to the personal bar in the corner of the room. If she leaned over more than necessary to grab one of the whiskey bottles, aware that the position in the chair gave you a full view of her ass, neither of you said anything about it. She hid her satisfied smile as she heard your breath hitch at the image, and you hid your own reaction as you cleared your throat and looked away.

Shortly thereafter, two shots of whiskey were served on the glass table in front of you. But before the toast, you declared:

"I'm leaving."

Wanda frowned, and when you made mention of taking the glass, she placed her hand on your forearm. "Speak."

You chuckled, staring her in the eyes. "I closed a contract with the Ten Rings folks. They want me in Korea for the next four months."

Wanda lets go of your arm as if she had been burned and steps away from the table with an indecipherable, but very disturbed expression.

"B-but the boys.." She tries to formulate, but you rise from the armchair with a sigh.

"They'll be at school." You retort, even though firm, your gaze is almost pleading. For what, Wanda doesn't have the heart to wonder. "It's not as if they stay with us all the time, Wands. The boarding school takes up this time quite well. It will only be four months, and they've already invented the telephone and internet, you know?" You try to joke, but Wanda hugs her own body and faces you.

"Why are you here, then? You've traveled before."

"Not for that long." You say, taking steps toward her, and mentally thanking heavens that she doesn't pull away. "And not... not since we made the divorce official."

"Y/N..."

"I know, I know." You murmur with a sad smile, raising your hands to her arms uncovered by her dress. "Maybe it's stupid, but I wanted to make sure we're okay. That it won't be something...I don't know, that hurts us."

"More than a divorce? I find that difficult." She replies with restrained emotion in her husky voice. You sigh.

"Wanda..."

"No, you're right. It was stupid." She cuts off, pulling away so you don't see the tears welling up in her eyes. "Of course it's okay. But I appreciate that you respect the concept of shared custody. I imagine the kids already know?"

"Yes, I told them before I took them to the airport." You mutter upset, watching Wanda walk away to the window. "But Wands, I wanted to tell you in person..."

"And why is that, huh?" she retorts with an impatience that makes you flinch. And for this, Wanda loses it for good. "You know, I don't understand you! You left me! You filed for divorce, you wanted to break us up. But you keep showing up here, and at home, and everywhere, and now you want to come here and say you care-"

"I care, Wa-"

"Then why did you leave me?" she shouts back, almost regretting it when she sees the tears in your eyes. You laugh tearfully, shaking your head.

"We've had this conversation dozens of times, Wan." You say, much calmer than she is. "But you just can't accept that you're wrong, can you?"

"Right, I forgot that I'm the villain in your story." She sneers, wiping her face with the back of her hand. You give another sad laugh.

"I wish it were that simple, darling." You tell her, taking slow steps toward her. "If you were just the villain, the bad wife, the evil boss, everything would be easier. I could hate you, curse your names to all my friends, and spend all the divorce money on expensive, empty things out there, but it's not like that. You forget the part that I love you and tried to fight for us until the last second."

Wanda sobs quietly, looking down at the floor, "Don't do that, Y/N."

"But it's true, baby, you know. I'm not the one who broke any promises, Wands. I just got tired of begging for crumbs of attention from the person who swore to spend the rest of her days with me."

Wanda lifts her chin, and the determination in her gaze doesn't do justice to the tears. "You knew how much my career meant when you said yes."

You smile sadly, taking one last step to get close enough to hold her face. Wanda shudders as you wipe away her tears, as you have done so many times before, as if no time has passed and everything was fine.

"I am so proud of you, Wands, for all you have accomplished with your work. I only wish I had been as important as this building." 

You place a long kiss on her forehead, pulling away afterward. You offer her one last sad smile before closing the door on your way out. Wanda starts to cry as soon as you have done so, even though she tries very hard to keep her tears away.

–//–

You burned a pancake to answer the door, but all the irritation over the ruined dish vanished when you saw Wanda standing in front of you.

It had only been a few days since you had last seen her, and now all the furniture in your apartment was already packed away and covered with rags, prepared for the time you would be away. Wanda's party dress gave way to a casual suit that made you swallow dryly and become self-conscious of the sweatpants and sports top you were wearing. Wanda wouldn't have picked anything better.

"Are you going to let me in, detka?" Wanda asked with some teasing for your moment of shock. You immediately recovered, making room for her to enter and closing the door once she was in the hall. "Sorry for disturbing your breakfast. I wanted to see you before your flight."

"Oh, don't worry about it. And I'm not going until the afternoon." You clarified somewhat clumsily by her presence, one hand still holding a spatula and the other adjusting your hair. "I made pancakes if you'd like..."

"I would love it." Wanda assured with a smile that made your stomach twist. It wasn't fair that your ex-wife got more beautiful every time you looked at her, honestly.

Wanda followed you back into the kitchen, and to both your surprise, you fell into a light conversation about work and the boys while preparing and serving food, completely different from the tone of the conversation the last time you had seen each other. 

But it was a time bomb, of course, so you weren't surprised when Wanda suddenly bit her lip, assuming a more tense posture. 

Finishing chewing your pancakes, you asked:

"Why are you here, sweetheart?" 

Wanda raised her eyes to you, and you stared back at her, patiently for her to clarify. 

"I wanted to say goodbye to you properly." She said, spinning her own stool around first before tipping her hands around yours to spin you toward her. You raise a brow in curiosity, but the question of what she was doing dies in your throat as she leans in and brings your lips together. 

It has been exactly three months, eighteen days, and sixteen hours since you last kissed Wanda, and you only realize how much you missed the feeling when she does it again. It's as intoxicating as it is overwhelming, and you gasp into her lips, breaking the kiss at once as you stand up, taking good steps away from the countertop.

"Wanda, we talked about this." You remind her in a husky voice, pressing a hand over your face. It's ridiculous how much your skin is burning and your heart is racing for something that lasted less than three seconds. "No relapses. You promised-"

"It's not a relapse." She assured, reaching up and grabbing your hands to place them around her waist. You grunted at the sensation, closing your eyes as Wanda slipped hers over your shoulders, too close for you to think about anything other than her. "It's a parting gift. So you'll have a reason to come back."

"W-what...?"

Wanda presses closer and brings her mouth to your ear. "Just stop overthinking it and accept the gift, detka."

With encouragement, she bites the lobe of your ear, and you give up resisting.

