#Consumer data control

[ctcnewsca]

Ottawa's open banking bill is coming! Discover 5 ways it’ll transform your finances with secure data sharing & smarter tools.

[bixels]

As cameras becomes more normalized (Sarah Bernhardt encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use cameras because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by manufacturing companies. I paint not because I want a painting but because I love the process of painting. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

if i have to explain to you that using a camera to take a picture is not the same as using generative ai to generate an image then you are a fucking moron.

[srldesigns6277]

Why is it that whenever I wish to scream, I am at work?

[jcmarchi]

Steve Statler, Chief Marketing Officer at Wiliot – Interview Series

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/steve-statler-chief-marketing-officer-at-wiliot-interview-series/

Steve Statler, Chief Marketing Officer at Wiliot – Interview Series

Steve Statler is the Chief Marketing Officer at Wiliot, author of Beacon Technologies, and the presenter of the Mister Beacon Ambient IoT podcast.

At the core of the Wiliot System are IoT Pixels, which are low-cost tags approximately the size of a postage stamp, designed for easy integration into a wide range of products. These IoT Pixels continuously gather data from their surroundings and are powered either by harvesting radio frequency energy or, in some versions, by a thin printed battery. The transmissions from IoT Pixels are secure and can be read using existing Bluetooth devices.

What are the potential benefits of integrating WiliBot into existing supply chain management systems?

Integrating WiliBot into existing supply chain management systems will allow brands and manufacturers to communicate with their products in ways that significantly improve their supply chain efficiency and sustainability.

By enabling natural-language conversations with any ambient-IoT connected product, WiliBot can be used by businesses seeking to ask questions about their ambient IoT enabled products and supply chains: How fresh is this product? How did it get to the store? Which product should I stock next, and why? What is the carbon footprint of this product? Why is it so high or low? The answers to these questions can then be integrated in real time into a businesses supply chain strategy.

How does Wiliot’s use of ambient IoT and GenAI enhance real-time data visibility in supply chains?

The combination of ambient IoT and GenAI offers a unique opportunity to enhance and apply real-time data visibility. Wiliot’s IoT Pixels are constantly collecting real-time data throughout the supply chain and even in stores.

WiliBot enhances this real-time data visibility by harnessing the power of generative AI, to make sense of the data provided. This allows companies – and eventually consumers – the ability to have conversations with the products they make, source, distribute and ultimately purchase. Breaking down complex and multitudes of data into easy to understand actionable insights.

For a GenAI model to run effectively, it requires significant data input to train it. In the past, due to the lack of large amounts of real time data, this meant supply chain GenAI models would utilize previously existing data. While this proved generally effective, supply chains shift from year to year, and last year’s data isn’t always the most accurate when predicting what businesses need in a year, month, and even day. The constant real-time data that Wiliot’s IoT Pixels and Ambient Data Platform feeds into WiliBot proves the most effective for brands looking to capitalize on the most current intelligence that’s happening in their supply chains.

In what ways can WiliBot help businesses improve sustainability and reduce waste within their supply chains?

Wilibot empowers consumers to vote with their purses and wallets based on better insights into the provenance, content and carbon footprint of one product versus another that may look identical. By capturing the dynamic carbon impact of storage, transportation at an item level and sharing that insight in real time, businesses can be empowered to manage down their carbon footprint every minute of every day.  An end of year scorecard at a company level can’t do that.

Wiliot’s Ambient Data Platform, already allows companies to gain unprecedented intelligence about the sustainability about trillions of products. With the introduction of WiliBot, businesses will now be able to ask and easily break down that intelligence into real-time information about individual products.

In turn, this means companies can get real-time specifics on the sustainability of their supply chains. They can ask WiliBot questions like: why some products have a greater carbon footprint than others, what products they should stock before they expire, and how weather patterns are impacting products throughout the supply chain.

WiliBot allows companies to recognize where changes could be made to ensure sustainability and reduce waste, without waiting for the past year’s data.

How do Wiliot’s IoT Pixels work, and what makes them unique in enabling continuous, real-time data collection in supply chains without the need for batteries?

Wiliot’s IoT Pixels are low-cost tags, the size of a postage stamp, and can be seamlessly manufactured into just about any product. IoT Pixels are designed to provide insights on “everything, everywhere, all at once” – because of their small size, they can be affixed to almost any product, down to even crate-level shipments. What makes IoT Pixels unique, and what allows for them to provide continuous data collection, is that they’re powered by harvested radio frequency energy, meaning they use the radio frequencies from everyday devices that already exist in the world around us. IoT Pixels then securely transmit that data, also via existing Bluetooth devices, to the Wiliot Ambient Data Platform, where it’s available for businesses to pull from.

What are the security measures in place to ensure the privacy and integrity of data collected by IoT Pixels and processed by the Wiliot Ambient Data Platform?

The data security and governance robustness of Wiliot’s Ambient Data Platform has been certified by two leading examiners. We have achieved Systems and Organization Controls (SOC) 1 Type II and SOC 2 Type II reports, both issued by independent auditors from a leading Big 4 firm.

Additionally, we recently received its third-year recertification of its ISO 27001 and 27018 certifications by the International Organization for Standardization. Both of these certifications validate our ongoing commitment to data security, governance, and privacy.

Unlike other auto-identification technologies like QR codes and RFID, Wiliot’s implementation includes encryption backed access control to the data that relates to the content, movement and usage of products.

How does WiliBot leverage generative AI to provide actionable insights from the data generated by IoT Pixels?

The data generated by IoT Pixels is sent via Bluetooth to the Wiliot cloud once it’s finalized. From there, WiliBot can leverage the generative AI to provide actionable insights.

WiliBot’s Wiliot-developed AI, built on top of a leading Large Language Model, can identify supply chain “events” and automatically generate alerts or AI responses that allow businesses to course-correct or optimize their operations. This could mean creating an automatic alert for a business when shipments of their produce have been handled at an unsafe temperature, or when pharmaceuticals were kept in an environment too moist for them

The answers to these questions are available in the Wiliot Ambient Data platform, but haven’t always been easily accessible. With WiliBot, these actionable insights can be democratized across organizations, as opposed to requiring significant labor or integration costs.

Can WiliBot be customized to address specific industry needs, such as retail, pharmaceuticals, or food production?

Yes. Wiliot IoT Pixels can be affixed to and provide data on any product, across retail, pharmaceuticals, food production, and more, which means that WiliBot can be distinctively tailored to the needs of those industries.

The more relevant product data that is put into WiliBot, the more specific and targeted answers will be able to be. For food retailers, the priority when implementing WiliBot may be determining the effects of their supply chain’s weather patterns upon food rot and spoil; for clothing retailers, WiliBot may be more relevant in determining where product should go in the store. WiliBot is able to uniquely make sense of data based on each customer’s specific needs and to describe products, materials, supply chains, and everything connected to the internet.

How does the Wiliot Ambient Data Platform differentiate itself from traditional IoT platforms in terms of functionality and ease of integration?

The Wiliot Ambient Data Platform differentiates itself from traditional IoT platforms because of its ‘ambient’ aspect. The data drawn from the IoT Pixels into the platform are accessible all the time as opposed to requiring labor to track, scan or read it.

Wiliot also aims to set ambient IoT standards throughout the industry, which will allow for mass adoption and easy integration by the world’s largest retailers. Already, we are contributing to the 3GPPP alongside a number of large handset OEMs, and working on versions of the Ambient Data Platform that will support the Bluetooth, cellular/3GPP, and Wi-Fi/IEEE variants of ambient IoT.

What impact could WiliBot have on consumer transparency, particularly in understanding the carbon footprint and ethical sourcing of products?

Wiliot’s IoT Pixels already enable products to transmit item-level data about their carbon footprint and equip businesses with information needed to track, manage and reduce carbon emissions. WiliBot makes this even easier by allowing businesses to ask specific questions like where the or how products are sourced and their carbon footprint.

In the future, this convergence of ambient IoT and generative AI will be made available to consumers in-store and at-home through an ecosystem of mobile apps – enabling consumers themselves to speak to and converse with their products to better understand their carbon footprint, materials composition, ethical sourcing compliance, freshness and safety, and more.

This proliferation of information will allow for consumers to take their own ethical considerations into account when purchasing, and ultimately allow for an increased consumer experience without increasing employee workload or cost.

How does Wiliot ensure that the integration of ambient IoT with GenAI remains compliant with global data protection regulations?

Wiliot’s ambient IoT foundation for GenAI enables compliance to data protection regulations with accountability and access control, so that there is a clear owner of the data who has the tools to manage access to the data. Unlike other low-cost scalable radio frequency identifiers, every Wiliot tag is enabled with end-to-end encryption which prevents unauthorized access to data broadcast from a tag.  Encryption starts at the chip level inside the tag and ends at the application in the cloud, which gives a single owner access to the data. With other forms of RFID, the owner isn’t clear – it could be the company that bought the RFID tag and applied it to the product, the distributor, the retailer, or the end customer.  Wiliot’s approach of encrypting all the data means ownership can be transferred and data sharing can be regulated.

Thank you for the great interview, readers who wish to learn more should visit Wiliot.

[robertreich]

Elon Musk's slash-and-burn tactics, his raids on government (and personal) data, and his almost cruel delight in firing government employees and closing entire agencies leave a horrific legacy. The irony is Musk came nowhere near his initial target of $2 trillion in savings. He kept moving the goal posts — from $2 trillion to $1 trillion, then to $150 billion. I doubt the final savings will be more than $20 billion, although we may never know because his method of accounting for and claiming the savings was opaque. Musk’s havoc reveals the difference between budgetary effect (on which Musk had very little) and human effect (on which Musk’s treatment of the federal workers and of many Americans dependent on them caused extraordinary harm). Musk did terrible damage to tens of thousands of civil servants, entire agencies such as USAID, and many government programs the public relies on, from FEMA to air traffic controllers to veterans benefits to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. A large portion of the American public came to despise him, and his own Tesla business tanked. Good riddance.

