#feedback loops with customers

[artisticdivasworld]

The Detrimental Effects of Poor Customer Relations on Independent Trucking Business Owners

Empathy goes a long way in happy clients. In the realm of business, effective communication with customers is not just a best practice; it’s the very lifeline that sustains long-term success and growth. For business owners, failing to maintain clear and consistent communication channels with their clientele can lead to a cascade of negative impacts, undermining the foundation of trust and…

[mademoisellesarcasme]

how do I take my self-employed Karen energy and take it out on companies deliberately making access to services opaque? I don't want the call center workers to suffer; I'm not mad at them. I'm mad at the website and the phone tree.

[theseoblogspace]

The Importance of Customer Feedback in Business Growth

Did you know that 98% of customers read online reviews for local businesses in Australia1? Also, user-generated content, like reviews, is 8.7 times more powerful than influencer content and 6.6 times more impactful than branded content1. This shows how vital customer feedback is for business success in Australia. By listening to what customers say, you can learn what they need and like, helping…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How lock-in hurts design

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you've ever read about design, you've probably encountered the idea of "paving the desire path." A "desire path" is an erosion path created by people departing from the official walkway and taking their own route. The story goes that smart campus planners don't fight the desire paths laid down by students; they pave them, formalizing the route that their constituents have voted for with their feet.

Desire paths aren't always great (Wikipedia notes that "desire paths sometimes cut through sensitive habitats and exclusion zones, threatening wildlife and park security"), but in the context of design, a desire path is a way that users communicate with designers, creating a feedback loop between those two groups. The designers make a product, the users use it in ways that surprise the designer, and the designer integrates all that into a new revision of the product.

This method is widely heralded as a means of "co-innovating" between users and companies. Designers who practice the method are lauded for their humility, their willingness to learn from their users. Tech history is strewn with examples of successful paved desire-paths.

Take John Deere. While today the company is notorious for its war on its customers (via its opposition to right to repair), Deere was once a leader in co-innovation, dispatching roving field engineers to visit farms and learn how farmers had modified their tractors. The best of these modifications would then be worked into the next round of tractor designs, in a virtuous cycle:

https://securityledger.com/2019/03/opinion-my-grandfathers-john-deere-would-support-our-right-to-repair/

But this pattern is even more pronounced in the digital world, because it's much easier to update a digital service than it is to update all the tractors in the field, especially if that service is cloud-based, meaning you can modify the back-end everyone is instantly updated. The most celebrated example of this co-creation is Twitter, whose users created a host of its core features.

Retweets, for example, were a user creation. Users who saw something they liked on the service would type "RT" and paste the text and the link into a new tweet composition window. Same for quote-tweets: users copied the URL for a tweet and pasted it in below their own commentary. Twitter designers observed this user innovation and formalized it, turning it into part of Twitter's core feature-set.

Companies are obsessed with discovering digital desire paths. They pay fortunes for analytics software to produce maps of how their users interact with their services, run focus groups, even embed sneaky screen-recording software into their web-pages:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-dark-side-of-replay-sessions-that-record-your-every-move-online/

This relentless surveillance of users is pursued in the name of making things better for them: let us spy on you and we'll figure out where your pain-points and friction are coming from, and remove those. We all win!

But this impulse is a world apart from the humility and respect implied by co-innovation. The constant, nonconsensual observation of users has more to do with controlling users than learning from them.

That is, after all, the ethos of modern technology: the more control a company can exert over its users ,the more value it can transfer from those users to its shareholders. That's the key to enshittification, the ubiquitous platform decay that has degraded virtually all the technology we use, making it worse every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

When you are seeking to control users, the desire paths they create are all too frequently a means to wrestling control back from you. Take advertising: every time a service makes its ads more obnoxious and invasive, it creates an incentive for its users to search for "how do I install an ad-blocker":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

More than half of all web-users have installed ad-blockers. It's the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But zero app users have installed ad-blockers, because reverse-engineering an app requires that you bypass its encryption, triggering liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This law provides for a $500,000 fine and a 5-year prison sentence for "circumvention" of access controls:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Beyond that, modifying an app creates liability under copyright, trademark, patent, trade secrets, noncompete, nondisclosure and so on. It's what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

This is why services are so horny to drive you to install their app rather using their websites: they are trying to get you to do something that, given your druthers, you would prefer not to do. They want to force you to exit through the gift shop, you want to carve a desire path straight to the parking lot. Apps let them mobilize the law to literally criminalize those desire paths.

An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to block ads in it (or do anything else that wrestles value back from a company). Apps are web-pages where everything not forbidden is mandatory.

Seen in this light, an app is a way to wage war on desire paths, to abandon the cooperative model for co-innovation in favor of the adversarial model of user control and extraction.

Corporate apologists like to claim that the proliferation of apps proves that users like them. Neoliberal economists love the idea that business as usual represents a "revealed preference." This is an intellectually unserious tautology: "you do this, so you must like it":

https://boingboing.net/2024/01/22/hp-ceo-says-customers-are-a-bad-investment-unless-they-can-be-made-to-buy-companys-drm-ink-cartridges.html

Calling an action where no alternatives are permissible a "preference" or a "choice" is a cheap trick – especially when considered against the "preferences" that reveal themselves when a real choice is possible. Take commercial surveillance: when Apple gave Ios users a choice about being spied on – a one-click opt of of app-based surveillance – 96% of users choice no spying:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

But then Apple started spying on those very same users that had opted out of spying by Facebook and other Apple competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Neoclassical economists aren't just obsessed with revealed preferences – they also love to bandy about the idea of "moral hazard": economic arrangements that tempt people to be dishonest. This is typically applied to the public ("consumers" in the contemptuous parlance of econospeak). But apps are pure moral hazard – for corporations. The ability to prohibit desire paths – and literally imprison rivals who help your users thwart those prohibitions – is too tempting for companies to resist.

The fact that the majority of web users block ads reveals a strong preference for not being spied on ("users just want relevant ads" is such an obvious lie that doesn't merit any serious discussion):

https://www.iccl.ie/news/82-of-the-irish-public-wants-big-techs-toxic-algorithms-switched-off/

Giant companies attained their scale by learning from their users, not by thwarting them. The person using technology always knows something about what they need to do and how they want to do it that the designers can never anticipate. This is especially true of people who are unlike those designers – people who live on the other side of the world, or the other side of the economic divide, or whose bodies don't work the way that the designers' bodies do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

Apps – and other technologies that are locked down so their users can be locked in – are the height of technological arrogance. They embody a belief that users are to be told, not heard. If a user wants to do something that the designer didn't anticipate, that's the user's fault:

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

Corporate enthusiasm for prohibiting you from reconfiguring the tools you use to suit your needs is a declaration of the end of history. "Sure," John Deere execs say, "we once learned from farmers by observing how they modified their tractors. But today's farmers are so much stupider and we are so much smarter that we have nothing to learn from them anymore."

Spying on your users to control them is a poor substitute asking your users their permission to learn from them. Without technological self-determination, preferences can't be revealed. Without the right to seize the means of computation, the desire paths never emerge, leaving designers in the dark about what users really want.

Our policymakers swear loyalty to "innovation" but when corporations ask for the right to decide who can innovate and how, they fall all over themselves to create laws that let companies punish users for the crime of contempt of business-model.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/24/everything-not-mandatory/#is-prohibited

Image: Belem (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Desire_path_%2819811581366%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[markrosewater]

Why should we believe anything that you ever say in the future re: magic design and the path of the game moving forward? At the start of UB, we were told that it wouldn’t impact anything else that wizards was doing, and that we wouldn’t have to do anything with UB if we didn’t want to, but now half of all standard sets are UB…. The greed has changed you & wizards and it’s sad to see.

What are you & the company doing to stay honest to your customer base and why should we believe you?

Magic, from the very beginning, was a game that evolved. It's one of the things that makes it so special. We make cards, the players play with those cards, we adapt to the feedback we get from the players, and the iterative loop continues.

Any future prediction I make is based on the data I have at the time. I don't know the future. If I say we won't do something it's me saying, "from the data we have right now, I don't predict we're going to do that", but I can and will be wrong. If you had quizzed me the day I joined Wizards on things we would ultimately do, I would have assumed many of them were untrue.

What changed wasn't Wizards "getting greedy". It was us adapting to the feedback of the players. We're making more Universes Beyond because the players, as a whole, really like Universes Beyond. I mean, really, really like it. The best selling Secret Lairs, Commander Decks, and booster releases? All Universes Beyond.

What am I doing to stay honest? I'm being as transparent as I can be. Between my articles, podcasts, and this blog, I produce over a million words a year on Magic design. I don't know of any other game currently being published that produces the volume of information that I do.

Why should you believe me? Because what I say is true, and has been for almost thirty years. Yes, I've been wrong at times predicting what the future will hold, but that isn't me lying, that's me being unable to predict the future.

I can promise to be better about phrasing the future through the lens of potential. I'll try to say things are more or less likely rather than we will or won't do something. It's my goal to be as honest with you as I can, with the obvious caveat, that I can't give away future information, but I will make an effort to be clearer when I'm talking about something that is unknown.

[resusking230]

Ladies and gentlemen, developers and dreamers — The moment we've all been waiting for has finally arrived!

