#Loss Run Processing Services

[sourcethrive]

SourceThrive is one of the leading document retrieval companies specializing in comprehensive outsourcing solutions for insurance agencies, brokers, and carriers. Their services include claims management and document retrieval, ensuring compliance and enhancing operational efficiency.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

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/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[searchingforserendipity25]

like.

lawrence's thing about being clocked by the old pope as a manager and not a shepherd, about being taken as inoffensive and unambitious and politically-unmotivated by most anyone at the beginning of the conclave. is that.

okay, he's a manager, he's the backstage admin making sure the curia goes on, he's a paper pusher. but you can't convince me this guy didn't paper push a whole lot of insane papers.

you don't end up with a reputation for dogged integrity, easily forgotten influence and selfless reliability as the second most influential person in the vatican like that by being boring or normal. or at least boring in a normal way.

innocent xiv in his second first day of office being given the super secret cardinal cvs and nodding along to everything, with a few surprises. until he gets to t. lawrence, dean of the college. and it's just. this gigantic fold out of stapled documents that goes over his knees and keeps unrolling on the floor.

he's merely a manager, alright. it's just that he's been managing literally everything, step by step, all the way up the ladder.

this man could bring down the church in half an hour w a few phone calls. this man could bring down several establishments, and it is not entirely clear, reading between the lines, that he hasn't, indirectly, unveiled a number of scandals in his time.

and it's not that lawrence thinks of himself as a bona fide politician, as anyone influential. it's not that he seeks out power, exactly, that he hunts down corruption on purpose. he's not a detective; he's not a cynic.

it's just that he is competent. that's his calling, in a sense; it has been his calling, to be competent for god, in god's service.

he is very, very, very good at his job, which has, from what the paperwork relies, been that of middle-upper management everywhere he has ever been, from his catholic youth scouting group days, to his seminary years, to canon law teaching, to bishorship, and beyond.

his loss of faith is threatening enough, at the start of the movie, that he has come to a point where he wants to leave his work. he cannot do, without faith, because it is his faith. without prayer to guide him, how can he possible do it?

everything that happens during the conclave is like a nightmare build custom made for him. the culmination of a career built on the foundations of pretending to himself he is keeping well out any undue influence to correct procedure, while in fact determining what correct procedure should look like.

there is a difference, a fine difference, between making sure events and places and concepts as vague and complex as the bride of christ run smoothly; and then there is infighting, which is petty, and political, and not any of his business.

any accountability review process will simply have to wait, and ideally be someone else's responsibility. there's a time and there's a place, and lawrence has lived his life very much keeping to his own time and place.

this determination, as it happens, does not last very long. lawrence has live his life keeping to his time, and place, and that is, unfortunately for his peace of mind, wherever and whenever there is something wrong with the machinal workings of the responsibility in his charge.

the cognitive dissonance + all revealed secrets + the continued choice to take part in the world of politics is at last strong enough to unbalance his belief in his own mediocrity. which had, while being a decisive part of his sense of self, also been chocking him w resentment a bit.

turns out, he is as able of holding a desire as anyone else, just because he refuses to hold to an agenda beyond his obligations.

he is neither beneath nor above; being discreet about the power he holds does not make it any less real, or any less his responsibility to wield it openly to break tradition and make sure there is a structure. checks and balances. that what is rotten is not hidden beneath gilt, that the bride of christ is not cheated or lied to.

that the living principles they swear to are upheld in truth and not just in ideal, that the weaknesses of men in power are admitted. and that includes his own ambitions, his own hypocrisies and human frailties.

he is, after all, a manager. this work is what he is for.

it is possible he is dealing with this growing self-awareness received via exploding sistine chapel to the face with some grace. possible! perhaps not likely.

what is clear, to innocent, is that the church as it stands has been quietly, diligently, unassumingly managed over the decades into the shape of what thomas lawrence's church ought to be. in the image of his integrity, the mark his service leaves behind. no one has noticed; it is possible his predecessor made sure no one noticed.

the late holy father, it has to be said, was quite fond of his secret weapons hidden in plain sight.

a more suspicious man would think that the fact that he went underestimated for so long was part of a deliberate farce.

but no. he's not a great tactical genius, he's just like that. t. lawrence, there it is on paper. through the years, a whole bursting folder of different grains and colours of cheap office paper, a long scroll of good works, of work as faith, all the way to cardinal-dean of the college of cardinals. and now?

and now he's innocent's extremely competent manager to manage, and it is not entirely clear how well the curia might hold on, without him. possibly it might not.

no pressure tho. it's not like he's asked to retire before or anything.

his scouts group is recorded as having organized a fully-functioning food kitchen during his administration, btw. it's still open, and funded by the dean of the college of cardinals. if you even care. innocent cares so much.

[beemynumberone]

Pictures from Pinterest.

Oh no, he’s hot

→ Kindergarten teacher assistant!Reader x older brother of a student (it’s Taeyong)

→ heart-warming fluff, as the title suggests

→ inspired by an event that occured last week (yes, took me some time to process it; no, I don’t think it meant anything for either of us hopefully)

-> also inspired by the Taeyong pictures at military service :D

word count: ~592 words

—-

Nat was a sweet, intelligent girl in your assigned class who could be quite mischievous. She was precocious for her age - probably due to growing up around adults since young. Her boba eyes could melt even the head teacher’s frost-like temperament.

She did the same three things every morning when she arrived:

Firstly, arm wrestle (you let her win every time, to her dismay, so it was a win win situation - you didn’t become a statistic of her losses and she was technically the winner).

Secondly, check your ear lobes to see if you had put on new earrings, remarking if you changed and if you didn’t.

And last but not least; ask, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.” “Why not?”

(You felt guys your age were too… immature? Undeveloped? In both brains and brawn, you suppose. A wise woman at the fish market once told you to wait till a guy had finished his military service before even considering to date him. You believe wholeheartedly in that after going through a high school relationship that left you traumatised for the foreseeable future.)

---

Nat waves goodbye to you with one hand, the other clinging onto her brother’s. Who is currently trying, with surgical precision, to manoeuvre her bag over to his arm without disrupting her waving.

“Nat’s brother is really good-looking, isn’t he?” The teachers gush in hushed tones near the cubby holes. You squeeze past them to get your bag.

You've never thought much about him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes. His style, immaculate. You’re sure he’ll never need to go through the relationship phase of needing his girlfriend to pick out clothes for him.

---

Nat talks about her brother constantly. Despite the large age gap, it seems that Nat adores him. Shows you his baby photos that she’d snuck into her books for safekeeping.

He’s off at army, she says. Comes back for the weekends to stay with the family.

It’s fun with him around because she usually doesn’t see him, ever, even on the weekends. You nod along sympathetically, picturing this lean guy you’d seen on brand advertisements or the occasional fancam appearing on your fyp. In a baggy shirt, bucket hat on his head when picking Nat up from school.

---

Then one fine day, you mistake him for a stranger. You blame his muscular back, and the fact that you’ve never seen him wear such… fitting clothes before.

You’re entering a mall to run errands when the person in front holds the door for you.You thank said person in your “public voice” - that kind which warrants a response, like a nod or a “you’re welcome”.

The person turns to face you, still holding the door, and you two make eye contact. It takes you a hot second to recognise him — Nat’s brother.

As if you hadn’t stared enough for the both of you, he looks, really looks at you.

Time stands still. Your heart thunders in your chest.

What is happening.

Those eyes. Sucked you right in.

And cut! You can almost hear someone shouting. Taeyong drops his gaze from yours and smiles softly.

He rushes ahead of you, rejoining his sister and mother who are browsing the menu of a restaurant further away.

You’re screwed, really screwed.

He really should’ve kept his eyes to himself.

—

If you want this fic to have a continuation, please select your preference here. Thanks!!

[sinsofnivan]

ani x reader smut

can't stop, won't stop. — Anakin Skywalker x YOU — SMUT!

SUMMARY: anakin just loves spoiling you rotten, buying you the things you want, giving you the things you want, and giving you all the pleasure you craved for.

all of it.

PAIRING: ANAKIN SKYWALKER/you.

WARNINGS: porn without plot, fingering, inappropriate use of the force, dirty talking, overstimulation, forced orgasms, save me service dom anakin, established relationship, au where the jedi council isn't really that strict yk.

WORD COUNT: 855

A/N: i can only think of one person that's name ani and that's my pookie wookie anakin skywalker. if that's not him, idrk who you mean . . . crossposted on my AO3.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

your cunt squelched ridiculously loud as anakin slipped his fingers in and out of your slit, his digits coated with your addictive essence. you laid on top of your boyfriend, back resting on his chest, and your body secured in place by his metal hand; squeezing and toying with one of your nipples. "ani," you squirmed, and anakin only shushed you as he licked and gently nipped on your cheek. "shh, baby," your body writhed, back arching beautifully—and anakin wished he could see it from above. 

"you don't want obi-wan to hear you, do you?" anakin whispered in your ear, a tongue tantalizingly running over the delicate shell. "or maybe you do . . let everyone in here know that you're mine," his laugh rings in your ear, and you gasped when you feel a thumb run over your soaked clit. "you like that, baby? you're clenching around my fingers so tight," before you could even say anything else, his fingers began to pump into you in an ungodly pace—and you had to slap a hand over your drooly mouth to keep the noises at a minimum. 

the tips of his fingers kept hitting in all the right places, curved upward to keep grazing against that spongy nub that made your eyes cross. a cold, familiar sensation circled around your clit, but it's not his fingers, no—you knew his fingers better than that—and you can only assume it's him using the force on you. the hand on your mouth is useless because you squealed when you feel your clit being gently pulled and pinched. "anii . . ani—! stars, oh my stars," 

"yeah? y'feel good?" you could only nod, mind only focusing on this bliss he could give you. "it feels good—love it when you fingers fuck me!" you babbled. "i don't believe you. if you really felt good—," you feel a suckling sensation on your clit, and you're left stupefied and slack-jawed. "if you really felt good, you're gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over my fingers," "but i'm not—'m not close yet," "oh, but you are,"  he cooed, doubling the intensity on your clit. "you are, baby. don't you feel that?" 

and you were at a loss for words.

coherence forgone, all you could do was stammer anakin's name. you hadn't even noticed he moves beneath you, making you wrap an arm around him as he captured your lips. it was sloppy—your tongue only languidly glissading over his. it's messy, and anakin did most of the work, but he's not complaining. he loved you like this. "come on, baby. don't you feel good? do you want me to stop?" he won't stop, of course not, but he wanted to hear how much you needed him. it always made his cock twitch under those restricting undergarments.

"nooo . . no p , please,"

there it was. his precious girl. "then you're going to cum for me, baby. you know y'wanna," another curl of his fingers against your sensitive spot makes you wail and sob, your orgasm spraying everywhere all over his hand. "theeere you go . . " anakin had his eyes affixed to your pussy—how his knuckles were glimmering with your essence, and how your cunt gushed with every slide in of his fingers. "there we go uh-huh. that's it," he kissed your temple, encouragement whispered into your ears—though, you haven't processed his words yet. and he didn't stop there, no. 

he would purposefully slide his fingers slowly, and shoving them back in swiftly and forcefully, coaxing small fountains from you. 

and you? 

you were a drooling mess—eyes barely open and only whining when anakin was riding your orgasm out with his teasing fingers. "i knew you could do it, baby." he purred, capturing your lips once. "what do you say?" "th , thank yo—♡?!" your words were abruptly cut off, his fingers began to fuck into you again, with your squirt making it easier for him to reach the deepest parts of you; the sucking sensation back on your clit—and more intense than ever. your eyes were wide, legs beginning to quiver from overstimulation, but you could feel phantom hands keep your legs spread. "a , anii—♡! m, my cunt—!"

your moans echoed around the room now, and probably outside those thin walls. he didn't care if passersby or obi-wan or whoever the fuck else heard anymore. "yeah? what's wrong with your cunt, baby? c'moon, tell me." "cunt's feelin' s, sensitive—oh my stars,♡!" "aaw, you poor thing . . . think y'just need to cum, Y/N." that thumb brushing over your clit is not a coincidence, and a grin quirks up on his lips when you screamed his name, your body doing as he says and cumming hard.

his pace doesn't stop this time, and your pussy ached with oversensitivity—and anakin could see it from how your hips bucked, trying to writhe away from his merciless fingers. "do you want me to stop, darling? want these fingers to leave your cunt empty and cold?" and oh, you precious thing. anakin couldn't stop himself from chuckling as he watched you hesitate, and then shake your head. 