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[reasonsforhope]

Green energy is in its heyday. 

Renewable energy sources now account for 22% of the nation’s electricity, and solar has skyrocketed eight times over in the last decade. This spring in California, wind, water, and solar power energy sources exceeded expectations, accounting for an average of 61.5 percent of the state's electricity demand across 52 days. 

But green energy has a lithium problem. Lithium batteries control more than 90% of the global grid battery storage market. 

That’s not just cell phones, laptops, electric toothbrushes, and tools. Scooters, e-bikes, hybrids, and electric vehicles all rely on rechargeable lithium batteries to get going. 

Fortunately, this past week, Natron Energy launched its first-ever commercial-scale production of sodium-ion batteries in the U.S. 

“Sodium-ion batteries offer a unique alternative to lithium-ion, with higher power, faster recharge, longer lifecycle and a completely safe and stable chemistry,” said Colin Wessells — Natron Founder and Co-CEO — at the kick-off event in Michigan. 

The new sodium-ion batteries charge and discharge at rates 10 times faster than lithium-ion, with an estimated lifespan of 50,000 cycles.

Wessells said that using sodium as a primary mineral alternative eliminates industry-wide issues of worker negligence, geopolitical disruption, and the “questionable environmental impacts” inextricably linked to lithium mining. 

“The electrification of our economy is dependent on the development and production of new, innovative energy storage solutions,” Wessells said. 

Why are sodium batteries a better alternative to lithium?

The birth and death cycle of lithium is shadowed in environmental destruction. The process of extracting lithium pollutes the water, air, and soil, and when it’s eventually discarded, the flammable batteries are prone to bursting into flames and burning out in landfills. 

There’s also a human cost. Lithium-ion materials like cobalt and nickel are not only harder to source and procure, but their supply chains are also overwhelmingly attributed to hazardous working conditions and child labor law violations. 

Sodium, on the other hand, is estimated to be 1,000 times more abundant in the earth’s crust than lithium. 

“Unlike lithium, sodium can be produced from an abundant material: salt,” engineer Casey Crownhart wrote ​​in the MIT Technology Review. “Because the raw ingredients are cheap and widely available, there’s potential for sodium-ion batteries to be significantly less expensive than their lithium-ion counterparts if more companies start making more of them.”

What will these batteries be used for?

Right now, Natron has its focus set on AI models and data storage centers, which consume hefty amounts of energy. In 2023, the MIT Technology Review reported that one AI model can emit more than 626,00 pounds of carbon dioxide equivalent. 

“We expect our battery solutions will be used to power the explosive growth in data centers used for Artificial Intelligence,” said Wendell Brooks, co-CEO of Natron. 

“With the start of commercial-scale production here in Michigan, we are well-positioned to capitalize on the growing demand for efficient, safe, and reliable battery energy storage.”

The fast-charging energy alternative also has limitless potential on a consumer level, and Natron is eying telecommunications and EV fast-charging once it begins servicing AI data storage centers in June. 

On a larger scale, sodium-ion batteries could radically change the manufacturing and production sectors — from housing energy to lower electricity costs in warehouses, to charging backup stations and powering electric vehicles, trucks, forklifts, and so on. 

“I founded Natron because we saw climate change as the defining problem of our time,” Wessells said. “We believe batteries have a role to play.”

-via GoodGoodGood, May 3, 2024

--

Note: I wanted to make sure this was legit (scientifically and in general), and I'm happy to report that it really is! x, x, x, x

[cryptidcasanova]

Charcoal Smudges

Robert "Bob" Reynolds/The Void x Reader

Summary: Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved. 

Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Words: 5k

I've been foaming at the mouth. Someone sedate me.

The Watchtower was spacious. It was a beacon of hope where the Avengers once stood. But you felt you were drowning.

The missions weren’t going as smoothly as the team had hoped. When it came to news headlines, everybody was catching strays. Everyone was a critic.

Bob may have had a point all along. It did feel like a void.

Your myriad of thoughts was dark, expansive, and all-consuming. You were helping people, sure, but you were tired…not that you would tell anyone. You didn’t push it down the same way Yelena did, nor did you have wild outbursts like John.

But on difficult nights, you would pull out an old tobacco tin from under your bed. Your dad used to make the prettiest charcoal pictures. But you took time to try and recreate his old drawings from memory, and it kept the demons at bay. Sometimes, you kept at it until your eyes burned, until you were slumped over the old sketchbook.

You weren’t any good at it. The lines were too dark, and the pictures were smudged in the wrong places. But you kept trying. The cleaner your hands, the better the day. But some nights were real bad, and the charcoal would dig into your fingerprints and smear across your cheek. What you were trying to scrub away, you wouldn’t name.

On those nights, you could swear the shadows in your room were darker.

You made an effort to participate with the group. You joined in on late-night movies where Alexi was bound to burn the popcorn. You guided Ava through technical documents, relaying the best ways to bypass encrypted files and store copies of data without the risk of frying the system. Even Bob, who was careful and reserved, offered to help pick up the latest take-out order. You would be a monster not to accept his help.

Even with Valentina keeping the group in the spotlight, you preferred the old Buick for late-night errands. You had a hard time breaking out of keeping a low profile. Bob was still skittish. His memory teeter-tottered on a knife’s edge, and even in those uncertain times, you could rely on the careful smiles and quiet observations. Bob was sincere. He was kind.

“Drawing anything good?” he whispered from the passenger seat.

Bob’s eyes flitted to your hands before settling on the old tape player. You took a moment to look at your hand on the steering wheel as you peeled through a green light. You hadn’t had the time to think about washing up before your late-night run. A sad smile stole at your lips.

“I don’t remember,” you offered just as quietly.

And truly, you didn’t. Overwhelmed with the week as a whole, you were blindly drawing lines and sketching in dark spaces. Everyone had their nightmares. Everyone had their battles, and you tried to relax your shoulders. Little drawings couldn’t harm you. You shrugged as you pulled up to the curb.

“Just feeling it out. Maybe one day I’ll have a masterpiece to show you.”

“Oh. R-right, yeah,” Bob muttered.

But you missed the hint of something in his eye as he turned away, his hands tugging at the lap belt. And you missed it again while you handed him the box of fried rice, your fingers brushing against his.

It was a bad night. You remembered dozing off while laying on your belly and drawing on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the midnight snacks and fucked up sleep schedule gave you bad dreams.

Well, not bad dreams. Just one. One dream that made your insides ache. You were lost and in the dark, the pitch black cocooning you. There was no place for light or peace; all you had were your lonely thoughts. You could reach out and touch, but there was nothing there. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together. There was no point in walking around, no point in calling out. You were alone. Helpless.

Maybe you were meant to be. That thought stayed with you.

You were enveloped in the darkness, fatigue tugging at you even in your dreams. And then, right when you were on the cusp of oblivion, you heard the rustling of fabric.

It was in your head. You were finally losing it. You were all alone-

Until the weight of a cloak dropped around your shoulders.

An empty feeling lingered for days.

Bad guys were busted, justice was served, and you were on autopilot. You offered to hang back on the next mission and thought it would be the perfect time for redecorating. Something to distract yourself.

“You mean, like painting?” Bob asked, stopping his pacing in the kitchen. He had been looking for a box of Wheaties you knew John threw out the night before. “We…we can do that?”

The owlish tilt of his head caught your attention. Your nose scrunched with mild amusement. You had been noticing those little mannerisms of his more and more.

“Hmm?” You hummed, the hint of a question in your tone. “Well, it’s not like anyone can stop us.”

Bob stood there for a moment, almost mumbling under his breath. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

And a lightbulb flashed.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a flicker of color in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I mean -”

But your growing smile and unwavering gaze pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Bob finally pushed his hair back, taking a steadying breath.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And that’s how you two ended up comparing paint swatches at the hardware store. Shoulder to shoulder, you debated the fundamental differences between cream and eggshell.

You noticed how Bob kept gravitating to a stormy blue. Funny. It was akin to how his eyes looked after long days of staring out the Watchtower. Not that you had noticed.

But you could see anxiety rippling through him as he looked at the tape, different primers, and finishes on the paint. You could see the compounding impact it had on him in real-time.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he whispered with a frown. “It’s - it’s too much.”

You stepped forward, letting your paint swatches scatter to the ground.

“Hey,” you urged, reaching for his shoulder. “We can just pick a color.” Bob’s shoulders were rounded in, and his head dropped slightly. He was warm, probably warmer still with a sweatshirt on. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

And his eyes danced from one of yours to the other. Oh. And the storm in his eyes was uncanny.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He repeated at last.

You hummed out a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” you urged, “I hope it’s not perfect. Then we can come back here and try again. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged. Bob thought about it, debating with a question long enough for you to notice his fingers twitching.

“You want to come back here?” he thought. “With me?”

His eyes drifted down to the toothy smile you offered. His look was like you had unlocked some secret treasure. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment.

“Who else would I invite? Alexi has no taste. He’s been wearing the same red suit for decades.”

Bob huffed out a hint of a laugh at that. You almost forgot about the aching, empty feeling in your chest. A moment of quiet passed between you, glancing down at the stack of swatches covering the ground and the disgruntled sales associate walking your way.

“You good?” You thought to ask.

Your hand was warm-no, he was warm. Noticing you were still holding to him, you let your hand slip down his arm before letting go. You cleared your throat. He watched the movement before taking his own tentative step back.

“Yeah,” he assured. There was a hint of color in his cheeks. “All good.”

Blue paint was speckled all over your clothes. It was on your arms. Hell, it was probably in your hair. And in the quiet, you listened to an album that Bob put on while pushing all his furniture to the middle of the room. It was a trainwreck, an absolute disaster. You should have had supervision. And you were having the best time.

And you two painted in silence, listening to the rock tunes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at some point, but you waved it off.

“I don’t mind,” you hummed, pulling a rogue paint bristle off the wall. “I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.”