With a tug on her waist, you bring your mouths together in a kiss much hungrier and more passionate than the first, which elicits loud, almost primal moans of need from both of you. Wanda pushes and pulls, and by the time you stumble to the back of the living room couch, your pants are already open and there's nothing covering your torso; much like the woman in front of you, who as soon as she throws you sitting up against the cushions, your breathing out of rhythm and your lips swollen from kissing hard, makes a show of removing the rest of her clothes.

She has time to smile mischievously at your look of pure adoration at her completely naked body in front of you before you pull her onto your lap by her thighs. Wanda climbs on you with a needy grunt, burning from the inside out in anticipation for you to touch her again.

Your touches are almost desperate, your kisses mark her skin. It is your gift, but you also seem determined to make sure that Wanda has the memory of this morning for quite some time. 

When your mouth closes around her nipples, she whimpers to the ceiling, arching her back and steadying her hands in your hair, a soft plea that you not stop.

"Yes, baby, just like that." She encourages over the stimulation on her nipples, breaking into an excited whimper when you simply use your free hand to masturbate her. At any other time, you would have taken your time to work her up until she was begging for your touch, but now, in the urgency you two were sharing, it wasn't necessary. She was ready for you. 

Your fingers penetrate her without delay, and Wanda digs her nails into your shoulder, breaking into a breathless moan. You give one last hickey on her hardened nipple before you move your face back up to hers, kissing her with intensity as your fingers dance inside her walls with the mastery of one who has done this a dozen times, one who knows her like the palm of the hand she so deliberately grinds against in the intention of relieving herself.

"G-god, detka! Right here!" She breaks the kiss into an affected moan, practically meowing as you repeatedly hit that sensitive spot inside her. The wetness grows in your palm, Wanda oozes into you, and to help her, you bring your free hand to her hip, coordinating her movements as she begins to fail. "I-I'm going to..."

"Don't talk, show." You interrupt her with a proud little smile, moving your mouth down to bite the sensitive spots on her neck. "Come to me, baby, I've got you."

That's all she needs to reach the first climax of the morning, and she is not surprised that you don't stop at the first. Or the second, or the third.

You are on your knees on the living room floor when your first alarm goes off. Breathing as out of breath as Wanda, on the couch with her torso exposed and her legs spread from which you against your will need to remove your face to turn off the alarm when you pull away.

She covers herself when you disappear to the kitchen because she knows it's because of the flight, and when you return, the cell phone goes on the coffee table and you sit on the floor next to her on the couch. 

There is a long silent pause, where only your breaths can be heard. Wanda skirts a hickey on her own thigh and you sigh.

"We shouldn't have..." But you can't complete, it because your voice fails you as if you are going to start crying. You look away, and Wanda lets herself fall to your side on the floor, where she reaches for your hand.

"Detka, look at me." She asks, and you have to wait a moment until you sniffle and do so with difficulty.

"I told you it hurts me, Wands. I can't-" You take a deep breath. "I can't heal if this keeps happening. There’s no getting over you if we keep doing this”

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to get over me." She says and you huff, trying to pull her hand away, but Wanda squeezes. "I love you, you know I do."

"Love is not enough." You retort bitterly, your eyes filled with tears. "Loving me doesn't mean you won't hurt me. Nor that you won't ignore me. Those are just words, Wanda. I haven't felt loved by you in a long time."

She releases your hand from the shock of your words, and watches you create a physical distance between you as you walk away. You slip away to the bedroom, muttering that you need to get ready for the flight, and she tries to make a decision the whole time you are in the shower.

When you return to the room, wearing a set of travel clothes, Wanda is wearing your sweatpants and her own dress shirt. Your chest aches to see her wearing your clothes again.

"Wanda, you'd better go, my flight-"

"I love you, detka." She cuts you off with eyes bright with determination as she stares at you. You swallow dry, but can't resist when Wanda reaches up to touch your face. "I will make sure you know it. You'll know it so deeply that you'll be able to feel it in your bones. And you'll never doubt it again."

You sniffle lightly. "Wanda..."

"Don't worry about it now, detka." She interrupts you more gently, caressing your face. "Have a great trip. I'll be here when you come back home."

You sigh, and Wanda doesn't let you say anything more, kissing you in a calmer, but somehow much more intense way than before. 

She leaves the apartment before you, with a wink and a request that you call the boys before and after the flight. 

And even before she gets to the first floor, Wanda has already texted Natasha about her early retirement procedure after her well-deserved family vacation.

[genericpuff]

"it's only been 3 months, of course we haven't turned a profit yet" - implied Webtoons in their recent Q2 meeting following their Wall Street debut

"it's only been 3 months, what do you mean the lawyers are already here" - I choked out as I was informed of the vultures circling WT's dying corpse from above

(literally just google "webtoons investigation" and you'll come across multiple articles covering different firms with the exact same claims and ongoing investigations)

Now let's not get ahead of ourselves, vultures are vultures, as soon as one smells blood the rest of them tend to circle in to get their own place in line. At this stage, it's simply legal firms that specialize in the investment sector sliding their cards across the table towards WT's investors like, "heeeey, give us a call if you, y'know... don't make your money back in the next three months :) or the three months after that :) we can make the money happen, for a price :)"

That said, whichever vulture honed in first, I don't think they would have followed the scent if they weren't at least somewhat confident there was something to feast on. Then again, I'm not a lawyer, nor am I involved in the complex world of investing and /r/wallstreetbets, but what I can confidently say is... of course Webtoons isn't hitting their projections, this is a company that historically operates at a loss, it says so right in their own IPO documentation. This isn't even some hush hush secret anymore whispered among creators who are privileged to that information or readers who can only take their best guesses, it's now literally official that Webtoons is historically bad at making money. And now in their attempts to save themselves, they've now put themselves in debt not only to Daddy Naver, but to all the eager investors who expected this to be their next big payout. And it's hilarious.

But what isn't hilarious is how this is undoubtedly affecting the creators on the platform, both Originals and greenlit Canvas creators who are currently working their asses off to launch their series. And so I want to make it very clear that as much as I'm currently taunting Webtoons much like the Road Runner taunted Wile E. Coyote's increasingly absurd stunts that always backfired tenfold, I also have the immense privilege of not being in the shoes of those who are witnessing this and fearing they'll be losing their jobs and opportunities.

To the people who are in those positions, I have the utmost respect for what you're currently facing. You're all investors in your own right, looking down the same barrel as the Wall Street betters who are realizing Webtoons' lied to them. You're investing your time, your efforts, your work, your creative rights, your physical bodies and mental health into Webtoons with the expectation that it will payoff. And as we've seen from many creators who have come out on the other side burnt out and often poorer than they were when they went in, that payoff doesn't exist 99% of the time.