"that's what i thought . . give me a kiss, baby," 

end.

A/N: i will make a part two of this, but i just want to let people know that i accept requests! <3 thank you for reading!

[reasonsforhope]

"The Netherlands is pulling even further ahead of its peers in the shift to a recycling-driven circular economy, new data shows.

According to the European Commission’s statistics office, 27.5% of the material resources used in the country come from recycled waste.

For context, Belgium is a distant second, with a “circularity rate” of 22.2%, while the EU average is 11.5% – a mere 0.8 percentage point increase from 2010.

“We are a frontrunner, but we have a very long way to go still, and we’re fully aware of that,” Martijn Tak, a policy advisor in the Dutch ministry of infrastructure and water management, tells The Progress Playbook. 

The Netherlands aims to halve the use of primary abiotic raw materials by 2030 and run the economy entirely on recycled materials by 2050. Amsterdam, a pioneer of the “doughnut economics” concept, is behind much of the progress.

Why it matters

The world produces some 2 billion tonnes of municipal solid waste each year, and this could rise to 3.4 billion tonnes annually by 2050, according to the World Bank.

Landfills are already a major contributor to planet-heating greenhouse gases, and discarded trash takes a heavy toll on both biodiversity and human health.

“A circular economy is not the goal itself,” Tak says. “It’s a solution for societal issues like climate change, biodiversity loss, environmental pollution, and resource-security for the country.”

A fresh approach

While the Netherlands initially focused primarily on waste management, “we realised years ago that’s not good enough for a circular economy.”

In 2017, the state signed a “raw materials agreement” with municipalities, manufacturers, trade unions and environmental organisations to collaborate more closely on circular economy projects.

It followed that up with a national implementation programme, and in early 2023, published a roadmap to 2030, which includes specific targets for product groups like furniture and textiles. An English version was produced so that policymakers in other markets could learn from the Netherlands’ experiences, Tak says.

The programme is focused on reducing the volume of materials used throughout the economy partly by enhancing efficiencies, substituting raw materials for bio-based and recycled ones, extending the lifetimes of products wherever possible, and recycling.

It also aims to factor environmental damage into product prices, require a certain percentage of second-hand materials in the manufacturing process, and promote design methods that extend the lifetimes of products by making them easier to repair.

There’s also an element of subsidisation, including funding for “circular craft centres and repair cafés”.

This idea is already in play. In Amsterdam, a repair centre run by refugees, and backed by the city and outdoor clothing brand Patagonia, is helping big brands breathe new life into old clothes.

Meanwhile, government ministries aim to aid progress by prioritising the procurement of recycled or recyclable electrical equipment and construction materials, for instance.

State support is critical to levelling the playing field, analysts say...

Long Road Ahead

The government also wants manufacturers – including clothing and beverages companies – to take full responsibility for products discarded by consumers.

“Producer responsibility for textiles is already in place, but it’s work in progress to fully implement it,” Tak says.

And the household waste collection process remains a challenge considering that small city apartments aren’t conducive to having multiple bins, and sparsely populated rural areas are tougher to service.

“Getting the collection system right is a challenge, but again, it’s work in progress.”

...Nevertheless, Tak says wealthy countries should be leading the way towards a fully circular economy as they’re historically the biggest consumers of natural resources."

-via The Progress Playbook, December 13, 2023

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter four}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of your explosive interaction with Joel, you decide to get some space. He finds out in the middle of helping Ellie with something by the way of your mother bringing by a set of keys for him. Will he make it to the airport in time to tell you how sorry he is?

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, reader is depicted to have a manic anxiety attack, reader is terrified of flying, use of prescription drugs to sooth anxiety, airport rush scene bc come oooooon lol, masturbation (male), i think that's it!

A/N: so i'm moving forward with stuff to prepare for a hip surgery. it's been a long journey of just managing the pain and finally finding an answer to eradicating it. unfortunately, my insurance will not be covering the testing that determines if i'm a good candidate, so that will require me to pick up a few extra shifts. i've linked my kofi if anyone is feeling generous but there is no pressure or need to. dropping this and running to get back to school work, love y'all!

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The first deposit approval is staring you in the face. The payroll website that you use for your assistant and will be using for your own business once it’s all finalized and ready to operate is the only window open on your laptop.

Joel Miller – pending approval

It’s in bold since you haven’t pressed any buttons, any options. Because honestly? You’re at a loss as to what to do. You haven’t heard from the man since he all but berated you nearly a week ago. And the truth is that he had scared you when he did it. The way the whites of his eyes were visible in the faint light coming off of the streetlamps, the way he had raised his voice in almost a growl of frustration, the sheer size of him as he stalked into the house behind you.

Even if you knew, deep down in your very soul- he wouldn’t do anything to physically hurt you.

With a puff of your cheeks, you press a finger pad to the keyboard and press process deposit.

Sighing out your held breath, you move away from the laptop settled atop the desk and continue packing. Joel isn’t the only one going out of town, you reached out to a friend in California to go and work a guest spot at the independent shop they were opening. A break, a little breather to get out of a house all to yourself that you needed work done on to truly make the space yours.

You were too…everything right now to reach out to the man who you just paid to be in your services.

But you didn’t want to bother him, to agitate him, to make him feel any pressure about deciding what to do. Giving him the space and chance to make up his mind was both the polite and professional thing to do in this situation. That’s the comfort you told yourself in regards to your decision on how to handle the circumstances you found yourself in.

You’ve already taken his words and dissected them, going over them with your therapist. And she was right, he was reacting to the combination of outdated information and something from his own life. You want to forgive him, to move past it but it was going to take time, you know that. So you give him the space you know he needs, that you need to. As long as he apologizes, you know your heart will soften through the residual hurt and anger that you’ve already begun to work through.

Joel is staring at the dark screen of the new phone you sent. He’s plugged it in, the little charging symbol flashing at him before it disappears. He’s waiting now, for it to turn on. The code to synch up your schedule onto his calendar on a post it note alongside the password and username combination for him to long into the bank app to see the available funds on the work card you gave him with the contract. He hadn’t used it yet, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the dollars and cents.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, when he see’s the bold words that spell out a phone call you’ve blocked off an entire hour for:

Case Attorney, parameters of protection. 2pm-3pm.

It’s nestled neatly among consultations and appointments that range from two hours to six hours, reminders to call and check supply orders and the status of the permits he’s already called after to secure timely dates. There are no dates blocked off, even if all there is listed on some appointments for nails, for hair, for everything and anything.

Busy. Always filling your time with something. And it all makes so much sense, if you’ve made a name for yourself, have the funds that you do.

He looks over at the blueprints for the house you finalized on, something you never mentioned until it was all set and done- inferring that this would be one the things he can handle for you in that initial meeting regarding the contract.

You were lonely, must be, he realizes it at the same time he feels it himself. He got so used to the daily conversations and interactions with you, the mundane tasks that didn’t feel so monotonous with you popping in and out of the house while they worked. Even just those first few days after the job was completed, you both continued to see each other. But now…

It’s been nearly a week since he’s seen you, more time since he’s interacted with you- like really, truly interacted with you. Since he yelled at you in your new home, demanded where your husband was and what role he would have in this agreement the two of you made. Joel likes to believe he’s got a level head atop his shoulders, but the truth is that he feels so all encompassing sometimes.

With Sarah, with Elle, with his brother- all three of them pull his heartstrings, strike the match of annoyance and anger, fuel his fierce protective side.

With a sigh, he pulls up your name in his messages. There is no previous thread, nothing transferred from his older phone due to the incapabilities of the new software. He isn’t sure how to reach out so he falls back on being professional. He settles with a summary of the good bones of your house, the suggested work being something he can more than aptly make a reality and then ends the message with a question for the best start date.

But you don’t respond, either busy or sleeping- he realizes the early hour and scolds himself. Of course you’re asleep, it’s only five in the morning. He sighs and looks out the window that his dresser is pushed up against. The sun is barely beginning to peak over the horizon, the sky a deep blue that a few stars shine in.

He startles when his phone beeps where he discarded it on the comforter.

A date, where the samples of what tile and paint you want will be left on the island in the kitchen for him. You’ll be busy with work most days, will probably miss him completely and he doesn’t think anything of it.

Until later that day when Ellie brings you up.

“Hey, I think I saw something about Grey going on a trip online.”

“What?” Joel does an amazing job of keeping his cool at the sudden news, the screwdriver in his hand drops and falls to the floor. Landing in the carpet with a dull thud before bouncing and hitting the top of his bare foot where he’s crouched down and fixing a loose shelf in one of Ellie’s bookcases. He hisses as it thunks, pain shooting across the muscles there and swelling immediately.

“It looks like she’s going to be a guest artist at a new place opening in LA.” Ellie says from where she’s cross legged in her desk chair, laptop open and displaying the piece of art she’s using as a reference for a project that’s due later in the week. She’s in one course this summer, going back to full time in the fall when that time of the year rolls around.

“She would’ve told me if she was going out of town.” At least he thinks you would, how else would he be able to begin working on the renovation of your home?

“I mean…are you sure about that with how things…?” Ellie hesitantly says, her brow furrowed in much the same way that Joel’s does, despite no direct blood relation.

“I…I would hope she would tell me, considering I have the blueprints for her house and the details of the renovation with a start date.” He picks the screwdriver back up and makes sure that his task is complete.

“Have you reached out?”

“…no.” He doesn’t turn to her, despite feeling her eyes on him from across the room.

“Well, there you go.”

“We leave in four days, there’s…”

A knock at the door has him whipping his head in that direction, completely blindsided by the direction of the conversation and someone calling upon him in the middle of the afternoon.

When he swings it open, your mother is standing there with a soft smile. She greets him, dangling a ring with three keys securely looped on it and announces that they’re for him.

“Grey left these for ya, said you’d need them to start on the job when you get back from Philly?” She pins him with a smirk, knowing she’s caught in the middle of something between the two of you. The higher pitch of your voice at the end of her sentence telling him that she’s looking for confirmation.

“Doin’ the reservations on her house.” He entertains her, though she probably already knows if she has the keys in her grip.

“Oh! That’s so lovely, you’ll do an amazing job just like you did with our house, I just know it.” She winks at him, offering the ring to him and plopping it in his palm when he holds it up. “Just make sure to lock the door back behind you and I’m sure she’s left a note of which lamp to leave on so the house doesn’t look empty at night.”

“Noticed she has a lot of late nights, I can definitely do that.” Joel feels his smile begin to melt the longer he realizes that your mother is talking so casually about the way he interacts with her daughter. How he’s watched you enough to notice certain mannerisms and routines.

Lydia stares at him over the threshold. Her sharp eyes finding the cracks in his demeanor, the effects of his harsh words, sleepless nights, and nose to the grind days. Joel’s heart beats steadily as she regards him, racketing up the longer the look lasts but especially when she gasps in the middle of her next sentence.

“She does normally, but- oh dear, she didn’t tell you?” The woman blinks and concerned wrinkles form in her brow and around her nose as she scrunches it in much the same way you do when you laugh.

“Tell me what?” Joel croaks, unable to dispel the anxiety and fear that bubbles up to fill his chest painfully. His breathing shallows as his mind works through all of the worst-case scenarios of you being in the hospital or something happening to you at the shop. His fingers tighten around the keys in his hand, the metal bites into the calluses from wielding tools his entire adult life.

“She’s gone to do a guest spot at a friend’s shop in LA for a few weeks. Manny is dropping her off right now, her flight leaves in a few hours.” Her announcement freezes time completely, Ellie was right. You were leaving without telling him. Running because he gave you a reason to.

“Shit.” He pockets the keys and shoves his feet into a pair of worn cowboy boots. Lydia moves aside quickly, avoiding him as he rushes past. His heart is pounding as he pictures you alone in the airport, swathed in one of the big, chunky cardigans that you favor. Shoving the keys into the ignition, the truck roars to life. Words from a past conversation echoing in his mind.

‘You look over at him and Joel feels his chest tighten as you smile sadly at him, lips barely lifting up.

“My parents are boarding.” He sees in the way you fiddle with your phone, fingers tapping long nails against the case, the way you focus completely on the screen. You’re nervous.

“Long flight, huh?” He set the roller in his grip down into the pan he’s poured a bit of paint in, making sure it’s not going to tip over before he wipes his hands on his stained jeans and gently pulls the phone from your grip. “Ain’t no use hyperfixatin’ on it. How long is the flight?”

“Something insane like fourteen hours. God, I couldn’t.”