And Bob didn’t quite know how to show his appreciation. In his head, it was loud enough already.

That night, you didn’t have to reach for the sticks of charcoal under the bed. There were no demons to keep at bay. Your paint cans lie abandoned in a pile next to the door, with an unspoken promise behind who would help you paint your room.

It was inevitable that your light-night thoughts drifted back to careful eyes and brown curls.

The dream came back.

Dread didn’t tug at the corners of your mind this time. Shame didn’t grab root and drag you into despair. But the darkness was welcome, a quiet, constant companion. This time, you didn’t fear what you couldn’t see. You stood, feet on solid ground, and started walking around in the vast bleakness. At first, your strides were careful. You didn’t know what you would run into. But there was nothing. In the dark, there was nothing. There was nothing to fear.

Silent steps turned brave. Brave strides turned to running, wanting to feel the burn in your lungs. And you ran until - until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore. That, too, was gone, and walking was meaningless. There was no point, no need to waste your stamina.

Were your eyes open? Closed? Did it matter?

You were suspended in nothing. You were nothing.

And…and it was okay. It was alright. There was a tugging feeling even, and you reached out, not expecting something to reach back.

But something did. Fingers entwining with your own, grasping firmly but not too tight. Your eyes searching, but not seeing. And finally, the fall of a breath. Low, quiet even in the dark. Golden eyes peering back at you.

You woke up with your face pressed against the page of the sketchbook. A piece of charcoal was loose in your grasp, your hand darkened with markings. And you felt…well, you felt like you were missing something.

The rasp of a soft knock at your door stole your attention. After a moment, you pulled yourself up, shuffling to the door with a yawn.

“H-hey.” Bob smiled as the door swung open. And a curious expression lingered on his face as he took you in. “Did you just get up?”

“Good morning,” you replied, a sleepy grin on your cheeks. He noted it, his lazy grin threatening to reel you in.

“I was gonna see if you wanted lunch. I making sandwiches. Didn’t know if you like bologna. Uh. Do you?”

You pulled the door open wider, leaning against the frame. Bob’s eyes moved away from you, tilting his head into view of your room.

“I don’t know the last time I’ve had bologna.” You thought, rubbing your eyes. Was it already lunchtime? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in so late. It felt like you had been hit by a truck.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Bob warned, but it was with a smile. Charming. He was charming. “But I grew up with it, so it’s something of a comfort food…And I might have already made you one.” He admitted, sheepishly pulling one hand through his hair. The other, which had been cleverly hidden behind his back, pulled forward a plate with two sandwiches. “B-but I can come back later, you know. So it’s no big -”

“I’d love one.”

It was quick, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it all the same.

You were more embarrassed to think it was because Bob liked it. He liked it, and he thought of you while making it. Was it getting warm in here? Clearing your throat, you pulled back.

“Come on in,” you offered. “I’ll clean this up,” you put your palms up to show off the crime scene before pointing your thumb toward the bathroom. “And I’ll be right out.”

You stepped away and closer to the bathroom before you could embarrass yourself further. No, no. You were fine. Everything was fine.

But everything was not fine.

Because you couldn’t see the delicate way Bob stepped into your room, his heart fluttering. You didn’t see his hands clench up or watch his eyes scan over the open sketchbook on your bed. And you didn’t see the dark reflection staring back at him, practically jumping off the page. The subtle glow of gold in his eyes wasn’t so subtle now. Something was happening.

And Bob was…well, Bob did what he did best. He panicked.

He was long gone when you turned off the sink and left the bathroom. You let the towel in your hands drop. The only things that remained were the untouched sandwiches and a sketch smeared into nothing.

Little did you know it was the start of something much bigger.

Bob avoided you. Like the plague. He kept to himself and his books. He was talking to himself again.

He ignored you until the others returned, basking in their loud, abrasive attitudes. The ache in your belly only grew as you watched him walk by you, skirting around you while you tried to say hi.

Did you have the heart to confront him? Had you done something wrong?

“Give him time,” Yelena offered one night. “He is like a wet cat now. No use trying to capture him.”

Not that it made you feel any better.

It didn’t help that you knew that everyone else knew. How could they not with your rag-tag bunch? And no one felt qualified enough to intervene.

Bob…he didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t know what to do. He hung around Ava and John more, handling their snarky digs and half-assed attempts at including him because it was easier than admitting he felt something he shouldn’t. He felt something he couldn’t afford.

And you were the collateral damage.

He didn’t mean for it to cause you to throw yourself back into your work. And he didn’t mean for it to get you captured.

“Bob?” Yelena yelled, bursting into his room in the middle of the night. He jumped from a dead sleep, foggy as he came to. “Bob!”

“What’s - is there a fire?” He mumbled with those doe eyes.

Why else would she be so alarmed? He could hear the commotion outside his room, hear the shuffling of gear. What time was it?

“No fire. There’s no fire.” Yelena shushed him, but he was more distraught by the different voices talking over each other in the hall. Something was thrown. “Here, shush. Listen -” She persisted, pulling herself over to him to keep him calm.

But it was too late. Bob heard your name among the ruckus. Your recon mission with Ava fell apart; Ava was the only one who checked in. Something about being outnumbered. Something about being all alone. And that’s all he could hear.

You were all alone.

And he pulled himself up, only for Yelena to push him back down again.

“Hey, hey,” she snapped. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Her voice was softer.

But Bob knew a lie when he heard one.

“W-where?” He panicked. Adrenaline spiked, his blood turning to ice. “Where are they?”

“What?” Yelena asked harshly.

“Where?”

“The check-in was somewhere outside Vegas-” And her words fell short, not realizing the change in his cadence.

His eyes were...well, she wasn’t looking at Bob anymore. And in a blink, she wasn’t looking at anything anymore.

And all that was left behind was the imprint of a shadow fading into the sheets.

You didn’t think twice about pushing Ghost outside when the sirens went off. Her powers would be useless if she got too close to the noise. But it meant she was locked outside the gated campus, and you were locked inside.

You could still hear the sirens as the door closed in front of you. But Ava had the data, and dammit, you were proud that she was able to collapse their network from the inside. She really was listening to your advice.

The smuggler’s den was crude, but they were tough.  They brought in all kinds of military-grade equipment and gear from outside the states. And you could hear footsteps closing in.

You were locked in. Trapped.

Time to get going.  Leveling your gun, you scoured the hallway for another exit strategy. There were so many rooms, a puzzle of pathways and ventilation tunnels if you could just -

“We’ll smoke her out.”

“No, we need her alive. Get the lights.”

No. Shit -  you took to the closest room when the building went dark. You bashed your thigh against a table and stopped. There were no emergency lights overhead and no red exit signs. This place was definitely not up to code.

But it was familiar to you in its way.

In the dark, you had found bitter solitude and unspeakable fear. You had felt an overwhelming peace and notion of comfort. It was calming, like the strokes of charcoal against the page. Filling in the empty space with shadows.

But now, all you felt was anger. This was different. The darkness was an adversary, and you could hear the clunk of footsteps coming down the hall. In the dark, you were trapped like a mouse in a cage, waiting for the cat - heavily armed smugglers - to strike you down.

Cowards.

You were out in the open. Feeling around blindly, you scowled at the obstacles. Chairs lined a long table, and there were cabinets against the walls. Nothing big enough to climb in. Nowhere to hide. But you kept searching, feeling around. And when you felt another door at your back, you turned the handle before hearing voices at the other end of the room.

“We have a visual -”

And stumbling through the door, you made a blind run for it. And you were frustrated, bashing into more chairs and tripping over your feet.

When footsteps rushed in, you blindly shot out in the direction of the noise before more shots echoed through the room. And your heart ached. You couldn’t go down without a fight, not now. Not against some brutes with shipping data. Not after everything you had done.

Not when this was your idea - when you needed to get as far away from the Watchtower as possible.

Not when - a renegade shot struck your shoulder, reeling you back. You were frantic, emptying your gun into the dark. The bastards.

But even with your aim and your anger, the thugs could see with their night vision goggles. And you couldn’t. You heard it over the roar of your own breathing; one man got too close. You lunged on instinct, rolling around and landing a punch to his throat, feral for escape, before being pulled off.

“No!” One man commanded. “Alive - we need her alive.”

But the man you hit was angry. In a cowardly display, the man charged, coughing and staggering, landing a hit to your stomach. You struggled for breath, clawing back and fighting for footing.

“Alive!” The other man ordered.

There were too many of them. There were too many of them, and a fear bubbled up your throat.

This was your idea. It was your idea to throw yourself into the mission and distract yourself from...Well, there was no use in denying it now.

Your belly ached. Your heart was in ribbons. You did this to try to forget how desperately you missed Bob. You missed the scrunch of his nose and the meticulous way he ate popcorn one kernel at a time. You missed his bad jokes and the clumsy way he filled the dishwasher. You missed the smell of his mahogany shampoo and the underlying ozone that wouldn’t wash away.

Goddammit.

You couldn’t die down here.

But your spiraling thoughts had to come to a messy halt. In this case, it was in the form of the building shaking all around you, like it had been struck by a meteor shower. The men called out with fright, then screamed.

You knew this part. The lights would come on, and Ava would come barreling in at any moment. So you waited. And waited.

But it never came. The screams stopped mid-breath. The handprints digging into your arms were gone in a flash. The heavy breaths and stomping steps disappeared. Perking up with a groan, you dragged your feet forward. What was this?

And then déjà vu jolted through you.

You were dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe been knocked out cold.

You were in the dark, but you weren’t alone.

“Where are you?” You called out bravely, squaring your shoulders. You knew what was lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!”

But the emptiness stretched on. You stepped around in a circle. Your feet were still firmly planted on the ground. This was your dream. This was your attachment latching into the hooks of your subconscious. You were losing it.

“You’re reckless.”

It was a simple observation. One you dared laugh at.