So, with the privilege that I have as someone who's not contracted with Webtoons and isn't bound by an NDA and knows fully well how much Webtoons hates their public image being laughed at... my inbox is always open and the anon button is always turned on. Do with that what you will. And know that if you're someone who's currently trying to find a way out of Webtoons, remember the power you have. Their platform is nothing without you.

[probablyasocialecologist]

To bring about its hypothetical future, OpenAI must build a new digital ecosystem, pushing users toward the ChatGPT app or toward preëxisting products that integrate its technology such as Bing, the search engine run by OpenAI’s major investor, Microsoft. Google, by contrast, already controls the technology that undergirds many of our online experiences, from search and e-mail to Android smartphone-operating systems. At its conference, the company showed how it plans to make A.I. central to all of the above. Some Google searches now yield A.I.-generated “Overview” summaries, which appear in tinted boxes above any links to external Web sites. Liz Reid, Google’s head of search, described the generated results with the ominously tautological tagline “Google will do the Googling for you.” (The company envisions that you will rely on the same search mechanism to trawl your own digital archive, using its Gemini assistant to, say, pull up photos of your child swimming over the years or summarize e-mail threads in your in-box.) Nilay Patel, the editor-in-chief of the tech publication the Verge, has been using the phrase “Google Zero” to describe the point at which Google will stop driving any traffic to external Web sites and answer every query on its own with A.I. The recent presentations made clear that such a point is rapidly approaching. One of Google’s demonstrations showed a user asking the A.I. a question about a YouTube video on pickleball: “What is the two-bounce rule?” The A.I. then extracted the answer from the footage and displayed the answer in writing, thus allowing the user to avoid watching either the video or any advertising that would have provided revenue to its creator. When I Google “how to decorate a bathroom with no windows” (my personal litmus test for A.I. creativity), I am now presented with an Overview that looks a lot like an authoritative blog post, theoretically obviating my need to interact directly with any content authored by a human being. Google Search was once seen as the best path for getting to what’s on the Web. Now, ironically, its goal is to avoid sending us anywhere. The only way to use the search function without seeing A.I.-generated content is to click a small “More” tab and select “Web” search. Then Google will do what it was always supposed to do: crawl the Internet looking for URLs that are relevant to your queries, and then display them to you. The Internet is still out there, it’s just increasingly hard to find. If A.I. is to be our primary guide to the world’s information, if it is to be our 24/7 assistant-librarian-companion as the tech companies propose, then it must constantly be adding new information to its data sets. That information cannot be generated by A.I., because A.I. tools are not capable of even one iota of original thought or analysis, nor can they report live from the field. (An information model that is continuously updated, using human labor, to inform us about what’s going on right now—we might call it a newspaper.) For a decade or more, social media was a great way to motivate billions of human beings to constantly upload new information to the Internet. Users were driven by the possibilities of fame and profit and mundane connection. Many media companies were motivated by the possibility of selling digital ads, often with Google itself as a middle man. In the A.I. era, in which Google can simply digest a segment of your post or video and serve it up to a viewer, perhaps not even acknowledging you as the original author, those incentives for creating and sharing disappear. In other words, Google and OpenAI seem poised to cause the erosion of the very ecosystem their tools depend on.

[oddmawd]

did i ever share the moodboard for The HΩuse on Rumbar Boulevard?

story summary for the uninitiated:

The house on Rumbar Boulevard stands empty. None have dared cross its threshold in years. But rumors persist that on dark and lonely nights, faces appear in the windows, and ghostly laughter echoes down the hall. The new Mistress of the house has not heard the rumors. She does not know what lurks beneath the peeling paint and cracked foundation of her dubious inheritance. All she sees is a Victorian mansion in disrepair and investors circling like vultures. But she recognizes an opportunity when she finds one, and she’s certain she can flip the house and sell it with little trouble — mutterings of hauntings and things that go bump in the night bedamned. Alas, the bones of the house are stirring, and the creature within the walls won’t let its long-awaited Mistress leave so easily.

[Eldritch Horror!Brook | An OCCULT PIECE Story | One Piece Urban Fantasy AU | Smut in Later Chapters]

[cyberpunkonline]

The Great Tech Heist: How East Coast Money Made Silicon Valley’s Wild West Look Like a Rigged Casino

Let’s take a trip back to the ‘90s. Picture it: everyone’s wearing acid-wash jeans, video game cartridges are getting blown into like they’re ancient relics, and the internet is that weird thing we only use to email chain letters and download Metallica tracks on Napster (sorry Lars). The tech world is exploding, right? West Coast kids, wired up on Mountain Dew and Jolt Cola, are coding like mad geniuses in their garages, while on the East Coast, fat cats are throwing cash at any startup that promises to "disrupt" something, anything. Sounds like the American Dream? Think again.

The Myth of the Silicon Cowboy

Look, we’ve all heard the fairy tale: Silicon Valley was built by scrappy hackers, rebellious dreamers who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and revolutionized the world. Yeah, no. Turns out, the tech boom wasn’t just a bunch of geeks in garage startups waiting to change the world with code—it was funded by some serious East Coast money. Yup, while the West Coast had the talent, the algorithms, and the vision, it was those Wall Street fat cats who swooped in with their big, dirty bags of cash when the rest of the world still thought the internet was just a fad for nerds.

Let’s not look at this through rose-tinted glasses. The West Coast might’ve had the hackers and engineers, but the East Coast had the old-money institutions and finance bros itching to throw dollars at anything with "tech" in its name. It wasn’t just about innovation, man. It was about control. The future wasn’t some wild frontier—it was a rigged casino. And the house? You guessed it. Ivy League-educated venture capitalists who had their claws in the game long before anyone knew what "dot-com" even meant.

East Coast Money, West Coast Hustle: The Unholy Union

Picture this: West Coast techies, hyped up on vision boards and overly optimistic projections, meeting East Coast investors in their slick suits, who smell like cigars and finance spreadsheets. It’s a match made in capitalist heaven. The techies needed funding to keep their dreams alive, and the financiers were happy to oblige—so long as they got a cut, or better yet, all the power.

This wasn’t a one-off thing. This was a system. East Coast money turned the Valley into a playground for the rich before the innovation even had a chance to breathe on its own. The money vultures from Boston and New York didn’t just see an opportunity; they saw a way to control it from the start. The ‘belief gap’ (you know, that time when people still thought tech was a passing trend) was patched over not by pure innovation or passion, but by heavy financial artillery.