“Not a fan of flyin?”

“Honestly? No, it turns me into a nervous wreck, I’d rather drive for three days to get somewhere than take a five hour flight.” You don’t meet his eyes, almost bashful at the admittance. But he watches you, sees the truth behind your words and he wants to pull you into a hug. But that would be a line, so he just reached out a hand to cup your shoulder as he moves around you, squeezing it in a quiet comfort.’

“Her flight takes off at gate 42A!” He waves a hand up through the open window to signal that he hears her shout, and his truck takes off down the street. “It’s a Delta flight!”

Ellie sidles up to Lydia with her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, he’s got it baaaad.” Your mom says with a sweet laugh. Watching the way his taillights disappear around the street that runs perpendicular to the cul-de-sac.

“You have no idea.” Ellie shoves at her with an elbow, cackling at the way the woman scoffs in mock hurt and places a hand over her heart.

“Oh shut up, I didn’t even get you that hard.” She defends, shaking her head at the antics of her neighbor.

“Ellie, you little shit, I swear I shouldn’t invite you over for dinner. But I have a feeling your lovesick papa is gonna go as far as boarding a plane to fix whatever he did.” She tosses an arm over Ellie’s shoulders and tugs her close.

“Fuck, you’re right. He didn’t leave any money for food.” Her face falls and the words settle in.

“Alright, c’mon- I’ve got enchiladas comin’ out of the oven any minute now. Manny should be back soon too, she never lets us stay with her at the gate. She’s a tough cookie, that girl.”

“She really is,” Ellie makes sure to lock the door behind her and follows you mom across the street. “So what kinda enchiladas?”

Brakes screech as Joel comes to a harsh start in front of the valet stand. The logo for your airline hanging above the designated spot for pull overs and pickups. He jerks the gear shift into park, grabs a flannel from the back and shrugs it on as he rounds the front of the truck. He tosses the keys to the guy who looks up from his phone at the stand.

“Hello, sir, would you like long- or short-term parking today?” Joel pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and hands over his personal bank card. He’ll gladly pay anything out of pocket to mend the damage he’s done. He just wants to get to you before boarding begins. He got stuck in traffic, of course, making his little drive into an hour long deal that had his sighing heavily and hitting his fists to the steering wheel more times than he could count.

“Uh, whatever works. Short term shifts to longer after what- 24 hours?”

“That’s correct, sir.” The attendant tears off a receipt from a small printer, it’s got Joel’s name on it and the type of car he has. He’s ushering a quick thank you before rushing inside and going straight to the boards that show the departures. He whips his head back and forth, sweeping the area for arrows to direct him to the correct terminal that hosts your gate.

He’s just stepped onto the escalator to go up two floors when he spots a flash of sun glinting off of a watch. His chest tightens as he sees you standing out on the balcony for the floor he’s about to reach, putting out the butt of one cigarette and immediately move to light another. He can practically smell the smoke from it mixed with your perfume, and he takes a deep breath before an announcement calling for preboarding for your flight along with two others.

“Shit,” He mutters to himself as he gets to the top of the escalator. There’s a short line to go through security and they’re asking for boarding passes. He mentally steels himself, getting his wallet out and gritting his teeth as he approaches at the motion of the woman at the podium. He’s not the biggest fan of flying either, it’s always too cramped, too stuffy, it makes his anxiety bubble up. But you need him, more than he dislikes the very same thing as you do.

“Hi, I’d like to book a seat on the Los Angeles flight departing from gate 42A, ma’am.”

It’s been a shitty day, your morning client didn’t show up and the person who took the spot for a walk in wanted something too complicated for the time slot you had available. So you settled on a consultation instead. Anxiety steadily builds in your entire body, humming through you more efficiently than caffeine or the nutrient packed meal you had for lunch at your parents to keep you awake and moving. The bag you packed that morning sits beside you as you father drives you to the airport.

“No need to check the car in, when you’ve got me to help ya!”

“Dad, I really wouldn’t have minded. What if my return flight comes in super late or like really early?”

“Well, we ain’t workin’ too much these days, so shut up and drink your smoothie.”

“Well then.” You huff out a nervous laugh, the taste of peaches and passion fruit souring on your tongue as you take a big sip through the plastic straw.

“So,” He glances over at you as he signals to take the exit for the airport coming up in two miles. The highway is busy, right in the middle of the city. The word is drawn out, something riding the undercurrent of it and you look over at him with a raised brow.

“So?”

“Joel’s been a little distant since the remodel.”

“He’s busy, dad, running his own company and all.” You look back out the window, fingers trailing through the condensation on your plastic cup.

“Seems like he’s avoidin’ you, should you be over at ours.” And damn if your dad didn’t hit the nail on the head. You were both avoiding each other, too much brimming and needing to be dealt with but neither of you knowing how to begin to.

“No, we just…had a little miscommunication about the work he’s doing on my place.” A sliver of the truth is all you can offer, a little white lie.

“Hmm, okay. But don’t be too hard on him, he don’t have many people in his life ‘n he seems to have taken a liking to you.” Mulling over his words, you recall the way Joel once said that since his brother became so unreliable, he forfeited his only night out a week to go to the bar and decompress.

“Everything is okay, dad. I promise I’m not getting between you two. Invite him over if you wanna hang out with him.” Regret and guilt bubbles up, you truly didn’t mean to affect the way your parents and Joel interact. They were friends, all of them. You were simply the person who hired him as a handy man, the term kept man a little too close to the truth. But it lingers in the back of your mind. Joel is more than just a handy man, he’s someone who you talked to in the quiet moments and want to take care of.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if you did get between the two of us, never seem him look so…down. Maybe you could take him out to a nice dinner, don’t know when the last time anyone did something’ like that for him. He let’s your mom and me cook for him, sure, but it’s not the same. So stubborn on that front, but I’m sure you could convince him.”

You don’t exchange any more words as he pulls up to the drop off zone. With a kiss to your forehead and a crushing hug, he shoves you toward the entrance with a ‘now get outta here and go do your thing!’.

The nicotine was doing little to calm your nerves, you hated flying with passion.  It was one of the things you didn’t have the guts to handle, even if it was a normal part of life.

You put out the cigarette you just lit when you notice the tremors of your hand shaking it so much the ash rains down onto the concrete of the balcony. You walk as quickly as you can through the main throughfare you know your gate is off of. You’ve got the last boarding group, which gives you enough time to collect yourself. Your intensions of splashing water on your face and taking a few deep breaths completely derails when you see that the bathroom is empty and a sob lurches out of your chest. With shaking hands, you plop your duffel bag onto the wall that backs up to the entrance and lean back against it.

Your head is raised as you try to keep the tears at bay, but they leak out anyway, in hot streaks down your cheeks as you slide down the slick tile and thud heavily on your butt.

With a pounding heart, a heavy weight in your stomach and twitching nerves, you sit there in the bathroom and succumb to the tears. Public setting or not be damned.

The last time you were on a plane had been one of the clearest recollections of what hinted you toward what was going on with your now ex-husband. Someone who normally comforted you and got you through the few flights that had to be taken. The last time though…

‘Micah is staring at his phone as they call for boarding, your group the first due to first class. He said he wanted to treat you, make the ordeal a little easier since your nerves got the best of you. Letting out a deep breath, you go to reach for the strap of your duffel bag and sling it over a shoulder. The tickets are loaded individually on your phones, something that you didn’t think much about.

He’s so wrapped up in whatever is on the screen that he startles when you walk behind him and wrap your arms around his neck to whisper in his ear that they’re calling for your group.

“Jesus, Grey! Don’t be doing shit like that, seriously!” He’s up like a rocket, his phone screen locking. An apology falls from you, claiming you didn’t know he would react so badly. “It’s bad enough you turn into a literal child when it comes to flying, but it doesn’t mean you have to be all clingy and invade my personal space.”

All you can do is nod once, to let him know you hear him and acknowledge what he’s saying. Even if it hurts, even if it does nothing but rachet up the feeling of a balloon inflating impossibly large inside your chest, too big to fill into the small space and making the air in your lungs feel like a monumental task to breath in and out. He doesn’t reach for your hand or usher you ahead of him with a guiding hand on the small of your back. He almost makes it look as if the two of you aren’t even traveling together as he gets into the line, not bothering to wait for you while your boarding pass gets scanned and verified.

He's already seated in the row that will house you two for the next seven hours, a trip out to Philly for the next month. A bottle of water in his grip while he scrolls on his phone with that same concentration as before. And you hate the way that your heart mends a little when the plane begins to glide across the tarmac and Michah reaches over to tangle his fingers in your own.’

You’re so lost in your feelings and memories that you ignore the loud rush of stomping steps that burst into the bathroom. It’s probably just someone who got off of a flight or someone rushing before they board.  

“There you are,” You hear the sudden timbre of Joel’s southern drawl laced voice. Your head whips up to reveal your tear stained face slack in complete surprise.

“J-Joel? What- what are you doing here?” You roughly wipe the sleeve of your cardigan underneath an eye to dispel the wetness from your tears. His face softens from panicked to a sad smile as he kneels down in front of you and runs a hand over your mussed hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“You don’t like flyin’.” He cups the side of your face, thumb wiping the wetness there you didn’t manage to get yourself. You don’t flinch away from him as his eyes meet yours, even if a knot lodges itself in your throat.

“Well, yes, that’s correct but-“ You begin to shake your head, the last words he spoke to you hanging heavy in the air.

“Look, I know, okay? I know things are all out of sorts with us, but you…you needed someone and I’m here.” He’s unprepared for you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and your face burying into his chest. He lets out a little ‘oof’ as his butt makes contact with the tile but wraps his arms around your back all the same. The cherry of your perfume and the smoke from the cigarette fills his lungs and he feels like it’s the first full breath he’s taken since the past confrontation. His scent, spicy and woodsy overwhelms you as you embrace, doing much the same to you.

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper, lips brushing against the soft skin of his neck. The urge to bite into the tan expanse overtakes you and your lips purse at keeping the action securely in your mind.

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He’s completely serious, his voice barely a whisper in imitation of yours- not wanting to break the fragile moment. You can feel the guilt he carries in the firm way he holds you, in his very breath as you lean against him and move his chest as it rises and falls.

“You bought a flight to get through the line and into the terminal.”

“Guess that means we’re going to LA.”

“You leave for Philly in a few days.”

“Ellie is perfectly capable of flying out from here and I can always fly out from LA. I ain’t worried about that, I’m worried about you.” His confidence in the girl he raised obvious, pride in his tone as he realizes himself that she’s nearly grown as much as she will be.

“Shut up, you’re not real.”

“Real as you are, have a hard time believing it when you’re not around.”

“You can’t possibly be this flirty all the time, it’s not fair.”

“I’m gonna let you get away with sayin’ anything you want right now, cause you’re going through it.” He chuckles, his body shaking yours as he loses his composure at the things you have no filter for.

He’s pulling back slightly, his nose brushing your forehead and down your temple. Your breath hitches as you feel the jump in his heart beating in his chest, your eyes flashing up to meet his. Tension fills the bright room, bouncing off the tile and coursing through the air that almost sizzles between the very little space that separates your bodies. His hands are firm and wide on the whole of your back, fingers flexing as you glance down at his plus lips so- dizzyingly close.

The sound of someone entering the space and a shocked gasp as you jerking away from him suddenly, hands detangling from him as he moves slower to mirror your actions.

“Apologies, ma’am. Little pre-trip jitters is all.” Joel offers you a steady hand to stand, remaining on the floor until you’re back up on your feet, eyes trained on your boots. With a small grunt, he’s standing too and reaching for your bag as the woman scurries to one of the stalls and the lock clicks into place. The light music playing over the speakers pauses to announce the boarding for your flight and you two move together to exit the bathroom.

“It’s gonna be okay, I swear to you.” He’s pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, tickling you as his scruff brushes there. “Now let’s catch our flight.”

Joel watches quietly as you down two of the little shot bottles you purchased from the flight attendant the second she came around with the drink cart. He felt you reach for his hand the moment the plane began to taxi along the tarmac, your grip vice like as the aircraft built speed to take off. He tried not to clamp his hand around yours to give way his own discomfort at flying, wanting to ensure that you were tended to over himself. You were so tense still, your entire body rigid beside him.

He let you get him a bottle of water, though he had yet to crack the seal on it.

The window was closed, his body shieling you on the other side from the aisle, business class only holding two larger seats to a row. You had upgraded his seat and covered the cost so you two could be beside each other and he’s grateful, not even thinking of the original seat he may have gotten.