“Reckless,” you mirrored with a snicker. “Hopeless. Delusional. Desperate. Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that what you feed on?”

Listing off your inner thoughts, feelings you wouldn’t admit when awake. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Engaging now wouldn’t make any difference.

“No.” It was a warning. “I feel it.”

The slow timber of words carried a weight all their own. Each syllable was intentional, pronounced. But feel it? Feel what? You turned in the dark.

“I’m not naïve to what he feels.” But this wasn’t Bob. It was the other closing in.

“Oh, Robert. He has hero dreams. Dreams of pushing me away. Thinking you could forget about me.”

His words were tormenting, chastising his counterpart.

In your dreams, this monster never spoke to you. You were used to quiet, lingering touches. You were used to watching from the rafters. And then there was a firm pause. Your fingers flexed. The reverberations of his words in your head were heavy.

“He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.” he continued.

He was riling you up, and the proximity was not lost on you.

“Your shame is harrowing. Ongoing. Buried, deep in your subconscious.” The swish of fabric behind you was intentional. He was urging you to tilt your head. He was close now, hovering right over your shoulder. And then a whisper. “It’s precious. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Goosebumps littered up your arms.

No.

“You do.” He coaxed.

No.

“You know. You already know why I can’t leave,” and feeling hot under the collar, uncomfortable at the bluntness, you gave in. Tilting your chin up, two pinpricks stared back. Unblinking. Unfazed.

He was frightening.

“You care for him,” he pressed. You couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. “All of him. And that means you care for -”

“Void.” Your call was a warning.

Raising your hand defensively, you turned to face him head-on. And where your hand should have caught nothing but air, it rested against the hard expanse of his abdomen. You took a sobering breath. It was too close, too human.

He closed his eyes briefly, satisfied, before finding yours again. There was no heartbeat. But there was a flex of movement, of his silhouette under your fingertips.

“And why wouldn’t you?” He tormented. “When my name is so sweet from your lips. You're reckless," he reminded. "You care.”

And shame zipped up your spine. That was it; he was your shame.

“You hurt him.” You deflected, thinking of Bob.

“We hurt each other.” Void acknowledged carefully, head tilting ever so slightly. Then, shifting closer, added, “But I am not the one who left you.”

And it felt like another jab. You were waiting for the pin to drop, for you to wake up from this dream. There was no other explanation for it. It wasn’t real.

You pulled your hand back, embarrassed and nervous, only to be stopped as his grip clasped over yours. He wasn’t warm, not like Bob. He wasn’t cold, like the ice in your veins. Your eyes looked where you could imagine his hands were before letting them drift up.

Gold light peered back. Where a face should be. Too human. And your free hand carefully reached up, grasping where you could imagine the curve of a jaw. Your breath caught in your throat when you found it. The touch was grounding.

“And he is not the one who found you.”

Silence.

“Then why are you here?” You challenged, prodding for an answer. “You could have left me in the dark.”

Pinhole eyes narrowed.

“You called for me. Not him,” The admission held a heavy weight. “You called. For me.”

Your cheeks were warm. He spoke it like it was a siren's call. And it was dangerous.

“You care.” You realized, whispering now. “You feel.”

“What I feel is irrelevant.”

But that wasn’t true. You were convinced he could see your smug expression even in the pitch-black room.

“You’re bleeding.”

Ah. Deflecting again. You knew that game but were through with the charade.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I do care. You win. I care about Bob. I care about his fucked up mind. So sure, I care about you - even if you destroy and create loathing and shame. Perhaps that’s my shame.” You admitted, pulling your hand away from his face.

It wasn’t real.

And it was time to wake up.

“This has been nice,” you admitted. “But if I’m going to die alone in the desert, I better face it.”

The Void offered no words of comfort. You weren’t expecting any. And as you stepped back and out of his hold, the cold seeped in.

Your breathing was uneasy, and the dull ache in your shoulder bloomed into hot pain. You were bleeding. The lights flickered on. The lights…

And he was still there, a dark figure in an empty room. Where there had been men, dark shadows cast along the ground. There was a tick in your jaw. You felt seasick.

And you realized then that it wasn’t a dream. Stoic and observant, the Void was still. His curled hair and the shape of his nose were too uncanny. Pinhole eyes stared back at you even then.

You hiccupped out an uneasy breath. Emotion pummeled into you. Fear. Abandonment. Solitude. Pain. Hope. No. NO.

He didn’t make a move, but observed. And then, at last, the low call of your name had you buckling at the knees.

He had been there all along, skirting around your mind. He met you in the dark, draping his cape around you and holding you in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness.

The Void was real. A tangible threat. Bob knew it. And then it clicked; that was why he pushed you away.

A hand reached out.

You had borne witness to the destruction and affliction it caused, and yet…

“You’re bleeding.”

And as you looked down from where his hand extended, red blossomed from the top of your shoulder down to your navel. Oh god.

“Let me,” He stopped, grounding the words. “Let me in.”

It was an offer of help, and you didn't think. You didn’t look up as you nodded. The movement was slow, slight, but deliberate. And he took action before you could blink.

A firm hand to the wound was all it took, the other wrapping around your hip to keep you planted. And in front of your eyes, inky tendrils replaced the bloodied stain. Where the Void’s touch lingered, it mimicked the charcoal smudges from your sketches.

He was your bad dreams and late nights. He was there the whole time, carving a hole for himself. And it left behind an imprint for you to remember.

He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.

But now you could read between the lines.

“You can’t keep me safe either.” You whispered. He was no hero. No savior - he said it himself.

The grip tightened at your hip, his hair clouding your peripheral vision. He was pulling closer, the hand at your shoulder moving to hook under your chin. He was forcing your attention on him. Bob might have put up a fight, but the Void was inevitable. He wasn’t going anywhere.

And as he drew closer, you smelled it.

Mahogany and ozone. Bob was there, too. The visage changed.

In front of your eyes, the Void flickered in and out of focus. You could see all of them like frames in a set of photos.

The Void. Bob Reynolds. Sentry. Powerful blue eyes, golden eyes, and pinhole eyes locked in. They were drawing closer still until you were a breath apart. And before you were swept under the current, the three of their voices overlapped in unison.

It was not a kiss, but just on the cusp. It was a promise.

“You don’t know what I am capable of.”

[tojigasm]

﹒୨𝑒 ﾟ ˖ ⠀Etienne

ᥫ᭡... Kylo Ren x female!reader

Warnings: reader is having a bad day | Kylo and Reader have an established "relationship" for fucking, these bitches are in love | angst | fluff | pet names | crying | kylo is a good dom <3 | NSFW Minors DNI

⊹₊˚ꕤ˚₊⊹ Inspired by Adam Driver when he was asked how Kylo Ren would be like in a marriage: "gentle, understanding, and tall"

You and Kylo have an arrangement – an unusually intimate relationship of sorts.

A relationship that bears the weight of the relentless stress and all-consuming anxiety of life aboard Star Killer Base.

A bond that has evolved, transforming from monthly rendezvous to weekly encounters, now nearly daily confessions.

One that has shifted, over time, into a more casual and complex knowing of one another — What once was an escape from the unceasing abuse you endured at the hands of your bosses, and the immense stress Kylo was routinely under evolved into a transformed comfort in the complexity of your shared presence.

And over time, since you've settled into that knowing of Kylo, into who and what he is, you've found yourself craving something from him. Something incorrigible and filled with an uncouth carnality.

Beneath the foreign simulacrum of your entangled existence lies the undeniable truth that you both are bound by your ordained roles.

You remain a submissive entity in Kylo's life, surrendering to his dominance in ways that leave little room for his own influence.

He takes, and you give.

And it flows both ways—he often reminds you.

Reminding you when you're buried in assignments, lost in data transfers, and consumed by meetings, to the point where you forget to eat or rest.

At times, he steers you away amidst the labyrinth of the base, pressing a piece of bread or fruit into your hands before marching off to whatever he was called off to next.

Other times, through the modulated hiss of his mask, he commands in a whisper;

'Eat.'

It's not often that you find yourself buckling beneath the stress of working among the First Order. You pride yourself in being a dedicated worker – After all, that's how your relationship with Kylo had begun, with him pulling you away to promote you. To acknowledge your commitment to the cause.

The usual days are filled with meetings, assignments, data control and input, finalizing plans, etc. So much happens so fast throughout the day that it's rare you have a moment to think of anything but your next task.

But today is just... different.

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. your vision blurred in your meeting earlier, and you nearly walked into the wrong room to input your data and almost tripped on your own feet while walking throughout the base.

Kylo had caught a glimpse of you from across the hall while speaking with one of the lieutenants.

from anyone else's perspective, it would've appeared as though he hadn't even noticed you there, but you knew he was staring at you by the small twitch of his head towards you.

You'd been avoiding him.

Being vulnerable was not something that came easy to you. Being able to strip yourself bare and present your very being to someone or something was intimidating.

With time, the entangled web of your convoluted relationship began to unfurl. You had imagined Kylo would be the one to unravel at your hand.

To roll over on his back in trust that you'd take the reigns; rose-petal lips pushed into a petulant pout, tears stringing thick lashes together along his honey-amber eyes.

The brutal weight of his position; as an Apprentice of the First Order, does not go unnoticed to you.

The very thought makes you raw with nausea.

When the end of the day crawls to an end, you find yorself stumbling into your quarters, peeling off your uniform before falling onto your bed with a shaky grunt.

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. the sobs rolling up the back of your throat.

Your Datapad pings

"Kylo Ren requests your presence in his quarters"

Pulling yourself up from your bed with a groan, you throw on a more casual uniform and your boots before leaving your room and making your way towards Kylo's.

The walk across base from your quarters to Kylo's is about ten minutes, and with each step, you can feel your resolve, begin to break, and anxiety filling out every corner of your mind.

You know what awaits you behind the door to his room, and it terrifies you so – the intimate truth that he'll make you submit to him and yourself brings tears to your waterline.

