#Reverse Merger

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“The Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets”

This week only, Barnes and Noble is offering 25% off pre-orders of my forthcoming novel Picks and Shovels. ENDS TODAY!.

While we truly live in an age of ascendant monsters who have hijacked our country, our economy, and our imaginations, there is one consolation: the small cohort of brilliant, driven writers who have these monsters' number, and will share it with us. Writers like Maureen Tkacik:

https://prospect.org/topics/maureen-tkacik/

Journalists like Wired's Vittoria Elliott, Leah Feiger, and Tim Marchman are absolutely crushing it when it comes to Musk's DOGE coup:

https://www.wired.com/author/vittoria-elliott/

And Nathan Tankus is doing incredible work all on his own, just blasting out scoop after scoop:

https://www.crisesnotes.com/

But for me, it was Tkacik – as usual – in the pages of The American Prospect who pulled it all together in a way that finally made it make sense, transforming the blitzkreig Muskian chaos into a recognizable playbook. While most of the coverage of Musk's wrecking crew has focused on the broccoli-haired Gen Z brownshirts who are wilding through the server rooms at giant, critical government agencies, Tkacik homes in on their boss, Tom Krause, whom she memorably dubs "the Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" (I told you she was a great writer!):

https://prospect.org/power/2025-02-06-private-equity-hatchet-man-leading-lost-boys-of-doge/

Krause is a private equity looter. He's the guy who basically invented the playbook for PE takeovers of large tech companies, from Broadcom to Citrix to VMWare, converting their businesses from selling things to renting them out, loading them up with junk fees, slashing quality, jacking up prices over and over, and firing everyone who was good at their jobs. He is a master enshittifier, an enshittification ninja.

Krause has an unerring instinct for making people miserable while making money. He oversaw the merger of Citrix and VMWare, creating a ghastly company called The Cloud Software Group, which sold remote working tools. Despite this, of his first official acts was to order all of his employees to stop working remotely. But then, after forcing his workers to drag their butts into work, move back across the country, etc, he reversed himself because he figured out he could sell off all of the company's office space for a tidy profit.

Krause canceled employee benefits, like thank you days for managers who pulled a lot of unpaid overtime, or bonuses for workers who upgraded their credentials. He also ended the company's practice of handing out swag as small gifts to workers, and then stiffed the company that made the swag, wontpaying a $437,574.97 invoice for all the tchotchkes the company had ordered. That's not the only supplier Krause stiffed: FinLync, a fintech company with a three-year contract with Krause's company, also had to sue to get paid.

Krause's isn't a canny operator who roots out waste: he's a guy who tears out all the wiring and then grudgingly restores the minimum needed to keep the machine running (no wonder Musk loves him, this is the Twitter playbook). As Tkacik reports, Krause fucked up the customer service and reliability systems that served Citrix's extremely large, corporate customers – the giant businesses that cut huge monthly checks to Citrix, whose CIOs received daily sales calls from his competitors.

Workers who serviced these customers, like disabled Air Force veteran David Morgan, who worked with big public agencies, were fired on one hour's notice, just before their stock options vested. The giant public agency customers he'd serviced later called him to complain that the only people they could get on the phone were subcontractors in Indian call centers who lacked the knowledge and authority to resolve their problems.

Last month, Citrix fired all of its customer support engineers. Citrix's military customers are being illegally routed to offshore customer support teams who are prohibited from working with the US military.

Citrix/VMWare isn't an exception. The carnage at these companies is indistinguishable from the wreck Krause made of Broadcom. In all these cases, Krause was parachuted in by private equity bosses, and he destroyed something useful to extract a giant, one-time profit, leaving behind a husk that no longer provides value to its customers or its employees.

This is the DOGE playbook. It's all about plunder: take something that was patiently, carefully built up over generations and burn it to the ground, warming yourself in the pyre, leaving nothing behind but ash. This is what private equity plunderers have been doing to the world's "advanced" economies since the Reagan years. They did it to airlines, family restaurants, funeral homes, dog groomers, toy stores, pharma, palliative care, dialysis, hospital beds, groceries, cars, and the internet.

Trump's a plunderer. He was elected by the plunderer class – like the crypto bros who want to run wild, transforming workers' carefully shepherded retirement savings into useless shitcoins, while the crypto bros run off with their perfectly cromulent "fiat" money. Musk is the apotheosis of this mindset, a guy who claims credit for other peoples' productive and useful businesses, replacing real engineering with financial engineering. Musk and Krause, they're like two peas in a pod.

That's why – according to anonymous DOGE employees cited by Tckacik – DOGE managers are hired for their capacity for cruelty: "The criteria for DOGE is how many you have fired, how much you enjoy firing people, and how little you care about the impact on peoples well being…No wonder Tom Krause was tapped for this. He’s their dream employee!"

The fact that Krause isn't well known outside of plunderer circles is absolutely a feature for him, not a bug. Scammers like Krause want to be admitted to polite society. This is why the Sacklers – the opioid crime family that kicked off the Oxy pandemic that's murdered more than 800,000 Americans so far – were so aggressive about keeping their association with their family business, Purdue Pharma, a secret. The Sacklers only wanted to be associated with the art galleries and museums they put their names over, and their lawyers threatened journalists for writing about their lives as billionaire drug pushers (I got one of those threats).

There's plenty of good reasons to be anonymous – if you're a whistleblower, say. But if you ever encounter a corporate executive who insists on anonymity, that's a wild danger sign. Take Pixsy, the scam "copyleft trolls" whose business depends on baiting people into making small errors when using images licensed under very early versions of the Creative Common licenses, and then threatening to sue them unless they pay hundreds or thousands of dollars:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

Kain Jones, the CEO of Pixsy, tried to threaten me under the EU's GDPR for revealing the names of the scammer on his payroll who sent me a legal threat, and the executive who ran the scam for his business (I say he tried to threaten me because I helped lobby for the GDPR and I know for a fact that this isn't a GDPR violation):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

These people understand that they are in the business of ripping people off, causing them grave and wholly unjust financial injury. They value their secrecy because they are in the business of making strangers righteously furious, and they understand that one of these strangers might just show up in their lives someday to confront them about their transgressions.

This is why Unitedhealthcare freaked out so hard about Luigi Mangione's assassination of CEO Brian Thompson – that's not how the game is supposed to be played. The people who sit in on executive row, destroying your lives, are supposed to be wholly insulated from the consequences of their actions. You're not supposed to know who they are, you're not supposed to be able to find them – of course.

But even more importantly, you're not supposed to be angry at them. They pose as mere software agents in an immortal colony organism called a Limited Liability Corporation, bound by the iron law of shareholder supremacy to destroy your life while getting very, very rich. It's not supposed to be personal. That's why Unitedhealthcare is threatening to sue a doctor who was yanked out of surgery on a cancer patient to be berated by a UHC rep for ordering a hospital stay for her patient:

https://gizmodo.com/unitedhealthcare-is-mad-about-in-luigi-we-trust-comments-under-a-doctors-viral-post-2000560543

UHC is angry that this surgeon, Austin's Dr Elisabeth Potter, went Tiktok-viral with her true story of how how chaotic and depraved and uncaring UHC is. UHC execs fear that Mangione made it personal, that he obliterated the accountability sink of the corporation and put the blame squarely where it belongs – on the (mostly) men at the top who make this call.

This is a point Adam Conover made in his latest Factually podcast, where he interviewed Propublica's T Christian Miller and Patrick Rucker:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_5tDXRw8kg

Miller and Rucker published a blockbuster investigative report into Cigna's Evocore, a secret company that offers claims-denials as a service to America's biggest health insurers:

https://www.propublica.org/article/evicore-health-insurance-denials-cigna-unitedhealthcare-aetna-prior-authorizations

If you're the CEO of a health insurance company and you don't like how much you're paying out for MRIs or cancer treatment, you tell Evocore (which processes all your claim authorizations) and they turn a virtual dial that starts to reduce the number of MRIs your customers are allowed to have. This dial increases the likelihood that a claim or pre-authorization will be denied, which, in turn, makes doctors less willing to order them (even if they're medically necessary) and makes patients more likely to pay for them out of pocket.

Towards the end of the conversation, Miller and Rucker talk about how the rank-and-file people at an insurer don't get involved with the industry to murder people in order to enrich their shareholders. They genuinely want to help people. But executive row is different: those very wealthy people do believe their job is to kill people to save money, and get richer. Those people are personally to blame for the systemic problem. They are the ones who design and operate the system.

That's why naming the people who are personally responsible for these immoral, vicious acts is so important. That's why it's important that Wired and Propublica are unmasking the "pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" who are raiding the federal government under Krause's leadership:

https://projects.propublica.org/elon-musk-doge-tracker/

These people are committing grave crimes against the nation and its people. They should be known for this. It should follow them for the rest of their lives. It should be the lead in their obituaries. People who are introduced to them at parties should have a flash of recognition, hastily end the handshake, then turn on their heels and race to the bathroom to scrub their hands. For the rest of their lives.

Naming these people isn't enough to stop the plunder, but it helps. Yesterday, Marko Elez, the 25 year old avowed "eugenicist" who wanted to "normalize Indian hate" and could not be "[paid] to marry outside of my ethnicity," was shown the door. He's off the job. For the rest of his life, he will be the broccoli-haired brownshirt who got fired for his asinine, racist shitposting:

https://www.npr.org/2025/02/06/nx-s1-5289337/elon-musk-doge-treasury

After Krause's identity as the chief wrecker at DOGE was revealed, the brilliant Anna Merlan (author of Republic of Lies, the best book on conspiratorialism), wrote that "Now the whole country gets the experience of what it’s like when private equity buys the place you work":

https://bsky.app/profile/annamerlan.bsky.social/post/3lhepjkudcs2t

That's exactly it. We are witnessing a private equity-style plunder of the entire US government – of the USA itself. No one is better poised to write about this than Tkacik, because no one has private equity's number like Tkacik does:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Ironically, all this came down just as Trump announced that he was going to finally get rid of private equity's scammiest trick, the "carried interest" loophole that lets PE bosses (and, to a lesser extent, hedge fund managers) avoid billions in personal taxes:

https://archive.is/yKhvD

"Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest rate – it's a law that was designed for 16th century sea captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Trump campaigned on killing this loophole in 2017, but Congress stopped him, after a lobbying blitz by the looter industry. It's possible that he genuinely wants to get rid of the carried interest loophole – he's nothing if not idiosyncratic, as the residents of Greenland can attest:

https://prospect.org/world/2025-02-07-letter-between-friendly-nations/

Even if he succeeds, looters and the "investor class" will get a huge giveaway under Trump, in the form of more tax giveaways and the dismantling of labor and environmental regulation. But it's far more likely that he won't succeed. Rather – as Yves Smith writes for Naked Capitalism – he'll do what he did with the Canada and Mexico tariffs: make a tiny, unimportant change and then lie and say he had done something revolutionary:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2025/02/is-trump-serious-about-trying-to-close-the-private-equity-carried-interest-loophole.html

This has been a shitty month, and it's not gonna get better for a while. On my dark days, I worry that it won't get better during my lifetime. But at least we have people like Tkacik to chronicle it, explain it, put it in context. She's amazing, a whirlwind. The same day that her report on Krause dropped, the Prospect published another must-read piece by her, digging deep into Alex Jones's convoluted bankruptcy gambit:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-02-06-crisis-actors-alex-jones-bankruptcy/

It lays bare the wild world of elite bankruptcy court, another critical conduit for protecting the immoral rich from their victims. The fact that Tkacik can explain both Krause and the elite bankruptcy system on the same day is beyond impressive.

We've got a lot of work ahead of ourselves. The people in charge of this system – whose names you must learn and never forget – aren't going to go easily. But at least we know who they are. We know what they're doing. We know how the scam works. It's not a flurry of incomprehensible actions – it's a playbook that killed Red Lobster, Toys R Us, and Sears. We don't have to follow that playbook.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/07/broccoli-hair-brownshirts/#shameless

[rafeys-angel13]

rafe’s favourite positions!

jj version request smut inspired by this

(links lead to examples of the position) MDNI 18+

dad!rafe: comfortable place superhero reverse cowgirl

‘comfortable place’ was amazing when you were pregnant because your bump barely got in the way, but since then it’s just stuck. he loves eating you out more than anything.

bluecollar!rafe: gimlet breeze full nelson

he loves seeing you folded up for him. he’s not painfully aggressive but he does manhandle you. he’s always up to try something new to keep you both happy.

military!rafe: tango lazy evening merger

he loves to be able to see you and kiss you during sex so this is perfect. he likes an easy position that feels good, you guys haven’t really adventured any further than cowgirl. he loves the lazy ones.

doctor!rafe: hunger butterfly iris

this man knows how to please you big time, you’ve never ever had to fake an orgasm during sex with him. he knows exactly what to do and how to do it. you’ve never really explored different places other than the bed but it’s still amazing every time.

trailer park!rafe: splitting bamboo jack speed bump

loves how flexible you are and how much you trust him not to hurt you. he loves having control over you. speed bump is his favourite of all time.

baby daddy!rafe: back shots woven rose rocket

you guys never have time to think about positions, you just do it. you shouldn’t still be having sex with him but you are. he loves being able to grab your boobs.

(jj version??)