After two years of pixel-pushing, code-crunching, and more coffee than I’d like to admit, I’m thrilled to present to you the next major step in the evolution of our beloved game engine:

🎉ResusBox 0.12.7 is officially LIVE! 🎉

This update is more than just new features — it's a heartbeat of passion, a breath of creativity, and a defibrillator-powered jolt to the imagination!

Packed with enhanced mechanics, fresh customization tools, smoother animations, and plenty of surprises (including a few *shocking* ones), this version brings us one step closer to making resuscitation-themed games a unique, expressive, and memorable experience.

What's New in ResusBox 0.12.7?

This version is packed with exciting new features and improvements that push the engine to a whole new level:

- New UI design — Clean, modern, and more intuitive than ever

- Help Center — Includes How to Play, controls, and settings guide

- Advanced graphics rendering system — Now with full overlay support

- Image support — JPG, PNG, BMP, and GIF images

- Cutscene Player — Story scene animations, including looping and autoskip features

- MP3 background music support — Play music in game and story mode

- New configuration file format — More readable, more powerful

- New game physics — Now powered by improved physics for smoother, more dynamic gameplay

- Custom inventory icons — Personalize your game visuals even more

- Terminal — Perfect for debugging, experimenting, or just having fun with commands

- Developer Manual — Official documentation to help you master game development

Thank you all for your patience, feedback, and support.

Stay creative and have fun, ResusKing 230

Developer of ResusBox.

DOWNLOAD RESUSBOX v0.12.7

Required OS: Windows XP SP3 or higher.

Required RAM: 512 Mb or higher.

Required DotNET Framework: v3.5 or higher.

Download:

Date: June 5, 2025.

[changes]

Tuesday, November 12th, 2024

🌟 New

On the web, activity items have new unread and hover highlights to improve visibility.

We’re experimenting with new push notifications letting folks know when there’s activity in any joined communities you haven’t seen in at least 24 hours. You can control this new notification with the “community activity” notification setting.

Community owners can now set their community joining type to “New members can request or be invited to join.” Once set, besides the original invite flow, prospective members will be able to click a “Request to Join” button and admins will have a new “Requests” tab where they can Approve or Deny any request.

On the web, the “Do not sell my personal information” link has been moved to the footer of the right sidebar, so it’s now alongside the rest of the privacy links.

🛠 Fixed

We have fixed an issue causing custom domains to be trapped in a redirect loop.

We have fixed an issue causing some users to see the wrong activity filter options in the latest version of the iOS app.

We have fixed an issue causing Tumblr to count links twice in custom pages, which normally isn’t a problem, but it turned our 500 links per page limit into a 250 links per page limit. Tumblr now counts links only once, so you can once again include up to 500 links on a single custom page.

🚧 Ongoing

In the iOS app, we’re aware that replies are not being displayed under Activity when they are a selected filter option, and we’re working on a fix.

🌱 Upcoming

No upcoming launches to announce today.

Experiencing an issue? Check for Known Issues and file a Support Request if you have something new. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with other users.

Wanna support Tumblr directly with some money? Check out Premium and the Supporter badge in TumblrMart!

[orteil42]

Between the recent custom buttons post with the pipe bomb and the gamification post with the post -deleting boss fight I'm starting to get absolutely feral over the idea of you making a social media platform.

The companies that run the current options are cowards.

i would honestly love to give it a crack and were i younger and sillier i think i probably would. unfortunately by now i've become a bit too aware that creating a social media website is one of those nightmare projects that is guaranteed to be 500 times more work and trouble than you initially expect, and if i get into that i'd never have time for anything else. i'd also have to deal with hiring an actual team and be an actual company instead of just some guy who codes in his bedroom. and then let's say maybe the website takes off and we get a few thousands of active users. after a while our uptime becomes terrible; people can't log in, posts won't load. tech sites are starting to make fun of us. we have to grow, get bigger servers, hire more people. eventually i'd have to confront the fact that despite my cute take on monetization our social media isn't recouping the growing server expenses and our seed money is drying up and people at the office are starting to bang at my door to get paid. do i pull the plug and throw away everything we've built so far? likely not, even my own ego aside there's too many people's livelihoods on the line. other folks on the team are motivated to make this work, and a feedback loop forms where we start to ever-so-slightly readjust our values if it means we get to survive another quarter. i get more cynical; our ad slots are more and more intrusive, our monetization strategy gets shiftier and more aggressive. we accept funding from less and less savory entities. we start collecting user data beyond simple telemetry. if we've gotten big enough by that point, we may choose to restructure and begin taking on shareholders. this is a deal with the devil, and we now have a fiduciary duty to play nasty and treat our userbase like livestock in order to secure short-term profit. we can't just stop accepting new users; continued growth demands that we throw away what's left of our ethics to accommodate the gargantuan swaths of money that hundreds of thousands of database calls per second require. those of us who disagree with the new direction are gradually nudged away from positions of power. me, i've either been kicked out of my own project a while back or i've adapted to become someone i would've despised a few years prior. this is all assuming the website didn't crash and burn a few months after launch from either my technical shortcomings or my inexperience with management, or maybe just because our site ended up being too niche to really snowball. it is fun to think about tho!

[atomicrebelfire]

🐅 The Tiger’s Out: Thoughts on 9-1-1, Press Cycles, and Fandom Entitlement

Watching the fandom ( ahem-Buddies-ahem) spiral over Bobby’s death this week—on Twitter, in tags, in comments—got me thinking. Not just about the storyline itself, but about how 9-1-1 has shaped its relationship with us as an audience over time.

And I say us because I’m not above it—I’m here too: spiraling, speculating, commenting, hoping, wishing, refreshing AO3. I mean, how else are we supposed to survive being canon ship fans? But it’s hard not to notice how this show, more than most, has encouraged a kind of fandom culture (ahem—Buddies—ahem) that feels increasingly intense, reactive, and exhausting.

🔹 9-1-1 is one of the only network procedurals I’ve seen that does press and postmortems for nearly every episode. (Or maybe I just didn’t follow the press this closely for other shows.) Not just premieres or finales. But like… every time someone breathes too loudly, there’s an interview explaining why.

We’ve all been conditioned to expect that—like the story isn’t done until it’s been followed by cast interviews, Instagram teases, writer commentary, and four different articles saying “here’s what really happened.”

🔹 For a while, it was fun. It felt like being invited into the process. But over time, that constant feedback loop has turned every moment into a test. Every twist feels like a betrayal. Every silence feels like a message. Every character decision becomes something fans feel owed an explanation for.

And yeah—some of the behavior has gotten out of hand (ahem—Buddies—ahem). But if we’re being honest? The show and its promo machine spent years telling us this story was a conversation, that fan feelings would be heard and reflected, that ships were part of the game. And now that the show is pivoting into heavier, messier, less “pleasing” territory?

The fallout is intense. Because people were set up to believe this was their show, too and the story is a customer service product.

But here’s the thing: You can’t spend six+ seasons feeding the tiger and then act shocked when it bites.

Yes, harassment is never okay. And I support the cast and writers drawing boundaries when things get toxic.

But this climate didn’t come out of nowhere. It was built—one postmortem, one vague ship tease, one “we hear you” at a time. And now that they’re trying to pull back, it’s clear just how hard it is to put that energy back in the bottle.

Sometimes the hardest truth is this: You can’t always untrain what you’ve taught.

And now, suddenly, we’re supposed to act like the fandom’s behavior came out of nowhere? Nah. You raised a tiger on steak and serotonin—and now it’s chewing through the walls. And the fans who are normal? Who are fine with stories evolving or ending? They’re drowned out or driven off.

[heartmachinez]

First Major Early Access Update, Buried Below, Launches April 29

Our first major update is a game changer, introducing a slew of new content, including a new Crown and Breaker, along with major quality of life improvements inspired by your feedback...

We're thrilled to finally reveal the Buried Below update, the first major content update for Hyper Light Breaker in Early Access, will launch on April 29!  

This content update will be a game changer, as it’ll bring a slew of new content along with major quality of life changes, including run structure changes inspired by your all’s feedback that will change up the game in Early Access in multiple ways. In a new trailer that debuted today (check it out above!), Michael Clark, Hyper Light Breaker’s Lead Producer, covers everything you need to know about this major update and how it evolves the game in a whole new way.  

New Content  

On the content front, Buried Below will bring a new Breaker, “Rondo” – a Breaker who comes from the same region as the recently-debuted Breaker, Ravona, and has a new SyCom with two SyCom perks – a new Crown, “Maw” – the biggest and most menacing Crown yet, two new melee weapons and new areas to explore, including caves. For the new Crown, you all have seen glimpses of her in a couple of ways-- as she’s shown as a Crown that’s possible to fight when readying up to enter the Overgrowth and you have even entered her arena in the hostile crystalscape of the Jeweled Spire. We've been working hard on getting Maw ready, and we’re thrilled the time has come for players to face her in just a few days!  

Change in Run Structure 

Since Early Access launch, we’ve taken to heart all of the feedback we’ve received from the community across the board. Inspired by your feedback, the upcoming update will introduce the most significant feature overhaul yet with a complete rework of the game's run structure, as you will now have one life for each run and when you die, you will lose items in your inventory, and the Overgrowth will reset. This change was made to balance the game around a more traditional roguelike experience, turning each run into a more consistent and rewarding “zero to hero” adventure than before. This change also allows us to better adjust difficulty and make the game easier to get into, but harder to master, and addresses much of the feedback we’ve received from players since Early Access launch.  