When the door begins to slide open with a gasping hiss, you consider tucking tail and running. He'd catch you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

In his room, you sit on his floor; his idea. The cool of the tile settles into your tight and hot skin, urging you to at least breathe properly while Kylo waits for you.

He's sat on his couch, watching you laid out on your back, your arm thrown over your eyes and bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you try to stifle the watery tone of your voice when he asks why you've come here.

And it's the truth. You had every ounce of control in the decision to visit him, as you've exercised throughout the past few weeks by choosing to ignore him.

You're not sure what you need. But you're completely sure you can't bring yourself to admit that fact.

Guilt gnaws at you as you curl up on the cold floor, your vulnerability laid bare. You choke on a wet sob, muffled by the skin of your forearm as you sink your teeth into yourself.

Kylo stands up from the couch to crouch beside your form, gently pulling your arm from over your eyes.

"I can't help unless you talk to me."

Kylo's voice pierces through the thick, hazy fog that envelops your mind. The ache in your head throbs against your skull.

You're just so —

"M'tired." Is all you can manage

You’re teetering on the edge, the weight of it all clawing at your insides, desperate to spill over and drown you. You want so badly to hurl it all at Kylo, to let him bear your burdens, to let him remind you in his brooding way that you’re not alone in this vast universe.

The urge shatter completely is a malignant beast, writhing and rooting itself in your lungs and gnawing its way up your throat, threatening to spill over in a vulgar torrent of sobs.

Kylo's voice cuts through the turmoil, distant, but you can feel him amidst the foggy cloud that's clogged your brain. Your ears suddenly feel stuffy, and you can't focus on the floor beneath you. His gloved hand wraps around your neck, anchoring you, dragging you back from the edge, his touch grounding you in the maelstrom.

You’re splintering, fragments of your mind breaking apart as you spiral into a maelstrom, unable to grasp at any semblance of calm.

"Settle," Kylo's voice slices through the madness, a stern anchor in your chaos.

A fleeting, grounding thought slips through: gratitude. Gratitude for his restraint, for not using the force to silence your brain, effectively 'shutting it off,' as you'd told him once.

He hadn't thought that was funny.

That was one of the first rules you set when this whole thing started—no forceful mind control. It felt too invasive, too overwhelming. But if ever the need arose, Kylo would know.

And he understood, like he always does.

Kylo's touch is steady, his fingers gentle yet grounding as they form a 'v' at the base of your neck. The way he squeezes and strokes, it’s a silent promise—a delicate balance between power and restraint, echoing the unspoken rules that warms beneath the surface of it all.

He soothes you, firm touch reminding you that he's here with you.

That he'll take care of you.

"What do you need?"

You've come to unravel Kylo. To know his existence and to understand that his offer stretches beyond the confines of what he can tangibly provide.

He's laid himself bare before you, stripped of all pretense, offering himself up in raw vulnerability, just as you've done for him countless times before.

There's an undeniable, visceral need between you – a deep-rooted wanting for Kylo to dismantle you, piece by piece. Meticulously reconstructing your shattered fragments into something whole once more.

In this raw, all-consuming bond, the edges of your souls bleed into each other, your desires twisted and inseparable, fueled by a primal, haunting need that neither of you can fully comprehend but both are helpless to resist. It's a dark baptism – a carnal need for Kylo to consume you.

To invade every corner of your mind and envelop your body with his own until you fuse together into one entity.

The pad of his thumb traces over your taut skin, and you instinctively press up against his hand with a sniffle, rising to settle back on your haunches.

Kylo's hold remains firm as he examines you, his gaze burning through every layer of your being, leaving you feeling exposed. A gentle hum simmers in your mind, and you feel yourself relax under him.

When you lean in, he meets you halfway, your teeth clashing and lips pressed against one another in a mess of desire and desperation.

His taste is a heady mix of vanilla and leather, intoxicating and overwhelming, as his strong nose brushes against your cheek.

His plush lips press against your swollen ones, and with a clumsy urgency, he pulls you into his lap, forcing you to straddle him. You're left breathless, inhaling through your nose as Kylo deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the arch of your mouth before he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, sending shivers down your spine.

You're starving for him, desperation woven through every nerve rubbed raw and exposed under the rough of his leather gloves, the thick fabric of his cowl grazing your sensitive skin.

He's hungry for you. You crave to be devoured by him — to be completely consumed by him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

"Stop fighting me." Kylo speaks lowly, gloved hands gripping the plush of your thighs, holding you open as his cock rests against your soaked folds.

Kylo remains fully dressed, opposed to your naked form under him; your clammy skin steams against the thick fabric of his heavy robes.

The stark polarity is routine.

He's got you propped up on the leather cushion of his couch; kneeling on the floor with his hands holding you open by the underneath of your shaky thighs.

You just can't relax.

"Can feel you tensing up," He states gently, the gloved pad of his thumb circling your skin softly, "You need to relax."

It's so hard.

It is so hard to just let your mind relax and relinquish your beingness in every waking second

Kylo knows you. Knows that you're tangled up in your mind, drifting aimlessly. You trust him to pull you back, as he always does.

And you're trying so hard to relax but with your tight hole clenching around nothing and the fat tip of Kylo's cock resting between your folds, it's beginning to feel damn near impossible.

"Canto?" he asks, watching your eyes keenly.

It takes you a moment to register the safe word and its meaning before you're adamantly shaking your head, mustering up a deep sigh in an attempt to relax yourself.

"I'm okay," you nod, pushing yourself up to rest on your elbows to look where your bodies meet, "Just-"

Kylo pulls away from you, and for a moment, you panic at the thought that this has gotten to be too much for him.

your panic must be evident in your expression by the way Kylo's eyes widen some, slipping your legs over his shoulders.

"You have got to relax."

"M'trying." You mumble abshadly, lowering your eyes.

"No, you're not," Kylo leans further down.

You're too tired and frustrated to argue back.

Kylo strokes the underside of your knee, "I'm just gonna help you out a bit. Can I do that?"

You nod, letting yourself sink back into the cushions of the couch.

Kylo's tongue runs flat against the sopping folds of your pussy, dragging it up to peck your clit.

He's quiet as he does so; dark and thick hair tickles the insides of your thighs and you nearly cum at the existence of Kylo Ren, an apprentice of the First Order, on his knees eating you out.

You must've said that thought aloud somehow because he makes an amused hum as he slips his tongue past your folds.

Your nails dig into the leather of his couch, and you give a light and shaky moan.

Kylo's hands move from their place on your hips to pull your hands up to rest in his hair to which you immediately seek purchase.

His nose bumps against your clit and you gasp, pulling at his hair to drag him upwards.

Kylo follows your lead, meeting your lips in a lazy kiss. Your taste on his lips pulls a sob from your throat.

"You okay?" he asks, pressing his forehead to your own.

You nod and Kylo leans back to slip his cock up and down your folds again. Your cunt easily swallows his length as he sinks into you.

"There we go," Kylo praises, pressing your legs back to their original position, spread out, and pressed flush against your chest.

The angle and your relaxed cunt pairs perfectly as he strokes the insides of your walls with his girthy length.

A small furrow of his brow lets you know he's enjoying this just as much as you are. You've come to know his tells.

You can never understand how he composes himself so well while you remain a writhing mess beneath him no matter the routine.

And you're so full with him that your thighs shake as Kylo takes hold of one of them and pulls it up to rest over his shoulder.

You nearly cum when he meets your eyes, gaze unfaltering as he presses a gentle kiss to your ankle.

The rock of his thrusts is piquant; rendering your mind numb and your body humming in response to his every touch.

"O-oh, Kylo," you nearly fucking purr, digging your nails into the fabric of his sleeve. The reminder of the power imbalance in your ranks sends a shiver down your spine.

Kylo presses himself into you at your sobs, thick fabric rubbing coarsely against your bare chest; adding a new layer of deliciousness to how full you already feel.

"See?" Kylo hums, the weight of him makes you keen, "It's not so hard to ask for help, is it?"

You feel like crying – suspended in an overwhelming haze of exhaustion and submissiveness.

Kylo.

Kylo is the only thing you can focus on in the heat of it all.

The weight of him, the stretch of his cock, his robes, his soft hair, his voice, his hands, his touch, his-

"Just need someone to take care of you, huh, sweetheart."

you're fully sobbing, chest heaving under him as the stress washes off of you.

You can feel Kylo pull out of you before you're being picked up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist as he settles onto the couch, holding you in his lap.

Kylo shushes you softly, his strong nose stroking your soft skin as he presses kisses to your jaw and chin.

you grind into his lap, through the whirlwind of your emotion, sitll seeking pleasure from him, the ache of it throbbing in your heat.

"Need you," you sniffle into a sloppy kiss.

Kylo shuffles beneath you, moving you so that your cunt lines up with the fat head of his cock.

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth as he sinks you down on him with a stifled groan.

Frustrated, you go to move only for Kylo to stop you. Bringing his hands from your hips up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Just let me do it," He says softly, kissing the tip of your nose, "Let me in."

You're hesitant as you pulse around him before you give a soft nod, "Okay."

And in instant, you feel lightless; the weight of your stress and anxiety completely dissipates, absolved by the room and Kylo and the whole universe.

And in the same moment, he thrusts beneath you some, dropping a hand to your hip to help guide you.

You can't focus on anything but him as you rest your forehead against his.

"Let me take care of you."

His room feels and sounds comfortably quiet; the hum of the base disappears and there's nothing left but your gentle moans and Kylo's bated breath beneath you.

you can feel the force everywhere – inside of you, on you, with you. It's addicting and you grasp for Kylo in the fog of it.

"I know, I know."

your breath hitches, an inescapable sob falling from your swollen lips.

"You're so big," you say softly, almost a whisper of it on your lips.

Kylo hums, continuing your steady rock against him.

"R'you close?" You manage through a wine, wrapping a weak arm around his neck to hold you up.

Kylo nods against your forehead, "Yeah, sweetheart."

When you cum, the soft quiet of the room pulses around you – a warm hum that rides over your skin in waves.

Kylo's quick to follow when you whine and squeeze around his swollen length, pulling you down to him as he fills you.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple, smoothing your hair off of your sweaty forehead.

"Tell me what you need."

A deep sigh.

"Just you."

[globalnewscollective]

Trump’s Purge of the FTC: The Dismantling of Consumer Protections and the Rule of Law

What’s at Stake?

In a shocking and blatantly illegal move, Donald Trump has fired Democratic-appointed officials from the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), violating longstanding norms and potentially breaching federal law. By unlawfully purging the agency of opposition, Trump is not only undermining consumer rights but also attacking the very foundation of democratic governance. This unprecedented action sets a dangerous precedent for the executive branch to override legal safeguards and seize unchecked power.

Why This Should Terrify You

The FTC is a regulatory body designed to operate independently, ensuring that corporate power does not override consumer protection. By illegally dismissing commissioners who were lawfully appointed, Trump is gutting the agency’s ability to function fairly. Here’s why this is a direct threat to democracy:

It’s a Violation of the Law – FTC commissioners serve fixed terms and cannot be removed without cause. Trump’s move is a blatant disregard for legal norms and an unconstitutional power grab.

Big Business Gets Free Reign – Without an independent FTC, corporations can exploit consumers without fear of regulation.

Silencing Opposition – Removing officials based on political affiliation erodes democratic checks and balances, turning regulatory agencies into authoritarian tools.

Monopolies Will Thrive – Tech giants and corporate behemoths will have fewer checks on their power, leading to price hikes, reduced competition, and worse conditions for workers and consumers alike.

Why This Matters to You

This isn’t just about Washington politics; it’s about your everyday life. If Trump gets away with this illegal power grab, it sets a precedent for him—or any future president—to ignore the law whenever it suits them. If the FTC becomes a rubber-stamp agency for corporate greed, you will feel the impact:

Higher Prices – Without regulation, companies can increase costs on everything from groceries to healthcare.

Fewer Consumer Protections – Companies engaging in fraud or deceptive practices will face little accountability.

More Surveillance and Data Exploitation – Tech companies will have fewer restrictions on how they use and sell your personal data.

This is particularly dangerous for young people and low-income communities, who rely on regulatory protections to ensure fair economic opportunities and prevent corporate abuse.

The Bigger Picture

Trump’s move isn’t just about the FTC—it’s part of a broader effort to dismantle democratic institutions and consolidate power. This echoes tactics used in authoritarian regimes, where leaders remove independent oversight and install loyalists to control every aspect of governance. If left unchecked, this could extend to other agencies, eroding the very fabric of American democracy.

By blatantly disregarding the law to fire FTC officials, Trump is signaling that he believes he is above legal constraints. If he can ignore these rules without consequences, what stops him from undermining election results, bypassing Congress, or silencing dissenting voices in the judiciary?

What Can You Do?

Stay Informed – Follow news on regulatory agencies and corporate influence.

Support Consumer Advocacy Groups – Organizations fighting for fair trade and consumer rights need public support.

Vote for Leaders Who Defend the Rule of Law – Elections determine who has the power to hold corporations—and presidents—accountable.

Raise Awareness – The more people know about this illegal power grab, the harder it will be for Trump to get away with it.

Demand Accountability – Pressure lawmakers to challenge Trump’s unlawful actions and take legal action if necessary.

Trump’s purge of the FTC is not just a direct assault on consumer protections—it is a brazen attack on democracy itself. If we don’t act now, the consequences will be felt for generations to come.

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (01) all i had

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

the wind was howling.

your bag felt heavy on your shoulders as you brisked through the night, flickering street lights as your only source of light. your phone died a while back, but it's fine since you knew every nook and cranny of the route from your workplace back to your aunt's apartment. 

you've had a pretty shitty day so far: customers yelling in your face about things out of your control, your bicycle getting stolen (again) rendering you having to travel back on foot, and on top of that, you have exams coming up this week.

all you could let out was a tired sigh while trying to revise the material under your breath.

just as you're about to turn the knob of the apartment door, looking forward to finally getting some sleep before having to drag yourself to school that starts in a few hours, the door swings open violently and you stumble back, startled. the sight of your aunt gripping the door while holding a broken bottle greets you as she stands there with an unsettling and wild look in her eyes, her tone final.

“get in the car, now.”

sitting in gotham’s police department with the background noise feels distant, everything is incoherent, too much noise, too much light, just too much.

you feel hollow.

can’t wrap your head around the series of events that had just occurred, alternating between gnawing your lips and picking your fingers, the chatter zoned in and out as you just sat there, not knowing what was to come.

you don’t know how long you've sat there while the police were making phone calls and running through their data records of you after taking multiple different samples 2 days ago in order to decide where they should toss you to next. you’ve been placed under watch just so they could make sure there were no complications from the injuries you sustained, practically living in the station. it wasn’t that bad, the GCPD was well-insulated, safe, and you’re given food to eat for free (not that you can taste anything). it’s much better than being left to fend for yourself in the streets.

you know you should be planning on what to do next, but your brain feels like tv static, nothing making sense. you had worked so hard despite the circumstances you were in, tried to make the best out of the shitty cards dealt. you weren’t happy, but you were in control, you had a plan. work hard, save up, get a degree and move the fuck out of this godforsaken city. start over.

staring at the ground, a pair of shoes enters your vision.

“your labs came back, we got your DNA results.”

this was not what you had in mind.

you’ve never been in a car this luxurious before. the man who introduced himself as alfred, the wayne’s family butler, your father's butler, was seated in the front driving to your supposed new home. you stare outside, gaze unfocused, arms cradling your backpack close to your chest - your entire life in it: your school supplies and a few other personal items, while the rest remains at your aunt’s apartment - that is currently taped off by police and under investigation. eyes trained on the passing view outside, you feel bad for alfred who’s tried to strike up conversation to get to know you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to elaborate on your short responses. you hope he doesn’t take it too personally.

before you knew it, the car rolled to a stop outside the wayne manor. grabbing your bag, you trail behind the butler, the feeling of dread suddenly consumes your entire being.

“i do apologize for the absence of master bruce, young miss. i’m certain if he weren’t caught up with this current case, you would've received a personal welcome from your father himself", he gave you an apologetic smile.

you nodded in response, not really processing his words despite the tiny feeling of disappointment felt as you step foot into the grand yet empty manor. your presence a stark contrast to the fancy room you've entered.

however, you do look forward to seeing your new family: your father and siblings that alfred mentioned in brief, insisting for you to get to know them yourself while singing them high praises.

maybe this was the start over you needed. maybe you'll finally know what it's like to be loved.

you should've known then.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

you're tired, so very tired.

you're done.

nothing feels worth it anymore.

you don't have it in you to continue.

feet dangling off the crumbling abandoned building, you feel oddly at peace. everything is quiet. everything feels right, no responsibilities, no burdens, no more. you've decided.

for once in your life, you feel assured, this is the most optimal solution.

for once in your life, you're looking forward to something.

death must be so peaceful, lay buried within the earth, surrounded by silence. no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow. forget time, forgive life.

you'd be no more.

the wind is howling.

you stand up, staring down the steep drop. standing tall, unafraid, certain.

everything was quiet.

you're ready.

you shuffle closer to the edge, one foot hovering off as you will your other foot to do the same, fighting against your body's survival instinct. you're finally doing something for yourself.

"that's a big drop."

you stumble forward in surprise, nearly falling off until a hand grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you back further from the edge. you're stunned speechless, turning to see the source of the whistling voice.

"that's pretty ballsy of you, kid, i gotta admit."

this is embarrassing.

still unable to form any response, you let out a strangled noise in return as he let go of your shirt.

why the hell is one of gotham’s vigilante here.

an uncomfortable silence ensues, you don't know what to say, occasionally glancing up at the masked vigilante while you shifted your weight from one foot to another, feeling awkward.

just as you're about to try and weasel your way out of the situation, he beats you to it.

"nice spot! how'd you even get in?"

he asks casually while stretching and looking around. you don't know what to say.

"it's a still a weekday tomorrow , don't you have school? your parents must be worried you're out here."

your aunt is still waiting for you to return with your half of the pay for the rent. you have an assignment due tomorrow that's worth 10% of your final grade. there's nothing to look forward to.

"...i guess?"

now, you're uncertain, not knowing whether he genuinely didn't understand the implications of your actions or trying to lighten the severity of the situation.

he's uncertain.

he doesn't know how to approach this. he's never had to deal with this before.

you can tell by the strained smile and tensed posture that he also doesn't know what to do. somehow, you appreciate it. the situation is somewhat amusing now that you think about it. one of gotham's most dedicated vigilante standing in an abandoned building trying his best to stop a nobody from ending their insignificant life.

you almost let out a chuckle.

the vigilante bends down to pick up your discarded bag that was tossed to the side, handing it to you. you mumble your thanks, grabbing it and swinging it over your shoulders.

hesitantly, he places his hand on your much smaller frame. his voice warm and soft.

"go home. i'm sure someone is waiting for you."

you've waited for a year.

surrounded by the four walls of your assigned bedroom in the more cold, desolated part in the manor. you didn’t really mind, this arrangement was a blessing in disguise as it turned out, or maybe this arrangement was what turned you into the person you’ve become.

you don’t think you’re a great person, but you weren’t bad either, so you don’t understand why no one in the wayne manor would give you their time of day. sure, you were never reduced to begging for life necessities and having to bust your ass off at some sketchy restaurant working under legal age, while also balancing school work - this was objectively a far better environment for a person to live in compared to when you lived with your aunt. 

but was it wrong to want to be noticed by your own family? against your better judgement, you dared to hope.

you hoped to feel the warmth and care of what being tied by blood could grant. you hoped for an embrace, you hoped for company, you hoped for compassion, you hoped for connection. you hope and hope and hope, all you did was hope, until your memory was mostly filled with what you hoped, until you finally understood you were with them yet you were alone.

you had no place in their life.

just like the day you first arrived, bruce wayne, your father, was always busy. a persona to upkeep in the public eye, an enterprise to maintain, and his children to look after, to be a worthy role model.

but not you, never you.

despite alfred’s effort in trying to arrange for you two to get to know each other in the first week, there was never time. you were trying to wrap your head around the drastic changes that happened, from the procedures of transferring  schools, collecting what little belongings you had from the police station after the investigation, and quitting your job. meanwhile, bruce was still busy chasing leads to his case, determined that he was close to solving whatever it was. it took another week for you to stand in front of bruce’s door, wanting to formally introduce yourself and express your gratitude for taking you in, even if he was legally obligated to. when you finally saw him, you dared to hope. standing in front of you was your father, someone who shared your features. you see him, you see yourself. 

you could never forget the look in his eyes.

it was clear he had no idea who your mother was, but it was fine, you didn’t know her either. your desire to get to know him was not returned. was this what having a father is meant to be like? he couldn’t care less about you. all he did was run you through the ground rules of the house, who to go to if you were to request something, to inform him if you needed anything.

you needed him to look at you.

tim drake was the next person you encountered, your slightly older brother. you hoped that with the proximity in age, it would be easier to connect to him. however, it always seemed like he was preoccupied with something more important, he could not even be bothered to pretend to show interest when you had introduced yourself. you felt small, both in the figurative and literal sense. he was undoubtedly intelligent and talented. you’ve seen the way bruce look at him, actually hold a conversation with him. he was deserving, nothing you could measure to. bruce actually looked at him.

why does nobody look at you?

then you ran into jason todd. to your knowledge, he does not primarily reside within the manor anymore, which would explain why you haven’t really seen him around at all. it doesn’t explain why your first encounter with him was assuming a burglar had snuck in through the window at 3 in the morning. you had nearly dropped your cup of coffee, hearing a brief commentary on how there was another caffeine addict in the house before leaving the kitchen with you still holding your breath in shock. you can’t form a solid opinion on him since you barely see him.

in stark contrast, you had met richard grayson, or dick. the ever sweetest and most amazing older brother that any younger sibling would dream to have. you do too, seeing how much of a brother he was to the other members of the house, but not to you.

never to you.

you’d like to blame him for blindly hoping for things to be different, with his empty promises when he accidentally runs into you while on his search for someone else, and small talk when he’s waiting for something. you catch your father’s appreciative glances towards him sometimes, when dick helps out with managing your siblings.

especially damian al ghul, your half-brother. you were excited to have a younger blood sibling, not that the others were any less important to you, but merely for the delusion that blood could bring you together.

blood meant nothing.

damian was introduced after you were brought in, and his last name was promptly changed into wayne. your encounter was different from the others, him being the only one that sought you out first. again, you had hoped. trying to hide your excitement, you had mistakenly thought he was different from the others, your flesh and blood. 

it’s all the same.

damian had berated your existence, bringing up how you were so unworthy of being a wayne you had yet to receive your father’s last name. you stood there listening to everything he had to say. your flesh and blood.

you admired his strong personality and ability to assert what he wanted. you were complete opposites. it’s no surprise that that’s why he was worthy of the last name.he ended up being the one who had interacted with you the most, even if it was mostly him bullying you. secretly, you held him dear, seeing resemblance between damian and your aunt. he was your flesh and blood.

cassandra cain was yet another sibling you falsely assumed having something in common would bring you two closer. but at this point, you no longer had it in you to put effort in forming a connection with anyone else, worn down by the countless times you’ve been casted aside. 

you remain in the shadows, watching them carry on their daily lives, watched the life you had desperately wanted to be part of but found it impossible. you don’t belong with them, you don’t belong anywhere.

their silence made you feel forgettable.

do you even exist if no one remembers you?

the wind is howling.

and so are the voices.

i don't think im a good story teller since i mostly wrote analytical essays ^^' hopefully it makes sense like who let them (me) cook?? likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

(TAGLIST) lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist :heh:

@confused-they @hoeinthehouse @heartjwonie @strwberryglass

[rainrot4me]

Would Jeff smoke weed?? 👀 Would any of them?? I NEED to know!! 😂

Also OMG I seriously adore your story and writing style!! The way you write just pulls me right in and makes me feel like I’m actually there—like I’m living it right alongside the characters 😭💖 It’s SO immersive and incredible!!

OOOOOH, I love this question

Mainly, I think Ben Drowned got hit with the “emo stoner kid” aesthetic as soon as he got put into the hands of the fandom, but he definitely is not the pothead everyone believes him to be. So here’s my creepypasta weed/drug hot takes from an experienced weed enjoyer:

Jeff the Killer - nightly bong smoker. It’s sort of a wind-down ritual after the day; whether he has massacred an entire suburban neighborhood, or spent the day annoying the shit out of Slenderman, he’s hitting that nasty ass bong before bed. Sleeping is difficult for him unless he’s flat-out exhausted, so getting a little buzzed and relaxed helps to relieve the tension and self-inflicted stress he’s always swimming in. He keeps eye drops in his nightstand just for this (red eyes + no eyelids = bad time). He likes the flavor stout, none of that flowery stuff or useless party tricks with the smoke, just hit and chill. He has to be careful though, if he holds the smoke for too long, it kind of pools out of his gashed mouth like those fountain incense holders.

Eyeless Jack - strong, slow-burning D9 edibles. Jack doesn’t smoke, he ingests. He’s a fan of control and calculation, so he bakes high-dosage brownies or gummy strips that hit like anesthesia. It’s less about the high and more about the silence it brings—like being underwater in the dark. He consumes before harvesting organs, not after. He doesn’t need the weed to relax, he needs it to feel something other than the cold, surgical numbness he walks in. His favorite flavor is strawberry, and he absolutely hates the aftertaste of weed it leaves in his mouth.

Ticci Toby - sativa pre-rolls + ADHD med cocktails. Toby’s nervous system is a fried motherboard, so he needs speed and stimulation more than chill. He chain-smokes citrus-heavy Sativa joints throughout the day to “take the edge off” without losing his manic edge. It’s the kind of high that amps up the twitch instead of dulling it. He usually smokes while pacing, fidgeting, or annoying the absolute hell out of Masky. The ADHD meds aren’t necessary, but whenever he feels especially antsy or overwhelmed, they give a nice slow feeling in his brain.

Masky (Tim) - hash in a pipe. Masky doesn’t like getting ‘high,’ he likes getting knocked out. The weed he uses feels like wet concrete in the lungs, preferably mixed with tobacco or something darker, the kind of stuff you can smell from 5 rooms down. The ritual of packing a pipe is calming to him; the weight of it all feels earned. He won’t admit it, but the smoke helps keep the voices dull, the pressure in his skull down. He’s not chasing a high, he’s trying to sink down into the feeling. His poor lungs… whether it’s weed or cigarettes, there’s always smoke swirling around inside his body.

Hoody (Brian) - microdoses of THC tincture or mushroom tea. Brian prefers subtle influence. He likes drugs that allow clarity, not chaos, he has enough of that. He microdoses in secret, using tinctures hidden in coffee mugs or herbal teas while pretending to be sober and observing everyone else fall apart. He treats it like data collection, watching how others react, taking mental notes. His highs are quiet, introspective, and unnerving. Toby and Jeff call him a lame-ass for not agreeing to get high with them during off nights, but they never even realize he’s so far above the clouds already. You’d never even know he’s stoned, which is exactly the point.

BEN Drowned - vapes + weird tech-edible hybrids. BEN’s a digital burnout, so he smokes out of jewel-toned USB vapes of his own creation, loaded with blue raspberry distillate, while floating in a glitched-out reality. Regular vapes and cartridges do absolutely nothing for him, so he took the skills he knows and transferred them over to making drugs for himself. Sometimes he laces his cartridges with hallucinogens just to feel real. If any normal human, or proxy, decided to take a hit of his shit, they’d be seizing on the floor for an hour.

Clockwork - dabs. Clockwork doesn’t mess around. If she’s getting high, she’s doing dabs—clean, powerful, and fast-hitting. She has a torch, a rig, the whole setup, and she knows how to wield it. Her highs are like her kills: exact, intentional, never wasted. She doesn’t partake very often, but when she does, damn. She smokes before missions to steady her hand, and after kills to dull the echo of screaming. The only thing louder than the dab torch is the ticking in her head.

Laughing Jack - psychedelics, shrooms, LSD, candy-flavored chaos. Jack isn’t about weed, he wants whimsy-induced madness. Acid tabs, psychedelic mushroom chocolates, or whatever colorful candy gets the room to dance. He uses drugs the way a kid uses glitter: chaotically and excessively. His highs are full of distorted carnival music, long-winded monologues to invisible creatures, and violent giggling fits. Reality bends under him like taffy, and he loves it.

Slenderman - absolute abstainer, but not by choice. Slenderman doesn’t smoke. Not because he’s above it, but because he can’t; he has no mouth, no lungs, no need for breath, just a yawning, psychic void where a soul should be. That said, he does react strangely to the presence of marijuana. Light up near him and reality bends weird: clocks freeze, static crackles, and everyone’s high turns into a paranoid fever dream. His mere aura amplifies the effects in others. One puff around Slendy and suddenly your friend thinks his own shadow is whispering to him. People say you can “hotbox a forest” if he’s standing in it. He’s not high, you are, and you’re not going to enjoy it as much as he will.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Trump can’t do ANYTHING for his base

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on THURSDAY (May 15) at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Trump's coalition includes a huge number of people who will suffer terribly from his policies, but who voted for him anyway. Trumpism requires that he find ways to keep those Christmas-voting turkeys happy, or at least distracted.