The Fad That Wasn’t: Dirty Money and Nepotism

Let’s get real. Tech wasn’t some magical, equal-opportunity goldmine. It was a “get rich quick” scheme for anyone with the right connections or enough dirty cash to play the game. Nepotism was as rampant in the tech space as in any other industry—maybe even more so. Those that had old money? They were the ones who got in early, while the rest of us were busy playing GoldenEye and waiting for dial-up to connect.

Sure, there were a few exceptions—some genuine innovators who actually did come out of nowhere to change the game. But for every scrappy underdog success, there were a hundred trust-fund babies whose families were plugged into the venture capital pipeline. The rise of the tech industry wasn’t fueled by underdogs, but by a calculated infusion of East Coast dough—making sure that when the chips fell, the same people who always win were the ones holding the cards.

Media vs. Tech: A Clash of Titans or Just a Slow Dance?

And let’s not even get started on the media’s role in all this. If you thought the mainstream media (MSM) was rooting for the rise of the internet, think again. The old guard—newspapers, magazines, television—they were terrified. Internet? Pfft. Just another fad like laserdiscs and slap bracelets, right? Wrong. But of course, they had to protect their interests, so they downplayed it at first. "No, no, people will never want to read their news on a screen." Yeah, well look where we are now. They couldn’t hold back the tide, but they sure as hell tried.

And when they couldn’t? They hopped on the bandwagon, rebranded themselves as “digital pioneers,” and started their own media conglomerates online. They played both sides, hedging their bets, and ultimately getting in bed with the very tech companies they once mocked.

The House Always Wins

Look, it’s no accident that tech became what it is today. It was designed to succeed in a system that benefits the already-powerful. When East Coast money plugged into West Coast talent, it wasn’t to help build a utopian future of innovation and creativity. It was to control the next big thing. The old money powers weren’t afraid to take over the narrative—and as usual, the house won.

So yeah, every time you hear about the "wild west" of tech and how it was all about risk-takers and visionaries, take it with a grain of salt. Sure, there were some rebels in there. But the real power move was knowing which side of the table to sit on. And unless you were part of the old guard with the right connections, you were just along for the ride.

As Hunter S. Thompson would probably say, it’s all one big swindle. The game was rigged from the start, and now we’re all stuck in this digital casino, hoping we can at least break even. But let’s face it: the house always wins.

And remember, folks—when you’re sitting there staring at your screen, watching tech giants swallow the world whole, just know this: behind every slick algorithm and groundbreaking app, there’s probably a cigar-smoking finance bro laughing all the way to the bank.

And that’s the real joke.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Rumor had it...

Until someone said something...

And then another someone said something...

I won't sugarcoat it, though... I'm sure SPIDER-MAN: BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE saw something of an overhaul after it was **clear** that it was never going to make its initial 3/29/2024 release date.

This happens on many animated movies. Whole movies' worth of unused story stuff gets chucked, and ideally... That happens EARLY in production, before whole chunks of the movie are animated and finalized.

We heard all the stories of the animators being crunched on ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, stuff being changed at the very last minute on Phil Lord's whims (because of his and Miller's whole "improvisational" approach to making things, which arguably isn't conducive to huge-budget movies. See also, their time on SOLO), to the point where at least two versions of the movie ran simultaneously in theaters and even further changes were evident on the disc release.

And this was all when Sony put it out there that BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE would follow in nine months...

Really, if you're going to do a back-to-back set of movies (remember, ACROSS was going to be a "Part One"), be ready to do so. With live-action, you can film both parts pretty close together depending on everyone's schedules. With big screen animation? Uhhhh, well, again... If everything's locked and in place... But that clearly was NOT the case with BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE. The delay gives them plenty of time to actually work stuff out **before** things are animated.

I'm not panicking. The movie is nowhere near done. I have no idea what it'll be like. I'm not gonna prematurely write off the end of the SPIDER-VERSE trilogy.

I'm totally okay with stuff being figured out now than right before release date. Not everything is a last-minute miracle like TOY STORY 2, whose final year of production should've went down in history as a "Phew! The movie turned out great, BUT... Never again!" situation.

I'm saying, LOCK the picture a year in advance. It's like finishing a great clay project, now you have to put it in the kiln. The way some animated productions go, like ACROSS, like FROZEN I & II, etc.... It's like they keep shutting off the kiln, taking the halfway-fired clay project out to "fix" it, put it back in, take it out again, "fix" it, put it back in- You get the idea? It sounds like hell!!

Do like Walt Disney. Razor into the picture and tear it down WELL before anything is animated. But the current industry model seems to love this whole "Oh yeah, we can tweak and fix it while it's in production!" thing.

As for the whole "most of the movie got thrown out" rumors? The InSneider isn't a place I get my news from, and I hear it's not the most reputable place... That being said, despite Pemberton and Miller's claims, I have no doubt stuff got thrown out. It happens on productions, especially this far out from release date. The base is probably the same, the construction is probably just different, that's all. I'm sure what we'll see on the big screen a few years from now is rooted in what was planned back in 2022/23...

All I know is, production wasn't near beginning on BEYOND when ACROSS was in theaters. Approximately July 2023-ish. Hailee Steinfeld had remarked that she didn't even record her lines for BEYOND, and the Vulture expose on the working conditions on that movie said that only some test sorta stuff had been done on BEYOND and little else. A release date is usually a suggestion anyways, a number meant to whet the appetites of investors, no matter how far along the movie actually is. Animated movies of this caliber are often delayed, sometimes outright scrapped. Disney Animation, Pixar, DreamWorks, etc. Off the top of my head, outside of a sequel, a more original/untested animated movie keeping its first-announced release date post-2010 seems rather rare... Possibly a list for another day? I dunno!

So... Yeah, BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE is a long time away. No concrete release date is currently set, Sony Animation has other projects in the works (such as K-POP: DEMON HUNTERS, dropping on Netflix next year), and it's a big finale to what's already a massive multiverse epic... And I'm sure, given the current culture of leaks and rumors and info being so readily available at our fingertips, this picture will see a ludicrous amount of scrutiny before release.

If those stories never got out about ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, would the ever-so-fickle online animation fansphere have overnight shifted to "it's only half a movie thus it sucks"/"it's not very good, actually"/"ohhhh it definitely shows"? After all that gushing praise? If we never knew these behind the scenes stories, would we even tell that some of these movies had a lot of trouble coming together?

Most of our big favorites were not cakewalks. Making things is often hard! Of course, this is not to excuse crunching the animators, my larger point is... BEYOND is nowhere near being done, so... I can only hope whatever issues the story has, they're being worked out now. Or were being worked out after the film was listed as a TBD release.