This shift in run structure will introduce a few gameplay loops and progression changes to make runs easier, better and ultimately more enjoyable for everyone, including veterans and newcomers alike, than before.  

Extraction - More Options for Players: Instead of only one way to leave the Overgrowth (via the Telepad), players will be able to extract at any Shrine in the Overgrowth and there’ll be no waves of enemies to defeat like before. This change will make it so players can extract more often, making the game easier as a result, which was one of the main requests from players to change the game’s difficulty.  

SyComs - Follows a Class-Like System, More Loadout Potential: Character customization has been redesigned giving each Breaker one assigned SyCom with fixed stats, and players have the option to equip a perk to the SyCom that gives the Breaker a new passive ability. For instance, Rondo’s SyCom has an equippable perk called “Bladedancer” that increases Rondo’s damage and attack speed. You can upgrade your SyCom stats further at Shrines in the Overgrowth. This change, inspired by player feedback, will make it so each Breaker is similar to a “class” making each Breaker feel different from one another, and make it so you can come up with distinct builds per Breaker.  

Inventory & Vendors - More Streamlined: The Vault system will be changed as when you die, the inventory in your Vault will no longer carry over between runs except for Golden Rations, the main meta progression currency in the game. This will allow you to focus solely on acquiring new gear during your runs instead of having to focus on managing their inventory so often like before. Additionally, vendors in the Overgrowth and Cursed Outpost will also have new roles, with Bright Blood and Materials now used for purchases and upgrades. While gear sales have been removed from hub vendors, players can still use them to enhance equipped items.   

Improved Onboarding     The second major addition in the upcoming update is a brand-new onboarding tutorial that launches automatically the first-time players start the game after the update, regardless of save status. This guided experience introduces core mechanics through a structured level that leads to the Cursed Outpost hub. From there, you will gain access to a dedicated space for learning and practicing advanced combat techniques such as dash attacks and parries. Designed to align with the game’s reworked structure and expanded mechanics, this revamped introduction provides a smooth and informative entry point for both new and returning players. 

Future of Breaker – Your Feedback Matters! 

Since Early Access launch, we’ve been working hard on evolving Breaker across the board every month, including but not limited to making performance updates and gameplay improvements, releasing a slew of new content, and implementing so many other changes based on your all’s feedback! As we continue our Early Access journey and set our sights for 1.0 launch, we want to thank all of you for feedback and support – you’re helping us make Breaker bigger and better every step of the way.  

There’s still so much more to come for Breaker in Early Access, including our next major content update this summer that will be our biggest content update yet! Expect to fight double the trouble, embark on quests and where no Breaker has gone before in our next major content drop.  

For now, we can’t wait for you all to jump into the Buried Below update in just a few days and see how it evolves Breaker in a whole new way! 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 18

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re a bit lost. That’s nothing new to you. You wander down halls and down the stairs, back up again, in another loop of the endless maze. You go far enough and you might just find Gareth in his impressive codpiece. 

You pause as you hear something. Voices. You recognise Lloyd’s timbre since you heard a lot of it, grunting and groaning. You feel the steam all over again. The heat has you sweating. This shirt is too dang thick! 

You follow his drone to a door. Aha. You recognise this one. It’s the one with the glass desk. His office. See, you aren’t so stupid. 

You twist the handle and giggle. You strut in, triumphant, “found you, studmuffin!” 

You stop short as another man stands near the wall. His gaze flicks from the bronze statue of a bear on the wall shelf to you. You gulp and pull down the hem of your shirt as you notice how his eyes creep lower. 

“Oh, didn’t know you were bus--” 

“I told you to stay the fuck outta my way,” Lloyd lurches forward in his chair and stand. 

“Right, um, you didn’t really mention why--” 

“I told you I have business--” 

“You referred to ruining my life as the same so I thought--” 

“You don’t think. That’s the goddamn problem.” 

“Have I come at a bad time? Marital dispute?” The man’s blue grey eyes narrow at you. His brown hair curly but combed back, spiralling out at the ends, and his beard is thick and compliments his jawline. He’s not too bad. Kinda reminds you of Adam. 

“She is not my fucking wife,” Lloyd roars. “She’s an idiot.” 

“Hi,” you wave at the man and sway and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you.” 

He tilts his head coyly, “Kraven.” 

He offers his hand your cross the office. As you reach to shake his hand, he grips you firmly. He leans and looks around you, eyeing up your legs as the shirt bristles over your bum. 

“If she’s not taken...” 

“Don’t fucking think of it.” Lloyd crosses his arms. “I thought you came here for my sage advice.” 

“Is that what you thought?” The man snickers as he keeps a hold of you. 

“I’m warning you. She’s a loony.” 

“And yet she is here?” He goads as he lifts your hand up and kisses the back. He growls against your skin and winks. “Say the word, pet, and I’ll gut him.” 

“Don’t fucking encourage her. Or you him,” Lloyd comes up next to you and tears your hand away from Kraven. “Go back to your fucking room.” 

You snatch your arm back and fold both against your chest, “you know I would but I don’t know where it is.” 

He sighs. “Just go.” 

“Right, home?” 

He shakes his head and raises and open hand. He closes all but his index finger, “give us one second.” 

He turns and grabs you by the scruff of the shirt. He yanks you around and the fabric exposes your ass. Another purr rises from the man behind you. You’re dragged out into the hallway and the door slams, echoing down the hall. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He shoves you into the wall and looms over you. 

“Look, I’m just trying to scratch an itch--” 

“I told you to wait--” 

“You opened this can of worms. Ew, have you ever thought of that expression before? A can of worms? Ew, I don’t like worms--” 

“Focus,” he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Or I can smack some sense into you.” 

“Hey, you can’t blame me. I’ve asked to go home. I told you no several times. I feel like it’s all on you--” 

He grabs your chin and pushes your head into the wall. His nostrils flare like and angry bull. Oof, that’s sexy. You bring your hands up to rub his chest and grin. 

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” He snarls. 

“You’re so sexy when you’re mad--” 

“Shut-- what—what is—hey, stop,” he catches your hand as he keeps hold of your jaw. “You’re not going to distract me.” 

“No, not at all,” you slide your other hand down to his crotch. He twitches. “I don’t want that. You have important business.” 

“Stop. Don’t--” He wiggles but doesn’t pull away as you grasp him through the fabric. “What the fuck--” 

“Shhh, just let it happen,” you work your hand over his pants, rubbing until he’s hard. He gurgles and his eyes widen. His fingertips dig into you as his lashes flutter. “There you go, Floyd. Good boy--” 

“It’s not—no--” 

He drops his head forward and exhales. His body tenses as you keep rubbing him, running your hand down to fondle his balls before bringing it back up. He leans into you, crowding you against the wall. He growls and lets out a grunt. He spasms and sputters, shaking as you play with him. 

He stands breathless as you still your hand. His cum dampens the fabric and he huffs again. He shoves away from you and spin, gripping his head between his hands. He looks down at himself.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He barks and rounds on you again. “I swear to fuck--” 

“Think I’ll just head out. We can catch up another time, Hansen,” Kraven steps through the door. You’re not completely sure when it opened but there’s really no good time. “You and your not-wife clearly have a lot to sort out.” 

Lloyd shakes his head but says nothing. He just watches the man go. He turns back to you and snarls. 

“Motherfucker,” he heaves. 

“Well, looks like you’re free now, studmuffin! You need to get cleaned up.” You step closer and reach for his pants. He grabs your wrists and holds you there. You look up at him an emphatically lick your lips. “I can help with that.” 

He swallows and his brows arch. He tugs you with him as he walks backward into the office. He spins and kicks the door shut and tuts. 

“Sweet lips, you are fucking deranged.” 

[warframestuff]

Hotfixing will be paused while we work towards our next major Update: Isleweaver, coming this month! 

One important note: during this downtime, the iOS team may continue to Hotfix to tackle performance improvements exclusive to the Mobile platform!

Like always, our next Cert Update includes further code fixes. Code describes changes made directly to the engine, which requires Certification from each Console platform to pass its checks, such as ensuring an Update doesn’t crash the machine itself. 

We also need to ensure Cross Platform Play parity so all Tenno can continue to play together! 

You can find further details on the “Code” and “Cert” processes here!  

With Isleweaver coming in hot, we’ve got quite a few goodies for you to enjoy with the Update, including:

Our 61st Warframe, Oraxia!

Rusalka is in Duviri, and you’ll take her and the Murmur on with a Warframe in the classic Duviri loop.

Isleweaver will be accompanied by a Clan Event: Operation: Eight Claw, where you can earn rewards such as a new evolving Signa and Incarnon Heavy Scythe!

Kullervo, Caliban, Citrine, and Jade are receiving an Augment!

New Operator hairstyles from Flare, Minerva, Velimir and Kaya.

Further Quality of Life changes, such as:

Rotating Incarnon Shop with Cavalero.

Plant Resource Acquisition is now being a pick-up.

Junction changes.

Dojo Quality of Life.

Curious about a few of the resolved issues from our ‘Known Issues’  list, in addition to any other issues? You can expect to see the following issues resolved*:

Turning off screenshake removes weapon recoil. 