[kefiteria]

Denial: As If It Were a Choice

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

tags: fluff, inspired by azul 2024 bday card voiceline

summary: Azul was in complete denial. Your genuine interest and honesty about pursuing him romantically left him utterly confused. A date at the local fair? This had to be some kind of love scam—or worse, an elaborate mlm scheme. Right?

“How wonderful love is. It creates so many problems for folks that they have to come to someone like ME for help.”

Hypocrisy at its finest. Even Daedalus, the master craftsman, would laugh himself into the sun at the tangled mess Azul had just stepped into. Even Orpheus, after failing to retrieve Eurydice, would pat Azul on the back and say, “That’s rough, buddy.”

Because he, Azul Ashengrotto, was supposed to be the schemer. The one who spotted every loophole, exploited every weakness, and ensured that no deal was ever made against his favor.

And yet—

“You’re working hard as always, Azul!”

Azul flinched. He had been so engrossed in reviewing contracts that he hadn’t even noticed you enter.

“How did you—? Who let you—? How did you get in here?!” he snapped, immediately sitting up straight.

“Oh! Jade said I could just enter.” you replied, smiling like you hadn't just shattered every security protocol Azul had in place.

Feeling the betrayal seep into his bones, he knew those damn eels had sold him out. But before he could even begin plotting revenge, you spoke again—

Completely derailed his entire existence.

“I'm pursuing you!”

Azul instantly short-circuited. His brain did the mental equivalent of a blue screen.

“You’re WHAT?!”

“Romantically!” You clasped your hands together, beaming like this was normal human behavior. “That’s why I’m inviting you to the fair this weekend. Oh! They have fried chicken, by the way! I know you like it.”

Azul’s eye twitched violently. What— what was this?

A love scam? An elaborate multi-level marketing scheme? Some previously undiscovered pyramid scheme where he was the target instead of the orchestrator?!

No—NO. That wasn’t possible. He would have noticed the signs. The recruitment tactics. The suspiciously friendly invitations.

… Wait.

Was this one of those forbidden love spells he had always been so careful to avoid?!

Or worse.

Had someone abused a loophole in a contract he hadn’t accounted for?

His hands flew to his coat, patting his pockets as if a cursed contract would fall out. Did someone sell his own heart to this absolute menace in front of him?!

Is this how it feels to be scammed! IS THIS HOW HIS CLIENTS FELT?! Azul folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you like you had just offered him a fraudulent stock investment.

“What’s your angle?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“This—” He waved a hand wildly between the two of you. “—This business transaction—!”

“Confession.”

“—This confession transaction—”

“Just confession.”

“—This blatant attempt at fraud—!”

You tilted your head. “It’s not fraud? I just like you. That’s it!”

He now felt something deep within his soul fracture.

“You’re too honest.” he muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off the migraine of the century.

“Yep!” You nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta make a good foundation, y’know?”

Azul’s soul nearly exited his body. A good foundation.

A GOOD FOUNDATION.

WHAT WAS THIS, A BUSINESS MERGER?!

WHAT SORT OF ADVANCED EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TECHNIQUE WAS THIS?!?!

“This isn't how romance works.” Azul hissed, as if saying it aloud would somehow reverse time. “Where’s the fine print? The hidden agenda? The careful deception?!”

You blinked. “Oh! I mean, consent is cool! And so are choices! You can totally reject the date if you don’t want to. No pressure! Just lemme know once you’re done thinking, okay?”

“Done thinking—” He exhaled sharply, gripping his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “You—you expect me to think about this?!”

“Well, yeah! Big decisions need proper thinking time!”

BIG DECISIONS.

Azul can feel a second overblot forming, all from this nonsense.

You gave him a cheerful little wave. “Alright, see you tomorrow, Azul! Take your time!”

He sat there, paralyzed, as you exited like you hadn’t just tossed his entire worldview into some deepest trench. This had to be some kind of conspiracy. It had to be.

There was no way someone would just walk into his office, declare their romantic pursuit, and leave. So he just stared at the contract on his desk. The ink had smudged from how hard he had been gripping his pen.

His hand was shaking because the horrifying, gut-wrenching truth was—

You were being completely serious.

Azul had absolutely not come to this fair for a date.

Absolutely. Not.

This was market research. Yes, that’s all it was. He was simply here to observe seasonal trends, analyze consumer behavior, and assess potential menu additions for the Mostro Lounge.

The fact that you had invited him was purely incidental. The fact that he had dressed well was merely a reflection of his natural sophistication. The fact that he had spent far too long thinking about what to say to you was… irrelevant.

This was a professional outing. Nothing more.

At least, that was what he kept repeating to himself, right until the moment he saw you waving at him, beaming with an enthusiasm so bright it made him squint.

“Azul! You really came!”

Your excitement was unreasonably infectious, and before he could even formulate a proper response, you were already standing in front of him, looking genuinely happy to see him. He cleared his throat, adjusting his gloves as if the motion alone could help him regain his composure.

“I had business to attend to.” he said smoothly.

You raised your eyebrow, questioning his reply. “At a fair?”

“Yes.” he replied without hesitation. “As an entrepreneur, it's only natural to study popular market trends and analyze consumer interests.”

“Right, right, of course.” you nodded, completely unfazed. “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation!”

Azul froze like those fishes in the mostro lounge freezer in the kitchen. No. No, no, no—

He had, in fact, accepted your invitation. Which, by definition, meant— THIS WAS A DATE.

A headache bloomed in his temples as realization hit him like a tidal wave. He had been so focused on maintaining a logical excuse for being here that he had overlooked the most crucial detail: he had willingly agreed to spend time with you outside any contractual obligation.

This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t a business meeting. There was no deal to be made.

So why was he here?

His thoughts were spiraling so quickly that he barely noticed you taking his hand and tugging him forward. “Come on! No pressure, let's just walk around and enjoy the fair, okay?”

No pressure? No pressure?! Azul wanted to scream. What kind of business tactic was this? You were just walking in, completely unarmed, with no ulterior motives? What kind of hidden agenda was this?

He had spent years mastering the art of deception, yet here you were, casually obliterating his defenses with nothing but pure, unfiltered sincerity. It was unnatural. Suspicious, even.

The fair was lively, bustling with chatter and laughter, but Azul was beginning to wonder if he had made a critical mistake in coming along. Everything had been manageable so far—mildly inconvenient, sure, but manageable—until you suddenly stopped in your tracks, eyes lighting up like you had just found buried treasure.

“Oh! A mushroom stall!”

Azul’s stomach dropped.

You practically skipped over, marveling at the selection of freshly foraged mushrooms, mushroom skewers, mushroom pies, and— Azul's blood ran cold—wild mushroom soup.

Why? Why did it have to be mushrooms?

Of all things, why did it have to be Jade’s most beloved fungi, the very ingredient Azul and Floyd had fought so hard to exile from the Monstro Lounge?

Before he could even think of an escape route, you turned to him, eyes shining.

“Want to try?”

Azul had never regretted a decision faster in his entire life.

Mushrooms. He hated mushrooms.

Not just in a casual, mild dislike way—no. This was a deep-rooted, visceral loathing forged from years of being subjected to Jade’s endless, borderline cultish enthusiasm for fungi.

Jade had force-fed him so many varieties, ranted about textures, aroma, umami, and gods-knew-what-else that Azul had developed a knee-jerk reaction to the mere sight of mushrooms. It was to the point that he had banned them from the Monstro Lounge entirely.

So when you enthusiastically ordered a bowl of mushroom soup, took a careful sip, but— your damn smile. Blasphemy!

Not just any smile. That smile. The one that made Azul’s mind go blank for a second too long, the one that messed with his judgment in ways he refused to acknowledge.

He should’ve just said no. He should’ve walked away.

Instead—

“Right…" Azul found himself saying. WHY? WHY WAS HE LIKE THIS.

You beamed at him like he had just agreed to some sacred pact of mushroom enlightenment. “See! It’s amazing, right? Fresh mushrooms have a way better depth of flavor!"

No. He did not see. There was no flavor except suffering.

Though somehow, Azul was now holding a spoon.

He stared at the soup like it contained his entire downfall. The rich, earthy scent mocked him, reminding him of every terrible mushroom-related experience Jade had ever inflicted upon him.

With the grace of a man walking to his execution, Azul lifted the spoon to his lips and took a sip.

… It was tolerable. Barely.

But before he could think better of it, before he could stop himself from digging his own grave even deeper—

“It’s good.” he said. Lies. Deception. Betrayal—his own betrayal.

And then, Jade’s voice echoed in his head.

“Oh? It seems you’re finally appreciating mushrooms, Azul. How delightful.”

A chill ran down his spine. He nearly dropped the spoon. He had to get out of here and need a palate cleanser after this.

As the two of you continued strolling, who had been quietly observing—suddenly tilted your head. “Are you tired from all that walking? I think merfolk might feel slightly weird after walking too much on two legs.”

This was an ambush!

He immediately straightened his posture, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. “A businessman must always be prepared to handle different environments. This is hardly enough to affect me.”

Before you could press further, he quickly redirected the conversation by gesturing toward a woodcarver’s stall. “Look at that craftsmanship. A fine display of artisanal skill.”

Your attention shifted as you spotted a pair of octopus-shaped keychains carved from driftwood, complete with tiny pearls embedded in their tentacles. Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed them. “Azul! Matching keychains!”

Azul internally winced. How many times had he convinced love struck customers to buy exactly this kind of sentimental nonsense at Mostro Lounge? This was an absurdly cliché romantic gesture.

Nevertheless, his fingers moved on their own, smoothly retrieving his wallet and paying for them before he even processed what he was doing. “Wait. What?”

Why did he do that so naturally? Where was his resistance? This was a scam. A love scam. Brand new tactics!

Meanwhile, you simply smiled brightly at him. “Now we match! Thanks, Azul!”

Azul sighed, rubbing his temple. Too late to back out now.

To make matters worse, you suddenly turned toward a food stall and, without hesitation, bought a portion of fried chicken—with your own money. You returned with an eager grin, handing him a bag. “Here! Since I mentioned this when I invited you, it’d be unfair if I didn’t fulfil it!”

His pride was hurting. Both as a businessman and as a man in general. He was the one who should be paying. He was always the one in control of deals. Yet, here you were, giving him something so happily, without any ulterior motive.

“… Thank you.” he said, taking a bite. “Damn it, it was delicious.” he thought to himself.

The next stop was an exotic animal stall, where vibrant birds, fluffy rodents, and even small reptiles were displayed. Azul found himself absentmindedly discussing the market value of rare creatures.

“These birds—while striking—are often smuggled illegally, making them highly valuable in underground auctions.” he remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Of course, with the right contacts, their worth could—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed your expression. You were simply chuckling, utterly amused.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You sound like a merchant debating rare treasure, but you mean well.” you replied with a knowing smile. “It’s kind of charming.”

Azul felt his face heat up. This was dangerous. This definitely a scam. A perfectly crafted, terrifyingly effective love scam. And the worst part? He had willingly walked into it.

As time passes, the sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the fairgrounds in warm hues of gold and violet. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow reflecting in Azul’s glasses as he found himself still by your side, a realization that should have alarmed him more than it did.

You turned to him, expression bright despite the long day. “Did you have fun today?”

Fun? That wasn’t something he usually factored into his outings. Business, market research, calculated investments—those were justifications. But fun? He was supposed to be scrutinizing every stall, noting trends, mentally categorizing what could benefit Mostro Lounge.

Hypocrisy shines through, here he was, hands full of a wooden keychain, the lingering taste of fried chicken on his tongue, and an entire afternoon that had somehow slipped away.

Before he could even conjure up a proper response, you smiled, cutting through his internal debate with infuriating ease. “Thank you for spending time with me! I appreciate it a lot. Can I invite you again?”

Azul’s breath hitched? No, perhaps hyperventilating at this point. His instinct screamed at him to analyze, to look for the loophole, the hidden terms of this ‘invitation.’

But his mind betrayed him, replaying the way you had laughed at his muttered grumbling over mushrooms, the way you had beamed when handing him the fried chicken, the way you had listened—actually listened—to his ramblings about exotic animals instead of brushing them off.

He should have walked away. He should have redirected, refused, twisted the situation in his favor.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

“... No.”

The way your face faltered for a second almost made him smirk. Almost.

“Come to Mostro Lounge next Tuesday.” he continued, clearing his throat. “11 PM, after closing.” His fingers ghosted over the keychain you had chosen for him. A ridiculous, hand-carved octopus that he had somehow ended up paying for. “It’s… late for dinner, but I want it to be just us.”

It wasn’t an agreement. It wasn’t an answer for the confession. Just yet.

But the way your eyes lit up made him feel like he had already lost.

[cherryredstars]

hello cherry!!

I really love your work, and I was wondering if you could do a second part of Miguel being CEO (In the job description)

I'm very sorry if I don't express myself well, English is not my first language

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut with Some Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Use of Vibrators, Penetrative Sex, Mirror Sex, Slight Slapping

Summary: Don’t accept gifts from your boss…or wear it. 

A/N: I made an alternate version of this (basically part 1.5), so let me know if you guys want me to post that one!

Word Count: 3K (Not Edited)

Reverse AU Part 1 Part 1.5

It was extremely unprofessional.

That’s what you thought when Miguel passed by your desk the morning after your little… moment in his office. He gave you a fleeting smirk as he placed a medium-sized black box right in front of you. A deep blush spread across your face, unable to meet his eyes while he stared at you for a few minutes before walking away and shutting the door to his office. An uneasy feeling filled your stomach as you watched the door before sliding your eyes over the box.