It’s well into the flight and he sees you bend down to dig into the duffel you insisted at having stored by your feet. The rattle of a pills in a translucent orange bottle draws his eyes from where he focused on cleaning the lenses of his thick framed glasses.

“These might make me a little sleepy, but, um, the rental car is through enterprise and the hotel is through a local place downtown.” He opens the water for you to down two pills, taking a sip before he twists the cap back on, shoulder warming as you lean against him, arm wrapped around his bicep and fingers tangling with his. It’s close, it’s contact, and he hopes you can’t hear the way his heart thuds in his chest as he pictures you doing so under less extreme circumstances. He worries he’s truly messed everything up, but you’re letting him be the support you need and that’s a big step in the right direction to mending what he almost burned down.

“I’ll make sure we get there safely, just worry about keeping calm. I got it, sweetheart.” The soft rumble of his voice sooths you, he knows as soon as your eyes drift shut and your breathing evens out.

Hours later, you begin to stir and feel marginally better. Everything is foggy through your sluggish mind, but you trust Joel to help you unbuckle from the seat as the plane finally comes to a stop after landing.

He does just as he promises, holding you securely to his side as you sleepily follow his guiding movements. The rental desk asks for the card on file and he’s leaning down and murmuring if he can dig it out of your bag slung over his shoulder. Your little hum of approval has him unzipping the side pocket before your voice reminds him that he needs to add himself down as a driver.

“Thank you, you and your wife enjoy your visit!”

The word slaps him in the face even as he tries to smile politely at the woman, turning away from the desk and guiding you over to the car. He secures you in the passenger seat before carefully placing your bag in the backseat.

“Sweetheart, what hotel did you book?” He watches as you pat yourself down, searching for something and then it clicks. Your phone. That’s in his own pocket, you pushed it into his hands back on the plane.

“I’ve got your phone here, Grey. I turned it on after we landed,” Joel hands it over and you blearily look down at the screen, little groans slipping past your lips as you sift through all the notifications to find what you were looking for. You turn it toward him and he sees the reservation, typing in the address listed in his own phone. He’ll text Ellie once everything is settled, more than the ‘landed safe’ he did as soon as the pilot turned off the fastened seatbelt sign.

As he turns the engine and maneuvers out of the parking lot and into the glittering city, he hears your phone ringing as it calls out.

“Hey momma, we made it.”

“Oh good! I assumed Joel managed to catch you, he rushed off so quickly.” Lydia’s voice chimes like tin through the line. “I’ve got Ellie over here, we’re playing monopoly and-“

“It’s late, let her go to bed.” You admonish and Joel smiles to himself at the concern you hold for his daughter thought you’ve yet to meet her.

“I’m fine! Glad you and dad are safe! Tell him he didn’t leave any food money!” Ellie’s loud voice causes you to pull the phone away from your ear and Joel smirks at the sight out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he heard ya, kid.” Your own sleepy smile softens the scene, making it more intimate in the close quarters of the cab. The rest of the call is at an appropriate volume and you assure her that you’ll make sure money gets sent over. As Joel signals to turn into the hotel entrance, you motion to the valet for him to stop at.

“Jus’ wanna sleep.” You mumble as you begin to disrobe, unaware of him freezing by the door as you do so. The skin you expose to him not even a thought as you hang your cardigan on the back of the chair at the desk and move to place your leggings there too. Your baggy shirt and underwear allowing for your legs to be on display, the ink that decorates them catching the low lights left on for those like you with late check ins. The snap of elastic as you unhook your bra is the last thing preventing you from laying down and you move toward the big bed to peel back the covers.

Slipping inside, you don’t even manage to get them over your body before you’re gone from the world and snoring softly.

Letting out the breath caught in his throat, Joel puts down the duffel bag and steps out of his cowboy boots before going into the bathroom. He hangs his head as his hands grip tight to the edge of the vanity in the large bathroom, a bathtub and glass panel shower filling the space. He dims the lights so they don’t sneak underneath the door, though he doubts you would stir at much right now.

He’s hard.

Arousal striking hot like a hook around his navel the second you began to take your clothes off and he feels like an old creep for the way his body chose to respond. You’re vulnerable, someone who trusts him to keep you safe. He wonders if he should go back down to the lobby and book himself a room, but…he doesn’t want to.

The shower doesn’t sputter to life as he turns the nob, it gently rains down instantly hot water and he groans as it runs over his exhausted muscles. He takes his time washing with the supplies already in the stall on a small alcove shelf. The same scent he recognizes from time spent with you, the hotel must’ve stocked your choice of products and he breaths in the comforting mix of lemon, cherry, and rose.

A hand drifts down to where he’s still hard between his legs, soap suds trailing down his body to envelop him completely in your scent and his breath sucks in the moment he wraps a wide palm around himself.

“Fuck.” He whispers, he’s really about to do this with you only one wall away. Fuck, he really is and it only takes him a few strokes before his orgasm blinds him, glittering stars of white clouding his vision as it buckles his knees and pulses out to paint the tiles. He’s panting heavily, the sensation almost too much as he pictures the way your legs looked, completely bare underneath your shirt. The little hint of your ass he got a good view of as you leaned over to pull the covers away from the bed.

The words of that particular clause in his contract float in his mind’s eye and he sucks in a deep breath. A decision on how to traverse that particular aspect of your relationship completely up to him. And god, does he want to keep up the casual and comforting touches, to feel the soft brush of your fingers against his own skin. But it’s okay, there’s time.

Damp and completely relaxed, Joel busies himself setting up the couch for him to sleep on with the extra blankets folded in the closet. He’s about to turn the light own by the side of the bed you aren’t occupying when he hears the hush of the sheets. Looking up, he sees you reaching out to him blindly.

“Come to bed, Joel.”

And damn, if he can’t argue with the soft timbre of your sleep voice and the pout of your lips as you lay in the big bed all alone. He looks over to where his shirt rests on the desk and walks over to shrug it back on before he slides underneath the covers beside you. The small huff of your breath as you doze back off and the gentle smile on your pretty lips eases him into a peaceful sleep.

You wake up to the sound of loud snoring, startling you where you’re curled up in the covers pulled up to your chin. Your eyes snap open as you take in a deep breath, the waking world shocking you as you spy tousled hair on the pillow beside you. Steaked with dark and light greys, but he’s the source of the sound that woke you.

Despite that, you bite down on your bottom lip as you take in the way he kept to his side of the large bed and slide out to go to the bathroom. The shower is amazing, the hot water rinsing away the last of the sleep that clings to you, a combination of the way you worked yourself up and the medication. You’re reaching to wash the conditioner from your hair when a soft knock sounds on the closed door.

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to intrude, but nature calls.” Joel’s voice calls over the rush of water and you freeze.

“Oh, um, okay. The shower is clear, but it’s fogged up enough-“

“Ain’t gonna look, I promise.” And then the door is opening and Joel’s blurry figure can be seen through the mist. But you do. His hand is secure over his crotch and you realize he’s trying to cover the way his morning wood is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. You quickly look away, arousal zinging through you as you do your best to ignore the sounds of him relieving himself.

He’s careful with flushing and washing his hands, not wanting to affect the temperature of your shower but it doesn’t even register as you do your best to avoid the weight his quick glance puts on your skin before he’s gone- just as quick as he appeared.

The rest of the morning is spent getting breakfast down in the restaurant, the conversation flowing easily as you both go over switching his flight for Philly to leave from LA instead of Austin. Money is sent over to Ellie and as you load up into the rental to hit up some shops for supplies you need to live out of the hotel room, Joel reaches for your hands and holds them gently.

“Hey,” He catches your eyes, the nerves he feels swelling up mirrored in your eyes.

“Joel, it’s okay, really. You- you didn’t know.” You try to pull your hands back and he lets you, curling them back to himself as he watches you switch your weight from one foot to the other.

“No, I didn’t. But I should’ve have come at you like that, it was…it was mighty unprofessional of me to do that. I was in the wrong and you didn’t deserve to catch the weight of how I responded to thinking you were married.” His words are genuine, carrying the guilt he feels over the way things unraveled and you exhale heavily.

“It…it wasn’t good, to hear those words come from you. Those accusations, but I understand how it might have looked, really. I just- Joel, I only ever wanted to help you, please trust me. My- the reason I moved my entire life is huge, and I was going to share it with you when I could find the courage.”

“You don’t have to, even now. I swear to you, your business and past is your own. I just want you to be okay, to be safe. That’s the most important thing.” You step up to him to carefully wrap your arms around his middle and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek despite the flutter in your chest and the slight shake to your hands.

“I’m okay, for the most part. But you’re…Joel, you’re amazing. You really didn’t have to alter your own plans to travel with me and to do everything you have since we left yesterday. I appreciate it, I appreciate you.” His own hands come up around your back to return the embrace, the causal touch lighting you up just as much as seeing him through the fogged up glass paneling of the shower this morning. He’s just so…handsome that it’s a little hard to reconcile that he’s here with you, that he’s feeling more like a friend and less like the man who you initially hired to help you out. The lines blurring the more time you spend with him, the attraction blooming and gaining a heated weight that’s harder and harder to shake from your body.

“I appreciate you too, sweetheart. It’s…it’s okay that I’ve been callin’ you that, right?” He suddenly looks bashful as you step back. And hope swells, that he might possibly feel the same effects as you do being in each other’s space. He’s asking more if everything is okay, you realize, not just the nickname he’s given you and you pause. He’s done so much the last few days, literally coming to your rescue as you fell apart in the very public bathroom of an airport terminal. He’s done more than enough to show how sorry he is and you don’t feel like his words were anything but an immediate reaction to something stemming from his own past. But you don’t push on that, just like he’s not pushing you now.

“Yes, of course.” You assure him, smiling softly as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go get you some clothes for the next two days, yeah?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The smile he gives you in return is disarming and you feel your stomach swoop.

“Okay, so I got the shuttle times for you, since you insisted. It’ll be here at-“ Your words trail off as you see him sitting on the large bed, his hands are in his lap though you note the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists atop his thighs. He looks a little startled at your sudden entrance, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“Wanted to get you something, spent my own money on it. I hope you like it.” The scent of the bouquet on the desk that he approaches now fills the room in a pleasant way, mingling with the cologne he favors and your own perfume. A wonderful mixture of you both in the space you’ll be occupying for the next few weeks. Sadness flairs up when you realize it will fade as soon as he’s gone. “Tried to keep it a secret until I could surprise you with it.”

“What other secrets are you hiding, hmm, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is raspy, the display of the petals over the bed where a new cardigan in a fancy box sits partially open for you to see the soft muted green of the fabric. A gift, to make up for the things you’ve already decided to move past.

“Jus’ Joel, how many times do I gotta-“

“But I respect you, Mr. Miller. Don't you want me to show how highly I regard you?” The air in the room shifts as does the pitch of your voice.

“Just a workin' man, always have been, ain't nothin' special.” He’s not looking at you, pink tinging his ears and the base of his neck as he looks down at the jeans he’s originally rushed out of the house in.  

“Joel,” The sound of his name releases on a breathy sigh as you begin to saunter up to where he's leaning his backside on the desk, errant petals surround him, covers him in places he hadn't patted them away from. The rugged, worn denim hugging his frame, his plain, paint spotted t-shirt displaying the muscles he's built over the years of his life. He didn’t want to fly in the things purchased earlier that day, opting to keep them in the new bag he’s got to take with him on his trip. He's a tasty looking man, and no one else is around. You can't help the pulse of desire that lances underneath your skin, lighting you up in a way you hadn't felt in ages. the piercing gaze he pins you with even as you see the bob of a harsh swallow in his throat, the pursing of his lips as he tries to keep his calm the closer you get to him.

The air is thick, heady, tension crackling and making every other sound soft as you finally step into his space. Right in front of him, you have to look up slightly because of his height, his curls so soft underneath your exploring fingers as you reach out and pet them away from his face, the longer ones having fallen to frame his gorgeous face. You can see the moment his eyes dilate, darken as your tongue peeks out to lick over your bottom lip, the way your teeth sink into the plush give of it as you tangle fingers into his curls and the scratch of your nails on his scalp. A groan sounds deep in his chest, his own lips parting as it sits in the air between you. the sound spurring you on as you rest your other hand delicately on his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle there hidden beneath the thin fabric.

“I shouldn’t want to, I really shouldn’t with how things are and who your parents are.”

“Shouldn’t want to what?” Your heart thunders in your chest, his eyes trained on you with such intensity.