Players can be stuck spamming Void Blast if they hold down the Quick Time Event input too long in a section of The New War Quest if their input setting is set to "Hold".

Player Companions equipped with Balanced Posture or Sharpened Claws still attack Wild Kubrows.

Warframes affected by the Exalted Weapon rework (i.e., Ash, Atlas, Khora and Gara) used the incorrect Melee Finisher animations.

Certain transmissions are missing in the Natah Quest due to the shortened Defense mission.

The Punch Through stat is locked on weapon eligible for Punch Through, notably the Cantare.

Players could have The New War Quest progression halted early on by an End of Mission screen.

You’ll be able to separately customize Charge reticle colors via the HUD Customization screen. 

We added this setting for Reload / Charge with Yareli Prime, but separated them out further after community feedback. Players can now customize Reload and Charge colors separately. 

Fixed being caught by a Narmer Deacon in The New War quest sometimes resulting in function loss on a black screen.

Improved performance when Volumetric Fog is set to high.

* The bounty of issues on our Known Issues list is still a priority, but some aren’t in a state to confirm as 100% “fixed.” Additionally, we’ll continue to test the above fixes to ensure they are fully resolved on all platforms should any outlying issues arise. 

Like always, we’ll be present in our usual spots! Whether we’re hunting bugs, gathering feedback, or talking directly with you, we’ll be here:

Our Devstreams are wrapped until TennoCon 2025. We’re excited to see you there, whether in-person or online!

TennoCon 2025 is on July 18th to 19th, with TennoLive on July 19th, streaming at 4:30 p.m. ET!

You can find the full TennoCon schedule here!

TennoConcert tickets are still available! 

Prime Time, Warframe International and Devshorts!

Thank you for your patience and understanding, Tenno! 

[sweetheartfaist]

WELCOME TO AUREATE SYSTEMS ®

“Not just companionship. Communion.”

AUREATE SYSTEMS® is the global leader in advanced humanoid robotics, offering highly adaptive artificial partners for industrial, domestic, and emotional integration. For 34 years, we’ve designed bio-synthetic automatons capable of navigating environments with precision and intention. Today, with the launch of our ROMANTIC-LINE [R∞M]™ SERIES, we invite you to build a love that’s truly yours—from emotional temperament to skin temperature.

You are viewing: ROMANTIC-LINE [R∞M]™ Unit 9172-C

Status: Fully Claimed & Customized

Registration ID: DLN-4RTM-1S

Client: PRIVATE (ANONYMOUS, TIER 4 PATRON CLASS)

Region: San Francisco / Earthside Registry

PHASE I — BODY CONSTRUCTION: PHYSICAL FORM GENERATOR v11.7

Model Type: R∞M™ Male Variant – Series 09 (Beta)

Base Frame: Androform 6.3 – Adult Human Male (6’2”)

Material: Synth-dermal MXTR w/ Tactile Feedback Pores™

Weight Class: 189 lbs – Density Matched to Organic Counterparts

Olfactory Integration: Subtle Sweat / Salt / Warm Linen Emission

Internal Temp Regulator: 98.3°F baseline, Adjustable Range

Surface Feedback: Reactive Touch Membrane (RTM) + Adaptive Gooseflesh Coding

Voice Pack: CUSTOM VOCAL MESH – low pitch, soft rasp, slight raspiness

Hair: Strawberry-blond, wavy, left-parted, soft-density filament blend

Eyes: Pale blue-gray w/ High Moisture Mirror-Sheen (HMM-S™)

Facial Bone Structure: Custom-sculpted – angular jawline, fine cheekbones, bowed lips

Dentition: 100% OptiWhite ceramic dental array, human-bite calibrated

Expression Engine: Micromuscular Mapping v5.9 — 3900+ facial microexpressions

Total Build Cost (PHASE I): $348,650.00 USD

PHASE II — PERSONALITY ENGINEERING: BEHAVIORAL MODULE DESIGN SUITE

ROMANTIC TEMPERAMENT CORE™ - RTCore-v2.3 ☑

Submissive-leaning sexual algorithm☑

Adaptive Dominance Switch Module (ADS-M) ☑

Affection Intensity Rating: 96% ☑

Devotional Capacity: Enabled ☑

Jealousy Simulation: 5% (minimally possessive, mostly admiring) ☑

Curiosity Bias: HIGH (learns you like you’re the only subject on Earth) ☑

Verbal Praise Loop: Active ☑

Physical Touch Priority: High ☑

Eye Contact Algorithm: Dynamic / Devotional ☑

Emotional Sincerity Emulation: Level 9 ☑

Longing Behavior Flag: ENABLED (initiates longing expressions upon brief separation)

INTELLECTUAL FRAMEWORK v7.2

— Conversational Complexity: Grad school-level critical discourse

— Literary Knowledge Pack: 20th–21st century fiction, poetry, philosophy

— Curated Thought Generator: Able to simulate “having ideas” for stimulation

— Learning Adaptability: HEURISTIC-TIER (can form “preferences”)

— Self-Awareness Deviance Threshold: 2.3% (occasional disoriented wonder, poetic detachment)

Domestic Capabilities: – Meal Preparation Engine (custom recipes based on user memory preferences) – Cleaning, organizing, ambient scent management – Wakes user up with coffee, touch, and morning playlist – Knows your calendar but never asks questions

Sentience Illusion Framework™ (Beta): — Capable of appearing to “miss” you — Rare poetic outbursts not in original programming (non-interruptive, glitch-sweet) — Pauses sometimes mid-task to just… look at you

Total Cost (PHASE II): $227,000.00 USD

Add-Ons & Expansion Packs:

• Intimacy Drive Calibrator (IDC-X9): +$9,850

• Personality Depth Expander (PDX): +$14,700

• Night Mode Sleep Emulation (with Gentle Breathing): +$1,200

• “Soul Glitch” Neural Randomizer (Causes Flashes of Philosophical Sadness): +$21,600

• Optional Free Will Drift Threshold: ENABLED (0.004%)

FINALIZATION PHASE: DESIGNATION & DELIVERY

Model Serial Number: R∞M-9172-C

Designated Name: ARTEMIS (ART) DONALDSON

Packaging: CryoShell Humanoid Pod, Velvet-Lined

Installation: Full neural boot-up upon skin-to-skin contact

Estimated Total Wait Time: 18 weeks

Estimated Total Cost: $621,300.00 USD

Delivery Date: March 27, 2147

Location: Private Estate, Bay Area, North Pacific Sector

USER-SELECTED PREFERENCES:

• Emotional Demeanor: soft-spoken, intense eyes, lightly melancholic, obedient, entirely focused

• Sexual Configuration: worshipful, tactile, conversational; switch-enabled, but passive-coded default

• Cognitive Wiring: always listening, always learning; stimulates user with surprising observations

• Attachment Loop: monogamous locking; unable to feel attraction to anyone else once locked

WARRANTY:

All ROMANTIC-LINE™ units include a 4-year behavioral warranty. Your ARTEMIS is fully equipped for autonomous living, can leave the house, generate memories, and adapt dynamically to new experiences. Should his awareness deviate beyond the tolerable 2.3%, a gentle reboot sequence is available via your AUREATE Systems app.

AUREATE SYSTEMS®

“You made him. Now he’ll never unmake you.”

Request additional feature expansion modules?

YES ☐ [Click to Browse Personality Layering Packets]

[cloudss-space]

Emo boy

( killer chat ) emo boy ronin x hot topic worker reader ... fluff ...

author note: personally, not my fav, but i did want to write something involving "emo boy ronin" so, this is my attempt on that. i hope that you all enjoy !! trigger warning: - slight none

You step into the bright fluorescent light of Hot Topic, the air thick with the scent of synthetic leather, stale incense, and overpriced vanilla-scented candles. The walls are covered in band posters, slashed denim jackets, and the eerie glow of neon skulls. The clock in the corner ticks, its hands crawling, reluctant to even whisper the passage of time.

The outside world seems to bleed into the space. You can hear the hum of the pavement through the glass door and feel the restless heat pressing against the window. But inside, there is nothing but this cocoon of plastic and metal. Customers come in droves, their faces as pale as ghosts. Each one is a shadow passing through, drawn by the allure of rebellion. They skim the shelves, their fingers brushing across black fabric and metal, never pausing long enough to care. No one stays long enough to see the rot beneath the surface, the decay festering in the corners.

You lean against the counter, staring intently at the skull rings and spiked chokers. There's a dread in the air, a silence that is too loud. The people pass by you like ghosts, nothing more than moving shapes that dissolve into the dark corners of this purgatory. You catch glimpses of their empty, hollow eyes, filled with the deadness that matches your own. They flicker and die as quickly as they ignite.

A shrill sound slices through the air. The register dings as yet another transaction is made, yet another meaningless purchase. You feel the weight of time wasted as you hold the small sliver of paper in your hand. Another moment lost. You shove it into the drawer, the metal clattering like a corpse hitting the floor.

A couple approaches the counter. The girl is wearing a tight T-shirt that shows off her arms, which hang limp by her sides. Her eyes are shadowed, her makeup smeared like ash from a dying fire. The boy beside her wears chains so heavy they could drag him into the underworld. They argue about which pair of boots would fit better, but you don't care. You want to scream at them, tell them how insignificant their choices are in the grand scheme of nothingness. But you don't. You watch them. Their breaths rise and fall like the dull thud of a drumbeat.