... And, let's just say I dislike the movie come 2026/2027?

I'll just go watch something else. I've been disappointed by sequels before, and I'm doing okay I'd like to think lol. Fanfiction exists, your alternate "better" version is in your head, etc. When something stinks to me, I try to chalk it up to "They made decisions that they thought were right at the right time, and it just didn't work out."

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-Fi prompt from @dirigibird:

I've been looking at investment options but I don't want to be messing around too much with the stock market, and a co-worker suggested exchange traded funds. Would love to know your opinions!

LEGALLY NECESSARY DISCLAIMER: I am not a licensed financial advisor, and it is illegal for me to advise anyone on investment in securities like stocks. My commentary here is merely opinion, not financial advice, and I urge you to not make any decisions with regards to securities investments based on my opinions, or without consulting a licensed advisor. I am also going to be talking this all over from an American POV, which means some of these things may not apply elsewhere.

So instead of letting you know what to pick or how to organize your securities, I'm going to go through the definitions of what various investment funds are, how they compare functionally, and maybe rant about how I disagree with the stock market on a fundamental ethical level if I have word count left over.

If you want more information, and are okay with jargon, I'd suggest hitting up investopedia. That is where I will be double-checking most of my information for this one.

I also encourage folks who know more about the stock market specifically to jump in! I like to think I'm good at research and explaining things, but I'm still liable to make mistakes.

Mutual Funds: A mutual fund is a pool of money and resources from multiple individuals (often vast numbers of people, actually) being put together and managed as a group by investment specialists. The primary appeal of these is that the money is professionally managed, but not personally so; it gives smaller investors access to professional money managers that they would not have access to on their own, at cheaper rates than if they tried to hire one for just their own assets. The secondary appeal is that, due to the sheer number of people, and thus capital, that is being invested at once, the money can be invested in a wide variety of industries, and is generally more stable than investing in just one company or industry. Low risk, low reward, but overall at least mostly reliable. Retirement plans are often invested in mutual funds by employer choice, through companies like Fidelity or John Hancock.

Hedge Funds: A hedge fund is a high risk, high reward mutual fund. Investors are generally wealthy, and have the room and safety to lose large amounts of money on an investment that has no promise of success, especially since money cannot be withdrawn at will, but must remain in the fund for a period of time following investment. It gets its name from "hedging your bets," as part of the strategy is to invest in the opposition of the fund's focus in order to ensure that there is a backup plan to salvage at least some money if the main plan backfires. Other strategies are also on the riskier side, often planning to take advantage of ongoing events like buyouts, mergers, incumbent bankruptcy, and shorting stocks (that's the one that caused the gamestop incident).

Private Equity: Private equity is... a nightmare that got its own incredibly good Hasan Minhaj episode of Patriot Act, so if you've got 20 minutes, an interest in comedically-delivered, easily-digestible, Real Information, and an internet connection, take a watch of that one. (If it's not available on YouTube in your country, it's originally from Netflix, or you can probably access it by VPN.) Private equity companies are effectively hedge funds that purchase entire companies, rebuild them in one way or another, and then sell them at (hopefully) a profit. Very often, the companies purchased by private equity are very negatively impacted, especially if the private equity group is a Vulture Fund. Sometimes, it's by taking it apart to sell off; sometimes it's by just bleeding it for cash until there's nothing left. Sometimes, it's taking over a hospital and overcharging the patients while also abusing the staff! (Glaucomflecken has a lot of videos on the topic of private equity in the medical industry, check him out.)

Venture Capital: In contrast to private equity, which purchases more mature companies, venture capital is focused on startups, or small businesses that have growth potential. These are the kinds of hedge funds that are like a whole group that you'd see some random tv character calling an Angel Investor (they're not actually the same thing, but they overlap by a lot). I'd hesitantly call these less ethically dubious than private equity, but I'm still suspicious.

And finally, to answer your question on what ETFs are and how they fit into the above.

Exchange Traded Funds: ETFs are... sort of like a mutual fund. Sort of. You are, to some extent, pooling your money... ish.

An ETF is like a stock that is made out of partial stocks. So instead of paying $100 for stock A, and not getting stocks B/C/D that all cost the same, you buy $100 of the ETF, which is $25 each of stocks A/B/C/D. You are getting a quarter of a unit of stock, which isn't normally an option, but because you are purchasing through an ETF that officially already bought those Whole stocks, you can now purchase the partial stocks through them.

They buy the whole stocks, then they resell you mixes of those stocks. They still officially own the whole stocks themselves, but you now own parts of the stocks. Basically, you own "stock" in a company that owns stock in other companies, and in that process you own partial stocks in those other companies.

I'm going to re-explain this using fruit.

Imagine you can buy apples, oranges, melons, grapes, etc. You can also buy fruit cups. You can only buy the individual fruits in big batches or you can pool your money with a few other people, hand it to a chef. The chef will decide which fruits look like they'll taste the best by lunch time, buy a bunch of those fruit pallets with your combined money, and plan out the best possible fruit salad for you to share with a bunch of people once lunch rolls around.

You could also buy a fruit cup. You don't have a lot of control over what's already in the fruit cup, but there are a few different mixes available--that one has strawberries, but that one over there uses kiwi, and the other one that way has pineapple--and you can pick which mix you want. It's a pretty small fruit cup, and it's predesigned, but you can choose the one you want without having to pool money with everyone else. You just first have to let someone else design the fruit cups you choose from, and you don't know which ones are probably going to survive the best to lunch time unless you ask a chef (which defeats the purpose of buying a fruit cup instead of pooling your money, and asking the chef costs money).

That's the ETF. The ETF is the fruit cup.

The upside is that you can now just track the prices of your fruit cup, instead of tracking the prices of four different fruits, and so if the price of one fruit drops, you can just... let the other three buoy it.

Of course, in the real world, there are more than just four stocks involved in an ETF. This part of the Investopedia article lists a few examples, and they're usually themed and involve anywhere from 30 (DOW Jones) to thousands (Russell) of shares by stock type, or by commodity/industry. So with the ETF, you can invest in an entire industry, like technology, and just keep track of that single "stock" in the industry game.

They do cost less in brokerage/management fees than regular mutual funds, and they have a slightly lower liquidity (slower to cash out). There also exist actively managed ETFs, which are basically mutual funds for ETFs. You are paying the chef to buy you premade fruit cups.