It was the type of box someone would get clothes in for Christmas, only pricer and better quality. A pretty silk ribbon held the lid and bottom together, in a matching matte black color. Carefully, you pulled at one of the ends, the bow easily unraveling. When you took the ribbon off, a deeper blush spread over your body as you saw the words engraved into the cardboard. 

Stamped on the box was the name of the popular lingerie store in the shopping district. It was a store you passed by daily on your way to and from work, and a store that was most definitely out of your price range even with the gracious salary you had. Your hands instantly slapped over the words, leaning over your desk to see if anyone was coming or if Miguel was making any move to leave his office. When the coast was clear, you hesitantly sat back down. 

You cleared your throat nervously, staring at the box before giving into your curiosity. As gently as possible, you lifted the lid of the box, face slightly hiding behind it to obscure your view. An exhale leaves you as maroon tissue paper covers whatever is inside. You take another deep breath before leaning forward and lifting one flap of the tissue paper. A surprised gasp leaves you, staring at the 3 pairs of lacy underwear in the box. 

Each panty is made from lacy material, making them slightly see-through. When you run your hands over them, they’re delicate to the touch and you can tell its high quality stuff. Each one is a different color. The first is a set of white panties to replace the ones from yesterday that Miguel claims to have no idea about. The second one, a deep navy blue that is fairly similar to the navy blue of Miguel’s favorite designer suits. And lastly, a blush color that rivals the one across your cheeks. 

You’re so caught up in just marveling at the contents of the package, that you don’t realize Miguel is standing in front of your desk until he starts speaking. “I take it you like them?”

You’re instantly jolted and clumsily try to cover up the panties and close the box. You’re sure if someone saw your face, it would be a damn near perfect color match to one of those pairs of panties. You shyly look up at Miguel clearing your throat and leaning back in your chair to create more distance between the two of you. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A lazy smirk spreads against Miguel’s face before he shakes his head in amusement. “I was calling you into my office, but you didn’t seem to hear the buzzer.” He hums, eyes trained on the black box he gifted you. You can tell he’s tempted to say something by the way his mouth straightens and his brows furrow slightly, but he ends up not commenting on it and continues what he was saying before. “I was going to tell you that the charity fundraiser is this weekend, and we have to attend to meet the new potential merger.” 

His words make you want to grab the box on your desk and slam it against your head a few trillion times. It’s no secret that both you and Miguel hate the monthly fundraisers. Okay, that sounds bad. Both you and Miguel are happy that somewhere over a hundred grand gets donated to great charities, it’s just the whole business aspect of it you hate. Having to sit around with smiles that are so fake that they cause the muscles of your cheeks to ache, listening to some old CEO who is in dire need to retire spew on and on about very old fashioned beliefs, and the undercooked batches of pasta they serve at the venues are barely anything to gush about. 

Miguel can sense the discontent rolling off of you in waves, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “Do you need a dress or shoes? It’s the Unique charity this year, black-tie event as per usual.”

A heavy sigh leaves you and your finger traces the edge of the box. You mentally go through your closet, trying to remember if you have any appropriate dresses that you haven’t worn in previous years. You come up blank, an oncoming migraine forming at your temple. “I’ll figure something out.”

Miguel gives a displeased hum, knocking his fists against your desk. He leans away, fixing the sleeves of his button up and ruffling his hair. “No worries, I’ll have LYLA send you authorization for my business card and a few dress and shoes options.”

You’re about to protest, but the sound of his phone ringing interrupts you. Miguel rolls his eyes as he sees the contact, answering it and turning away as he grumbles out a greeting. He walks towards his office and turns to give you one last nod before entering. A deep sigh leaves you and you close your eyes as you lean back into your chair. You squint one eye open, eyeing the box before stuffing it in your bag with a huff.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵

“Oh god, oh god, oh god!” 

You run around your small apartment, nothing but a towel covering your body. Your hair is the only thing done, going for an easy blow drying and curling. You groan when you see the pile of laundry in your room, rummaging in your panty drawer to find nothing but a few that are in desperate need to be thrown away due to their worn out state. You’re on the verge of crying when you see the black box thrown carelessly on top of your other drawer. 

You bite your lip, nerves swallowing your being. You weren’t ever planning to wear them, I mean they’re from your boss for god’s sake! But really, you have no choice. With an annoyed groan and exhale, you grab the box and grab the navy blue pair, the color matching the color of your dress. You hastily slip them on, rushing back and forth between your bathroom and your bedroom to do your makeup and get dressed. 

By the time you finish the struggle of zipping up your dress, your phone rings with Miguel’s number. You grab your phone and your purse, answering as you slip on your heels. Miguel’s gruff voice echos as you press the speaker option and unlock your door. He grumbles that the driver is outside your house and you hum in acknowledgement as you check your bag for everything you need as you shut the door behind you after locking it. You rush down the hall and into the elevator, tapping your foot impatiently as you wait to reach the ground floor. 

Once the doors slide open, you’re speed walking to the exit and instantly spotting the sleek black car right against the curb. Miguel stands by the car door, a loud ping ringing from his phone that causes his brows to furrow. He looks up at the sound of your heels, that furrowed look still on his face as he eyes you up and down. You copy his facial expression, asking him what’s wrong. He only looks back down at his phone, dismissing whatever it was and opening the car door for you.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵

You have no idea how you got here. 

The second you and Miguel entered the venue, the both of you had down a flute of champagne and gone through the agonizingly long process of greeting every current and future business partner that was present. Everything was going fine, your fake smile was yet to ache and the desserts looked promising. That was until, of course, a sharp zap ran up your spine as you felt something vibrating against you. 

You had choked on your words, trying to play it off with an abrupt sip of alcohol and a strained laugh as you conversed with some of Miguel’s business partners while he dismissed himself for a quick run to the bar. It had been sudden, maybe a trick played on you by your own mind, until it started again. But this time, it was more intense. You had hurriedly excused yourself, making up some excuse before dashing towards the bathroom. 

You rushed through the door, sighing in relief when no one else was inside. You hurried to the counter of sinks, leaning your elbows on the surface as you bent over and hissed. The vibration, that was most definitely coming from your fucking panties, just seemed to be more intense as you shifted from leg to leg and clenched your thighs to relieve the feeling. A struggling whimper left you as you lifted your head to look into the mirror, jumping when you see Miguel leaned against a bathroom stall and staring at you. You must not have heard him enter through the foggy mess in your head. 

You instantly snap up, legs crossed as you turn around and clutch the edge of the counter tightly. You open your mouth, about to scold Miguel for being in the women’s bathroom, but another desperate whine leaves you as the vibration around your clit focuses on the perfect spot from your new stance. Miguel’s brow raises as his eyes ghost down your form, catching the way sweat begins to break on your hairline. A lazy smirk crosses his face when he pulls out his phone from his dress pants, tapping around it a few times before you slouch. 

A sense of relief fills you as the strong vibrating stops and your clit is given a break. A heavy sigh leaves you, head tilting down before the realization hits you. Your head instantly snaps up, your wide eyes meeting Miguel’s mischievous ones. Of course. What else would he do but give you fucking vibrating panties. Your eyes trail down to his phone, watching as he taps it with his thumb again and suddenly the vibration is back. Your body tenses up again, and you watch helplessly as Miguel walks over to you. 

He presses his hand into the front of your dress, directly over your panties. The pressure of his hand makes the vibration stronger, and a choked gasp leaves you. Miguel hums, feeling the strong vibrations through your dress, his eyes moving to your face. “I didn’t think you’d ever wear ‘em.”

That makes two of us, You think as your eyes squint into a glare, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a noise threatening to spill out. Your hands come up to hold onto Miguel’s wrist, trying weakly to take his hand away. He only chuckles, pressing his hand harder against you before taking it away. Your hands fall from him, insead returning to grip on the counter when he turns you around quickly. A wave of deja vu hits you when he presses down on your lower back so your chest is fully pressed, his hands hurriedly gathering your dress so the surplus of fabric bunches around your waist. 

His hand skims the center of your underwear, two fingers pressing against your clothed clit. A moan leaves you as the vibrations grow stronger under his fingers, your hips squirming to get away. Miguel’s hand tightens around your waist, making it harder for you to move. He watches you from the mirror, enjoying the concentrated and tortured look on your face. 

“You know,” Miguel starts lazily, fingers starting to draw slow circles on your clit, “You never answered my question before.” A loud gasp leaves you and you hiss out his name after his hand comes to give your clit a firm slap. “Do you like my gift?”

A weak sound leaves you as you bite your lip. Your hips try to press into Miguel’s hand when he starts his slow circles again, crying out when he removes his hand completely. You hear the rustling of a belt buckle and pants, your gasp in sync with the hiss Miguel lets out when he presses the head of his cock into your panties. The vibrations play against his head, his hand holding his base as he rubs himself up and down the length of your panties. His eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as he enjoys the feel of your increasingly wet panties and the vibrating. 

His hand pushes your panties to the side, his cock falling forward to poke at your glistening entrance. Even though the vibrating panties aren’t directly over your clit, you can still feel them from their place right besides it. Your own eyes flutter shut, moaning at the feel before Miguel’s hand grasps your face from behind. His large hand squishes your cheeks together and your eyes flutter open to see his face right besides yours in the mirror. Both Miguel’s and your eyes meet in the mirror, his demanding while yours are hazy. 

His tip slightly slides into you and you groan. Miguel’s hold tightens on your face when he pulls out. “Answer the question, preciosa.”

A weak nod leaves you, a puff of air escaping your nose as you lean your hips back to grind slightly against Miguel’s cock. A strangled grunt leaves him and His eyes fall down to where you’re grinding before looking back at you. His breath is hot against your cheek, causing shivers down your spine. “Don’t look away. Just watch.”

Without warning, he slams into you. A loud scream leaves you, eyes threatening to roll back as you watch him. His eyes are dark and focused on where he thrusts brutally into you, your body sliding closer to the mirror before he pulls you back towards him. You make a weak attempt to talk, stuttering out something about the door before he grunts and replies it’s locked. It does little to conceal your worries. As if sensing it, Miguel’s hand slides up to your mouth to cover it, muffling the noises you’re letting out. 

The only sounds that can’t be muffled are the soft, wet sounds that come from his heavy balls hitting against your wet heat. You’re so wet that you’re coating him, a stickiness connecting his balls to your cunt as he thrusts. Your eyes roll back and a harsh slap is thrown against your cheek. Unfocused eyes meet Miguel’s angered ones, his thrusts turning harsher and more punishing as he looks at you disapprovingly.

“I told you to watch. Keep your eyes on the mirror or I'll stop.”

A sound of protest leaves you, mumbling out sorry repeatedly as you try to keep your eyes focused on the mirror. The view is shaking from the way your body jolts with each pump of his hips, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it makes him go faster and try to see how shaky he can make your vision and your legs. His hand gives you one more smack to the cheek before covering your mouth again. 

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out and that hotness is forming at the bottom of your stomach. Miguel’s is fast approaching too, the sensation of your tight, warm walls sucking him in and the slight vibrations running through your walls from the vibrating panties. His hand leaves your hip, moving in between your legs and moving the shaking fabric back over your clit. The angle is awkward, trying to find it under layers of falling fabric from your dress while he’s hammering his cock into you. But eventually he gets it, and you instantly fall apart. 

Your scream is muffled by Migue’s hand, your body shaking as you clench tightly around him and gush all over his cock. Miguel lets out a curse, his thrusts stuttering and becoming clumsy. You call out his name weakly, and he’s gone. He stills with a deep groan, filling you up with his warmth. You both stand there for a moment, basking in the aftershocks of pleasure before you start suffering from overstimulation from the still vibrating underwear. 

You weakly cry out to Miguel, who hurriedly turns on his phone and kills the vibrating. A deep, grateful sigh leaves you as you slump forward. A small moan leaves you when Miguel pulls out, reaching up to the tissue paper dispensers to wipe you and him down. He rebuckles his pants, pulling your panties back in place and your dress down. You flinch when the drenched fabric meets you, half expecting for it to start vibrating again. Instead, another piece of paper tissue is dabbed against your face and neck as Miguel tries to rid your skin of sweat without fully removing your makeup. 

A grateful noise leaves you before you stand up when Miguel steps back. When you turn your head towards him, a soft kiss is pressed to your cheek. Miguel strokes the spot with his thumb, eyes trailing to yours before he looks away and moves towards the door. 

“Not going to steal my panties this time?” You can’t help but call out, hands still gripping the edge of the sinks tightly.

Miguel turns with a teasing smile and shrugs. “Nah, you can keep them this time. Just make sure to wear one of the other pairs to work on Monday.”

A deep flush flows across your face at his innuendo, watching as he unlocks the door and slips out. A deep sigh leaves you as you turn towards the mirror again, an annoyed noise leaving you as you spot imperfections in your makeup. You open your bag, working on small touch-ups as you think back to what occurred a few minutes ago. A small smile crosses your face and you shake your head before you head to follow Miguel back out for another hour of socializing.

Just benefits of the job.

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[thewertsearch]

Ah, the Sylladex. Across the entirety of my long, long journey through this comic, you've remained my oldest and dearest friend.

I honestly thought you'd run out of ways to surprise me - but as usual, I underestimated just how far you can really go with punch-card alchemy.

You flip the card over and look at the back. The thing about this modus you think is really cool is that instead of showing a completely useless wobbly garbled code on the back, it itemizes the components which could be used to create it!

The comic has just given us a way to reverse-engineer item recipes, which was one of the only missing pieces left to slot into the alchemy system. Back in Act 4, John was convinced that this was impossible, but Sollux solved it off-panel, and now we know how he did it.

This is pretty crazy, isn't it? We can deconstruct items now, allowing us to disassemble any object, and take a peek at the concepts that it's synthesized from. The potential utility here is insane. If this modus works on ghost images, we could tear apart a Kernelsprite, and see what makes it tick. Hell, we could tear apart a Genesis Frog.

...we could tear apart Skaia.

Just another wonderful innovation by your favorite company. It releases many products of an experimental nature, often with applicability to other kinds of technology and products which haven't hit the market yet.

But, of course, this wonderful innovation comes with some serious strings attached. I'm sure it was given to Jane for a reason, and she'll undoubtedly end up using it in a way that causes problems for us, and solutions for Lord English.

Ayy, it's the Matriorb!

Granted, this doesn't really help Kanaya recreate the thing. The orb's code was never that hard to obtain - just draw it on Jade's Pictionary modus, or something. No, the real issue is that the Matriorb is virtually inimitable, and as a result, its Grist cost is astronomical. Plus, it requires a type of Grist that we've never even seen before.

Edit: Wait, hang on. That's not the cost of the Matriorb, that's how much it would cost to use the Matriorb to make the hat. Strange, that the same item can have multiple Grist costs - but nonetheless, my point still stands. The Matriorb is probably too expensive to alchemize casually.

I suppose there's nothing stopping us from editing the Matriorb's code to try and make it cheaper. Like, perhaps we could scale down the recipe somehow, and try to just synthesize a single troll's genome, rather than the genetic base of an entire race. That would be a lot more affordable, and still useful.

You captchalogue your FAVORITE HAT, which is also your ONLY HAT. You spent basically your ENTIRE CHILDHOOD in this hat, pretending to be hard boiled detectives and whatnot.

I guess it sort of makes sense that the Matriorb can be used to make Dad's hat. The orb represents Alternian parenthood, and the book of prophecies it was merged with could represent the future. Combine those two concepts, and you get the future of parenthood, from the perspective of Alternia - in other words, the parenthood of humanity. So, the merger yields an item representing a human parent: Dad Egbert's hat.

Don't ask me about the potted plant, though. I haven't the foggiest.

[brionysea]

jinx is such a mirror. she doesn't care about loss of life when she's doing it for silco because she basically reverts to the lost child she was when she met him and all she wants is his approval and he doesn't care about loss of life (except hers) so she shouldn't either, but she had artistic purple tears streaming down her face before firing fishbones because it was to prove a point to vi and in that relationship loss of life matters a lot. and the fascinating merger of the two in how she's cementing vi's initial knee-jerk reaction to call powder a jinx and picking up silco's ideology as her own all in one. i need to know who she'll be when she comes out of this because powder's gone and even the girl that she was growing up in silco's undercity slowly disappeared over the season as his control on her slipped and she started making her own calls. jinx is already the most thematically correct character for accepting change in the end instead of trying to reverse it but now she has to reinvent herself and decide who she's going to be all over again

[lilacxquartz]

THE LIFE YOU LIVED

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this.

summary: finally close to you, kenjaku proceeds to infiltrate your life in the most personal, invasive way — tw: gore, blood, death

part 5 of 7 • previous chapter • next chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 5. Impostor

Acquiring the logs on you the second time hit different. Kenjaku had his assistant do a deep dive, but as it turned out, no such thing was needed. A smaller, private hospital handled your case that time. The records, therefore, were a bit harder to pull but easier to find and the doctor’s notes weren’t so fluid that time, as if instructed to keep any wandering thoughts to themselves.

This gave Kenjaku both something to work with, as well as not at all. There was enough material that he had a rough idea of the extent of the injury but without the appointed blame. It was clearly evident that this was the doing of those closest to you but with much more effort dedicated to the cover up this time around.

Besides that point, you sounded much more subdued in the call that time, like you were tired with no fight left to give.

Perhaps this was the motivation needed to move forward sooner rather than never.

He wanted to talk more to that defiant person who stood up to him on the rooftop, after all, more to the same personality that whacked him with her bag. The person that sounded almost gone with that last check-in.

Kenjaku also knew—both from being the aggressor in such a situation in the past and from adopting abused vessels—that such situations would only escalate as time moved forward. Eventually, this would all lead to an untimely and violent death. One small escalation was something you could likely wave off, thinking that someone raising their voice or their hand as a threat was all it would ever be—not knowing that it could the hands that would take your life, the next time.

Kenjaku considered another point. This was also not his business. He didn’t need to intervene just because he thought one non-sorcerer out of the whole century, was interesting.

Then again, the current plans all kind of weighed on you. You needed to stay alive for at least a year more.

Getting close to the new six-eyes user was a must, after all. Such a technique was troublesome and with each passing year, it would become more and more difficult to infiltrate that clan and keep up with the profession of the user who possessed an ability that could ruin everything that he had been working towards in the last millennia or so.

If he were to stand a chance for even the merger to become reality, then this meant to keep a tab on the current heart of the clan. Previous attempts to prevent the six eyes holder from being successfully brought into the world was a failure, as he determined there would always be one more. By now, too, it would be near impossible to get close as a curse user. Therefore, infiltrating in a non-sorcerer vessel who had connections to the clan was the easiest route.

His cursed technique was much more diluted in the vessel of an untalented host but not suppressed entirely. If a person was capable of producing negative energy, then the working theory was that they could at least harbour it. His reverse cursed technique for one wasn’t as potent, so extra effort had to go in concealing the wound. Gravity was also one that could work, but not as well as he hoped. This would carry over to your body too, until he’s able to take over either a weak curse user or to take over someone powerful enough altogether.

The main point being that if the technique was diluted enough in a non-curse user, then it would in turn, be more difficult to detect. So the plan, from a distance, was the best he had going for the time being.

But in order to get even closer to you and ensure this plan’s success, he needed to do so sooner than he thought. Initially, he was just going to take you over, but that much wasn’t in the cards anymore. You were too exposed to potential conflicts and their consequences. Therefore, infiltrating from the inside could be the easier plan for the time being. It would surely be impromptu, though. Your fiancé had a fairly large role in your life, whether you wanted him to or not, and he might not be immediately successful with playing the role successfully.

Then again, you had no reason to suspect anything sinister at play. As a non-sorcerer, you saw life simpler than understanding what could defy the laws of nature. He might throw you off at best, but he wouldn’t thwart his plans altogether.

Knowledge can therefore be gathered that way; close to you and then when the time to take your life arrived, then it wouldn’t be the same violent end that you would have otherwise faced. There were many ways to take a life, after all. They didn’t all have to be traumatic in the process. Sometimes slipping in something into the system before a person went to sleep could be one. It would be a peaceful end and an easier way to take over the body, considering a corpse would naturally expel everything given enough time.

But until then, he would take over your fiancé at least. He was the biggest culprit in the domestic spat anyway, so getting rid of him might be the sole solution. In doing so, this might also give him some to indulge. Mending the wounds of a fractured relationship wasn’t easy, but he had years of experience of knowing how. It would just be another act to put on and enjoy whatever time was left before needing to get serious again.

And besides, if he orchestrated the guy well enough to get to know you from the side, then he could learn about you all up close and personal. This would be beneficial in figuring out how you’re supposed to be, further taking away from the potential suspicion faced by your immediate family and the dire connections they had.

(Because yes, a clan that had sorcerers could potentially detect that something was off if the atmosphere felt it. Uncanny valley was something that he tried to avoid, but it wasn’t always possible. Taking over someone with no experience or knowledge was often what triggered it, so if he could avoid that, then the plan was already a sure success.)

~~~

Later on, his assistant confirmed that you would be in the hospital for the remainder of the afternoon to transfer from the wheelchair to crutches instead, while going over another checkup. This went perfectly along with your husband-to-be being at home for the time being, giving him the perfect opportunity to move forward and get closer to you.

Getting past the security cameras was easy enough, much to the lack of the guy’s knowledge inside the home. Wealthier targets would always spend time on attempting to create the illusion that they were well-protected without ever having such security onsite. Therefore, breaking into the home was far easier than it had to be at least when compared to a home in a regular neighbourhood. Getting inside was the least of his worries though, since he had to next take down the guy without the potential to leave any evidence behind.

Not because he would be the target of murder against the very victim he’s set to take over, but because of the body he will be leaving behind. After he would be done with the prior vessel, it would be nothing more than a corpse to discard which in the modern times, proved much more difficult than before. Back in the day, he could shove someone off into a river and be done with it, pointing his finger at someone he never particularly liked with enough motive to tank the blame. Nowadays, there had to be extensive precautions to successfully remove the evidence of such things, even if an unsuccessful finance kid would never have any reason to be a target.

Kenjaku therefore, infiltrated the home gently, ensuring that he would not be leaving behind an excess of his current host’s markup. He wore gloves to ensure no fingerprints could be traced and settled onto the means of strangulation as the way for the man to go. To coax him out, he made a noise upstairs which would prompt the guy to follow and then he could close in on the kill. Within just moments, he brought up a wire to his neck, wringing it around and clenching it as tight around the man’s gullet as he could. It didn’t take too long for his face to turn red and then blotched purple either, the kicking and clawing soon coming to fade from the moment the life faded from his eyes.

All in all, it was a quick death.

Though, as he made his way to the bathroom and began the process to saw into the guy’s head, he remembered that the entire reason that he went through this route was to avoid a mess. His technique on its own was the definition of messy. Especially as the bone saw worked to split open the guy’s head with skin, blood and hair splattering against the tiles.

At most, he simply just sighed.

“Every damn time, I forget about this…”

It was somehow the case with every taken vessel. It was often easier to just pluck a nobody out of the morgue and slip in that way, since at least by then the flow of blood had slowed down. Fresh bodies were always difficult. This was such an impromptu plan as well, that he partially regretted it, but it was too late to go back now. He gritted his teeth through the rest of the action, trying to minimise the splatter by leaning the body closer into the tub to catch the remainder.

Next, of course, would come the unpleasant part of moving his own brain into another person. It wasn’t as difficult, but it was certainly not n pleasant. His cursed energy would tether him from one host to another like a secondary inner body, meaning it could be a job doable without help (such as his assistant of the era) but it always just mostly felt uncomfortable, that was all. Forcing a body to accustom to suddenly having cursed energy coursing through its being was also time consuming, which was another whole issue to cycle through.

Though, in the end, all went according to plan. The body, due to not being gifted, was forced to accept him without questioning why.

Stitching himself back up in the new vessel was also something he never looked forward to, but at least the cap fit better than the last body that housed him.

Truly, what a troublesome technique it was.

Kenjaku sighed as he washed things anew, showering the blood down the drain and planting the evidence of razors scattered along the sink to claim it was a shaving accident if so. Next would come the process of breaking down the body to dispose of, which was the secondary purpose of the bone saw. It wasn’t so much that the act was unpleasant, he was used to it by now, but the smell of invasive copper was something he could never quite stomach. It had to be done though, because again, these times were evidence based and while he could hop bodies yet again if needed, he would be setting back his plans considerably.

But, sure enough, he managed to tidy up just fine and would have his assistant later scatter the bags around the country if need be. The body parts still remained in the house, but in a chest freezer in the basement, with many, many things covering the pieces up. It was all just in time, too, as he heard the front door fly open just as soon as he exited the room. The sound of the rubbery tap of crutches against the hardwood echoed down the walls and he listened he listened to you sigh as you kicked off your shoes, trying to relax in a place that you likely hated.

That made two of you, at least.

Kenjaku paused as he thought about how to even approach you. Should he even try? This plan, again, was spontaneous and he didn’t know much about him beyond that he acted stiff with people. He should have taken a day to at least monitor him more, but that was the issue when he acted based on want, rather than logic.

Therefore, his next actions would come blind off of what he assumed would be the right direction. A few memories of you flashed in the host, but they were quiet. This host felt hostile towards you, maybe even resentful, but Kenjaku pushed it down all the same.

Closing in the distance between you, he leaned on the open arch that met through the hallway and the living room. He watched as you leaned back on the sofa, seemingly exhausted. You didn’t wear a cast anywhere, so the crutches must have been for mobility than anything else for when you needed it. He took note of that, understanding that you probably couldn’t get too far away from him if he needed to keep you close.

“So much for you making an extra effort,” you scoffed at him instead of greeting him.

Kenjaku paused. He definitely should have studied the dynamic more, but he moved forward with what he could. It was too late to back out now, anyway.

“Whatever do you mean?” he smiled. “I’m present, aren’t I? That alone means I’m putting in enough effort.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, uncertain. You could sense that there was something off about your partner but couldn’t figure it out directly. Your mind was a mess, though, swirling away with thoughts and the consequences of overthinking. Maybe you should too, try to be more open with the guy, but it was difficult. The last time you mentioned something resulted in you in greatly injuring your back, so you withheld the sass you wanted to bite with. It was only when he learned that you weren’t outright tattling on him that he stopped himself from outright killing you, that he finally agreed to not carry out his affair in front of you as long as you would do the same. In that instance, you were happy to go along with the sham marriage, even despite your injury, for a middle ground had finally been met.

Given how rough he looked though and the uncertain look that glinted in his eyes, you suspected that he narrowly avoided a clash between you meeting his mistress and being caught in a compromising place. You were willing to let this time slide, but you weren’t going to be so lenient. He favoured an audience more with your father, therefore he could at least put in a minimal effort. He could adhere to putting on enough of a show that it wouldn’t get documented by the press given enough time.

Choosing to press the issue again in the end, you reminded him of his mistake. “You know what I mean,” you began, tilting your head as you regarded him a little too coldly, fixing a smile on your face as soon as you realised, “no bringing our sides back home, remember? If we’re to pull this off even remotely, then you’re going to keep up with your promise,” you then paused, unable to shake the opportunity to rile him up further, knowing fully well it could cost your life a second time, “unless you want me to bring him over and show you what a real man looks like?”

Ah, there it was. That spark that drew him in the first time, laced with such venomous hatred towards him. He loved hearing it, but the context of it threw him off. If he had to consider it, this whole thing was on par with political or just in general, arranged marriages. It was typical to have a facade marriage in place and then both the husband and the wife would branch off into their true loves, both to keep the peace but also their sanity in tact.

It was so obvious, but now that he finally got closer to you, he didn’t like it one bit.

Kenjaku, after all, went through all of this effort to gain such access. He couldn’t afford to let yet another person to take up a moment of your time, and it made no sense for him to take infiltrate from that person’s body now that he was in your future husband’s—especially that the deal depended on him being alive.

Therefore, he would stay but the side piece would have to go. Depending on who this guy was with before, he could potentially just outright eliminate them too.

You waited around for a response as he seemed to be deep in thought, furrowing your brows at what it could be. In your mind, he was likely thinking about how not to get caught and you rolled your eyes. All it took was not bringing them home.

“Are you ready for tonight?” you asked, moving onto more pressing matters.

Kenjaku blinked again, finally brought back to the current conversation. The failure of his own spontaneity caught up to him yet again. He shrugged, hoping you would give him a hint. “Remind me again? I’ve been a bit too caught up in work today.”

You stared at him again. The way he was talking and the expressions his face warped to, all reminded you of someone else, but you couldn’t decipher who. Though, you must have been imagining it, because that much would be impossible. With a sigh, you reminded him either way. “The fundraiser?” you prompted. “It was your idea, remember? The less close our families are the better, I’d personally think, but clearly I’m the only one with that idea,” you then sighed. “Get dressed, okay? We have to leave in an hour.”

Kenjaku smiled. “Ah – of course, forgive me. How could I forget?”

You studied him for a while longer before dropping the idea that something was off. There was something about his smile and the ways that his eyes glinted that rubbed you the wrong way, but you weren’t about to let it linger, not wanting to explain yet another bruise to your family. The less involved they were with such matters, the better.

Whatever the issue was, you simply dropped the subject altogether. This was going to be the perfect sham marriage you needed it to be, no matter what. It was a chance for your parents to finally get off of your back and to finally live your life how you otherwise wanted to, with the one person you truly cared about cheering for you at the sidelines.

So, all you had to do for today was to make it to the fundraiser and then through it, taking the time to reconnect with the one person who mattered.

Not knowing that there was someone else wearing your already phony husband’s face who had opposing plans in mind.

Who was going to be watching your every move from that moment on.

(And eliminate the one person left who understood you.)

this was part 5 of lilac’s jjk bite sized yandere nightmares

[mariacallous]

Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison, a nearly 150-year-old law firm, bent the knee to President Donald Trump Thursday evening when it struck a deal to get rid of the president’s executive order apparently punishing the firm for once employing a lawyer who worked on a case targeting the president.

Trump’s executive order purported to ban the law firm from government contracts, restrict its lawyers from federal buildings and require clients to disclose their employment of the firm when seeking government contracts. It would have been an existential blow to the firm, which operates a broad multinational practice that encompasses everything from mergers and acquisitions to white-collar defense to civil rights and free speech litigation. The deal to make the order go away, as described in a statement posted by Trump on Thursday, requires the firm to restrict its diversity, equity and inclusion practices and provide $40 million in pro bono services to the administration. In effect, the firm has not simply paid off, but joined the administration.

Paul Weiss’ acquiescence is the latest example of a great menace stalking the country in the early days of Trump’s second term: cowardice.

Let’s be clear about what happened here, Trump’s mafioso government extorted the firm to give up its historic support for civil rights and join itself to enacting his autocratic agenda. The firm could have challenged this illegal extortion, as the firm Perkins Coie, also targeted by the administration, has done with success so far, but instead it chose Vichy-style collaboration.

“We are gratified that the President has agreed to withdraw the Executive Order concerning Paul, Weiss,” Brad Karp, Paul Weiss chairman, said in a statement included in Trump’s post. “We look forward to an engaged and constructive relationship with the President and his Administration.”

This is particularly galling from a firm with a laudable history of standing up for civil rights and the advancement of minority groups. Paul Weiss was the first mixed Jewish and WASP law firm in New York City. It was the first American law firm to employ a Black associate, a Black woman associate and first to make a woman a partner. The firm also worked alongside former Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall on the Brown v. Board of Education case that ended formal segregation in schools, fought for more inclusive immigration laws during and after the Holocaust and defended free speech rights in a landmark case involving D.H. Lawrence’s novel “Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

To protect its present pecuniary interests, the firm has now decided to throw that history in the gutter by accepting surrender to Trump’s anti-DEI initiatives.

Acquiescing to the Trump administration’s anti-DEI pressure campaign should not be seen in the light of the debate over the merits or demerits of DEI that preceded this administration. Instead, it should be understood as the Trump administration understands it: a frontal assault on civil rights law and desegregation.

Administration allies have all but admitted as much, as conservative activist Chris Rufo did in an interview with The New York Times’ Ross Douthat.

The administration’s actions are also very clear on this. Just look at what the Department of Defense is doing.

Links to web pages about Black, Latino and female military servicemembers buried at Arlington Cemetery have been deleted from parts of the cemetery’s web site. Web pages touting the accomplishments of Black servicemembers, including baseball great Jackie Robinson, were taken down and affixed with the label “DEI” in the page’s URL. (The administration reversed course and restored some pages, including Robinson’s, following outrage from sports media on Thursday.)

The General Services Administration also removed a requirement for contractors to not operate segregated facilities if they wanted to obtain contracts.

This is what eliminating DEI means to the Trump administration. And now, that’s what it means for Paul Weiss.

The firm has already begun to accept the Trump administration’s principles. Some time after the executive order came down, but before the firm allowed itself to be extorted, the firm took down a web page and links to its Center to Combat Hate. The firm launched the center in May 2024 to perform litigation alongside civil rights groups “to confront and redress hate-driven violence and intimidation” in order to “foster a more just and equitable society.” All links to it, including on the social media web site LinkedIn, are now dead.

Paul Weiss is not alone among elite institutions in choosing a whimper, not a bang when threatened by the Trump autocracy. Universities are largely bending over backwards to protect their own financial interests. Administrators at Columbia University are considering allowing itself to be extorted into giving up the university’s autonomy in order to keep $400 million in grants that the administration is using as leverage. The administration is also targeting the University of Pennsylvania and Johns Hopkins University with similar extortion efforts to seize control of their operations, with dozens of others likely to follow suit.

Nonprofits are being cowed into deleting references to diversity and inclusion, transgender people and changing the name of the Gulf of Mexico, sometimes after facing direct threats from the administration.

Corporations are sucking up and paying up to the administration in pursuit of government contracts, protection from investigation or prosecution and any number of corrupt acts they can extract from the nation’s mob boss. In some cases, corporate leaders, particularly in Silicon Valley, have fully embraced autocratic theories of government as a way to further enrich and empower themselves.

This cowardice is exactly what the Trump administration counts on to succeed. It is also precisely how a liberal democracy can succumb to autocracy: Private actors are putting their private interests above the common good. They have forgotten that liberalism and democracy do not just provide rights that protect their private interests, but demand public duties of citizens to uphold them. Those who choose otherwise accept their own corruption.

These elite institutions cannot, and will not save liberalism. Nor will they save democracy. They can join the people or they can join the autocrats in the public and private spheres who wish to rule as kings.

It’s time to ask: Which side are you on?

[thealternateuniverse]

The Chaotic & Charismatic Brothers – Marriage Edition 💍🔥

Jaebom – The Reluctant Groom Turned Power Couple King

👑 "It's just business. We'll be divorced in a year." — Famous last words. 💼 The heir must marry, so daddy sets him up with a business partner's daughter. She hates him. 😌 Plays the role of the patient, doting fiancé to make his life easier. If she wants something? He just gets it. Less tantrums that way. ❤️ Unexpected plot twist: She falls for him. 👩‍❤️‍👨 Plot twist part two: They actually get married. The world’s most iconic power couple—rich, famous, and effortlessly stylish. 🔥 Business headlines: "The Perfect Pair: A Love Story or a Merger?"

Mark – The Master of Uno Reverse Card

🤢 Hates the entire concept of arranged marriage. 👊 Told his father if he was forced into one, he’d disown himself. Meant it. 💍 But then Jaebom actually went through with an arranged marriage. Mark, officially paranoid, escapes overseas. ✈️ The escape plan fails when daddy announces publicly that Mark is next. 🍼 Comes home married—with a 3-month-old baby. His dad almost collapses. 👀 Turns out his “business” overseas was just him living his best life with his longtime girlfriend, who he secretly married a year ago. 🎤 "Surprise, I’ve been married. Also, meet your grandson."

Jackson – The Forever Rich Uncle

💃 Hates arranged marriage with every fiber of his being. 💌 Too busy attending exclusive parties and dating around to care. ✈️ When his dad sets him up on a blind date? He disappears for a year. 🍾 Will settle down when he decides to, not when daddy demands it. 👶 Rich uncle mode activated: Spoils all his nieces and nephews. 📢 "My only commitment is to looking good and having fun."

Jinyoung – The Lawyer Who Stays Three Steps Ahead

📑 Too busy drafting prenups and handling corporate lawsuits to think about love. 💔 "If one of you gets divorced, at least make it easy for me." 🕵️ Accidentally ends up with the perfect partner—someone in his field, just as sharp as him. 💡 Outmaneuvers his father by introducing his actual girlfriend before the matchmaking circus begins. 👶 Ends up being the responsible, doting husband and the unofficial babysitter for his brothers’ kids.

Youngjae – The Tech Nerd Who Pulled The Ultimate Baddie

💻 Quietly hacking his way through life until—BAM!—he lands the heiress of Samsung. 🔥 They bond over their shared love for tech and probably build a cybersecurity empire together. 💔 Almost breaks up with her because of an arranged marriage setup—until they realize they were arranged to marry each other. 💒 Wedding goals: A high-tech, futuristic cyber-themed extravaganza.

Bambam – The Diva, The Icon, The Untouchable Bachelor

🚨 Allergic to marriage. Screams it from the rooftops. 📸 Loves the drama surrounding his brothers' love lives but refuses to be part of it. 🎭 Outsmarts his dad by pulling publicity stunts before any matchmaking rumors start. 🤣 Gets roasted by his brothers for being chronically single. 💔 Last serious relationship? Middle school. She ghosted him. The trauma still lingers.

Yugyeom – The Lost-Love Trope in Real Life

💔 Constantly in dating rumors—half the time, he’s never even met the person. 😍 Fell in love at first sight in college, but the girl vanished. 🔍 Finds her again years later. This time? He won’t let her disappear. 🔥 She turns out to be Simon Dominic’s little sister. 👶 Surprise: They already have a son, who is older than Mark’s kid. 🥺 Begs his father and Simon D for permission to marry her because "I am NOT losing her again."

[serpentface]

What happened to all the apes if I may ask?

Nothing particularly special. Part of the conceit of this setting is it has a very similar evolutionary history to irl earth but certain things are Different (in a way that has at least SOME internal logic but is mostly so I can be like "wouldn't it be fun if [xyz] animal was Alive/in a different niche").

Part of the deal is that the contemporary setting is on a tail end of several extinction events, resulting primarily from the spreading of sophonts, a warming climate (over a longer scale than anthropogenic climate change but a short time, geologically speaking) and a recent (geologically speaking) merger of continents, resulting in an interchange of fauna and mass extinction as animals in similar niches outcompete each other.

So in the case of primates, it's basically a reversal of irl earth where lemurs massively diversified and dominate the majority of monkey-like niches, and actual monkeys are confined to geographically isolated locations (only coexisting with lemuroids in some semiaquatic otterlike niches). Humans and most great apes speciated in parts of this world that have experienced complete desertification, some of which are now severe enough to be basically uninhabitable by large animals.

Human adaptability allowed a wide spread and survival to the contemporary, though they are actually among the Least numerous and widespread sophonts. Most other great apes slowly died out from habitat loss due to climate change, and those who spread to wider ranges and new habitats were largely lost due to intercontinental fauna exchange. The last nonhuman great apes likely died out between 15,000-1,000 years BP and are only present in cultural memory

Other major changes off the top of my head:

-Cetaceans do not exist, their niches have been mostly filled by marine reptiles

-Pinnipeds don't exist, their niches have been filled by (very similar) caniforms and also some pterosauroids

-The domestication of dogs occurred much earlier and there is a much greater spread of 'wild' dogs, which have effectively replaced all true wolves.

-Pterosauroids survived very close to the present day, but were outcompeted by birds in most small niches, and megafaunal pterosaurs died largely as a result of climate change and continental interchange. (The only exception being flightless aquatic niches, where they functionally replace penguins, and caelin and delkhin)

-Anatomically modern horses do not exist, with the horse family existing primarily as small three toed grazers and browsers.

-Big cats used to exist, but have largely been outcompeted by other feliforms (also called cats in this setting, just to make things confusing) after the continental interchange

-camelids are more widespread and most successful in temperate-polar regions (which they used to exist in irl)

-a lot of other misc families of animals that are extinct irl survived to the present here, mostly stuff from the pleistocene but some purely bullshit choices on my part, like ceratopsians

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cloudburst

Enshittification isn’t inevitable: under different conditions and constraints, the old, good internet could have given way to a new, good internet. Enshittification is the result of specific policy choices: encouraging monopolies; enabling high-speed, digital shell games; and blocking interoperability.

First we allowed companies to buy up their competitors. Google is the shining example here: having made one good product (search), they then fielded an essentially unbroken string of in-house flops, but it didn’t matter, because they were able to buy their way to glory: video, mobile, ad-tech, server management, docs, navigation…They’re not Willy Wonka’s idea factory, they’re Rich Uncle Pennybags, making up for their lack of invention by buying out everyone else:

https://locusmag.com/2022/03/cory-doctorow-vertically-challenged/

But this acquisition-fueled growth isn’t unique to tech. Every administration since Reagan (but not Biden! more on this later) has chipped away at antitrust enforcement, so that every sector has undergone an orgy of mergers, from athletic shoes to sea freight, eyeglasses to pro wrestling:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/cea/written-materials/2021/07/09/the-importance-of-competition-for-the-american-economy/

But tech is different, because digital is flexible in a way that analog can never be. Tech companies can “twiddle” the back-ends of their clouds to change the rules of the business from moment to moment, in a high-speed shell-game that can make it impossible to know what kind of deal you’re getting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

To make things worse, users are banned from twiddling. The thicket of rules we call IP ensure that twiddling is only done against users, never for them. Reverse-engineering, scraping, bots — these can all be blocked with legal threats and suits and even criminal sanctions, even if they’re being done for legitimate purposes:

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

Enhittification isn’t inevitable but if we let companies buy all their competitors, if we let them twiddle us with every hour that God sends, if we make it illegal to twiddle back in self-defense, we will get twiddled to death. When a company can operate without the discipline of competition, nor of privacy law, nor of labor law, nor of fair trading law, with the US government standing by to punish any rival who alters the logic of their service, then enshittification is the utterly foreseeable outcome.

To understand how our technology gets distorted by these policy choices, consider “The Cloud.” Once, “the cloud” was just a white-board glyph, a way to show that some part of a software’s logic would touch some commodified, fungible, interchangeable appendage of the internet. Today, “The Cloud” is a flashing warning sign, the harbinger of enshittification.

When your image-editing tools live on your computer, your files are yours. But once Adobe moves your software to The Cloud, your critical, labor-intensive, unrecreatable images are purely contingent. At at time, without notice, Adobe can twiddle the back end and literally steal the colors out of your own files:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

The finance sector loves The Cloud. Add “The Cloud” to a product and profits (money you get for selling something) can turn into rents (money you get for owning something). Profits can be eroded by competition, but rents are evergreen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

No wonder The Cloud has seeped into every corner of our lives. Remember your first iPod? Adding music to it was trivial: double click any music file to import it into iTunes, then plug in your iPod and presto, synched! Today, even sophisticated technology users struggle to “side load” files onto their mobile devices. Instead, the mobile duopoly — Apple and Google, who bought their way to mobile glory and have converged on the same rent-seeking business practices, down to the percentages they charge — want you to get your files from The Cloud, via their apps. This isn’t for technological reasons, it’s a business imperative: 30% of every transaction that involves an app gets creamed off by either Apple or Google in pure rents:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

And yet, The Cloud is undeniably useful. Having your files synch across multiple devices, including your collaborators’ devices, with built-in tools for resolving conflicting changes, is amazing. Indeed, this feat is the holy grail of networked tools, because it’s how programmers write all the software we use, including software in The Cloud.

If you want to know how good a tool can be, just look at the tools that toolsmiths use. With “source control” — the software programmers use to collaboratively write software — we get a very different vision of how The Cloud could operate. Indeed, modern source control doesn’t use The Cloud at all. Programmers’ workflow doesn’t break if they can’t access the internet, and if the company that provides their source control servers goes away, it’s simplicity itself to move onto another server provider.

This isn’t The Cloud, it’s just “the cloud” — that whiteboard glyph from the days of the old, good internet — freely interchangeable, eminently fungible, disposable and replaceable. For a tool like git, Github is just one possible synchronization point among many, all of which have a workflow whereby programmers’ computers automatically make local copies of all relevant data and periodically lob it back up to one or more servers, resolving conflicting edits through a process that is also largely automated.

There’s a name for this model: it’s called “Local First” computing, which is computing that starts from the presumption that the user and their device is the most important element of the system. Networked servers are dumb pipes and dumb storage, a nice-to-have that fails gracefully when it’s not available.

The data structures of source-code are among the most complicated formats we have; if we can do this for code, we can do it for spreadsheets, word-processing files, slide-decks, even edit-decision-lists for video and audio projects. If local-first computing can work for programmers writing code, it can work for the programs those programmers write.

Local-first computing is experiencing a renaissance. Writing for Wired, Gregory Barber traces the history of the movement, starting with the French computer scientist Marc Shapiro, who helped develop the theory of “Conflict-Free Replicated Data” — a way to synchronize data after multiple people edit it — two decades ago:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-cloud-is-a-prison-can-the-local-first-software-movement-set-us-free/

Shapiro and his co-author Nuno Preguiça envisioned CFRD as the building block of a new generation of P2P collaboration tools that weren’t exactly serverless, but which also didn’t rely on servers as the lynchpin of their operation. They published a technical paper that, while exiting, was largely drowned out by the release of GoogleDocs (based on technology built by a company that Google bought, not something Google made in-house).

Shapiro and Preguiça’s work got fresh interest with the 2019 publication of “Local-First Software: You Own Your Data, in spite of the Cloud,” a viral whitepaper-cum-manifesto from a quartet of computer scientists associated with Cambridge University and Ink and Switch, a self-described “industrial research lab”:

https://www.inkandswitch.com/local-first/static/local-first.pdf

The paper describes how its authors — Martin Kleppmann, Adam Wiggins, Peter van Hardenberg and Mark McGranaghan — prototyped and tested a bunch of simple local-first collaboration tools built on CFRD algorithms, with the goal of “network optional…seamless collaboration.” The results are impressive, if nascent. Conflicting edits were simpler to resolve than the authors anticipated, and users found URLs to be a good, intuitive way of sharing documents. The biggest hurdles are relatively minor, like managing large amounts of change-data associated with shared files.

Just as importantly, the paper makes the case for why you’d want to switch to local-first computing. The Cloud is not reliable. Companies like Evernote don’t last forever — they can disappear in an eyeblink, and take your data with them:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/7/9/23789012/evernote-layoff-us-staff-bending-spoons-note-taking-app

Google isn’t likely to disappear any time soon, but Google is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA program (“I have altered the deal, pray I don’t alter it any further”) and notorious for shuttering its products, even beloved ones like Google Reader:

https://www.theverge.com/23778253/google-reader-death-2013-rss-social

And while the authors don’t mention it, Google is also prone to simply kicking people off all its services, costing them their phone numbers, email addresses, photos, document archives and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/22/allopathic-risk/#snitches-get-stitches

There is enormous enthusiasm among developers for local-first application design, which is only natural. After all, companies that use The Cloud go to great lengths to make it just “the cloud,” using containerization to simplify hopping from one cloud provider to another in a bid to stave off lock-in from their cloud providers and the enshittification that inevitably follows.

The nimbleness of containerization acts as a disciplining force on cloud providers when they deal with their business customers: disciplined by the threat of losing money, cloud companies are incentivized to treat those customers better. The companies we deal with as end-users know exactly how bad it gets when a tech company can impose high switching costs on you and then turn the screws until things are almost-but-not-quite so bad that you bolt for the doors. They devote fantastic effort to making sure that never happens to them — and that they can always do that to you.

Interoperability — the ability to leave one service for another — is technology’s secret weapon, the thing that ensures that users can turn The Cloud into “the cloud,” a humble whiteboard glyph that you can erase and redraw whenever it suits you. It’s the greatest hedge we have against enshittification, so small wonder that Big Tech has spent decades using interop to clobber their competitors, and lobbying to make it illegal to use interop against them:

https://locusmag.com/2019/01/cory-doctorow-disruption-for-thee-but-not-for-me/

Getting interop back is a hard slog, but it’s also our best shot at creating a new, good internet that lives up the promise of the old, good internet. In my next book, The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (Verso Books, Sept 5), I set out a program fro disenshittifying the internet:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

The book is up for pre-order on Kickstarter now, along with an independent, DRM-free audiobooks (DRM-free media is the content-layer equivalent of containerized services — you can move them into or out of any app you want):

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

Meanwhile, Lina Khan, the FTC and the DoJ Antitrust Division are taking steps to halt the economic side of enshittification, publishing new merger guidelines that will ban the kind of anticompetitive merger that let Big Tech buy its way to glory:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/07/biden-administration-corporate-merger-antitrust-guidelines/674779/

The internet doesn’t have to be enshittified, and it’s not too late to disenshittify it. Indeed — the same forces that enshittified the internet — monopoly mergers, a privacy and labor free-for-all, prohibitions on user-side twiddling — have enshittified everything from cars to powered wheelchairs. Not only should we fight enshittification — we must.

Back my anti-enshittification Kickstarter here!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Image: Drahtlos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Motherboard_Intel_386.jpg

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

—

cdsessums (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Monsoon_Season_Flagstaff_AZ_clouds_storm.jpg

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

[eugenedebs1920]

“No prior President has ever abased himself more abjectly before a tyrant” Were the words spoken by the late Senator from Arizona, John McCain after the July 2018 summit between President Trump and Russian president Vladimir Putin. His fellow Arizonan Senator Jeff Flake would say, “I never thought I would see the day when our American President would stand on the stage with the Russian President and place blame on the United States for Russian aggression. This is shameful.”

McCain would pass away from an aggressive brain cancer on August 25, 2018. His fellow statesmen would not seek reelection, giving a lengthy em passionate speech condemning “new normal” of the Trump era, saying,  “the personal attacks, the threats against principles, freedoms, and institutions; the flagrant disregard for truth or decency, the reckless provocations, most often for the pettiest and most personal reasons, reasons having nothing whatsoever to do with the fortunes of the people that we have all been elected to serve.”

Look at those pictures of Donald Trump! Have you ever seen that lack of overbearing arrogance on his face before!? Putin either makes him soil his diaper with fear, he has dirt on Trump, or our tiny handed tyrant is in love! This has little to do with what we’ll dive into but, just happened to run across Flake’s announcement for not seeking reelection. It was pretty good! Anyway…

With our short attention spans and constant distractions, we may only remember a phrase when we associate the word Russia, and the word Trump. That being the former President’s response to a reporter, saying “Oh! Russia Russia Russia”, that’s my word association image anyway. But yes. Russia Russia Russia.

We’ll go in a reverse chronologicalish order, or most relevant recent order, or whatever order it ends up as. There’s a lot to cover, see how long you make it… 😆

Trump has long had affairs overseas, and no, not the kind he’s known for, but business dealings. After making a series of bad decisions in the later 80’s early 90’s American banks were hesitant to loan to Trump. As it turns out, the Kremlin had their eye on Trump, and had Czech spies working for the Kremlin covertly tail him as early as 1987. Throughout the years Trump Would rely on Russian assistance quite often. From the financial and business side to the political and personal side.

Upon the merger of Trump’s, Truth Social and Digital World Acquisition Corp, Truth Social became, Trump Media and Technology Group. Before the merger Truth Social had been hemorrhaging money, showing significant losses on all quarterly reports.

In late 2021 the social media platform seemed as if it was doomed. In December of 2021, a Christmas miracle occurred in the form of two loans totaling eight million dollars, acting as a lifeline to the failing site.

These loans came as one for $2 million and another $6 million. The $2 million loan was from Paxum Bank, an entity tied with Russian President Vladimir Putin. Paxum Bank is partially owned by a man named Anton Postolnikov, who is related to a man named Aleksandr Smirinov (not the same As Alexander Smirinov that tried to relay Russian misinformation to the FBI, and was subsequently arrested for doing so in the House, Biden impeachment inquiry, political theater headed by James Comer of KY, but a different Smirinov) a former Russian government official, who runs Rosmorport, a Russian shipping company. There was $6 million loan paid by a separate entity by the name of ES Family Trust, who’s director at the time was the very same man who held the title of director at Paxum Bank, the same bank who loaned the smaller $2 million loan. You almost need a poster board with pictures, some tacks and yarn with that one!

In 2023 prosecutors in the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York began an investigation into the Russian based financial backing and Trump Media and Technology Group (TMTG). The case is still ongoing.

We’re going to skip out of order here because this is already lacking brevity, so. Let’s turn to the end of Trump’s presidency, in the waning days, after the insurrection, Jan 16-20th.

After the disgraceful behavior Trump had engaged in upon losing the 2020 election to Joe Biden, Trump and his remaining staff were scrambling to exit the White House. On Jan the 18th, just two days from Biden’s inauguration, Trump requested the delivery of a binder.

This ten inch thick, treasure trove of documents contained some of the United States most closely guarded information and secrets. So much so that even lawmakers and congressional aides with top secret clearance could only view the binder, and information within, at the Central Intelligence Agency’s (CIA) headquarters in Langley Virginia. Inside were the highest levels of confidentiality and secret information from the United States, its allies, and top secret NATO intelligence as well. It was a collection on Russia, assets working for or against the Kremlin, sources, methods in which the U.S. government received its information and even an assessment of the Russian President Vladimir V. Putin.

Trump’s request was carried out under the care of the Presidents Chief of Staff Mark Meadows. Trump’s sociopathic narcissist disorder caused the exiting, disgraced President to feel the need to declassify a host of documents, including the FBI’s investigation into himself and Russia.

White House lawyers and aides hurriedly redacted names, dates, locations as fast as they could knowing the erratic behavior of Trump. His top administration officials would attempt to block the publication of the classified information. The day before leaving office, on Jan 19th, despite pleas from White House officials, aides and staff, as well as out of spite, Trump issued the declassification of nearly all the sensitive material, putting the lives of agents, informants, and sources in jeopardy. Multiple copies of the initial redacted version were printed out and were set to be distributed throughout Washington to Republicans in Congress and to right wing media outlets. The copies that did get sent out were quickly recovered by White House lawyers, demanding that further redactions were necessary.

Minutes before the inauguration of President elect Biden, Meadows rushed to get approval from the Justice Department, hand delivering the redacted copy for final approval.

Suspiciously, in all the chaos of the final 48 hours, and Trump’s temper tantrum, the original, unredacted, ten inch thick binder of the most sensitive material regarding the U.S. and its allies went missing. There’s a redacted copy in the National Archives, but the whereabouts of the original binder remains a mystery.

During the hearings on the criminality that occurred in Trump’s final weeks in office, aide, Cassidy Hutchinson testified that she saw Chief of Staff MarkMeadows leave the White House with the binder, suggesting that her assumption was that he had put the top secret information in a safe, located at his home.

This brings us to our next act… Of sedition.

The declassification and illegal retention of the world’s most secretive binder was not the only act of treason Trump would engage in. After his loss in November and into December Trump had authorized the removal and transport of dozens of boxes of classified information, state secrets, nuclear secrets, U.S. and its allies war plans to various properties he owned.

The FBI was aware of the taking of the documents, after requesting their return several times a warrant was issued to Trump’s Florida “home” Mar-a-lago. It was coordinated out of respect, safety and to not make a spectacle of the raid, that Trump would not be present when the FBI searched his club/home.

What the FBI found was dozens of boxes containing the classified documents as well as other trinkets like magazines and newspaper articles, strewn around, knocked over and spilling in various locations such as a closet, bathroom, his youngest child Barrons’s room and a hidden room containing surveillance equipment for the property.

In thier assessment of the evidence they found 43 empty folders with tabs labeled, Classified, 28 empty folders labeled, Return to Staff Secretary or Military Aide. In the boxes, folders that weren’t empty included, 18 documents marked, Top Secret, 54 marked as, secret, 31 marked as, Confidential, and 11,179 other Government documents, some with photos that weren’t marked.

This case is the most egregious act of sedition of American President in our nations history. A Special Prosecutor, Jack Smith, was tasked by the DOJ of heading the case. In a stunning move of partisanship and a complete disregard of standing Jurisprudence, Federal Judge Aileen Cannon, a Trump appointee, would go against 50 years of precedent and dismiss the case under the grounds the the special counsel was improperly funded. The American people would be denied their right to get the truth about who, what, when and why these documents were retained, missing, and in the condition they were found. The binder talked about earlier was not in the trove of documents found at Mar-a-lago, its location remains unknown.

So yea! Russia Russia Russia… There’s SO much more Russian ties, scandals, shady business dealings to show but. If this is nearly as long to read as it was to write, I’m proud you made it all the way through.

I’ve been saying it for years, Trump is a Russian asset, I even made a bet saying in 20 years if it doesn’t come out that Trump was a Russian asset I owed this person a sloppy, dentureless blowjob (because I’ll be kinda old in 20 years and I assume I’ll have dentures).

Don’t be conned by Americans most notorious conman and give him the chance to steal and share even more of our state secrets. Vote Kamala Harris for President. Blue down ballot for real change in our country.

I may finish this and post the whole thing from 2013 to what we dove in to on my substack, which I’ll try to remember to leave a link in the comments section. Until next time. Let’s hope for the sake of our democracy Trump loses here in 2024 or maybe I’ll see some of you f*cks in Gitmo 😉😅😆☮️🇺🇸

[joelsbeard]

you and pre-outbreak!joel’s favorite sex positions 🤭🤭🤭 aside from missionary ofc bc if anything that man loves eye contact & intimacy with you 🤭

ENJOY!!!

nsfw links hehe 🤭:

#64 tango

#152 honeymoon (this one looks fucking bomb ik this mans dick is basically in your throat in this one)

#465 knight

#317 merger (he probably loves sucking on your tiddies in this one)

#458 jack (GOOD LORDDD this one is hot)

#313 chef (that eye contact tho )

#330 louise (<- ^ what the hell are these names, this one is cute tho its giving ✨ intimate✨ )

#150 reverse cowgirl (duh every cowboy needs his cowgirl ;) )

ugh just LOOK at this man he’s so fine, him manspreading does something to me. Need this man to fuck me on that couch in that jack position LMAO

gif credit: @pedgito

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

My thoughts on Cryptolangs

Sometimes, conlanging is too much work or it does not fit what one is going for in a project, whether it be a story or just a worldbuilding thought experiment. Sometimes, one just needs a way to make something strange without completely reinventing it. Sometimes, one just needs to create a cryptolang. But a cryptolang is just a cypher with extra steps, isn't it? Well, there could be more to this concept than meets the eye. A cryptolang's could have it's own interesting features without becoming a fully constructed language; its function can fit the themes of something being transformed into something else and can be applied to more smaller groups than an entire conlang for a larger one.

But what is a "Cryptolang?" According to @cryptolangsguy , "Cryptolangs are the perfect middle between conlangs and ciphers. They are tools which can be used to encode text, hide it's meaning but keep it pronounceable." How does it do that? By replacing phonemes with other ones. In fact, they could even replace all the consonants of a word with vowels and vowels with consonants, but that will be covered later. While the exact mechanisms of Cryptolangs are beyond the scope of this post, It is replacing letters with other letters. But it could be so much more than that.

Cryptolangs could be so much more than just a fancy cypher with extra steps, it could be creating a new language from an already existing one. For example, one could take all the letters of a word in the English language, take "green" for instance, and add the letters of that word to the end of the sentence in reverse order, producing "greenneerg." Now, comparisons are formed through the affixing of "-er" for comparatives and "-est" for superlatives to the end of a word. One could do the same for this theoretical cryptolang and produce the conjugated formes "greenerreneerg" and "greenesttseneerg" and that would be an interesting grammatical feature already because it already created infixes, affixes that go within a word. A strange feature indeed. But why stop there? Could there be another way of marking comparison? What if one were to create a new rule in which removing the first letter creates a comparative and the last one creates a superlative? Thus, we get "reenneerg" for "greener" and "greenneer" for "greenest." Does this count as a constructed language? maybe. But it is for sure that the aesthetic and grammar of the language is based on the already English language and grammar and the letters haven't even been rearranged yet. There is so much potential for using such transformations in a thematic way.

One of those themes could be the exploration of how an individual's physical transformation is reflected in their speech. For example, taking the above framework that has already been created, the individual who speaks this language could be obsessed with symmetry and balance. Thus, all the words they say become palindromes and the modifications reflect their own biases in choosing one side over another. Of course, this is more reverse engineering a theme from what one already has. A less cumbersome way would be to come up with the character's, well, character and build the features off of those aspects. Granted, this is more artistic than technical so what is considered for features can vary from creator to creator.

However, these features can be applied to individuals, small groups, or even entire nations, in larger number than a fully original constructed language. According to Mark Rosenfelder himself, the author of the Language Construction Kit, Advanced Language Construction, Conlangers' Lexipedia, and Syntax Construction Kit, the bulk of a conlang's work is in coming up with a lexicon, all the words. With a Cryptolang, a lexicon naturally arises from the changes one makes to the letters of each word with each rule laid out. Naturally, these letter changes can lead to mergers and synonyms. Though, theoretically, one can come up with ways to distinguish words from a source language. But that is a thought experiment for another day. What is possible is that one can create all sorts of cryptolangs by setting up rules, changing them, mixing them together, or stacking one set of cryptolang rules on top of another. It is relatively faster to create rules for a cryptolang's phonology and grammar than it is to come up with an entire lexicon in an original constructed language. Thus, one can create more cryptolangs in comparison to a single conlang.

So, in summary, Cryptolangs can have interesting features, they can reflect the lexical aspects of a character's physical transformation, and they can be more productive than conlangs. Hopefully, this badly worded essay will open you cryptolangers' eyes to the potential of these sorts of creations whether you are a veteran with a thousand under their belt or a rookie creating their very first. Thank you all for reading this, and till next time! ;)

[thegildedbee]

Apology/Imperfect: May 23 & 24 Prompts from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. ..................................................................................

In and of itself, the passing of time had not yet begun to blunt whatever was continuing to tear at him in losing Sherlock; in and of itself it had not offered a pathway forward. His impulse to revisit the beginning had surprised John –.he had no idea if this flight of fancy (and of his feet) would worsen his situation; although he’d wager that "worse" was not a possibility. But the impetuosity had sparked his synapses, and as he buys his ticket for the train, he knows that it is the right thing to do, even if he cannot put words as to why.

On the day after Sherlock had come into his life, the “pink lady,” Jennifer Wilson, had traveled from Cardiff to London; nearly two years later, his remembrance of her existence had prompted John to travel in reverse, allowing the train to carry him further back in time the nearer they drew to Wales. Six minutes from Paddington, as the train accelerates to its running speed of 125 miles an hour, he realizes that he has no idea what he will do once the train pulls into the station. He takes himself to task, wondering if what he’ll do is to step out on the platform, consider the whole journey a folly, check the timetables, and turn around and head back to London. He decides that he doesn’t need to decide, not yet. In two hours’ time, when he steps off the train, he can exit the station, sit down in the nearest pub, and then work out what comes next.

Already he feels as if he is more free to breathe, outside of Harry’s home, beyond Baker Street, increasingly distant from the Diogenes, and Bart’s Hospital, and Scotland Yard, moving further and further away from Charles Magnusson’s corporate high-rise and the street where Irene Adler had lived, and the Tower, the Old Bailey, and Sherlock’s grave. Within the neutral space of the moving train, within the in-between of departure and arrival, John thinks he can let go enough that it will allow him to begin to make a reckoning, loosening knots that bind him to what has been, by thinking new thoughts.

The day that Sherlock had solved the pink lady’s murder was the day that John had thrown in with him. It was the start of them being . . . something . . . to each other. A something that would become something more over time. Two mates? Best friends? A pair? A duo? Twinned? A merger? A team? A partnership? A match? A couple?

It's a complicated question, he admits to himself grudgingly, because there are two sides to it, right? Knowing the answer for one side does not automatically reveal the answer for the other. From one angle -- his -- it’s simple, because whatever it is, it just is. But the whole bloody mess is full of multiple dimensions isn’t it, tenth Doctor timey-wimey stuff. He starts to feel irritated at this line of thought, and throws up his hands. Best put this off until he gets to the pub. Best put this off until he’s been at the pub for a while – and after he’s a few pints down.

But it wasn’t just two of them, was it, he and Sherlock, although they wouldn’t know that for a while. There was a third, right at the start, although the third had thought that he was one of two. He had thought that he was at the start of . . . something . . . with Sherlock. Nothing as simple as mates or best friends or a pair; what he was after was more complex than these: A duo? Twinned? No, it would be closer to a merger, although that wouldn’t be emotionally true enough, would it?

Sherlock had been on Moriarty’s mind ever since he discovered him in the aftermath of Carl Powers’ death. He had been planning a courtship through all these years, the trainers his Rosebud, that he would lay at Sherlock’s feet. He wanted, at least early on, to be a team, a partnership – yes, that would be closer. It might have even been satisfactory if that was all that was possible from Sherlock's end; or might be satisfactory as a way station, until Moriarty could bend him to his will. Moriarty had already raced ahead: his something was as a match, as a couple.

Moriarty had been writing himself and Sherlock into a twisted fairy tale from the start. He didn’t know Sherlock as well as he might have thought; he would need access to Mycroft’s brain, and memories, and his expressive tells to compensate for both his lack of data, and his lack of a soul, unable as the psychopath that he was to feel the emotional connection that his lust for power over Sherlock craved. In the aftershocks of Jennifer Wilson's death and the Yard's summons to Sherlock, Moriarty had sent Sherlock a setpiece from The Princess Bride to play, to test his mettle: to see if he died -- and that his brain had been made of inferior stuff, and playing the game wouldn't have been worth the candle; or whether Moriarty’s hypothesis that Sherlock was worthy to be one of two with him was proven, by his staying alive, demonstrating that he possessed a mind that was laced with iocane powder.

How disappointed Moriarty must have been when he realized that Sherlock hadn't understood the reference! John smiled, wistfully, remembering: the inevitable glitch in the operation of genius, yes? That there’s always something.

But Sherlock hadn’t needed an iocane-laced brain; he had John: John could act that night as the antidote to the poison, and he had. He had played a role in the fairy tale, although not a part that was written by Moriarty, but the part that was appearing in letters across the London skyline, like magic ink when it becomes visible, written by the two of them: John and Sherlock.

Their once upon a time, which had begun the day before, ended its first chapter with John saving Sherlock by slaying a dragon.

The train surges ahead as the landscape outside the window greens, and a young mother and her son make their way down the aisle back to their seats, hand-in-hand. She listens to him with an intent expression as he waves outside the window and then to his mobile, explaining something or other about the Pokemon he’s captured. Outside, the long stretch of empty track behind them leaves evidence of the miles that have disappeared during that moment.

John had seen himself as Sherlock’s protector from the start: a soldier to protect him from harm, harm from others and harm from himself, even as Sherlock set out to protect London, with all the recklessness, brilliance, abrasiveness, arrogance, imperfection and exuberance that was embedded within his being.

But John had not been able to protect Sherlock in the last days of his life. Something had gone wrong, and while there were more contributing factors than he was sure he could count if he counted until the end of his days, he knew that some of that wrongness had been down to him. He catches glimpses when he remembers those times when he was at Sherlock’s side during the tumult of the photo calls that began with his retrieval of Turner’s Reichenbach Falls painting. He senses deep inside that he owes Sherlock an apology for the condescension he had indulged in, which obscured his view of the field of battle, leaving Sherlock alone to try and overcome the curse that Moriarty had spun around him. There's more there he needs to think about it, if he's ever going to understand what happened. He can't just skip over it; he has to go through it, and hope that he emerges on the other side.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

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[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

What is your opinion on Toji? Both as a character and as a (deadbeat) dad?

As a character he's masterfully written, and him being a deadbeat dad is an absolutely vital part of that.

Toji and Gojo exist fundamentally as mirrors of one another. Equal and opposite images. Infinite cursed energy and absolute zero. Both were born as the most powerful members of their clan alive, but Gojo was lauded for his gifts, whereas Toji was rejected.

Even the way the universe itself treats them (and the way they treat it in turn) are inverses of one another. According to Gege, Gojo is naturally good at everything he tries, and so he doesn't try most things. In converse, Toji is a natural failure who can't stop trying. He's a gambler who loses all of his money but is still parked at the tracks, placing bets that never win. As foils they work so so well.

Taken alone, Toji himself is fascinating because of how much he's aching with failure and lost potential. It reeks of a true tragedy--and, like most tragedies, a good deal of it was of his own making even if circumstance can't be denied. He's Hamlet: introduced to his own downfall by events outside of himself but fuck if he didn't help it on plenty on his own.

Toji is a character who was cast as cursed from birth. He was born extraordinarily powerful in a clan that refused to see it and actively vilified him for his abilities. And as the audience, we can see the sheer affront of that, because we can see him for how he truly is. He's very, very plainly one of the most powerful characters in the franchise. Gojo himself initially loses to him, and if Toji had listened to his instincts that day and left the second he saw Gojo returned? He'd probably have remained undefeated against him. He'd have survived to cause problems in canon even farther down the line.

And it's especially interesting in the fact that Toji is a character who can do something that no other character in the series can do: he can destroy fate.

Toji himself is a functional loophole in canon. From a meta perspective, Gojo functions as this archetype of the Unbeatable, but Toji is the exception. When it comes to the Star Plasma Vessel, fate should have ensured that the merger happened anyway, but Toji, again, catalyzed the exception. Gojo and Toji colliding is the unstoppable force meeting the unmovable object, and the sheer waste that the Zenin out of hand rejected someone that could rival Gojo Satoru stings at the audience with a particular sort of irony. They really did throw away with both hands the person that could have made them rival Gojo, and they did it because of their own prejudices and egos. Toji's story really is one of a tragedy, but the execution of him really does function uniquely in the genre.

And to speak briefly on tragedy--if we're talking about the classical conception of tragedy, it's defined by a reversal of fortune. It's good fortune to bad. Peripeteia. That's legitimately what makes a narrative a tragedy--the audience watches as the character's fortune reverses over the span of the narrative.

In the term of the broader narrative, Toji himself acts as peripeteia personified. He is what reverses Gojo's fortune. Gojo was his downfall, but at the same time, he was still Gojo's.

Gojo starts his interaction with Toji in a state of good fortune. He is already One of The Strongest. And, more importantly, he isn't the strongest alone--which is something he spends the rest of the narrative trying to reclaim. Every single time he teaches, he's trying to encourage the students to become his equal, with Yuuji, Megumi, and Yuuta being the most notable exceptions of this. Yes, he's doing it for their own wellbeing, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still trying to cultivate a status quo that he had and lost with Geto Suguru for other people. And he says this explicitly: he does not want them to be alone. It's the loss of Geto that truly defines Gojo's tragic arc, and it was Toji himself that caused Geto's loss.

He made Gojo The Strongest when he pushed him to the point of unlocking reversed curse energy. But, more importantly, he sent Geto on his descent into madness. Even calling himself a monkey was what fed into Geto's ideals--if it weren't for Toji, it wouldn't have happened.

The other thing that defines a tragedy is that tragic heroes are meant to be sent on their downfall because of some kind of fatal flaw. Hamartia. Outside circumstances set the ball in motion, but it's the character's own flaw that truly dooms them. A very famous example of this is Hamlet, who was set on his path to destruction by his father's ghost and his uncle's deceit, but what's widely considered to be the source of his change in fortune is his decision to not kill his uncle as he prays. Hamlet is a famously clever character, and this works against him as he decides to play god and try to not only revenge his father, but ensure his uncle's eternal damnation. It's only then that he begins to make the mistakes that ultimately doom him. If he had killed him in the moment and left his uncle's soul to God's own deliberations, then he would have likely survived the play just fine. He damns himself just as much as circumstances did.

If we accept the premise that Gojo's story is one of tragedy, then we have to ask what his fatal flaw is. And I'd argue that it's his own isolation.

Gojo is strongest on his own, but every thing he's ever lost can be linked back to the isolation that comes with that. Most notably, again, being Geto Suguru, and the fact that Kenjaku was able to use Geto's body as the way of sealing him. Gojo's own untouchability is what leads him on the path to his own destruction, and it's something that Toji specifically takes advantage of in the course of their fight, and it's something that he exacerbates when he inadvertently leads to Gojo's permanent loss of Geto. Toji really is the one to best expose Gojo's fatal flaw and take advantage of it.

But the interesting thing about Toji is that he really begs the question as to whether his own journey is that of a tragedy or a comedy.

Okay, so not to open this huge can of worms with classical infighting, but all of the definitions that we get regarding what makes a tragedy comes from Aristotle's Poetics, and the second book of it where he defines comedy is lost to history. We've been fighting about what exactly he meant to say ever since. The book's gone. People say we have ideas about what's in it but the book's fucking gone. It's gone.

Anyway Aristotle's fucking dead and it's my turn to wear the philosopher hat, and I'm saying that it's also a reversal of fortunes from bad to good. If there's any classics scholars reading this please keep walking i can't go back to this war.

There's a really good argument that Toji is a tragedy. Fuck, he has a fatal flaw flying so blatantly that he says it out loud in his death scene--his own pride. His inability to admit to his own failure or potential for it. He wants to win, even when he knows he can't. It's what leads him to fight Gojo a second time. It's what leads him to place bet after bet when he never, ever wins.

But there's one glaring issue: if tragedy is a reversal of fortunes from good to bad, did toji ever have good fortune to begin with?

If it just starts as bad and stays as bad, it's not a tragedy by definition. It feels tragic to the audience, but it's not a tragedy in narrative form. So what is Toji's good fortune in this narrative?

I'd argue it's actually Megumi. And we are left to decide whether or not he lost or gained his good fortune in his last moments of his life.

I've talked about Megumi's function in the narrative with the concept of fortune in other posts, but fuck if I know where they are. Megumi himself, as a character, is not fortunate. He's actually sort of fucked. He's doomed by the narrative from the start, but he does seem to be a sort of fortune for other people.

It's literally in his name. Blessing, but not blessed. A blessing is something that's bestowed on other people; blessed speaks to your own state of fortune. All of Megumi's seeming fortune only exists for the sake of other people, with the most notable example being his Ten Shadows Technique.

Megumi as Gojo's foil is another conversation entirely that I won't go into, but it's interesting how Gojo's relationship with his technique is indisputably one of being blessed, and Megumi is stuck as a blessing. Again, it’s almost explicitly said—Gojo states “I alone am the honored one” when describing his own relationship with his technique. But the Ten Shadows Technique is what consistently dooms Megumi in his own narrative, and it’s usually because of other people.

He was trapped into life as a jujutsu sorcerer because of it, and his relationship with it is interesting because he does not understand its true value but everyone else does. The higher ups. The Zenin. Sukuna. Megumi has no space within the narrative to breathe and grow naturally because other people have taken his existence as a boon to them and use that to his direct detriment. He’s a blessing. He isn’t blessed. He is good fortune for others and it robs him of his own.

And he was Toji’s Blessing first.

In order to really, properly analyze whether Toji’s narrative is a tragedy or comedy or neither, we have to analyze his relationship with his own fatherhood. It’s time for a massive departure into that.

The thing is that toji sort of fucking sucked at being a dad. He was a deadbeat. I’ve seen a lot in fandom that tries to construe his actions as a father in a more favorable light, but I think doing so robs him of his narrative depth.

Specifically, I’m talking about his decision to sell Megumi to the Zenin.

And like. I’ve personally seen a lot of posts that sort of justify it as Toji doing what was best for Megumi, that his family would take care of him better than they did Toji because he had cursed energy, but that's sort of patently untrue? Like, parents who are worried about their kid's wellbeing and are trying to get them guardians with better means don't put off the actual transfer of guardianship because they're still negotiating the purchase price. They don't sell them to a family they know is abusive to begin with. He already knew Megumi had cursed energy. They were just waiting on his technique to appear, specially so that they could settle on the final price, and in that time, Megumi was left with Tsumiki to fend for themselves. If he really thought that the Zenin were going to take care of him, he should have tried to get them to take custody sooner.

Moreover, there's just a lot of steps you can take before selling your kid to your abusive family when it comes to their wellbeing. Namely, actually stepping up to the plate and raising them yourself.

"They'll treat him better because he has curse energy" was Toji's justification for selling Megumi, and it's one he plainly didn't believe himself in the long run, because in the end he risked it all on this sixteen year old gayboy who just killed him rather than actually trust his family to take care of his son. Up to the point of his death, Toji just wasn't a good dad.

He was never around. He left a four year old in charge of a three year old and left them both unattended. He gambled away their money at the tracks instead of, you know, feeding them. The money that he did leave them for food was canonically a part of the down payment for selling Megumi. He was so absentee that he straight up forgot what Megumi's name was.

But, undeniably, it's Megumi who he thought of as he died. It's Megumi he tried to take care of.

Remember that tragedy is classically defined as good fortune to bad, but Toji didn't have any good fortune to start with. Like, he wasn't even living a particularly good life. He was an eternally broke absentee dad with a gambling addiction and an insecurity complex so big he needed to kill those teenage homosexuals over it. I'm pretty sure he only owned one pair of pants.

But if we accept Megumi, the son he once loved so much that he named him blessing, as his one good fortune, then he didn't have him either at the start of action. He had abandoned his only good fortune and left him, ultimately, at the mercy of his family.

And that's what changes on his death bed. Toji finally becomes the type of dad that takes care of his son.

If Toji hadn't died, there wouldn't have been the catalysis for change. He probably would have gone through with the sale. I'd like to think that he'd live to regret it, that he'd go back and save Megumi, but it's really up in the air as to whether or not he ever would. But undeniably, when he tells Gojo about Megumi as a last ditch effort to save him from his family, that's the first moment we really see in canon where Toji doesn't have any ulterior motive when it comes to Megumi. He doesn't get any benefit out of it anymore. His kid is going to be sold off to the Zenin in a few years time. Do with that what Gojo will.

This is even more interesting when it comes to the only moment in canon where Megumi and Toji interact: in Shibuya, where Toji is resurrected and fights Megumi.

To my understanding, Toji was compelled to fight whatever was most powerful in his immediate proximity, which made him go after Megumi. The second he realizes that it's his son he's fighting, he stops the fight, asks for his name, and kills himself to stop the resurrection spell, with his last words being that he's glad Megumi's Fushiguro instead of Zenin. He didn't even hesitate. He didn't take care of his son in life, but he died for him without even needing to think about it.

Saving Megumi from his family (albeit, partially because he was the one who endangered him to begin with) was the only really good thing Toji did with his life that we know of, and he dies glad. He dies knowing that Megumi was raised as Fushiguro instead of Zenin.

So. Was Toji's journey one of bad fortune to good? Or good fortune to bad? Or just... bad fortune to still bad fortune? It can be argued for any of them, but it's really undeniable that Toji's failures and successes as a father are integral to his character's complexity.

He was a shit dad. But he died for his son. And I think you lose a huge amount of his character if you deny either of those.