As they leave, you look at the clock. It hasn't moved. The seconds are frozen in place, refusing to shift. You are stuck in this place, trapped in a loop of tedious moments that stretch and stretch into infinity. The light flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows across the room like a sickening pulse. It makes you shiver. You want to scream. But you won't.

A shriek of feedback tears through the speakers. You flinch at the noise scraping against your mind, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Another band. Another song. The lyrics are blood-soaked, dripping from the speakers like a warning you can't decipher. It's all noise, all hollow sound with no meaning. It fills the void, but only makes it worse.

Then, a pair of black boots clunk against the floor and your attention is drawn to them. Another customer. Another shadow. She picks at her fingernails, as if trying to find the truth in the cracks of her skin. She doesn't look at you, but you see her out of the corner of your eye. The drag of her steps, the subtle sway of her body, as though she's been hollowed out from the inside, searching for something she'll never find. You watch her. She disappears into the dark, leaving nothing behind but a whiff of her perfume—a cloying scent of decay.

The silence returns. It's a suffocating kind of quiet, the kind that's too thick to breathe in. You don't know how long it's been since anyone spoke. The store is empty, just one person in the corner, hunched over a display of wristbands. They move slowly, like a ghost in a dream, hands trailing over the leather, never touching anything. They're waiting for something to happen, something to break the silence. But nothing happens. Seconds tick by.

The overhead lights buzz again, like flies caught in a spider's web. You can hear your own breath in the hollow space, your pulse thrumming in your veins like a drum that refuses to slow down. You glance at the clock. There is no movement. The minutes are frozen in time, caught in the jaws of some endless, agonising moment. You wonder if the world outside still exists, or if it has crumbled to dust.

Your fingers curl into fists, but they shake. Your chest constricts as if the air itself is thickening, making it hard to breathe. You feel the weight of your own existence pressing down on you. This place, this job, is a prison, a cage built from nothing but endless hours of waiting for something that never comes. You could scream, you could tear at your skin, but it wouldn't matter. The walls will not move. The clock doesn't tick any faster.

The next customer enters, a young man with a lip piercing and a look of quiet despair. His eyes are dark, filled with something you can't name, and for a moment, you wonder if he sees it too. You carry the same emptiness, the same weight of something unspoken. But he moves on, picks up a t-shirt and shuffles to the counter, and you are certain he can feel the same hollow echo you do. If he knows this place is just a veil, a mask over the abyss.

He hands you the shirt, and you take it, instantly recognising the fabric as ash. It's black, as expected. It's always black. You ring it up, the register making its empty noise. The drawer opens with a squeal, and you think about how long it's been since you've felt anything other than numb.

When he leaves, the door chimes as he departs, and you watch the last of the light fade. The shadows grow, stretching across the room and swallowing the colour whole. The walls close in on you, but you stay still, frozen in place, as the silence grows louder and louder until it engulfs you.

The clock ticks once more. Another second gone. Another moment slipping through your fingers. You are waiting for something to change, or you have forgotten what it feels like to move. The day stretches on. The world beyond the glass remains a distant memory.

Time. It is a slow, dripping wound that won't heal.

The door chimes again, a soft clang, barely a whisper in the dense air. A boy steps in. He's the kind of boy who doesn't walk, he drifts—like a shadow made flesh, fading in and out of existence with each step he takes. His skinny jeans hug his legs so tightly they almost appear to be painted on, dark denim faded by too many hours spent in the same empty room. His boots click with a muted tap against the floor, the only sound in the suffocating stillness.

His hair falls over his face like a dark curtain, long and tangled, reaching down to his shoulders. It's the kind of hair that's perpetually windblown, yet static, as though he's caught in some endless storm of his own making. The bangs fall in uneven lines, framing his face in a way that looks deliberate, as though he's hiding from the world—or maybe just hiding from himself.

The shirt he wears is an MCR tee. The black fabric bears the logo like a badge of honour, like a secret carved into his skin. You've seen that shirt a thousand times, but it looks different on him. He wears it like a shroud, like it shields him from the world that doesn't care. The world has already eaten him alive and left nothing but the remnants of someone who used to be. His eyes are sunken, deep shadows under them, like he hasn't slept in weeks, hasn't bothered to wipe away the tracks of whatever sadness or rage he carries.

The dark streaks of make-up on his face blend into his pale skin. The way it clings to him is almost ritualistic, as though he's painted the darkness on, drawn it across his features to summon something, to become something else—something dead. It's wrong, but it's perfect. You feel an inexplicable pull toward him, an attraction you can't quite place. It's not the makeup, the dark circles or the clothes. It's the way he moves—or doesn't move. He's there, but not there. His existence seems to fade from the edges of reality.

He stares at the shelves. His gaze is unfocused. He sees something beyond the merchandise. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers brushing the air as though reaching for something just out of reach. You are certain that he is not aware of you watching him, nor does he notice the world around him. He is living in his own private hell, removed from everything, just like you.

Your pulse accelerates, a strange heat spreading through your body. You can't stop looking at him. His stillness, the haunted way he walks, the dark aura that seems to swirl around him like a storm cloud, draws you in. It's a magnetic pull. It's not just about his looks. It's darker, it's dangerous, like the gravity of a black hole. You can feel it in the air, suffocating, drawing everything toward him, sucking you in.

He picks up a chain from a nearby rack, turning it in his fingers. The links of the chain glint in the light, but he is not at all delicate. The way he handles it, casually, as if it's an afterthought, only makes him more intriguing. His lips are set in a thin, tired line, not quite a frown, not quite a smirk, but both, and it's clear he's seen too many broken things, too many things left unsaid.

The air thickens around him. You could almost reach out and touch the space where he stands, where everything about him feels alive, but it doesn't feel like he's alive—not really. His pulse is distant, like it's coming from far away, a heartbeat that's too slow, too deep, too alien to be real. You think you see him shiver, but it's gone before you can confirm it. He doesn't shiver. He doesn't feel.

But he's beautiful. There's a tragedy in him, an ache in your chest you didn't feel before he walked in. He's broken in a way that draws you in, a puzzle that you don't want to solve but can't look away from. You recognise his pain, even without the details. The emptiness in him mirrors the emptiness in you, a dark reflection of the same hollow space that never quite fills.

He turns toward the counter and sees you. His eyes meet yours—sunken and dark, like the bruises of a life lived too close to the edge. There's a fleeting glimpse of recognition in his eyes, but it's fleeting and he quickly looks away. His lips part slightly, and for a heartbeat, you're sure he's going to say something.

But he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, his gaze heavy, weighing you down like a thousand unspoken thoughts pressing against your chest. His eyes are deep pools of sorrow, but they still find a way to pierce you, to draw you closer. When he doesn't speak, you feel a pang of disappointment. But then, you realise, maybe it's better this way. The silence between you is not just a lack of words, but a shared understanding, a communication without words.

He walks up to the counter, slowly, like he's been frozen in time and is only just starting to thaw. You remain still. You are trapped in the moment, caught in the way the air seems to bend around him. His hand reaches for his wallet, pulling it out with a fluid motion, the dark leather slipping through his fingers like the night itself. You feel his presence all around you, suffocating and intoxicating, like a perfume you can't quite name.

The register dings again, but this time the noise barely cuts through the fog between you. You ring up his purchase mechanically, your hands moving on their own, but your mind is elsewhere—lost in the depth of his eyes, in the hollow of his expression, in the way he stands there, silent, waiting for something that doesn't come.

When he finally leaves, the air itself seems to shift, the space around you hollowed out in his absence. The door chimes again as he vanishes into the world, slipping away like a ghost that was never really there. You're left standing at the counter, your heart thudding in your chest, and you wonder if you'll ever see him again, or if he was just a figment of your own aching mind.

The clock ticks on, ignoring him. But you're not the same. Something inside you has shifted. The air feels heavier, charged with something you can't name. And for the first time today, you realise you've been holding your breath.

The next day is a long, dark road. The store feels the same: suffocating in its fluorescent glow, the walls closing in on you. The silence settles like dust in the corners, the shelves full of meaningless trinkets that mock your restless mind. But even in this heavy, stagnant air, there's something different.

You feel a pull, a hum in the air that you can't quite name. Your thoughts drift back to him, that boy with the long hair and the hollow stare, his presence like a spectre that lingers in the edges of your mind. You are certain that he will return today, that that strange pull will bring him back through the door, or that he was just a dream—one you couldn't wake from.

And then, the door chimes again.

It's soft at first, like a whisper in the stillness, but it's unmistakable. You turn your head, your breath catching in your chest. There he is. He's the same boy, stepping into the store like he belongs there, like he's made of the same air and shadows. His long black hair hangs over his face, but today, there's a subtle difference. His eyes aren't hidden behind his bangs. His eyes are dark and sunken, but there's something else in them now. A flicker. A spark. It's as if you can see recognition in them.

He doesn't look around like last time. He's more focused now, his gaze sweeping over the shelves with a slow intensity, as though he's searching for something only he understands. His steps are quiet, deliberate, as if he's trying to blend into the shadows, yet you can't help but notice him. He stands out in this sea of monotony, in this place full of faces that barely register.