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

[gowns]

Among so many heinous problems trickling down on our heads from the top of the film industry is that of intellectual property. It’s not that adaptations are new, but that the ability to make a living by creating anything else has only recently been destroyed. IP obsession has killed the mid-budget movie, it’s killed the movie star, and it’s coming for the rest of the industry. This is as much a problem for audiences as for filmmakers (at any level), and it all comes from the same place: Unchecked greed, and the familiarity with which we accept it.

Tidy, consistent, sustainable profits—the kind of thing generated by movie studios that once offered a diverse slate of reasonably budgeted adult dramas, teen-date rom-coms, family films, and fence-swinging art movies—are a thing of the past for those in charge of the industry. Other forces from the entertainment world are certainly at play, specifically the rise of prestige TV as a destination for what the movies have abandoned. But the pivot to the IP Era feels simple, because it feels familiar. It’s because tidy, consistent, sustainable profits aren’t enough. There must be growth. There must be domination. There must be Shared Universes.

This attitude goes beyond being risk-averse. Risk aversion isn’t new. Single-minded speculation, trying to alchemize IP into gold, is.

The management decisions keeping workers from their fair pay—as described by Writers Guild of America board member John Rogers in a thread about the current strike—are the same ones milking old IP for all it’s worth: “The new robber barons of Hollywood are on a suicide run.” This shift is tech-bro economics, Wall Street-fellating “vulture capitalism” here to feast on the industry, not further it.

...Sure, an executive could gamble on a few million dollars on an “idea” from a “writer.” They could also flip the big Binder O’ Properties to a random page, do a rail of coke off of it and spend $100 million to reboot whatever’s underneath. A new Ghostbusters? Another go at the Dark Universe? Let’s do it! Monopolies, even monopolies built on unsustainable properties—on the slums of Baltic and Mediterranean Avenues, in board game terms—have the potential to be more than profitable. They can define decades of strategy. Investors like that. It feels stable yet exciting, predictable yet potentially limitless.

“We’re going to focus on franchises,” Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav assured investors. “We haven’t had a Superman movie in 13 years. We haven’t done a Harry Potter in 15 years.”

It doesn’t matter if viewers are burned out or if the franchise is inextricably linked to a raging asshole. There’s recognizable media out there just asking to be exploited into an empire, one that could grow and grow and grow. If it eventually burns like Rome—say, if you’re former Disney CEO Bob Chapek and your streaming business continues to bleed money despite releasing bad franchise movies directly onto it—then you can simply fiddle your little heart out, floating away on your golden parachute. Naturally, studio leadership favors this approach, which in turn sets the precedent for the only kinds of movies their companies finance, market and stuff into theaters.

We, the country’s moviegoing public, have already been trained to understand this. 

Pretty consistently, folks go to the movies when they recognize something and stay home when they don’t. Looking at the past 10 years of box office Top 10s, it’s far faster to note which movies aren’t based on a pre-existing property: Frozen, Gravity, Inside Out, Zootopia, The Secret Life of Pets, Sing, Onward and Tenet.

That’s it. Eight movies out of 100. 

Two of them even let you see a person.

But in the IP Era, people are merely a liability. Movies seeking this modern kind of success—as many sequels, spin-offs and merchandise tie-ins as possible—only need humans in front of the camera when they function as an extension of IP. Laura Dern, Sam Neill and Jeff Goldblum were brought back for the latest Jurassic World cash-grab to excite us as embodied reminders of a better movie. They’re not actors anymore. They’re mascots. 

When you realize that that’s all AAA actors are being cast as, it becomes obvious why the biggest blockbusters have recently boiled down to ensembles standing around reskinned warehouses and parking lots. As Jake Ures writes, “when acting has been reduced to stewarding IP,” you don’t want people getting invested in the stars. Rather, “it’s better for investors if they function as empty vessels for stories much bigger than them, ones that can be endlessly iterated long after they’re out of the picture.”

...Performers have long feared being themselves turned into IP. Jet Li famously skipped out on The Matrix sequels so his moves wouldn’t be digitized in some Warner Bros. library, to be used to whatever future end by a company that no longer needed his martial artistry. This, by the way, is the plot of Space Jam: A New Legacy, as LeBron James attempts to avoid the same fate…threatened by the in-universe Warner Bros. Really, this idea is so normalized as to be the bad guy’s plan in a kid’s movie. Netflix is trying to own the rights to its actors’ simulated voices “by all technologies and processes now known or hereafter developed, throughout the universe and in perpetuity.” It’s not about creating something, it’s about owning something, forever.

And that’s the success model. Increasingly, it’s the only model. Because now we crave it, beaten into submission by the sheer onslaught of “Remember that?” requels, legacy sequels and reboots released since Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Star Trek and Star Wars: The Force Awakens helped establish the monoculture model of filmmaking. Audiences didn’t do this to pop culture. It was the corporate powers that invested in and encouraged their most ravenous demographic, turning “audiences” into “fandoms.” We’ve had slop shoveled onto our pop culture prison cafeteria trays for decades, and the prison-industrial multiplex expects us to give our compliments to the chef for another meal of empty-calorie Easter eggs.

[read more - jacob oller for paste magazine]

[saltpepperbeard]

Surely must be a coincidence that the journalist who wrote that Vulture article is one of the people Casey Bloys follows on Twitter and surely it’s a coincidence that article came from Vulture which is owned by Vox Media who acquired GroupNineMedia in 2022 and one of the investors for the merger was Warner Bros Discovery. I love coincidences.

Oh SURELY… ☕️👀

You know that one part in S2 where Buttons is reading the transmogrification papers that Auntie gave him? And he’s like “Ohhhhh, aye. OHHHHHH AYE 👁️👁️.” yeah. Yeah.

I really do think it’s very intense damage control, to be quite honest lmao. Buuuuut who are they fooling REALLY? Certainly not any of us; especially with all these ✨juicy little tidbits✨ afoot.

[jaysficarchive]

A Swing at Love

Chapter 3

Sakana hummed while washing her costume from today's performance. So far they'd been doing well without her father, having just finished their New York stop and concluding the entire world tour. While saddened by the news, she was also happy to be reunited with her father soon.

As she stood up to hang the laundry, the sounds of closing car doors filled her ears. She turned to see a man dressed in expensive suits walking towards her. He was also looking around at the various performers and props used in their shows.

"Can I help you?" Sakana asked.

"Hello. How are you, Miss Mizuiro?" the man asked with a greeting bow. He was an older man-- likely around her parents's age-- with a pair of aviator sunglasses over his eyes. He pulled them down to reveal his dark eyes.

Anger ignited Sakana's blood when she recognized him.

"What are you doing here, Fujimura?" Sakana clipped her costume to the clothesline before turning back to the men.