Hope swells, filling your chest where you can’t seem to get enough of the heavy air into your lungs.

“Shouldn’t wanna do this.” And then his hands are cradling the back of your head and the curve of your jaw as he leans down to press his lips firmly to yours.

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[yokumirumerafan]

Could you do the same thing for kokushibo that you did for douma and Muzan 👉🏻👈🏻 I feel like that man never gets that much attention I barely see much of him on tumblr but ur writing is sooo good and feels canon too. 😭

Ehehehe I love this request because like Kokushibo is the only one I like in Kny -WHO SAID THAT!? Also YAYYYY I'm surprised ppl actually like my stuff because I never wrote before and I'm here for a month at max :))

🌙 Kokushibo x Reader – Headcanons 🌙

🩸 Names He’d Call You:

Kokushibo is not the type for sickly sweet pet names. His words are measured, intentional, and heavy with meaning.

“Beloved” – Only in rare, intimate moments, when he lets his guard down just enough.

“Little One” – If you’re smaller than him (which, let’s be honest, you probably are).

Your Full Name – Said with that deep, smooth voice of his, making it sound almost reverent.

“Foolish.” – Half-teasing, half-scolding when you do something reckless.

“Mine.” – Simple. Firm. Unyielding.

🌙 His General Reactions to Life with You:

💀 You showing him something mundane like a firefly or a rainbow?

He stares at it for way too long before giving a stiff nod.

“…Hn. It is… acceptable.”

(He secretly finds it fascinating but doesn’t know how to express it.)

💀 You holding his hand for the first time?

His entire body freezes. You can practically hear his brain short-circuiting.

He doesn’t pull away, but he stiffens like a statue.

“…Why are you holding my hand?” (said in the flattest tone imaginable)

(He won’t let go, though.)

💀 You laughing at something dumb he said?

He blinks slowly, like he’s trying to process why you found it funny.

“That… was not intended as humor.”

(But if you keep laughing, his lips twitch just slightly— a ghost of a smile that vanishes too fast to catch.)

💀 You calling him handsome?

His six eyes flicker with something unreadable.

“Flattery serves no purpose.”

(But you notice how his grip tightens slightly on his katana, as if steadying himself.)

🌙 Relationship Dynamic:

Kokushibo does not ‘date’ in a traditional sense. He is an old-fashioned, honor-bound warrior.

He watches over you rather than smothering you with affection.

Silent protection. Standing between you and danger before you even realize it’s there.

Loyal to a terrifying degree. If anything threatens you? It will not exist for much longer.

Acts of service = his love language. Fixing things, sharpening your blade, ensuring your safety—that’s how he shows he cares.

You have to teach him that affection isn’t a weakness. That love isn’t a distraction.

🌙 Soft Kokushibo Moments (Because Yes, He Can Be Soft):

💀 Running his claws through your hair when you fall asleep beside him. 💀 Standing guard while you rest, unmoving, like a silent protector. 💀 Memorizing every little detail about you—even your heartbeat. 💀 Carving tiny, hidden symbols into wood or stone—your initials, a flower you like, something meaningful. (He will never admit to it.) 💀 Letting out the softest sigh when you cup his face, because no one has ever touched him like that before.

🩸 His Reaction to Y/N’s Period:

💀 Step One: Confusion.

You complain about cramps, and this man just stares with all six of his eyes.

“Cramps? Are you injured?”

You: “No, it’s my period.”

Him: “...Your what.”

Kokushibo.exe has stopped working.

💀 Step Two: Concern.

“You are… bleeding?” His hand instinctively goes to his sword.

You: “Yeah, but it happens every month. It’s normal.”

His six eyes narrow in suspicion. “You mean to tell me that you willingly endure blood loss every month?”

(This man thinks you are suffering from a terrible curse and is already planning to find a cure.)

💀 Step Three: Over-the-Top Protection.

The second you wince in pain, he is READY TO FIGHT SOMEONE.

“Who has done this to you?”

“Babe, it’s my uterus.”

“Where is this… uterus.”

“INSIDE ME.”

Stares at your stomach like it just personally offended him.

💀 Step Four: Accidental Softness.

“What do you require?” Completely serious.

He’ll bring you warm tea (even though he doesn’t understand its purpose).

He will physically carry you if you don’t feel like walking. (No argument.)

If you tell him chocolate helps, he will find the best quality chocolate possible. (Man’s got standards.)

You fall asleep curled up against him, and he just silently watches over you.

🔥 His Jealousy – When Someone Tries to Flirt with You:

💀 Step One: Observation.

He sees EVERYTHING. All six eyes locked on the situation.

Who is this insect, and why are they speaking to you?

He doesn’t act immediately. He just stares. The intensity alone could kill a man.

💀 Step Two: Silent Possessiveness.

He does NOT do petty outbursts. His presence alone is a warning.

One step behind you, looming like a shadow.

If you so much as glance at him, he gives you a look that clearly says,

“Do you require assistance?”

“Shall I remove them?”

“Say the word, and they will cease to exist.”

💀 Step Three: Physical Claiming.

He’ll stand close enough that his sleeve brushes yours.

If the flirt gets too bold, his hand is suddenly resting on your waist.

He will say nothing, but the aura of absolute death is suffocating.

The poor fool flirting with you suddenly feels the need to leave.

💀 Step Four: The Aftermath.

He won’t say anything about it unless you tease him.

“You jealous, babe?”

“…Do not be foolish.” Doesn’t meet your eyes.

(You can feel the jealousy radiating off him like a furnace.)

🔥 Kokushibo’s Reactions to You (Because He’s the Ultimate Stoic But Soft Husbando) 🔥

💀 When Y/N Gets Hurt in Battle

“You are reckless.” His voice is calm, but his grip on his sword tightens.

He doesn’t show panic, but you notice his usual unreadable expression darkens.

The moment you’re healed, he does not let you out of his sight for days.

“You are my responsibility now.”

(…Wait, what?)

💀 When Y/N Tries to Flirt with Him

You: “Damn, your voice is sexy.”

Kokushibo: “…Hn.”

(That means he’s flustered.)

You: “You’re lucky I have a thing for tall, brooding swordsmen.”

Kokushibo: “…You are insufferable.” (But he stays near you anyway.)

💀 When Y/N Falls Asleep on Him

The first time it happens, he just stares down at you in complete disbelief.

You trust him that much?

He doesn’t move for hours.

When you wake up, his voice is lower than usual.

“…Rest more if you wish.”

(Translation: You are the only person who has ever been allowed this close to me. And I don’t mind.)

🌙 FINAL THOUGHTS:

KOKUSHIBO LOVERS, WE EAT TONIGHT. 🍽️🔥

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Bereavement

Bereavement - the period of mourning and grief following the death of a beloved person or animal.

A normal response to death and loss, which are universal human experiences.

A highly individual as well as a complex experience.

It is increasingly recognized that no two people respond the same way to the losses associated with the death of a loved one.

Comes from an ancient Germanic root word meaning ‘‘to rob’’ or ‘‘to seize by violence.’’

It should ordinarily be allowed to run its course; most counselors maintain that trying to stifle or cut short the grief process is more likely to cause emotional problems later on than to prevent them.

Mourning

Describes the public rituals or symbols of bereavement.

Examples: Holding funeral services, wearing black clothing, closing a place of business temporarily, or lowering a flag to half mast.

Grief

One’s personal experience of loss.

Includes physical symptoms, and emotional & spiritual reactions to the loss.

While public expressions of mourning are usually time-limited, grief is a process that takes most people several months or years to work through.

Bibliotherapy

The use of books (usually self-help or problem-solving works) to improve one’s understanding of personal problems and/or to heal painful feelings.

Biofield healing

A general term for a group of alternative therapies based on the belief that the human body is surrounded by an energy field (or aura) that reflects the condition of the person’s body and spirit.

Rebalancing or repairing the energy field is thought to bring about healing in mind and body.

Examples: Reiki, therapeutic touch, polarity balancing, Shen therapy, and certain forms of color therapy.

Complicated grief

An abnormal response to bereavement that includes unrelieved yearning for the dead person, the complete loss of previous positive beliefs or worldviews, and a general inability to function.

Disenfranchised grief

Grief that cannot be openly expressed because the death or other loss cannot be publicly acknowledged.

Euthanasia

The act of putting individuals or animals to death painlessly or allowing them to die by withholding medical services, usually because they have a painful and incurable disease.

Regression

A return to earlier, particularly infantile, patterns of thought and behavior.

Thanatology

The medical, psychological, or legal study of death and dying.

Traumatic grief

Grief resulting from the loss of a loved one in a traumatic situation (natural or transportation disaster, act of terrorism, or mass murder, etc.).

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References More: List of Uncommon Emotions ⚜ Pain

[globalnewscollective]

Trump and Musk Are Pushing the U.S. Toward a Shutdown—Here’s What That Means for You

Once again, the U.S. is on the brink of a government shutdown. But this time, it’s not just political infighting—tech billionaire Elon Musk is playing a role, too. By leveraging his influence and platform, Musk has joined forces with Donald Trump to push for chaos, blocking a budget plan that would keep the government running.

What’s Happening?

A government shutdown occurs when Congress fails to pass a budget. Without funding, federal agencies shut down, leaving millions of workers unpaid and essential services suspended. Trump has been pressuring Republicans to reject the current spending plan, while Musk has amplified right-wing voices that oppose it, turning a routine budget negotiation into a high-stakes political crisis.

How This Affects You

A government shutdown doesn’t just impact politicians—it hits everyday Americans hard. Here’s what you need to know:

Federal Workers & Military Personnel: Over 4 million federal employees, including service members, could be forced to work without pay or be furloughed entirely. Many live paycheck to paycheck and would struggle to cover rent, utilities, or groceries.

Social Security & Medicare: While benefits continue, customer service lines and claims processing could be severely delayed, making it harder for seniors and disabled individuals to access their payments or healthcare services.

Food Assistance Programs: Families relying on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) could see delays in benefits, and funding for food banks may dry up, exacerbating food insecurity.

National Parks, Museums, and Public Services: Expect closures of national parks, Smithsonian museums, and other federally funded sites. This affects not only visitors but also the small businesses that rely on tourism revenue.

Air Travel Disruptions: TSA agents and air traffic controllers will be required to work without pay, increasing the risk of flight delays and staff shortages that could create chaos at airports.

Housing & Small Business Loans: FHA-backed home loans could be delayed, making it harder for people to buy homes. Small businesses relying on federal grants or loans may also face significant funding gaps.

Economic Instability: The uncertainty and disruption from a shutdown can rattle financial markets, leading to job losses, increased inflation, and setbacks for businesses large and small.

Why Are Trump and Musk Doing This?

The Democrats argue that the budget proposal favored by Trump is nothing more than a disguised tax cut that would primarily benefit the ultra-wealthy—people like Musk. Additionally, they refuse to support a plan that would burden the U.S. with trillions of dollars in additional debt. Notably, alongside the Democrats, 38 Republican members of Congress also voted against Trump’s proposal.

The Bigger Picture

This isn’t just a budget dispute. It’s an alarming sign of how billionaires and political extremists can manipulate the system for their own gain. When an unelected tech mogul like Musk and a former president under multiple indictments can grind the government to a halt, it raises serious concerns about power, accountability, and the future of democracy.

What Can You Do?

Stay informed and share credible news sources.

Contact your representatives and demand they stand up to political obstruction.

Support journalism that holds those in power accountable.

Most importantly: Vote. A government shutdown is a preview of the dysfunction that could become permanent if Trump and his allies regain full control.

This is bigger than one political battle—it’s a fight for the stability of the country. And the outcome depends on all of us.

Source:

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/us-senate-democrats-debate-path-forward-government-funding-bill-2025-03-12/

[sourcethrive]

Discover the importance of loss run reports in insurance with Sourcethrive. Learn how these reports impact your policy and claims.

[mariacallous]

Revolutions have a logic. The revolutionaries start with a big, transformative, impossible goal. They want to remake society, smash existing institutions, replace them with something different. They know they will do damage on the road to their utopia, and they know people will object. Committed to their ideology, the revolutionaries pursue their goals anyway.

Inevitably, a crisis appears. Perhaps many people, even most people, don’t want regime change, or don’t share the revolutionaries’ utopian vision. Perhaps there are unplanned disasters. Smashing institutions can have unexpected, sometimes catastrophic, consequences, as the history of post-revolutionary famines shows very well.

But whatever the nature of the crisis, it forces the revolutionaries to make a choice. Give up—or radicalize. Find compromises—or polarize society further. Slow down—or use violence.

The bloodiest, most damaging revolutions have all been shaped by people making the most extreme choices. When the Bolsheviks ran into opposition in 1918, they unleashed the Red Terror. When the Chinese Communists encountered resistance, Mao sent teenage Red Guards to torment professors and civil servants. Sometimes the violence was mere theater, lecture halls full of people demanding that victims recant. Sometimes it was real. But it always served a purpose: to provoke, to divide, and then to allow the revolutionaries to suspend the law, create an emergency, and rule by decree.

I doubt very much that Donald Trump knows a lot about the methods of Bolsheviks or Maoists, although I am certain that some of his entourage does. But he is now leading an assault on what some around him call the administrative state, which the rest of us call the U.S. government. This assault is revolutionary in nature. Trump’s henchmen have a set of radical, sometimes competing goals, all of which require fundamental changes in the nature of the American state.

The concentration of power in the hands of the president. The replacement of the federal civil service with loyalists. The transfer of resources from the poor to the rich, especially rich insiders with connections to Trump. The removal, to the extent possible, of brown-skinned people from America, and the return to an older American racial hierarchy.

Trump and his allies also have revolutionary methods. Elon Musk sent DOGE engineers, some the same age as Mao’s Red Guards, into one government department after the next to capture computers, take data, and fire staff. Trump has launched targeted attacks on institutions that symbolize the power and prestige of the old regime: Harvard, the television networks, the National Institutes of Health. ICE has sent agents in military gear to conduct mass arrests of people who may or may not be undocumented immigrants, but whose arrests will frighten and silence whole communities. Trump’s family and friends have rapidly destroyed a matrix of ethical checks and balances in order to enrich the president and themselves.

But their revolutionary project is now running into reality. More than 200 times, courts have questioned the legality of Trump’s decisions, including the arbitrary tariffs and the deportations of people without due process. Judges have ordered the administration to rehire people who were illegally fired. DOGE is slowly being revealed as a failure, maybe even a hoax: Not only has it not saved much money, but the damage done by Musk’s engineers might prove even more expensive to fix, once the costs of lawsuits, broken contracts, and the loss of government capacity are calculated. The president’s signature legislation, his budget bill, has met resistance from senior Republicans and Wall Street CEOs who fear that it will destroy the U.S. government’s credibility, and even resistance from Musk himself.

Now Trump faces the same choice as his revolutionary predecessors: Give up—or radicalize. Find compromises—or polarize society further. Slow down—or use violence. Like his revolutionary predecessors, Trump has chosen radicalization and polarization, and he is openly seeking to provoke violence.

For the moment, the administration’s demonstration of force is mostly performative, a made-for-TV show designed to pit the United States military against protesters in a big Democratic city. The choice of venue for sweeping, indiscriminate raids—Home Depot stores around Los Angeles, and not, say, a golf club in Florida—seems orchestrated to appeal to Trump voters. The deployment of the U.S. military is designed to create frightening images, not to fulfill an actual need. The governor of California did not ask for U.S. troops; the mayor of Los Angeles did not ask for U.S. troops; even the L.A. police made clear that there was no emergency, and that they did not require U.S. troops.

But this is not the final stage of the revolution. The Marines in Los Angeles may provoke more violence, and that may indeed be the true purpose of their mission; after all, the Marines are primarily trained not to do civilian crowd control, but to kill the enemies of the United States. In an ominous speech at Fort Bragg yesterday, Trump reverted to the dehumanizing rhetoric he used during the election campaign, calling protesters “animals” and “a foreign enemy,” language that seems to give permission to the Marines to kill people. Even if this confrontation ends without violence, the presence of the military in Los Angeles breaks another set of norms and prepares the way for another escalation, another set of emergency decrees, another opportunity to discard the rule of law later on.

The logic of revolution often traps revolutionaries: They start out thinking that the task will be swift and easy. The people will support them. Their cause is just. But as their project falters, their vision narrows. At each obstacle, after each catastrophe, the turn to violence becomes that much swifter, the harsh decisions that much easier. If not stopped, by Congress or the courts, the Trump revolution will follow that logic too.

[user211201]

Be of Service

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-06 by dumb-and-jocked.---

Round of applause to @mrrharper

I dumped my uniform and bag into the locker, my partner John doing likewise beside me. After a graveyard shift, the two of us had decided to hit the gym bright and early in the morning before sleeping through our day off. John and I had been partners since we had first joined the police force. As officers, we had done a lot together; rode together, drank together, laughed together. One time we were even in a foursome together with two chicks we had picked up at a bar.

Now in our early thirties though, we had begun to take life a little more seriously. Start choosing wisely, acting responsibly. Working out had been my idea, and after six months it had already shown some results. Both of us were average height and had gained some pudge over the years, but now we both had notable definition. I could not help but flex a little in the mirror, impressed by the beginnings of my triceps.

“Looking fire, broski!”

My eyes shifted over to one of the three football jocks who sauntered into the locker room. I was immediately annoyed by the trio of obnoxious meatheads, and I could tell John was as well.

“Have you been coming here for long?” the first asked. “We haven’t seen you around.”

“We come when we can,” I replied. “Working for the law gives us busy schedules.”

“Woah…so are you guys like, officers or something?” the second guffawed.

“Officers, yeah.” John was irked.

“Huhuhuh…cool bruh!” the third jock inserted. “You two should totally join us!”

Before we could respond, the first jock piped back in, “Yeah dudes! We could have a great sesh between the five of us. Brock here is stellar at arms, and Duke is the best at working those legs and glutes.”

“Jalen’s a pro with chest,” the second jock, Brock, finished. “And you two officer bros, what are you good at?”

I grunted, “Knowing how to refuse an offer.”

It took Brock and Duke, the third jock, a second to process what I had implied, their mental capacities obviously slower than the average male. Jalen was a little faster however, putting on a dumb smile. 

“Your loss bros, but totally understandable,” he shrugged. “In case it wasn’t obvious, we’re on the football team at the local college, so let us know if you need any workout tips or exercises.”

I barely nodded my head, offering a blunt, “Ok, thanks.” John and I then made our way past the bulky jocks, the three of them each larger than either of us. I took a breath as soon as we exited their collective earshot.

“Three cocky dicks,” I snorted. “No better way to start the morning.”

John mockingly agreed. Our workout was brutal, our bodies already tired due to our unusual sleep schedule. This, along with the occasional stare from one of the jocks, only encouraged us to work harder. Nothing was spared from our exercises, we utilized machines that hit multiple areas at once. Arms and chest, legs and back, abs and quads. At the end, we hit the treadmills for a thirty minute run, sneering back at the trio while they stood in front of one of the many mirrors and flexed their pumped arms, taking pictures for social media.

Eventually, we were back in the locker room cleaning up, both expecting the jocks to ambush us again. Fortunately, the lumbering footballers never arrived. John had joked they were probably still drooling over their own muscles in the mirror, and I had replied better they were drooling on themselves then us. I did not want their narcissistic, dim-witted reek all over me, and neither did my partner. We both opted to skip showers; we could take them back at our respective apartments before crashing into our own, cool beds.

As we left the locker rooms and headed towards the exit, we were immediately swarmed by our unwanted acquaintances. 

“You know, bros,” Jalen swung a beefy, sweaty arm around both of us. Brock paced behind me, and Duke followed suit with John. “We never caught your names? We’d like to thank you for your service, officers, whatever it is you do."

His tone was a little menacing, but I knew he would not try to pull something in broad daylight. “Darren,” I responded. “and John.”

Jalen grinned, moving his arms to pat the back of our necks. I felt a little sting at his touch, almost like an electric shock.

“Now c’mon bros, how about you come join us at the frat house where we can properly use your services.”

John frowned, and I retorted with, “I think you boys have had your fun.”

Brock chuckled, “Fun’s not even started broski.”

Duke’s response was even deeper and dumber, “Huhuhuh...dudes aren’t even ready.”

We had finally made it outside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. I noticed our squad cars parked up front, we would be out of this mess in just a moment.

“Alright, this is our stop,” I exclaimed, making sure the three got my message. Suddenly, a piercing jolt was sent across my spine, traveling all the way from my brain to my toes.

“Our stop is actually over there, officers.” Jalen pointed to the two trucks past their cruisers. “Darren, you can come with me and Brock, Duke here is gonna take John.”

Robotically, my body followed Jalen’s command, tracing behind the first two jocks to their obnoxiously big vehicle. Although I could not turn my head, I could tell John’s body was following the orders as well.

“Disengage Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, sleep.”

— —

“Engage 25% Operation Mode, security bypass JALEN, wake.”

My eyes fluttered open. I was standing in an empty room, not rigid but not slouching either. To my right, I could sense my partner’s presence, familiar with John’s aura. We were still in our dirty gym gear, although our body odor was nothing compared to the three jocks standing proudly before us. Through the windows behind them, I assumed it to still be some time in the morning, but that was the only piece of the situation that I could try to fathom.

“Bet you’ve never had a mind control chip implanted, have you, officers?”

I tried to respond with something snarky, but my mouth wouldn’t let me.

“We were just trying to be friendly, help some bros out, but you two insulted our kindness.” Jalen stepped a little closer, even from a distance I could feel his large, masculine presence. “Maybe next time you won’t mess with the son of a government-funded millionaire.”

Jalen pointed his fingers at his two goons. Brock and Duke each stepped forward, crossing the distance between them and John and I. They removed our shirts, and although I could see or move my feet, I realized my shoes had already been taken too.

“My dad gifted me some leftover mind-control chips he had built for the military, said I could use them if I ever needed them. Something along the lines of "accessing the nervous system" and "reprogramming capabilities". Didn't matter to me bros, it was all nerd-speak. I just needed the commands.”

If I could have, I would have gulped. Jalen stepped closer as the other jocks discarded our clothes.

“MC 1001, 50% Operation Mode.”

Suddenly, the feeling was restored throughout my body. I did not bother with attempting an escape, recognizing my body was still glued to the floor. When I turned to my partner, I realized John had not been released.

“What’s the plan, Jalen?” I spat.

“You were so rude to us back at our gym when you are employed to be of service” Jalen smirked. "The bros and I thought we should remind you of your duty, and what better way then by dispatching you as our new security guards who obey our every wish and command?”

“So what, you’re going to 'reprogram' us?”

“How about you see for yourself?” Jalen then turned to John. “MC 1002, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1002, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." It may have been John’s mouth that had opened, but I knew it was not him who was speaking.

“Brock,” Jalen invited. “How about you take the first swing?”

Brock laughed and scratched at his crotch, “Get him jacked bro.”

Jalen turned to Duke, “Anything specific you’d like to add?”

To my surprise, Duke did have something to add–a lot to add: “Make them former rugby players bro, cause rugby is for idiots and rugby players should serve football jocks, the real alphas.”

Jalen raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised too. “Works for me. MC 1002, enter in keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ to the personality frame and set both at 88. Raise ‘Muscle’ by 40 base points and remove any post-secondary education from the mainframe.”

Watching the football neanderthal list off a series of programming commands put our situation into a new perspective. My eyes grew with fear as the changes installed into John’s body. It was like watching a horrible balloon inflation, his body contorting as it expanded. John’s once meager chest bloated into two massive pecs supported by two trunks of legs. His arms cartoonishly bulged until they were practically circular, his pits filling with hair as a tattoo wrapped itself around his right bicep. His face thickened too, adopting a square shape along with a wider nose and thicker stubble.

“Keywords ‘Rugby’ and ‘Jock’ successfully installed.” John’s voice was now deeper, gruffer. “‘Muscle’ upgraded, post-secondary education deleted.”

Jalen nodded, “MC 1002, add 10 base points to his age as well.”

“Adding 10 base points to ‘Age’.” To my shock, I helplessly observed my partner grow older beside me. The skin around his body tightened, pulling in to reveal the more delicate details of his veins and tendons. Wrinkles began to develop across his body along with other age marks. It was painful to watch his hairline slowly pull back, his scalp thinning out into a well-maintained crew cut.

“Here’s the fun part,” Jalen mocked, noting my face of terror. "Lower cognitive abilities by 20 base points and independent identity by 30 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe and boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential."

Although there were no visible alterations, I could have sworn the light went out behind my partner’s eyes. “All actions executed, please confirm modifications to MC 1002.”

Jalen smirked, making direct eye contact with me. “Confirm MC 1002, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

To my delight, I watched as John’s body reanimated completely, indicating he now had full control over his body. But any hope I had was immediately crushed as soon as he stood at command, dumbly  grinning with his arms crossed over his chest.

“How can I be of service, sir?” John asked Jalen.

“Go do a full sweep of the yard of something, bro.” Jalen tossed John a pair of sunglasses, not even bothering to hand him any other clothes. Apparently his now too-tight joggers were enough. “Oh, and by the way, you go by Hammer now.”

“Hammer…” John processed. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

I watched as my former partner stomped out of the room, out of our reality.

“Why ‘Hammer’, bro?” Brock piped in from behind me.

“‘Cause he’ll be laying down the law of the land.” Jalen then shifted back to me. “Our other friend here will be ‘Brute’.”

I heard two empty-headed laughs from the two empty-headed jocks behind me.

“He’ll be nothing more than a wall of meat,” Jalen taunted. Before I could insult him back, he instantly shut me up. “MC 1001, engage Modification Mode, security bypass JALEN.”

“MC 1001, Modification Mode engaged, security bypass confirmed." My mouth was out of my control. I tried to fight back, reanimate myself by any means possible.

“Alright Duke, it’s your turn.”

“Same thing as last time, bruh.”

Disappointed, Jalen shifted back to Brock, “Got something else?”

I prayed Brock would not say anything too damaging “Make him huge dude,” he requested, putting me at ease before following up with: “And make him like a butler too.”

Jalen laughed, and if I could have I would have cried.

“Oh MC 1001,” Jalen merrily instructed. “Copy MC 1002’s personality frame and mainframe, and enhance body and clothes proportions to 1.5. ”

“Modifications downloading,” I stated, a sudden sinking emerging in my stomach. In moments, I sprung upwards towards the ceiling, my height soaring above the jocks to an astonishing six and a half feet. Muscles exploded out of my body, bloating me thick with bulk. My arms were plump and my hands meaty. Two juicy pecs larger than my head were now carried by my absolute barrel of a chest, stretched out and taut. My legs were colossal, so dense that I would permanently be forced to take wide, swaggering steps. Even my neck thickened, supporting my newly masculinized skull.

“Copy and paste procedure successful.” My voice was husky, low, deep and booming. “Body and clothes proportions at 1.5.”

“Look at his socks, bro,” I heard Brock snigger behind me. “Whattya think those stompers are?”

“Huhuhuh…I don’t know dude…maybe Size 15?”

“Looks like I missed something,” Jalen appeared disappointed. “MC 1001, reduce reproductive size to 3.”

“Redacting 4 base points from ‘Reproduction’.” I screamed, pleading for this to stop. But no words exited my mouth. Instead, I remained painfully silent as I felt my cock and balls shrivel down within my shorts. 

“Helps with the obedience factor” Jalen stated. “Now, let's lower cognitive abilities by 40 base points and independent identity to 15 base points. Install the ‘Security’ package to the mainframe, boost the ‘Obedience’ category to max potential, and add in keywords ‘Respect’, ‘Humility’, and ‘Subservience’."

I would not give up, I would not cave in. “Please confirm modifications to MC 1002?”

Jalen was finished with his game. “Confirm modifications, disengage Modification Mode, reengage total Operation Mode.”

After a moment, I blinked. My head felt fuzzy, empty, as if some great weight of responsibility had been removed. I dumbly chuckled to myself.

"Feeling good there, bro?” Jalen smiled. “Excited to serve us jocks?"

"Uhhhh, yeah bruh…be of service."

"Well said, Brute."

"Brute?" I smiled lazily. “What can I uh…do bro?”

"First, let’s get you in uniform.” Jalen signaled to Duke, who then tossed a black cap to me. I secured it backwards onto my head proudly.

“Now, clean the frat house from top to bottom. I’m talking dirty laundry in the machine, trash taken out, floors scrubbed–the whole deal. I want this place looking slick before the party starts tonight. Once you’re done with that, you can go patrol the lawn for any feds. Got all that?”

It took a while for me to process everything, but eventually the dumb grin came back to my face.

“Yeah bruh…whatever you need.”

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Existence Value: Why All of Nature is Important Whether We Can Use it or Not

I spend a lot of time around other nature nerds. We’re a bunch of people from varying backgrounds, places, and generations who all find a deep well of inspiration within the natural world. We’re the sort of people who will happily spend all day outside enjoying seeing wildlife and their habitats without any sort of secondary goal like fishing, foraging, etc. (though some of us engage in those activities, too.) We don’t just fall in love with the places we’ve been, either, but wild locales that we’ve only ever seen in pictures, or heard of from others. We are curators of existence value.

Existence value is exactly what it sounds like–something is considered important and worthwhile simply because it is. It’s at odds with how a lot of folks here in the United States view our “natural resources.” It’s also telling that that is the term most often used to refer collectively to anything that is not a human being, something we have created, or a species we have domesticated, and I have run into many people in my lifetime for whom the only value nature has is what money can be extracted from it. Timber, minerals, water, meat (wild and domestic), mushrooms, and more–for some, these are the sole reasons nature exists, especially if they can be sold for profit. When questioning how deeply imbalanced and harmful our extractive processes have become, I’ve often been told “Well, that’s just the way it is,” as if we shall be forever frozen in the mid-20th century with no opportunity to reimagine industry, technology, or uses thereof.

Moreover, we often assign positive or negative value to a being or place based on whether it directly benefits us or not. Look at how many people want to see deer and elk numbers skyrocket so that they have more to hunt, while advocating for going back to the days when people shot every gray wolf they came across. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic Of Wolves and Men is just one of several in-depth looks at how deeply ingrained that hatred of the “big bad wolf” is in western mindsets, simply because wolves inconveniently prey on livestock and compete with us for dwindling areas of wild land and the wild game that sustained both species’ ancestors for many millennia. “Good” species are those that give us things; “bad” species are those that refuse to be so complacent.

Even the modern conservation movement often has to appeal to people’s selfishness in order to get us to care about nature. Look at how often we have to argue that a species of rare plant is worth saving because it might have a compound in it we could use for medicine. Think about how we’ve had to explain that we need biodiverse ecosystems, healthy soil, and clean water and air because of the ecosystem services they provide us. We measure the value of trees in dollars based on how they can mitigate air pollution and anthropogenic climate change. It’s frankly depressing how many people won’t understand a problem until we put things in terms of their own self-interest and make it personal. (I see that less as an individual failing, and more our society’s failure to teach empathy and emotional skills in general, but that’s a post for another time.)

Existence value flies in the face of all of those presumptions. It says that a wild animal, or a fungus, or a landscape, is worth preserving simply because it is there, and that is good enough. It argues that the white-tailed deer and the gray wolf are equally valuable regardless of what we think of them or get from them, in part because both are keystone species that have massive positive impacts on the ecosystems they are a part of, and their loss is ecologically devastating.

But even those species whose ecological impact isn’t quite so wide-ranging are still considered to have existence value. And we don’t have to have personally interacted with a place or its natural inhabitants in order to understand their existence value, either. I may never get to visit the Maasai Mara in Kenya, but I wish to see it as protected and cared for as places I visit regularly, like Willapa National Wildlife Refuge. And there are countless other places, whose names I may never know and which may be no larger than a fraction of an acre, that are important in their own right.

I would like more people (in western societies in particular) to be considering this concept of existence value. What happens when we detangle non-human nature from the automatic value judgements we place on it according to our own biases? When we question why we hold certain values, where those values came from, and the motivations of those who handed them to us in the first place, it makes it easier to see the complicated messes beneath the simple, shiny veneer of “Well, that’s just the way it is.”

And then we get to that most dangerous of realizations: it doesn’t have to be this way. It can be different, and better, taking the best of what we’ve accomplished over the years and creating better solutions for the worst of what we’ve done. In the words of Rebecca Buck–aka Tank Girl–“We can be wonderful. We can be magnificent. We can turn this shit around.”

Let’s be clear: rethinking is just the first step. We can’t just uproot ourselves from our current, deeply entrenched technological, social, and environmental situation and instantly create a new way of doing things. Societal change takes time; it takes generations. This is how we got into that situation, and it’s how we’re going to climb out of it and hopefully into something better. Sometimes the best we can do is celebrate small, incremental victories–but that’s better than nothing at all.

Nor can we just ignore the immensely disproportionate impact that has been made on indigenous and other disadvantaged communities by our society (even in some cases where we’ve actually been trying to fix the problems we’ve created.) It does no good to accept nature’s inherent value on its own terms if we do not also extend that acceptance throughout our own society, and to our entire species as a whole.

But I think ruminating on this concept of existence value is a good first step toward breaking ourselves out first and foremost. And then we go from there.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[tiredandoptimistic]

My reviews of the Careful of Books novellas

The spoiler-free gist is that I really enjoyed all four novellas and definitely recommend reading them if you can. I left the majority of my thoughts below the cut in case you want to avoid spoilers, though I avoided using many specific plot details.

A Sea Change: Oh Matthew Fairchild you are so special to me. I loved getting to see him again, especially dipping into his POV. He's just as delightful as ever, and it was great getting to see a version of Matthew who's past the worst of his addiction and depression but still hasn't figured out what will come next. I also really enjoyed how his grief over Christopher was handled. Kit is one of my all-time top TSC characters so I was definitely disappointed that ChoT didn't have more mourning for him, but I 100% get that it wouldn't have fit the flow of the narrative and also these characters were dealing with a lot of crazy plot stuff so it would have taken a bit for the loss to fully sink in and the grieving process to begin in earnest. Showing Matthew affected by it in the long run felt very appropriate. Plus, every mention of fire messages was like a little memorial to him. I also loved getting little glimpses of other TLH characters in Matthew's thoughts, since he may be alone on the ocean but he'll always carry his friends with him. Plus, Oscar was there! Get me a t-shirt that says I <3 Oscar Wilde, Hero Dog. I think the plot was a lot of fun too. I was glad to see Matthew put his deductive reasoning to use, and I really like that the immediately suspicious downworlders weren't actually to blame for everything. It's always nice when TSC commits to showing that downworlders are people just like Shadowhunters or mundanes. Sidenote, but I can't help but wonder if the offer to turn Matthew into a vampire was a reference to the old fan theories that he'd become a downworlder by the end of TLH. I liked Sylvain and his relationship with Matthew well enough, but he's not a new favorite or anything. It felt a little jarring how quickly they got together, since CC usually goes for more slowburn ships, but it still fit the flow of the story. Ultimately I just wish that we got more time with them, but considering that the whole story was under 80 pages I'd definitely call it a success. I think I'll always be a little disappointed that we didn't get the full Matthew bindup (like I'll always be disappointed that we didn't get The Secret Treasons), but I trust CC's judgement and if she didn't have a full bindup worth of stories to tell then I'm glad we at least got one excellent novella.

A Scandal at Undershaw: This one was a lot of fun! Probably my favorite of the non-Matthew novellas, just on account of the vibes. It managed to keep a certain level of gravitas attached to the characters without taking itself too seriously, and the absurdity of "modern high schooler Sherlock Holmes who still acts Like That" was played into without feeling mocking. I like that the story acknowledges how Sherlock's behaviors (getting so wrapped up in his mysteries that he doesn't consider other people's boundaries) can be harmful, but it never demonizes Sherlock or acts like he's an emotionless asshole. I also like this version of John and think that he has a lot of personality while still falling into the traditional Watson role of following Holmes's zanniness. Irene was fun, and I like that she and Sherlock completely match each other's energies. I was just kind of along for the ride with the mystery, and I think it was totally serviceable. All the pieces fit together and it helped move the plot forward, but it wasn't really what I was there for. I will say, it's a little funny to me that CC published her high school AU Johnlock fic and they don't even get together. That plays into something I felt overall with this story; that it's just part one of many (though I have no idea if CC has plans to continue it). Even though the mystery is revolved by the end, all the characters clearly have a lot more to do in their personal stories. Now that they're a bit settled (and unsettled) at Undershaw, I'd love to see what they get up to next and how their arcs continue to evolve! I'd totally read more novellas (or even full novels) about this version of the Sherlock Holmes universe.

Wendy Darling: While the last story felt like part one in an anthology, this one felt like episode one of a TV show (which, to be fair, is kinda what it is). The script format was interesting, and I didn't have any issues with it though I admittedly prefer CC's prose. I like the setup of "dark academia Peter Pan" as she calls it in the introduction, and the lore of this universe is certainly intriguing. My one issue is that I don't really feel as though anything is resolved by the end. I want to read the rest of this book or watch the rest of this show, but as far as I know that isn't going to happen. Wendy, Peter, and James are all fun and engaging characters who I'd be down to spend more time with, but I don't feel especially connected to any of them. I'm mostly here for the plot and lore, which, as I've said, doesn't feel complete. It's all setup with only a couple bits of payoff. Still worth the read, but more of a vibes experience than anything else.