Trump's go-to move for keeping his base happy is inflicting pain on people they hate, like immigrants, racialized people, queers and women. That goes a long way, obviously: there's a kind of person who can be distracted from their own deteriorating material condition by the spectacle of cruel treatment for their enemies.

But Trumpism can't just run on sadism. There's a lot of people who enjoy the sadism, but not so much that it cancels out their own rage at their deteriorating personal conditions. Trump's main tactic is to blame the suffering of his base on the rest of us: "radical leftists," "wokeism" and other hobgoblins of the small-minded. That, too, has its limits – especially when Trump controls Congress, the courts, the senate and the White House. Obviously, Trump isn't above blaming his own people for being traitors (e.g., by sending a literal noose-bearing lynch mob after his own vice president), but there are limits to this, even for Trump. If all the power-brokers in Trump's coalitions are branded as disloyal, cowardly, or traitorous, Trump will have no one left to do the actual work of advancing his agenda.

Ultimately, keeping Trump's base happy requires providing some form of material benefit to that base. Every authoritarian has a version of this – like the cash handouts that Poland's former far-right government gave out:

https://pulitzercenter.org/stories/poland-model-promoting-family-values-cash-handouts

For Trump, this presents a problem: because he represents the interests of exploitation, extraction and looting, everything nice that he gives to everyday people in his base potentially gores the ox of someone who really matters to him. It's no surprise, for example, that he reversed Biden's price-cuts for Big Pharma's most expensive drugs – the cheaper drugs are for sick people, the less profitable they'll be for pharma companies:

https://www.levernews.com/trump-already-disarmed-the-war-on-drug-prices/

Luckily (for Trump), Biden's consumer protection and antitrust agencies teed up a long list of extremely good policies that would directly shift money from rich parasites to everyday people. For example, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau passed a rule that would make it very easy to find out which bank would charge you the least and pay you the most, and let you switch banks with one click:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

It was a move that would have shifted $667m/year from banks to everyday people, every year, forever. But Trump's most important barons, like Elon Musk, hated the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and insisted that it be shuttered, so that $667m/year will go to the banks after all – indeed, virtually all of the good things Biden's CFPB decreed the American public would enjoy henceforth have been destroyed. Sure, Trump would have liked to have taken credit for these, but the conflict between stolen valor and displeasing Shadow President Musk will always cash out in Musk's favor.

It's not just the CFPB. The FTC also set up a whole roster of ambitious projects to improve life for Americans. Some of these made the news in a big way, like the antitrust case against Meta:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/18/chatty-zucky/#is-you-taking-notes-on-a-criminal-fucking-conspiracy

Trump has lots of upsides from pursuing the Meta case. Everyone hates Meta products, including (especially) the people who are trapped using them because that's where their friends, family, communities, customers or audiences are. Breaking up Meta would be hugely popular with the American people. But also, once a court has convicted Meta of violating antitrust law, Trump can solicit favors – cash and favorable algorithmic treatment – from Meta in exchange for ordering his FTC to go easy on Meta in the "remedy phase," letting them off with a fine, rather than forcing them to spin out Whatsapp and Instagram:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

But even if Trump lets Meta walk, there's plenty of great stuff Biden's FTC did that he could take credit for – policies that would help everyday people.

The most prominent of these is the FTC's "Click to Cancel" rule. It's a pretty simple rule: companies have to make it as easy to cancel a subscription as it was to sign up for it.

In other words, they can't do that thing – beloved of everything from the New York Times to every manosphere influencer's supplement business – where you can sign up for a subscription with one click, but you can't cancel unless you phone them, wait on hold, and beg them to let you off the hook.

Companies do this on purpose, because it's super profitable. Amazon executives carried on internal email threads where they straight up said that they'd deliberately made it confusingly easy to sign up for Prime and basically impossible to stop paying for it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

This is a no-brainer. Companies make signing up for subscriptions into a greased slide, and they make canceling subscriptions into a greased pole.

No wonder, then, that when the FTC solicited public comments on a proposed "click to cancel" rule, they had no trouble building up the evidentiary record needed to pass the rule.

Now, Trump's FTC has announced that they are delaying enforcement of the rule until mid-July:

https://techcrunch.com/2025/05/10/ftc-delays-enforcement-of-click-to-cancel-rule/

This is the second time they've delayed enforcement (originally, the rule was supposed to go into effect in January). Trump FTC chairman Andrew Ferguson had no trouble getting the votes for the suspension, because he illegally fired the two Democratic Commissioners, Alvaro Bedoya and Rebecca Slaughter:

https://www.theverge.com/decoder-podcast-with-nilay-patel/657115/ftc-bedoya-slaughter-trump-fired-supreme-court-interview

Ferguson is proof that the FTC can't do anything material for Trump's base. Sure, he can set up a snitch-line so tht FTC employees can rat each other out for being "woke":

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-statement-emergency-motion.pdf

This should be a slam dunk. It epitomizes the "unfair and deceptive" business practices Section 5 of the FTC Act empowers the agency to snuff out. The Trump admin is unwilling to gore the ox of out-and-out scammers, people who trick you into unkillable subscriptions. It seems that there's no material benefit that Trump's oligarch backers are willing to cede to working people. All they can offer is cruelty.

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/2025/05/12/greased-slide/#greased-pole

Image: Vis M (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Slide_at_Thenmala_deer_rehabilitation_center.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[xiibiibby]

Vampire: Prodigy — Romance Options ❤️

Little update post!

So, as I've said, I don't want to spoil too much about the romance options in the game before the demo, but I'll give you a little peek at 'em in the meantime!

🩸 Lucan — The Untamed

Lucan is a fighter, a liar, and a walking disaster wrapped in cool leather, muscle, and bad decisions. He has no love for vampire hierarchy, but he plays along when it benefits him. As long as the ones on top keep paying him to knock heads and giving him a cushy place to stay, he won’t complain. Unlike most of the elite, Lucan never pretended vampires were noble creatures. He sees them exactly for what they are—bloodthirsty predators hiding behind their wealth and politics. Their games never interested him, only the fights that came out of them.

🩸 Marcella— The Rebel Aristocrat

Marcella was once part of the system, a high-ranking noble from one of the last great vampire houses, seated among the elite of the Vampire Council. She thrived in that world—power, luxury, and the safety of well-maintained order. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. She had control, influence, and the respect of her peers. And then, everything fell apart.

🩸 Aldric — The Bloodsworn Knight

Aldric is a warrior first, a strategist second, and a man last. Bound by duty and unshakable loyalty to the Council and his Court, he upholds order, discipline, and strength above all else. Unlike the aristocrats who scheme behind velvet curtains or the rebels who cry for revolution, he sees the bigger picture—the fragility of vampire society, the cracks forming beneath them, and the enemies gathering beyond their borders. If vampirekind is to survive, they must be stronger, stricter, unbreakable—and Aldric will see to it that they don't crumble under their own arrogance.

🩸 Vanya— The Healer

Vanya is a medic, a scientist, and a woman desperately searching for a cure in a world that refuses to believe one exists. She was never meant to be a soldier. She wasn't raised to wield a weapon, nor was she trained to hate. But war doesn't care about her intentions, and she's seen too much blood to turn away now. Born into the Lazarus Order, Vanya was expected to follow in the footsteps of the hunters before her—to fight, to kill, to purge the disease of vampirism from the world. But where others saw monsters, she saw a sickness. A condition. Something that could be studied, understood, maybe even cured. This belief has made her an outlier, a heretic within the Order. While the rest of the Lazarus Order seeks extermination, she pursues a solution. She hunts not for sport, not for vengeance, but to gather data, to test her theories, and to prove that there is another way.

🩸 Hadrian— The Skeptic

Hadrian’s hatred for vampires isn't philosophical, not political—it is deeply personal, carved into his body and burned into his mind. As a child, his family was slaughtered by vampires, their home reduced to a nest of gore and torment. He was left alive—not as an act of mercy, but as a plaything. They toyed with him, tormented him, and fed from him for days. By the time the Lazarus Order found him, he was malnourished, broken, and barely clinging to life. But there was something still burning inside him—rage, hatred, and the will to never let himself be powerless again. They gave him a choice: become a hunter, or let the past consume him. He chose the hunt. Hadrian doesn't believe in peace between humanity and vampires. He's seen too much, suffered too much to accept the idea that these creatures—leeches who live only to feed on others—could ever be anything but an enemy. Treaties are meaningless. Alliances are temporary conveniences. The only way to ensure humanity’s survival is to eradicate the threat entirely.

🩸 Corvin— The Half-blood

Corvin is a man caught between two worlds, yet belonging to neither. His mother, a human woman, gave birth to something that should never have existed—a child with vampiric hunger but a beating heart. His father, whoever he was, left nothing but a legacy of rejection. From the moment he could understand the world, Corvin knew he was an outsider. Humans saw the hunger in his eyes and feared him. Vampires saw his diluted blood, his mortality, his limitations, and despised him. There was no middle ground—no place that would take him in as one of their own. So when the Lazarus Order gave him a choice, he took it. They didn’t accept him, not truly, but they could use him, and that was enough. Better to be a weapon than a mistake. If he could prove himself—if he could hunt vampires better than anyone else—then maybe, just maybe, he’d carve out a place for himself.

🩸 Seraphiel— The Last Bloodbearer

Seraphiel is a remnant of an age long forgotten, a being who's watched civilizations rise and crumble into dust. Older than most can comprehend, they're one of the last carriers of the divine blood—the sacred essence that birthed the first vampires. For centuries, they remained in self-imposed exile, watching from the shadows as vampire society decayed into arrogance, betrayal, and inevitable ruin. They had no desire to meddle, no reason to intervene—until now.

And there you have it~!

I've only shared little snippets of their bios since I don't wanna spoil too much about them. But if you have any questions pertaining to any of 'em, feel free to ask! I'll answer so long as it doesn't spoil anything major.

Thanks for reading <3 I'll have more to share regarding the project soon!

The wonderful character art was drawn by dariakonnova!