Fujimura gave her a pleasantly false smile. "I couldn't help but notice your circus was in town."

Sakana was immediately on the defensive. Ever since they'd gone back on the road, greedy businessmen have been flocking to them like vultures. It's just as her father had said-- the corporations descending on them now that he was sick. Hiroaki Fujimura was one of them, and just as frustratingly persistent as the others. Today he seemed extra chipper, which only made her more suspicious.

"I'm sure you're aware me and my associates have been looking to expand overseas, and given your circus is also based in Japan, I think it'd be a good opportunity for both of us."

"Thank you, Mr. Fujimura, but we're not interested." Sakana's sneered at him.

Fujimura chuckled. "You're mistaken, Miss Mizuiro. You see, as one of the early investors in Big Top Serendipity, I put a considerable amount into it, which now makes me a stakeholder."

Sakana's eyes widened.

"I'm here to take my equity stake. Your father left a very profitable and renowned circus behind because of his sickness, so I see fit to take care of you all and change some things about this establishment."

"And tell me, how would you do that?" Sakana was becoming impatient with the man.

Obliging her request, Fujimura pulled a list from his pocket. Apparently he'd been observing them for quite a while.

"First by relocating out of Japan and to Las Vegas. Second, you all will need a serious cast change. Some of these people are as old as me."

As Fujimura rambled on about all the changes he'd make to Serendipity, effectively destroying their way of life, her blood boiled with molten hot anger. Her father's words definitely rang true.

Finally, Sakana snapped.

"We're not selling our circus and that's final! Now get the hell off our property!"

"You don't have a choice, ma'am. Because of my early investment, I have some ownership in Serendipity. Unless you somehow have enough money to buy it from me, I suggest you prepare to be on the Vegas strip."

Vegas strip?! Just what was this man think they were?! "We won't allow this! Just because you gave my parents money doesn't you get to lord over everyone!"

Fujimura scoffed.

"Again. You, or your family, don't have a choice. They've spent too long resisting and letting my money go to waste on some traveling cirus."

Fighting back tears in her eyes, Sakana glared strongly at Fujimura. Hearing him insult everything that made Serendipity unique made her fury burn brighter. All the hard work-- blood, sweat, and tears-- her parents put into their home, gone to waste.

She wished her mother and siblings were here so she could sic them on Fujimura. She wished her father were beside her to lay down the law.

"What's going on here?" Selene walked up to Sakana and Fujimura, sporting a concerned look on her face.

Now with the Mizuiro matriarch there, Fujimura introduced himself and his plan. Like her daughter, Selene became furious.

"How dare you?! You will never own our circus and we won't be going to Vegas! If you think you can just come in and try to lord over us all, you have another thing coming!"

All Sakana could do was angrily glare at Fujimura, wishing horrible things upon him in her mind. Who did he think he was? Coming in thinking himself as a king and them as subservient subjects.

Even after the tongue lashing Selene gave him, Fujimura stood there eerily calm. Seeing his face so emotionless unnerved Sakana to no end. Part of her wondered if he was waiting for Selene to turn her back so he could strike.

Finally after a lengthy silence, he spoke again.

"I intend to collect, Mrs. Mizuiro, whether you like it or not."

He got back in his car and drove off.

Selene's fists were balled so tightly she was about to pop a blood vessel.

"Is he gone, Mama?" Mizumi asked. Her sudden voice startled both Selene and Sakana.

"Yes, Mizumi. He's gone."

"I don't like that he threatened you." Hisakata said. He wished he was big enough to protect his mother and his sisters, but would have to settle with using his words for now.

Night came but Sakana still burned with anger. How dare Fujimura come here and declare he has the right to Serendipity?! That snake! And then the threat he gave Selene? Just what was he planning?

Her anger turned to sadness when she thought about everyone else. The clowns, acrobats, and artists had been like family to her since she was born. To think that Fujimura would be getting rid of them, destroying years of meaningful relationships, could become a reality.

I need to do something... Sakana got up and quietly made her way to the kitchen. Maybe a drink and small snack would clear her head. Pouring a glass of lemonade with a ham sandwich on the side, Sakana sat at the table. Her mind pondered with possible solutions to combat Fujimura, but they all turned up as dead ends.

Sighing, her hand reached for the newspaper and looked through the pages. As she mindlessly flipped, something caught her eye.

Don't be shy! Become a mail order bride!

Wealthy, lonely men seek on demand wives from foreign countries

Checking to see if anyone was around her, Sakana tore the ad out the newspaper. She may have found a way to save her family.

The next morning was rough when Fujimura came back. Serendipity's cast was in the middle of packing for Japan when he showed up. But he wasn't alone-- some of his business partners tagged along with him. As Selene chewed them out, the younger Mizuiro children wondered where their older sister was.

"Has anyone seen Sakana?" Ryujin asked.

Mizumi and Hisakata shook their heads, though they were worried. The last thing they needed was her running off.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

Sakana nodded. While it may seem like she'd run out of options, that was so far from the truth. If she was going to fight someone like Fujimura, she needed to level the playing field. She needed the resources and money he had, and this was the only way to get it without risking her family into debt.

"Alright then." The man running the mail order bride agency took her name down. "Where'd you like to go?"

"Japan."

The agency owner hummed. "You're in luck, lady. I got a bunch heading to Japan this afternoon by seaplane."

A small smile crossed Sakana's face. "What time is it leaving?"

"12 sharp. Be there or get left."

Sakana nodded and left to get ready. Fujimura may have thought he had her cornered with yesterday's revelations, but she refused to give up.

Saizo brushed his hair as he prepared for the day. With much on his agenda today, it was utmost important he look his best. Especially since he was expecting company.

If ibu's words are true, then maybe I'll find the woman I truly desire, he buttoned his shirt. Now fully dressed, he headed downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. His bride was expected to arrive this afternoon, so he had to be prepared.

Sakana looked out the window at the vast sea below her. Dozens of other mail order brides were on board with her, all headed to Japan. When she returned to the circus to get her things, she told her family that she had to go but that her plan would be explained once they got back to Japan.

"We'll be landing in a short while, ladies."

Sakana clutched the handle of her suitcase. Was this risky? Yes. But it was worth it to save her family from someone's greed. Hopefully they'd find it in their hearts to forgive her. She couldn't imagine how worried they must've been when she wasn't at Serendipity this morning.

When the plane landed, Sakana joined the other mail order brides as they got off. While they were excited, she just mindlessly strode into the airport. Being home should've been joyful. It meant she'd see her father again.

Father...oh lord I know he's gonna- Sakana's thought was cut when she bumped into someone. They were sturdy, strong.

"My apologies."

Sakana looked up to see the most beautiful pair of eyes she'd ever seen. One was a deep dark brown while the other was as blue as the ocean.

"I-it's my fault. I should've been paying attention." Sakana rubbed her arm. She hasn't been back for a minute and she's already running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

"You wouldn't happen to be with the mail order brides, would you?"

Her heart stopped. "W-what makes you think that?"

"Because," the man rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm actually here to pick up one. The agency told me her name was...Sakana? Is that you?"

Sakana nodded. Now she was beginning to regret her decision. However, she reminded herself that she'd rather be in an unhappy, loveless marriage than let Fujimura take Serenpidity. "I'm her. You are?"

"Kaijura. Kaijura Saizo."

@julieemarine

[tanadrin]

Maybe a better analogy for exploitative social classes would be "vulture" as opposed to "parasite"? Though that's less ableist and more unfair to birbs that play an important ecological role and don't deserve the reputation they get.

idk man, do landlords form a coherent class these days? a landlord can be anybody from somebody who rents out the condo they inherited from their dead mom to an investor in a giant national property chain like Deutsche Wohnen. there are exploitative jobs, maybe, but this smacks of the urge to create a coherent category of Bad People Whomst If We Only Got Rid Of, Everything Would Be Better, which I think is kinda BS.

objectively, a lot of landlords are not very good at their jobs (this is why the phrase "the landlord special" has entered the lexicon) and some are really exploitative. but so are a lot of office managers. landlords being intrinsically tainted by sin doesn't seem like the problm. and if you think there are too many people renting out property vs owning it, and this contributes to the lack of housing, or if you think real estate speculation is a drag on the economy, there are plenty of policy levers to choose from to correct for this.

historically a lot of the animus directed at landlords came from the fact that "landlord" usually meant a literal lord of some description, like somebody who owned a vast estate with tenant farmers who acquired that wealth over generations of feudal conquest and peasant-oppression. and that's pretty shitty! but even then, the remedy for that can be anodyne and unsexy policy--big inheritance taxes dismantled most of the large landed estates in the british isles over the course of the 20th century, for instance. small time modern landlords, however lazy or exploitative, or even big evil property investment companies, strike me as fundamentally different animals. like, are they great for the economy? maybe not! but there are a lot of jobs that are not great for the economy that we don't waste time coming up with new ways of hating, and there more productive uses of our energy to correct these problems than figuring out which gross animal to compare them to.

[starshinc]

katsuki doesn’t tolerate fancy events very well. he especially doesn’t enjoy being paraded around as some beacon of hope for hero society because of his weird ass debt to the commission, but he still endures it anyway - as a favour to them for not locking him up or whatever. what’s it matter? at least he isn’t alone this time around.

crimson gaze glances to the support tech that practically sticks by his side with his therapy dog, brows furrowing a moment in concern. when the commission told him to bring izuku along, he actually tried to protest it. the man isn’t built for publicity. katsuki deals with it because it’s part of his job, and if he wants to be number one, he would keep doing so. izuku?

he was content working his magic behind the scenes - didn’t much like the spotlight.

the event buzzed around them with infectiously disgusting talks of this, that, the other thing; investors looking to strike deals and agencies placing their bets. most of them avoid katsuki. in turn, any poor soul that looks like they want to talk with izuku keep a distance… and katsuki wonders, then, if that’s why izuku stays near.

the music is slow. some people are taking to the floor. he has a feeling that people looking for their chance will keep circling the two of them until katsuki lets his guard down, and he despises that.

there was a way to maybe avoid this.

he eyes the floor a moment more, and finds his impulse acts first.

“still got two left feet?” he teases, low; warm palm encircles izuku’s closest wrist and tugs him toward the dance floor, making sure to pick a spot that allowed ramen to stay near. he doesn’t dance either. but- “c’mon. keep preoccupied all night, ‘n nobody’s gonna talk to you. and even if they try, i ain’t helpin’ ‘em.”

he hesitates now. katsuki hadn’t thought this far, really, and… fucking impulse, pulling him in impulsively stupid decisions, where he’s trying to steel his resolve and settle hands somewhere where it doesn’t feel like burning, and-

sometimes, he really gets izuku’s overthinking.

“don’t gotta be long,” he amends, as if it’ll make the sudden unease settle in his chest. “but i ain’t dealing with fucking vultures tonight. are you?”

he definitely wasn't planning on attending an event like this anytime soon. actually, if izuku had his way, he'd not be anywhere near this building - much rather be in his support lab, cup of tea in hand and sketching blueprints. but unfortunately for him, katsuki had approached and insisted on izuku coming along - something about the commission.

so somehow, he'd ended up at the event - dressed up as much as possible, thanks to the blond all but shoving a suit at him and doing what he could to make his curls extra soft considering there was no taming them. ramen, his support dog had been groomed (izuku prided himself in taking great care of the golden retriever's coat, but for an event like this, a professional wash and groom was probably a good idea...) and was proudly wearing a bowtie on his collar. he'd kept his working vest on, but he may have thrown it in the washer and dryer beforehand.

izuku was resolutely sticking close to katsuki's side, to the point of brushing against the taller sometimes. there were simply too many people - thankfully, not many had even approached. though, in fairness, the knowledge about jsl was shocking in the room - it would definitely be worth bringing it up to katsuki again, pushing more knowledge. it's important! he's just watching the dance floor, listening to the music and making sure ramen isn't bothered. the second people got too close, he'd tuck himself further into katsuki's side.

warmth around his wrists surprises him, but he allows himself to be dragged towards the floor, registering the words a few seconds later. wait, kacchan surely isn't going to do what he thinks - oh, no, he is. izuku's open-mouthed reaction was probably priceless, and they should thank their lucky stars that the media weren't invited to this event. thankfully, he could still sign.

'kacchan, you know i can't dance...!' the protest starts, signing more jittery than normal. thank goodness he'd picked a spot where ramen could sit nearby. but thinking on it for a moment or two, the logic made sense - there was no chance at ALL that anyone would bother them on the dance floor. with any luck, they could keep to themselves until it was an acceptable time to leave.

'okay.' he signed back, a little grin. 'i'm sorry in advance if i step on your foot.' he'd going to trust the blond to lead, here. and focus on not tripping them both over. 'i don't want to, ah... talk to any investors either, today.' he's already booked out for a good six months. perks of being the most recognised support technician, though he tries to ignore that fact on the daily.

'don't let me fall over, please.'

@dynmghts - unprompted!