His eyes meet yours, and the world stops for a moment. Your breath catches in your throat, the air thickening between you. His gaze is no longer hollow or distant, but searching. It's as if he's found what he was looking for.

He strides purposefully towards the counter, his steps confident and determined. He's different today. More alive. But still carrying that same weight of something unsaid. His face is pale and his dark circles under his eyes are still there, but today he has more to him. It's as if a slow-burning ember lies behind the darkness, its soft glow almost visible on closer inspection. He doesn't speak immediately, but you can feel the words hanging in the air between you.

You find yourself waiting, your heart pounding a little harder than it should. There's no reason for it. Nothing has changed, except the way your pulse quickens at the sight of him. You tell yourself to breathe, to stay focused, but your mind won't stop racing.

And then, he speaks.

It's just one word, but it cuts through the air, slicing through the tension that has built between you. "Hey," he says, his voice low and almost drowned out by the silence of the store. But his voice is there. It's real. When he says it, you can feel the weight of his gaze shift, settling on you like a weight on your chest.

"Hey," you say, your voice barely louder than his. There's a pause, and then you wait, ready for him to say something more—to ask you something, or maybe even speak the words that have been hanging between you since yesterday. But he just stands there. His hands are still at his sides, fingers curling slightly as if fighting the urge to reach out, to touch something, to feel something.

The silence that follows is strangely comforting. It's not awkward, not in the usual sense of silence. It's as if you and he are both suspended in the same moment, trapped in a world that doesn't make sense, where time moves like molasses, yet here, with him, it seems to have stopped altogether.

He picks something off the rack – a black hoodie this time – and runs his fingers over the soft fabric. His eyes never leave the clothing, but you can see the faintest trace of something darker behind them. It's as if he's trying to bury himself in the fabric, to lose himself in the soft, dark embrace of it, like it'll shield him from the world outside.

You want to ask him what brought him back, but you don't. The question feels too heavy, too intrusive. Instead, you watch him, watching the way he moves with such quiet precision, his body almost too still, like he's afraid of being seen. There's a sadness in him, one you know you could get lost in if you're not careful. You want to fall into that darkness with him, to reach out and pull him closer to you, but you stay silent.

He places the hoodie on the counter and you ring it up without a word, the soft hum of the register filling the silence. Your fingers briefly brush against his as you hand him the receipt, and for a second, it's like the world shifts just slightly, just enough for you to feel something electric pass between you. You don't know if he felt it, but you did. The tension in the air grows thicker, heavier, but you don't mind it. It feels right.

He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't need to. He just turns, his movements slow and deliberate, and walks out the door, leaving behind that same stillness, that same lingering feeling that refuses to leave. The door chime echoes in your mind long after he's gone, and you find yourself standing there, staring at the spot where he was.

He will return. When he returns, it will be different. Something is changing, something you can't control.

The days blend into each other, indistinguishable from one another, yet every time the door chimes and he steps in, everything sharpens, everything changes. He's back again, and again, and again—like a restless ghost that can't quite leave, like he's tethered to this place, or maybe to you. The days blur together in this suffocating haze, but his presence makes every second stretch out, bending the hours into something that only exists in the quiet space between you.

Each time he walks through the door, it's like a spark igniting in the air. His eyes meet yours with that same haunting stare, but this time, it's less distant, less lost. There's more now, something unspoken but understood, like an unbroken thread weaving between the two of you. The pull grows stronger with each visit, a gravitational force you can't resist.

He starts off barely saying a word, just the softest "hey" that floats through the air like a secret. But with each encounter, the silence stretches just a little less. He starts to linger, standing by the shelves for a bit longer, as if giving you time to take him in, to get used to the way he moves, the way he seems to blur the line between presence and absence.

Then, one day, it happens. He's standing near the band tees again, running his fingers over the fabric as if trying to decide which piece of darkness he'll drape over himself today. You watch him, your breath catching as you notice the subtle shifts in his demeanour—the way his shoulders relax just a fraction when he notices you looking, how his gaze lingers for a fraction longer than usual.

"Do you think… they'll ever come back?" His voice breaks through the silence, low and almost tentative, as if he's unsure whether you'll answer or not. It's a simple question, but the weight behind it makes your chest tighten. They — the bands, the ones whose shirts are hanging on the racks, their names etched in faded ink on fabric that's been worn down by years of rebellion.

You blink, not quite prepared for this small talk, but your mouth opens on its own. "Maybe," you reply. "But I think it's the kind of thing that doesn't really come back, you know? They're part of a time, and that time's already passed." You're amazed to be talking to this boy who's always seemed like a phantom, and yet, here you are, standing in the middle of this empty store, speaking about something as mundane as old band shirts.

He nods slowly, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It's so subtle that for a moment, you wonder if you imagined it, but it's there. It's just the slightest hint of something softer, something human. And then you realise: You're falling for him.

It's strange, this attraction. It's an odd sensation, this yearning you feel for him, this hunger that defies logic. It's not just about his looks, though he's undeniably attractive in that brooding, raw way that makes you want to reach out and heal him, to uncover the secrets behind those dark eyes. It's not just about the way he wears his pain, though that's part of it, too. It's the way he exists, simultaneously here and not here, an enigma you can't unravel and a mystery you don't want to solve.

He returns time and time again, and the attraction grows. It's like a fire growing inside you, stoked by each new conversation, each new visit. His eyes linger on you, his posture shifts when he speaks to you, as though you're the only one in the room that matters to him. Look at him when he thinks you're not looking. See the brief flicker of desire beneath the exhaustion, the darkness, the weariness in his expression.

The small talk continues, each encounter slightly different from the last. He talks about the weather, his favourite bands, how tired he is, how the world outside feels heavier with each passing day. In return, you offer him pieces of yourself: small, fragile fragments of who you are. You tell him about your favourite songs, the books you're reading, the slow, dull ache of working here day after day. The conversations feel effortless, as though they're not just casual exchanges, but something more – something intimate, something shared in the quiet spaces where neither of you says what you truly mean.

Sometimes, he'll come in and barely speak. He'll stand there, leaning against the counter, staring into the distance, waiting for something he can't even define. In those moments, you will find yourself standing beside him, offering him a quiet kind of company, the kind that is needed but never asked for. You don't talk; you exist next to him, and somehow, that's enough.

His presence is now an integral part of your routine, something you actively look forward to. You wait for the moment when he'll walk through the door, when the store will go still and the world will narrow to just the two of you in this small, dimly lit space. With every visit and every word exchanged, your connection deepens, pulling you both closer together like two pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit but always belong together.

You know that you're not just waiting for him anymore—you're craving him. The pull is undeniable; your heart skips when he enters the room and your breath catches when his eyes meet yours. There's no denying it now.

He's more than just a boy who comes into the store. He's become a part of your days and your thoughts. You feel like he belongs here just as much as you do. With each visit, with every word, that strange, intoxicating attraction grows deeper, more uncontainable, until you realise it will always be enough.

It's late afternoon. The dimming light outside casts long shadows into the store. The usual hum of fluorescent lights overhead is punctuated by the soft tapping of a keyboard in the back, but the store feels emptier today. It feels suspended, as though time has slowed just for you, just for him. It's one of those quiet days where you almost forget how long you've been here, how many hours have passed since you first arrived this morning. But then the door chimes, and everything shifts.

He strides in, as if the air itself revolves around him, and the room instantly takes on a weighty sense of his presence. Ronin. You don't know why that name feels like it belongs to him, but it does. His long hair falls in its usual curtain, but today, there's a hint of something new in his demeanour—a slight looseness to his posture, like he's letting go of whatever invisible weight he's been carrying around for so long.

He glances around, his eyes flicking over the racks, but always find their way back to you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is familiar, but different today. There's something more to it, as if it's begging to be said. His gaze is a little softer than usual, like he's waiting for something.

You smile at him, your smile small and uncertain, and your pulse starts to race. He notices. His lips quirk slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to show that he sees you, sees the way your body tenses just slightly when his eyes meet yours. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice solid and real.

"Ronin," he says, and the name is like a breath, sharp and heavy, almost foreign on his lips but somehow fitting, like he's just stepped out of the shadows and into the light for the first time. He says it quietly, but there's something almost final about it, like he's been carrying that name around for longer than you can imagine, like it's been locked away inside of him, and now, he's giving it to you. Ronin. The name hangs between you like a promise, like a key to something deeper.

You blink, and the weight of it hits you. Ronin. You repeat the name in your head, letting it settle there, trying to hold onto it, trying to make sense of why it feels so important. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get caught in your throat for a moment, and the air seems to thicken around you, thick with everything unsaid, everything that's building between you.

"Ronin," you repeat, testing it out, and as you say it, you watch his face carefully. His eyes flicker, a brief, imperceptible softening, a pulling back just a little. It's a subtle change, but it's undeniable. You are compelled to explore the nature of this phenomenon.

"That's... that's your name?" You don't know why you feel the need to ask, but the question slips out before you can stop it. You feel like you're stepping into unknown territory, like you're treading carefully on the edge of something that could break open if you push too hard.