In Fire Foretold: This one was an interesting read because I know that CC is planning on developing it into a full series. I think the concept of a reverse portal story is a lot of fun right off the bat, though I admittedly wasn't grabbed by the worldbuilding of the fantasy portion (which might be down to my personal preferences). Once the story jumped forward in time to the real world, I quite liked Alix as a character and enjoyed the ominous impositions of fantasy on her (often grim) reality, though this is another story where the plot took precedence over the characters for me. I'm still intrigued by the cast so far though, and I'm especially glad to see a prominent F/F friendship, since CC has never been great at those. I hope that Julia will get to play a more major role in the full series (like Simon in TMI), though Bram and Corwin seem cool too. In the end it's another story where I'm left wanting more, only in this case I know that I'll get it.

So there you have it! Careful of Books is definitely my favorite Seasons of Shadowhunters book so far, and it leaves me excited to see what will come in Better in Black. Now I'm gonna go reread Nothing But Shadows, because A Sea Change has me missing the merry thieves.

[nynyhaha]

Spider Themes: Partial empathy and the effects of utilitarianism

A huge Spider centric philosophy rant where I’ll digress many times(sorry)

The Phantom troupe is an embodiment of the Robinhood troupe as much as it is a deconstruction and subversion of it. https://www.tumblr.com/nynyhaha/761225991501873152/phantom-troupe-failed-robinhoods

They don’t do what they do for fame or money,but when it comes to using horrible means for noble ends,they also fail. After years of pondering the Spider’s purpose,I’ve found that seeing them as a warped version of heroes makes the most sense. Ex-child soldiers,running rampant after they’ve outlived the anticipated period of self appointed service.

After Sarasa’s death Chrollo clearly states that he sees no possibility for achieving his goals peacefully, in his eyes they never had a chance to accomplish anything while staying the good guys.

Of course he couldn’t succeed if he didn’t even try! But why didn’t he,and why is there so little stopping a person as caring,responsible and community-minded as him from turning around and betraying humanity at large,detaching himself from all the good he could’ve caused?

I love that Togashi let the not yet Spiders as well as us,the audience,see this typical hero cartoon for children where the good always wins because of the magical purity of their hearts. Where if they just believe hard enough,it will be fine.

In reality..all Chrollo can do is bring flowers to honour the graves.

It means there was always a separation between fiction and reality for him,despite being eager to watch and dub the power-cleaners story,Chrollo never believed it. Or maybe he did before he found Sarasa,after which all the illusions he might’ve had shattered.

The knows it takes a sacrifice to make great change,not just of his life but of his morals.

Chrollo shows an unusual level of self awareness for a child. In the following panel he announces he’s going to become a villain. Not a rebel with a cause,or a noble avenger,a VILLAIN. His view is so pessimistic,that it must take a villain to defeat villains. There’s no way to keep his “pure heart” and all this talk about ✨faith✨ was bullshit. To me this is a very interesting summery of Chrollo’s view of his role. It’s how he assesses it before he actually does anything,which makes it all the more fascinating since we don’t know how much his outlook changed once he actually started his plans. Or do we?

Why utilitarianism? Isn’t the regret he shows here in advance indicative of deontology?

If I was tasked with defending the Spiders and presenting them in a more favourable light,I’d pull up with the combo of

-“us vs them” -> they were defending their very marginalised community that the world turned its back on,against such horrible organisations as the mafia. Their initial mission is self defense. One might also look at it the way aot fans do,where being mistreated by outsiders justifies crimes against them.

-utilitarian principles-> even if innocent people were hurt in the process,it’s worth it in the end because a greater number of innocents are saved.

Chrollo however,simply says he’s going to kill a lot of people,not specifying if

-he will kill more people than he’ll save

-he will kill more innocent people than he’ll save

-he will only kill bad people

-he will kill outsiders for the sake of meteorians

But I assume he’s going to kill those whose lives he still values,why else would he feel bad about it? In that moment we see a person who is torn between two extremes,and chooses one whole acknowledging the other.

Chrollo in that instance does NOT believe that killing evil outsiders is a righteous quest he’ll embark on,neither does he believe that killing many,even for the sake of saving many,is justified. He still decides to do it,just not as a hero,but as a villain.

Sarasa wouldn’t want it because she didn’t live long enough to experience loss and hate,altho she did experience extreme pain so who’s really to say she wouldn’t have wanted revenge? Either way,it seems Chrollo isn’t just talking about going against Sarasa’s principles,he’s talking about abandoning his own,that the two of them shared until she died together with his naivety and innocence.

The last three speech bubbles are the most puzzling for me. Unless by “repenting” he means being held accountable and paying for their crimes,this opens up crazy ideas about those kinds of people actually feeling bad about their crimes.And the notion that legal systems are powerful enough to cause such changes in a person.

This raises the question whether Chrollo will ever repent for his crimes.The answer is yes,he did already…Before he even committed anything.💀💀

Since this post is a HxH analysis mixed with philosophy,let’s look at honouring vs promoting values.

Honouring the value of human life would mean never ever taking it(Sarasa’s alleged view)

Promoting its value in this case would mean fighting for the recognition of meteorian lives by the world and stopping the mafia from killing more kids,even if for that you’d need to kill (Chrollo’s path)

In short,kid Chrollo holds values he’s willing to break and about to abandon.

The Spider ends up operating on the two principles mentioned above,valuing the whole over individuals and acting in favour of Meteor City at the cost of outsiders.

When I say “utilitarianism” I don’t mean maximising good or happiness,but acting in favour of the goal/organisation above all else

Inheriting values:One for all and all for one

The Elder here promotes the value of life of his people,he’s willing to sacrifice 31 of them to do so. Mathematically this seems stupid at first:killing 30 more people than the one originally harmed? Couldn’t more lives be saved by inaction? Couldn’t Chrollo keep his friends rather than losing four more over the death of one?

But,consider how this incident paints Meteor City,how actually standing up for themselves in such a brutal way does a great deal of inflicting fear on the world,likely preventing it from wronging Meteor City again. 31 people may die for the message,but spreading the message will help the sum of people living in Ryuseigai. Well,it’s supposed to help,and for the sake of argument let’s say it does.

Similarly 13 people giving up their lives can help the community as a whole. Will I ever shut up about the Spiders breaking the mafia deal? No.Because by doing so,they accept the responsibility of protecting their home from any threats AND getting the necessary money(haha,it can never be enough)

If just 13 people will commit enough crime to gather whatever the mafia was previously paying the city,there won’t be any need for human trafficking AND they’ll commit the crimes on their own terms! ✨Independence✨ through 🕸Spider Scapegoats🐐

Basically,the Phantom Troupe can be the sole solution to many problems,even if they’ll never solve the core of them. That,and the immense pressure that lies on them,might lead to nihilism and loss of any motivation which drove them to start what they do in the first place.

The loss of empathy

Chrollo’s definiting character trait is his relationship with humanity and his connection/disconnection from it. He’s speaking as if he’s not human himself,and in the fight vs Hisoka he displays just how deep he’s sunk on his journey.

He uses bodies as instruments(for utility),specifically the bodies of the audience(people who might not be “innocent”but have very little to do with him). He couldn’t care less about them. The Elder used the bodies of his own comarades,but how much did he care about them if he was capable of such a thing?

The Elders remain enigmatic but my impression of them is that of a powerful but inefficient council of people whose task is so enormous it numbed them to minor things such as necessary deaths. Much like the Spiders,the Elders have to use horrible means for an end too big to achieve. They don’t even have an end,they just run the worlds biggest orphanage and homeless shelter,a “safe” oasis for anyone abandoned and wronged by the world. They’re supposed to be fixing whatever injustice there is,they’re peak philanthropists and altruists,so much so that they’re willing to kill and arguably sell out (traffic) a number of residents for the sake of the whole of them.

It’s a matter of scale for them. Or maybe not even,it might not be about efficiency anymore.

They’re not unlike normal politicians,arguing about semantics instead of taking action. At least in that way the Spiders are better,and since “nothing has changed” the chapter illustrates exactly why the Spider is needed,the Elders have apparently always held this outlook.

Yes,because they actually go deal with the problem and figure out if the transformed residents can turn back. When they can’t,we see them expressing sadness about it

We even got Fei looking sad. Sad.FEITAN.Am I hallucinating?

Once Phinks figures out a way around feeling too bad about killing their fellow citizens,the other Spiders also regain their confidence,now knowing what to do. I’m grateful for the manga because the anime wasn’t as expressive with their expressions,lol.

We clearly see them concerned for people outside the troupe,and while Phinks hates feeling pity because he sees it as dishonourable for the ones turned,it’s obvious that that’s what he experiences.

Speaking of Chrollo..Wasn’t Phinks the one arguing against going to save him?

Self dehumanising/Cog in the machine

While the strong bons between members humanise them to no end and create the cognitive dissonance (how can this silly friend group commit such atrocities?) they actually show quite well just how much they have to put on line to live as they do.

If the Spiders didn’t care as much for each other we wouldn’t care as much for them either,and we wouldn’t see what the Spider-set up takes from them.

Firstly we have Shal causally determining someone’s worth by their ability ✨😀

Next we have Shizuku calmly speaking of her death as if she’s talking about the weather

This moment especially shows how much Chrollo’s cold,tactical approach can hurt,cause I was pretty annoyed at him at that moment. He’s only being reasonable tho,wanting to avoid more deaths while Nobunaga is being emotional. Still,his friend just died and while not letting that death influence them to the point of losing more people makes sense,the way Chrollo phrases it “you were willing to die,so Uvo was ok dying but those other members are crucial so they need to live” is very cynical. We know Chrollo is far from accepting Uvo’s death and his way of coping through the requiem can only do so much,however when he needs to,he shuts his emotions off completely.

Judging each other’s worth based on ability and how strategically useful they are to the Spider runs contrary to the notion of friendship,it forces them to see themselves and each other as instruments,as mere cogs in the machine. While some Spiders hold those principles more strongly,the whole organisation operates this way.

Chrollo designed it that way,since they all went into it ready to give up their lives,he made the organisation a priority but not the individual. Still,when the time finally comes to out his ideas to the test,only several members stay true to his principles.

This is the same Phinks who acted like a girly girl with a crush,worrying about Chrollo,unable to wait. Ok,maybe losing Pakunoda and seeing Chrollo through her eyes changed him,but I don’t think that’s likely. Phinks cares about Chrollo but he cares about the Spider more.

Feitan will also break rules of negotiation and risk Chrollo’s life to find out more information. He seems to see no obligation whatsoever to play fair and obey the enemy’s rules,I also don’t believe he has a concept of 🕸honour among thieves🕸but he did max out on loyalty.

While Phinks’ and Feitan’s actions seem to just stir up trouble,once we understand their pov it all makes sense.

If you put the Spider first,why would you NOT go above and beyond to ensure you have all knowledge you could possibly get and secure the most advantageous position? He’s not doing that because he’s a sneaky little shit but because he’s operating on the principle of maximising the Spider’s strategic advantage!(im such a good advocate for my boys)

We also can’t forget that the well-being of the Spider as a whole overlaps with the well-being of the majority of its legs,which means choosing the spider in practice is synonymous with playing it safe and protecting the remaining members

As harsh and damaging their approach may be,in some way it’s inevitable. There was no right choice in this dilema,and there was also very little certainty so it was a matter of trust.

-Kurapika might play dirty and actually control Pakunoda as far as they know

-Its Chrollo’s death vs a guaranteed but unspecified number of Spider deaths

-preventing further deaths is good both for the whole and the individual members

Also Chrollo being “worthless as a hostage” might just mean he’s on a democratic standing with the rest and isn’t more important than them. He likely made this rule to prevent others dying for him just because he’s Danchou (and failed)

Conclusion: An organisation such as the troupe HAS to operate on utilitarianism if it

-serves an important purpose (guard dog of Meteor City)

-is valuable by itself and most concerned with persisting

No matter how you look at it, whether the Troupe selflessly performs acts of necessary evil for their people,or if it’s a cult/collective entity that exists without any clear reason,it’s survival is more important than the survival of its individual members. Which is a shame,because it poisons the very bonds that were formed while they fought for their cause side by side.