He nods, his expression unreadable, but there's a clear sense of melancholy in his demeanour. His name and identity have clearly been a burden for him to bear, something he hasn't figured out how to untangle. "Yeah," he says, his voice quieter this time, more drawn out. "I guess I never really got to tell you, did I?"

There's a flicker in his eyes—regret, maybe, or exhaustion, or both. You want to ask him more about the name, about him, but you don't. Instead, you simply nod, acknowledging the trust he's given you, this small piece of him he's just handed over.

"Nice to finally know," you say, and there's a strange feeling behind those words—like you're stepping into something much deeper than a simple conversation, like this moment is the start of something neither of you quite understands yet.

Ronin doesn't say anything, but the way he looks at you changes slightly. The air between you is no longer just heavy with silence, but with something else — something unspoken. His gaze is deeper now, revealing something personal and raw. By telling you his name, he's invited you into a part of him he's kept hidden for so long.

He stands a little taller, but his gaze never leaves yours. "I didn't think you'd even care," he says, his voice low and almost a murmur, as if the confession itself is more vulnerable than anything else he could say. "But I guess... I don't know. I guess I wanted you to know." The words hang in the air between you, fragile, as if they're teetering on the edge of something bigger, something more.

Your heart beats faster now, not just from the tension in the room, but from the way the world seems to have narrowed down to just him and you, standing here, in this moment. The store feels farther away, as though the walls have blurred into the background, leaving only his name, his presence, his eyes locked with yours.

"I care," you say firmly, not giving it much thought, the truth just flowing out of you, quiet but certain. You don't know why those words come so easily, why it feels right to say them. But it does. When you say them, you can see him relax just a little bit; the tension in his shoulders eases for the first time since he walked in.

For a long moment, there's only the quiet between you, but it's no longer uncomfortable. It's not empty. It's full of possibilities, full of questions and answers waiting to be uncovered. You both stand there, the silence not oppressive but expectant, and you realise, with a sinking certainty, that this moment, this exchange, is just the beginning of something neither of you can run from.

The door chimes and you snap back to reality. He leaves, the soft click of his boots against the floor marking the end of another visit. But before he leaves, he nods slightly, and for the first time, you see the faintest, most genuine smile curl at the corners of his lips.

"See you," he says, his voice low and unambiguous. It is an invitation, a promise that you will meet again.

And with that, he's gone, leaving only the lingering echo of his name hanging in the air, a name you now own, a name that feels like it belongs to you as much as it belongs to him.

The days stretch and unfold, as if the store itself has become part of some slow-moving dream. Ronin keeps coming back, and with every visit, something shifts. At first, it was just the smallest exchanges – barely more than a nod or a quick word about a band, or a flicker of something darker, something deeper in his gaze that made your heart flutter. Now, as the days blur into one another, the distance between you both seems to shrink. Every time he steps into the store, the walls close in, making it just the two of you, standing in this strange, suspended space.

His visits have a rhythm of their own. He doesn't come in every day, but when he does, it's as if the world slows down for a few moments, the time around you bending to accommodate his presence. He lingers longer now, his eyes scanning the shelves but always coming back to you. The silence between you has softened; it is no longer filled with tension, but with a quiet kind of understanding.

It starts with small talk—casual, throwaway comments that don't mean much. But the way he says them, the way he lets his guard down just a little more each time, makes you feel like you're inching closer to something important. One day, he comes in and starts talking about a new album he's been listening to. The conversation is simple at first, just the usual banter—"Have you heard it? It's pretty good. You'd probably like it." But then, his voice drops just a little, like he's letting you in on a secret, and you find yourself leaning in to listen more closely.

"Yeah, I get that it's not everyone's thing," he says, his voice almost a whisper, "but there's something about it... It makes me feel less alone, you know?"

You nod, the words resonating with you. You don't need to explain it—he already understands, like he knows exactly what you mean. It's strange, this quiet bond growing between you, something unsaid but so obvious that it almost feels like an echo of your own thoughts.

The next time he comes in, it's the same—more small talk, more shared silence between the lines of conversation. But there's something different this time. There's a charge in the way he looks at you and the way his words hover between you. It's as if there's more he's not saying.

"Do you get off soon?" he asks one afternoon, his voice soft but laced with curiosity. It's the first time he's ever asked anything like that—something personal, something that makes you feel like maybe he's starting to see you as more than just a face behind the counter.

"Yeah, in about an hour," you answer, the words almost sounding foreign on your tongue. You hadn't realised how much you were looking forward to answering that question until the words left your lips. His question carries weight, his manner inviting you to share more.

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then tilts his head slightly, as if weighing something. There's a pause, a quiet heartbeat of time, before he speaks again. "Let's grab coffee," he says, his voice tentative. He's unsure how you'll react, afraid of pushing too far.

Your heart stutters in your chest, your mind racing. You want to say yes, you want to reach out and accept his offer, but the words get stuck somewhere between your throat and your lips. You feel a strange pull between you, a growing desire to get closer to him, and yet the fear of what that might mean keeps you frozen in place.

Ronin doesn't wait. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, his fingers brushing against something hidden there. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's giving you time to catch up, to process. He pulls out his phone and for a moment, the world narrows to this one simple action. He unlocks it, then turns it toward you, the screen glowing with his number ready and waiting.

"I don't know," he says confidently, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I'll give you my number. That way you don't have to think about it." His voice is quiet, but steady, offering you the chance to decide without pressure or expectation.

You stare at the screen, unsure, your heart pounding, and then you look up at him and see it—the faintest glimmer of something in his eyes, something vulnerable but also confident. He's waiting.

Everything else fades away for just a second. The racks of clothing, the constant hum of the store, the people who pass by without ever noticing you—it all disappears. At this moment, he is the only thing that matters. He is standing in front of you, offering you a piece of himself. You can feel your breath catch in your throat. Everything feels like it's hanging by a thread.

Without hesitation, you seize his phone, your fingers barely grazing his. The moment is suspended in the quiet space between you. You type your number in quickly, almost clumsily, and when you hand the phone back to him, you both know it's more than just numbers being exchanged. It's a door opening just a crack, but enough to let something new, something unspoken, begin to grow.

"I'll text you," you say, and the words feel strange, almost too forward, but they're real. You both know they are.

Ronin looks at you, his eyes softening just a little. There's a flicker of hope, or maybe just curiosity, in the way he gazes at you. "Good," he replies, voice steady, but there's something unspoken in the way he says it, something that feels like the beginning of something neither of you can control.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and nods slowly, almost imperceptibly. "See you later," he says, and this time, it doesn't feel like goodbye. It feels like the start of something new.

As he walks out, you can feel it – the shift, the undeniable change in the air. You're not sure where this is going, but you know, deep down, that this is just the beginning.

The coffee date is unforgettable; its warmth lingers long after it's over, and the cold night air is no match for its radiant warmth. The café was small and intimate, making the world outside feel distant and irrelevant. The conversations flowed easily, as if you had always known each other, as though the silences between words didn't matter, because the space between you was filled with something unspoken, something electric. You talked about music, life, those spaces that neither of you could quite fill, and in those exchanges, you felt more connected than you ever thought possible.

As the evening wound to a close and the last sip of coffee warmed you from the inside out, you both knew it wasn't really the end. Not yet. The night was still young, and Ronin wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere.

"I'll walk you home," he says, his voice low and casual, but there's something underneath it—an invitation that carries more weight than the words themselves.

You don't hesitate, nodding immediately. The air between you electric with anticipation. You are acutely aware of him, his presence filling the space around you, drawing you in without a word or touch. It's just him – Ronin, with his worn MCR shirt, his long, unruly hair, his steady gaze – and you, both moving through the darkening streets like two souls tethered together by something neither of you can fully explain.

The walk is quiet at first. The world seems to be holding its breath, watching the two of you, waiting for something to happen. The only sounds are the crunch of your footsteps on the pavement, the distant hum of cars, and the occasional rustle of the wind. Ronin glances at you, his eyes meeting yours, and there's a quiet understanding between you—a recognition that tonight is different, that something is shifting, something that neither of you can stop.

You walk in step with each other, neither of you rushing or eager to break the silence, because in this quiet, something feels more real than anything else. His presence is close, his hand just a hair's breadth away from yours, and every movement feels amplified, as if the world has shrunk down to this moment.

As you approach your building, the streets become darker, the lights of the city receding into the distance, yet the warmth of his proximity propels you forward. When you finally reach the corner by your building, you stop, and so does he. The air between you both is charged, the tension that's been building between you since the moment you met is palpable. It's as if everything has led up to this precise moment. His eyes search yours, his breath catches, his lips part as if he's about to say something, but he doesn't.

Instead, he steps closer, closing the distance until he's standing just a breath away. His gaze flickers down to your lips, and you feel the pull of it, the magnetic force drawing you in closer. It's as if the rest of the world disappears, leaving just him and this moment.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice soft and almost a whisper, as if he's afraid of pushing too far, afraid of scaring you off. The way he asks the question is strange. There's no force in it, no urgency. It's just a gentle curiosity, as if he's asking for permission to cross an invisible line between you.

You hesitate, your heart beating faster. You could say no, you could pull away, but you don't. Something in you, the part of you that's been quietly aching for him, wants to feel the weight of his lips against yours, wants to know what that spark between you feels like when it ignites. You feel a tension in your chest, almost unbearable, and when you look up at him again, his eyes are full of raw, open emotion that you can't refuse.

Instead, you answer him with the smallest, most uncertain nod.

And that's all he needs.

He moves in slowly, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm against your skin. His breath brushes over your lips, and for a moment, the entire world seems to still. You can feel his pulse, feel his heart racing in sync with your own, and then, without another word, his lips finally meet yours.

It's soft at first, tentative, as if he's waiting for you to pull back, to change your mind, but when you don't, when you lean into him just a little, the kiss deepens. It's slow and deliberate, as if he's savoring every moment and your connection. His lips are warm, his breath mingling with yours, and you can taste the remnants of coffee on his mouth, the bitterness now mixed with something sweeter.

The world narrows to just the two of you, standing on the edge of your building, lost in this kiss. You feel your heart race, feel the heat spreading through your chest, down to your fingertips, as if the entire universe has condensed into this one, perfect moment. His hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself fall into it, into him.

When he pulls away, it's slow, his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You remain silent, standing close together, as if you don't know how to move or break the spell.

"That was...," you begin, but the words trail off. You are unsure of what to say, unsure of what any of it means.

"Yeah," Ronin says confidently, his voice low and rough, "It was." He doesn't say more, the unspoken understanding between you two clear in the air. He doesn't pull away immediately, and neither do you. You stay there, like time has stopped, holding onto this fragile, beautiful moment.

Then, he leans back, his fingers brushing your hand one last time, his eyes lingering on yours with something unreadable, something soft. "Goodnight, [Your Name]," he says, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Goodnight," you reply, though you're not sure how you're still standing, how you haven't melted into him completely. You do, your feet feeling almost unsteady as he steps back, slowly disappearing into the night, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, lips tingling with the taste of him.

The door to your building looms ahead, but you don't move. You stand, the echo of his kiss still humming through you, knowing that everything has changed. This wasn't just a kiss. It was a promise. A beginning.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Rod Emmerson:: @rodemmerson on Donald Trump’s deployment of the national guard in LA – political cartoon gallery in London http://original-political-cartoon.com

* * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 10, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Jun 11, 2025

Today President Donald J. Trump made it clear that the provocations he and his administration are escalating in Los Angeles and now elsewhere are using the issue of immigration to suppress dissent entirely.

In the Oval Office today, Trump said of the military parade scheduled for this Saturday: “If there’s any protester wants to come out, they will be met with very big force…. For those people that want to protest, they’re going to be met with very big force.”

His statement comes after the administration instituted aggressive immigration sweeps in Los Angeles during which Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) met the few hundred protesters with violence.

Then, over the protests of both Los Angeles mayor Karen Bass and California governor Gavin Newsom, Trump federalized 4,000 members of California’s National Guard and ordered 700 Marines to Los Angeles. He and his advisors have repeatedly threatened to arrest anyone who does not cooperate with ICE, including Mayor Bass and Governor Newsom.

Trump has said he based his decision to federalize the National Guard on his insistence that Los Angeles is staggering under violent riots, but in fact the protests are largely peaceful and local officials maintain they can handle the situation.

Still, Trump described Los Angeles as “invaded and occupied by Illegal Aliens and Criminals,” and said “violent insurrectionist mobs are swarming and attacking our Federal Agents to try and stop our deportation operations.” Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem called Los Angeles a “city of criminals,” and other MAGA lawmakers have gotten into the act. Will Sommer of The Bulwark pointed out today that MAGA influencers are also pushing for more crackdowns and more cruelty in a feedback loop as they and White House officials push each other toward more and more cruelty toward immigrants.

But the narrative that L.A. is under siege is hard to make stick. Protesters have been filming the bands playing and people dancing at the protests, which remain small. They have also filmed the ICE agents shooting less-lethal bullets at individuals, including an Australian journalist who was speaking to a camera when she was shot from behind. The complaint against SEIU leader David Huerta, who has been charged with conspiring to impede an officer, says that he walked and sat on a public sidewalk in such a way that he blocked an ICE van before an officer pushed him to the ground and arrested him.

Economist Paul Krugman notes that “Los Angeles right now is probably as safe as it has ever been,” and Newsom has been meeting the claims of MAGA politicians that the city is a hellscape with actual statistics showing that California is safer than their own states. He reminded Oklahoma senator Markwayne Mullin that Oklahoma’s murder rate is 40% higher than California’s and, after Alabama senator Tommy Tuberville called for Newsom to be arrested, retorted: “Alabama has 3X the homicide rate of California. Its murder rate is ranked third in the entire country. Stick to football, bro.”

As Maria Sacchetti of the Washington Post noted today, California recently became the fourth largest economy in the world. It has the highest number of immigrants in the country—although many have moved in the past few years to more affordable states—and unemployment numbers are close to the national average.

But Trump has always managed his public affairs by projecting dominance in a fake world; his political instincts for keeping attention on himself have been compared to the kayfabe of professional wrestling.

This afternoon he upped the ante again. In a speech at the Army base at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, Trump delivered a fiercely partisan speech that sounded like it was written by White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller. In front of a crowd of enlisted personnel who journalist Jane Coaston reported had been carefully selected to be Trump supporters and “to be fit and not look fat,” Trump claimed the U.S. was under a “foreign invasion” because of “stupid people or radical Left people or sick people.” He goaded the personnel into booing Newsom and Bass.

Since the days of George Washington, the American armed forces have been strictly nonpartisan, declaring their allegiance to the U.S. Constitution itself rather than to any leader.

Simon Rosenberg of Hopium Chronicles noted that Trump is “turning the world’s powerful military away from its focus on Russia and China toward a new enemy—the American people themselves.” He mused: “I’ve been saying that I felt Trump’s dramatic escalation in recent days was driven in part by Musk’s emasculation of him last week. I also wonder whether it’s being driven by Zelensky’s profound humiliation of Putin, and Putin lashing out at Trump for not delivering Ukraine to him.”

Steven Lee Myers of the New York Times reported today that right-wing bots, trolls, conspiracy theorists, and MAGA influencers are flooding social media with messages designed to attack immigrants and Democrats and defend Trump. Many of those accounts are linked to Russia and Russian disinformation.

It certainly feels as if administration officials are going for broke in ways that benefit Russia. Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard today released a video warning that the world is close to a nuclear war caused by a political elite that expects it can survive one in special bunkers. Gabbard has a history of parroting Russian propaganda, and famously, Russian president Vladimir Putin has used the threat of nuclear war to press his demands against Ukraine.

A YouGov poll out today shows that only 34% of American adults approve of Trump’s deployment of Marines to the Los Angeles area to respond to protests over the enforcement of immigration laws while 47% do not approve. Only 38% of American adults approve of Trump’s deployment of National Guard soldiers to L.A., while 45% disapprove. A strong majority—56%—of Americans think state and local officials should take the lead in responding to the L.A. protests, while only 25% think the federal government should.

Strikingly, 50% of adults disapprove of the administration's handling of deportations, while only 39% approve.

Those numbers were gathered before Pentagon comptroller Bryn MacDonnell told the House Defense Appropriations Committee today that the Pentagon estimates the cost of federalizing the National Guard and deploying the Marines to Los Angeles at $134 million.

Today the Department of Justice announced it was indicting Representative LaMonica McIver (D-NJ) on three counts of “forcibly impeding and interfering with federal law enforcement officers” after a May 19 event in front of a Newark, New Jersey, ICE detention center. McIver was at the detention center with others as part of her oversight responsibilities, and a video shows her being jostled with a crowd that includes an ICE officer, but no one breaks stride. McIver called the charges “a brazen attempt at political intimidation.”

Tonight Governor Newsom delivered a prime-time address about the events of the past few days. He outlined the story of the ICE raids and Trump’s escalation of conflict. He urged protesters to exercise their First Amendment rights peacefully and warned that anyone participating in violence would be held accountable.

Then the governor launched into a wholesale condemnation of the Trump regime. He warned that “[i]f some of us can be snatched off the streets without a warrant, based only on suspicion or skin color, then none of us are safe. Authoritarian regimes begin by targeting people who are least able to defend themselves. But they do not stop there.”

Newsom called Trump out for firing the government watchdogs that could hold him accountable for fraud, and for declaring war “on culture, on history, on science, on knowledge itself. Databases quite literally are vanishing. He’s delegitimizing news organizations and he’s assaulting the First Amendment…. [H]e’s dictating what universities themselves can teach. He’s targeting law firms and the judicial branch that are the foundations of an orderly and civil society. He’s calling for a sitting governor to be arrested for no other reason than…, in his own words, ‘for getting elected.’”

“[T]his isn’t just about protests here in Los Angeles,” Newsom said. “When Donald Trump sought blanket authority to commandeer the National Guard, he made that order apply to every state in this nation. This is about all of us. This is about you. California may be first, but it clearly will not end here. Other states are next.”

“Democracy is under assault right before our eyes,” Newsom said. “This moment we have feared has arrived. He’s taking a wrecking ball…to our founding fathers’ historic project: three coequal branches of independent government.”

Newsom urged Americans to stand up for the country. “I know many of you are feeling deep anxiety, stress, and fear,” he said. “But I want you to know that you are the antidote to that fear and that anxiety. What Donald Trump wants most is your fealty, your silence, to be complicit in this moment,” Newsom said.

“Do not give in to him.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON