#Vacuum system and packages

[swamatics0]

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[aquariusindia]

Waste Water Equipment | Aquarius projects | Vadodara | Gujarat | India

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[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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

[4k words]

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Chapter 1 "The Savior"

Since the day you were born, there was something horribly wrong with you.

You had no immune system, your skin was paper-thin, you couldn’t exercise without collapsing, and every nerve in your body was in constant pain. There was no use for you aside from being a measly archive keeper and book transcriber. Your father was a weak man, despite your disabilities and how costly it was for the rest of your Vault, he kept you alive, consumed by the idea of finally finding a cure for his little girl.

Every single moment since your birth, you had spent in this squeaky clean, insanity-inducing, paper-ridden medical room. Everything was plagued by the stench of medicine and spirit, disinfected down to the core. The floor and walls and even the ceiling were covered in a leather cushioned layer to prevent any injuries, sparkling white, of course. Who needed color when the stench of new paint might cause you a migraine?

In honesty, you’d give away half of your miserable life just to see color outside of the packaged book covers stacked neatly on the floor. You built a makeshift city out of them, following the pictures drawn in an old magazine you’d read ages ago and kept hidden under your pillow. With time, you learned how to make paper flowers out of some stray files that nobody would miss. You had to find some solace, something to keep you from crying your delicate heart out every night because this was no way for anyone to live.

You weren’t just isolated from the world above, but from everything, only getting glimpses of the bright metal vault corridor and bustling dwellers whenever your father would open that wretched vacuum-sealed door to give you medicine. You knew people’s names and faces, everyone in your vault was memorized to the letter, but you’d never met them and probably never would.

You were never given your own Pip-boy, never assigned as a potential marriage candidate, and you’d never have children or any family once your parents passed away. A small part of you knew that you wouldn’t even outlive them, frail and genetically inferior as you were. You’d die within the next few years and you’d take the burden of your existence off the shoulders of everyone who worked tirelessly to find a solution to your illness.

You waited for that day with hope, dreaming of the end of the torture and solitude.

You had pleaded with your father that night with angry tears in your eyes to at least bring you coloring pencils or crayons or a radio to chat with the rest of the residents and make friends. But, as usual, he had refused gently while rocking you in his arms, cooing at you with a regretful tone and pain carving deep wrinkles in his features. Then he’d smiled at you, melting away your worry and frustration and misery, and he’d kissed your forehead tenderly. He still treated you like a little girl and to him, you’d always be one. He wiped your tears away and hope shone in his eyes, they looked exactly like yours, that was the only thing you’d taken from him. Everything else was a gift from your mother and you often looked in the mirror just to remember what she resembled.

She’d stopped visiting a long time ago, months, maybe even years, you weren’t sure. The passing of time was a fickle matter when you were caged in a cushioned prison every single day.

Your father hummed softly, lulling you while he gently tucked you into the nursing bed and secured the oxygen mask over your mouth. He was your angel, your only salvation, your only source of conversation and comfort and interaction and love. He adjusted the catheter back into your vein before fluffing up your pillow.

“This might be it, Sweetheart.” he whispered while watching you doze off slowly, his gaze held such affection for you. He placed a new IV bag to drain into your arm, one you’d not seen before, but you trusted him. This was nothing new. He came up with a new medicine recipe every month, without fail. “This might just be the cure. You’ll tell me how you feel tomorrow.”

You can only sigh and give your best smile, unable to share his enthusiasm after so many failed attempts. He rubbed a thumb over your sickly-colored cheek, his skin like sandpaper against yours, worn and calloused from spending a lifetime in the vault’s field.

“Have some faith in your old man.”

“I do, dad…I’m just so tired of this…”you bite into your tongue to keep more tears from spilling, and your bottom lip trembles despite your best efforts to tame it. Watching his face falter breaks your heart and you suck it up, push your tantrum down and pout instead. “And you’re not old.”

He laughs at your whiney remark, the first laugh he’d had in a long time, and he slicks back your hair, taking note that he needed to trim it soon before it got too long. Maybe when he had the energy, he’d sit down for more than a few minutes and braid it like he used to when you were just a child.

“I know you are, Baby girl, I know.” he shushes you with the utmost care and stands. “Just a little longer and you’ll be strong enough to help your pop pick out the tatoes. Get your pretty hands all dirty and then have a big plate of spam for a job well done.” he gazed at you, masking his sorrow and bitterness at the cruelty life had forced upon you. His hand hovered over the lamp switch and he glanced one last time at the brand-new IV bag slowly emptying in your bloodstream. “Night, Sweetheart. Love you.”

Too stricken with grief over your miserable lifestyle, you didn’t return his tender words, hoping he understood and knew that you loved him just as much if not more. When the lights went out, your eyelids closed, squeezing out a few lonely tears in the darkness before you begrudgingly drifted off to sleep. A dreamless slumber when you were gently rocked through the foggy confines of your subconsciousness.

Your one wish was to see the world outside, uncaring if it were a wasteland or a paradise, ignorant of the dangers and naïve towards the people who potentially lived up there. You just wanted to be free, even if it would cost you your life, you wanted to see the sky just once, wanted to prove to yourself that no, it looked better than any picture your father had shown you. You wanted to swim in the ocean and see fishes and see a whale, a creature so big it was unfathomable to imagine, you wanted to taste the salty sea water and become sick and just be happy to be alive for once. You wanted to feel the grass beneath your feet, to touch snow and dance in the rain until you slipped and fell in a puddle only to splash in it because you’d never seen or felt any nature.

You just wanted to live…

The hours ticked by in a hazy blur as you lay lifelessly on your bed. Your room was partly sound-proof, you heard nothing of the ruckus slowly brewing beyond your medicinal prison. Sleepy soundly, you didn’t hear the slaughter, the begging and pleading voice on the brink of crying before the sickening cracks of broken bones. You didn’t hear the crazed ramblings of the raiders stalking your fellow vault dwellers like it was a game of cat and mouse. Your vault was slowly succumbing to chaos and rampage and it was only when the electricity went out and your door unlatched that you were startled awake.

You bolt up with wide eyes and in a panic, gaze averting to the door and heart skipping a beat when you realize it’s open. With a small grunt and a relieved inhale once the oxygen mask is ripped from your face and tossed on your pillow, you scramble to stand. The IV is disconnected from your arm with an expert touch, replaced by a cotton ball to obscure any heavy bleeding from the open puncture wound. Your bare feet shuffle over the soft floor, slippery against the white leather because you’d unknowingly started to sweat from anticipation.

Was this just another cruel dream?

You walked to the exit with timid footsteps before opening the door wide enough to stick your head out. An incessant voice kept repeating how disappointed your father would be if he saw you sticking your nose out and potentially catching an infection from the unsterile air. That voice was dismissed promptly, this was your first chance at seeing anything beyond the medical room and you’d rather die than miss it.

Had the power gone out? But that was impossible. The power never went out, there had always been a steady flow of electricity for as long as you could remember.

The lights flickered, most were broken, letting the eerie darkness overwhelm all corridors except for one.

“Hello?” you call out hesitantly, shaky voice hoarse with sleep and anxiety both. Looking around, you couldn’t see much, there wasn’t a soul in sight and the silence was deafening. “Dad?”

Nothing. Nothing and no one.

A hand clutched at the door to support your buckling knees and you breathed deeply, encouraging yourself to be brave, that this was your chance. After dutifully gnawing on the inside of your cheek you stepped forth into the crossroads of corridors, letting go of the door and leaving everything familiar and safe behind. Your head whirled so much your neck popped multiple times as you frantically looked around in the scarce light and as terrifying as all of this was, it was also heaven unknown. You had never seen so many things – plant pots, plants, all bright green and juicy, you’d stuck your nail in a particular one only to feel a strange gooey discharge on your finger. It was a succulent, you’d read about those somewhere, very sturdy indeed, very pretty, but had no smell. You liked them already.

The further you went, the more a nagging thought kept creeping up your spine like a chill.

Where was everybody?

You kept looking, following the corridor and under the guidance of blinking lamps. You knew the Vault like the back of your hand after spending countless hours studying its diagrams, having nothing better to do. Now you were experiencing it in person. No longer needing to strain your imagination to picture every nook and cranny, you could see it with your own eyes. The floor was so cold under your feet, but you didn’t care, too high on adrenaline and pure joy to notice such a small inconvenience. A hand glided absentmindedly against the wall, tracing over pipes and posters and glass windows until you prickled your finger on a jagged edge and winced away.

You stuck the winger in your mouth with a pained scowl and glared up, searching for the source of your misfortune.

You froze.

Blood, everywhere, oozing down the wide hole in the window and silently gushing out of the disemboweled corpse of a human being, still warm. And even through the liters of blood and the sickening feeling of nausea that had your eyes dart to the floor, you immediately noticed the dark blue suit they were wearing. A dead vault dweller tossed through the window so hard they’d broken through and gotten impaled on the glass.

A vault dweller.

Dead…

DEAD!!!

You stumbled back and wretched, stuffing your mouth in the crook of your elbow and sputtering saliva as your stomach churned with bile. You bumped into a metal cabinet in your stupor, scraping for purchase as your legs lost all function, knocking over a clock and a radio that came to life as soon as it hit the floor. The sound echoed through the Vault, like a haunting melody to the arrival of a new victim, lured out and ready for slaughter. You.

Horror. A massacre, as the light flickered your eyes feasted on more marred flesh and ripped skin and so much blood. Crimson splatter and trails of handprints were strewn over the walls, the echoes of an dire struggle which ended in vein, trails of violence were etched into the hallway. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, you threw up, clutching at your stomach as you let out the traumatizing sight the only way your body knew how. Doubled over and twitching as the shock was replaced by such a raw feeling that you nearly lost your mind.

Corpses littered the floor beyond, caked in their own entrails, skulls bashed in, unrecognizable and still and…

“Hi there, Princess.”

A chill went up your spine as you realized that the frilly white dress you wore wasn’t enough to keep you warm beyond your room. Your skin littered with goosebumps, thin hairs standing up in fear as you stiffly craned your neck and looked back to the other end of the corridor. What little color was left in your face dissipated at the sight.

A man, disfigured and disgusting, with wild hair and wilder eyes and a grin that shook you to the bone stood there. He was shirtless, showing off a large hairy belly and covered in stick-poke tattoos, one of his legs was replaced by what you made out was a metal stick of sorts. He was three times your size…and he looked at you with such perverse intent that you nearly screamed. A vile creature, not even human anymore.

“Don’t be scared, Pretty.” he leered, chapped lips and rotting teeth and a foul blackened tongue, and raised a large palm in front of him to halt you from moving. “It’s okay…Come here. Come to me.”

Instinct took over and you automatically stepped back, not daring to take your eyes off him.

“Ah, don’t do that now.” he warned sweetly and slowly began walking towards you, creeping closer every time the lights flickered off. “You’ll just make this harder for you, yeah? Come to Eddie, Sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Everything about him screamed evil. He looked deranged and capable of things you’d never even begin to imagine.

A surface dweller. A survivor. A killer. A monster.

The moment his boot sunk in a pool of blood and squeaked against the floor realization hit you like a speeding truck. The grim expression should have been his sign to catch you, but you were already leaping over corpses with a blood-curdling screech. Your mind raced as you tried to orientate yourself through the corridors, bolting over shattered glass and spoiled food and so many dead bodies.

You needed to get out. Leave. Escape.

OUT!

His hollars bellowed behind you, alerting the rest of his friends because of course there were more and now they were aware of you and hunting you down like a deer in the forest. You let the tears run down your cheeks, forced the questions of your parents’ whereabouts and health because you already knew the answers, but you let them sink you’d end up like them or worse.

A horde of footsteps nipped at your bare heels and you sprinted and begged your weak little legs to go faster. Sucking in air as adrenaline pumped through your veins like poison, you jumped and ducked and whirled and assured yourself that you had the upper hand here, you knew the vault better than them. You stood a chance, you’d survive.

When the elevator came into view after you rounded a corner you nearly cried out in delirium. A roar nearly deafened you and you flinched, but your pace only increased as you pleaded and struggled not to trip over your feet. They were desperate, clawing at the air to try and reach you before it was too late. Your lungs burned with strain, your muscles felt like they’d tear any moment, but you kept pushing, high on horror and anger and a newfound zest for self-preservation

Salvation. Your only chance to live.

Your shoulder screamed in pain when you slammed against the metal walls of the elevator and thrusted your fist against the button vigorously.

“Come on. Come on. COME ON!”

“Get back here you little whore!”

“Please!” you wailed, screaming and stumbling back when a rusty axe collided with the shutting doors and made sparks fly with an ear-piercing screech. A hand flew up to cover your squinted eyes, sneering and sobbing as the raiders banged on the outside of the elevator and shot conniving curses at your crumbling form. You were slammed down on your arse by gravity as the elevator finally moved, taking you away from certain death as a slew of grim promises were expelled at you from below.

They’d find you, rip you apart, and make you wish you’d just died like the rest of your pathetic vault dwellers. You balled your eyes out, choking on spit and tears and gulping down air as your body shook violently. Clutching at your face, you stared down at your bloody feet with wide, unblinking eyes.

What was this nightmare…

When the elevator came to a halt and the doors reopened you barely managed to stand, the numbness in your limbs proving too much to handle and your upset stomach only contributing. But you had to keep moving, you had to run.

“Daddy…”

With ugly sobs and meek noises of strain and discomfort and utter distaste for your cruel fate, you tumbled towards the ajar vault entrance. Pressing down the button timidly before taking the discarded Pip-boy from the severed hand, you lock your tormentors into their grave and hurriedly tread towards the slowly closing vault exit.

The sun nearly blinds you and the hot desert sun knocks you to your knees as your hands sink to the wrists in sand. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking rapidly and shielding your sensitive pupils from the blaring light.

It’s…barren.

A desert, stretching as far as your sight could reach, heated enough for the air to wiggle and dance in the distance, a decrepit city can be seen nestled not too far. A plethora of buildings crumbled to their bases hide away the sealed entrance to your vault, bones are scattered through the coarse sand, human shapes frozen in time, hinting towards a previous era of life on Earth, an era you’d only read about. Again, there wasn’t a soul around no matter how many times you circled your vision.

A wasteland. Painted yellow and orange and contrasting so beautifully with the clear blue sky.

You wanted to marvel and swoon and you would have given any other circumstance, but now, after everything you’d seen, after your mind had been so brutally defiled with images of slaughter, you were incapable. You stood, resisting the harsh breeze and angry sun, clad in nothing but a Pip-boy and a thin summer dress that was everything but white.

You had to walk, seek help, do…something. Anything.

And so you did. Trudging through the sea of sand and stepping hastily as the heat beneath your delicate feet nipped uncomfortably at your skin. Sweat clung to you like a protective layer, washing away any trace of the sensitive lavender shampoo you had used the previous night. Strands of hair clung to your flushed face as you fought a silent and unfair battle against the burning sunrays, one step at a time, with the wind as your only companion. Your nostrils struggled to breathe in enough air, but you didn’t dare open your mouth despite the temptation, fearing dehydration and death as it loomed over you like a shadow.

You walked for what felt like miles, accompanied by your thoughts and nothing else, until the Vault was hidden behind the golden dunes and your feet felt raw. The city was so close now, yet you were so tired, sucked dry by a heat you’d never experienced before, if it hadn’t been for your Pip-boy crackling to life you would have collapsed, too burdened and weak to continue.

You raised your wrist and looked down and were met by a familiar meter.

Radiation.

Something around you was radioactive enough for the device to pick up easily, but there was nothing but waves of yellow hell and you doubted the ground itself was emitting it. Then you heard it. That strange, high-pitched chirping, an alien sound that made your skin crawl and scraped at the back of your head tauntingly.

A scream loud enough to shatter glass ripped through your throat as a sharp sting pierced your ankle. You hit the soft sand with a whimper and rushed to turn on your back before kicking blindly at your assaultant. An ambush from below. Blood trickled from the gash, painting your skin a deep ruby red and spilling over the ground, luring out your predators like moths to a flame.

Insects, roaches too big to be real and too much for your fickle mind to comprehend crawled out of the sand. You’d fallen right into their trap, an unsuspecting victim, a banquet they’d probably not seen since they’d hatched.

Your heart pounded frantically, pulse thumping in the side of your neck as you flailed and screeched, chucking sand at them as they circled you. You wanted to run, every cell in your body fought for you to stand, but you couldn’t, you had no fight left. You’d die here, alone in this decrepit desert and eaten by giant cockroaches and this was going to be the story of your life. You sobbed so pitifully, so angry and bitter and bratty that after everything, this was to be your end. The world spun painfully fast and you wanted to vomit, but your stomach was empty and you only gagged.

With one last scream, you curled in a ball, covering your head with your arms and your legs protecting your belly, as one of the insects lunged forward.

When the gunshot rang in your ears you froze in place and time stopped. The roach flew back, slimy green entrails covering your form like a canvas. The other two hissed and you revolted at the noise, but they were shot a second later, blown to bits, dainty skittish legs twitching as the last few beats of life escaped them. The shadow of your savior dwarfed you completely, giving you respite from the cruel sun.

You roll over and sit up on your knees within a blink only to be met with the barrel of a gun too ratchet and rusted to belong to anyone but a wastelander. You recoil and blink through tear-heavy lashes before roughly adjusting your dress to try and cover your bare thighs from what you presumed was another man. The tip of the gun slid under your chin and guided your eyes up to feast upon your hero. You gulped and whimpered.

He was grotesque, like a man skinned alive and somehow survived, melted skin deformed his features and you’d bet your dinner there wasn’t a strand of hair under that worn cowboy hat. He had no nose, no eyebrows or even lashes, not a spec of hair. He grinned something awful down at you, looking at you like you were a fresh piece of meat, a delicacy among a table covered with rotten food. His stance was wide, torn dark cloth swaying dangerously in the breeze, he seemed almost aetherial in his own twisted and rugged way. You mewled softly as he turned your head from side to side with his gun, gently, mockingly, drinking you in from every angle as if you’d disappear if he so much as blinked.

Your hands clutched at the edge of your dress when he finally spoke and his voice made you inhale sharply and clench your jaw in anticipation.

“Well…Aren’t you a pretty little thing…”

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(Listen, it's 7AM and I need sleep, but this mother trucker didn't want to leave me alone so have a chapter from my hastily strewn-together upcoming story. I'll post it on AO3 and probably here if it even happens. I'll fix mistakes later, don't eat me please.)

Chapter 2 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity plunderers want to buy Simon & Schuster

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Last November, publishing got some excellent news: the planned merger of Penguin Random House (the largest publisher in the history of human civilization) with its immediate competitor Simon & Schuster would not be permitted, thanks to the DOJ's deftly argued case against the deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/07/random-penguins/#if-you-wanted-to-get-there-i-wouldnt-start-from-here

When I was a baby writer, there were dozens of large NY publishers. Today, there are five - and it was almost four. A publishing sector with five giant companies is bad news for writers (as Stephen King said at the trial, the idea that PRH and S&S would bid against each other for books was as absurd as the idea that he and his wife would bid against each other for their next family home).

But it's also bad news for publishing workers, a historically exploited and undervalued workforce whose labor conditions have only declined as the number of employers in the sector dwindled, leading to mass resignations:

https://lithub.com/unlivable-and-untenable-molly-mcghee-on-the-punishing-life-of-junior-publishing-employees/

It should go without saying that workers in sectors with few employers get worse deals from their bosses (see, e.g., the writers' strike and actors' strike). And yup, right on time, PRH, a wildly profitable publisher, fired a bunch of its most senior (and therefore hardest to push around) workers:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/18/books/penguin-random-house-layoffs-buyouts.html

But publishing's contraction into a five-company cartel didn't occur in a vacuum. It was a normal response to monopolization elsewhere in its supply chain. First it was bookselling collapsing into two major chains. Then it was distribution going from 300 companies to three. Today, it's Amazon, a monopolist with unlimited access to the capital markets and a track record of treating publishers "the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/31/seize-the-means-of-computation/#the-internet-con

Monopolies are like Pringles (owned by the consumer packaged goods monopolist Procter & Gamble): you can't have just one. As soon as you get a monopoly in one part of the supply chain, every other part of that chain has to monopolize in self-defense.

Think of healthcare. Consolidation in pharma lead to price-gouging, where hospitals were suddenly paying 1,000% more for routine drugs. Hospitals formed regional monopolies and boycotted pharma companies unless they lowered their prices - and then turned around and screwed insurers, jacking up the price of care. Health insurers gobbled each other up in an orgy of mergers and fought the hospitals.

Now the health care system is composed of a series of gigantic, abusive monopolists - pharma, hospitals, medical equipment, pharmacy benefit managers, insurers - and they all conspire to wreck the lives of only two parts of the system who can't fight back: patients and health care workers. Patients pay more for worse care, and medical workers get paid less for worse working conditions.

So while there was no question that a PRH takeover of Simon & Schuster would be bad for writers and readers, it was also clear that S&S - and indeed, all of the Big Five publishers - would be under pressure from the monopolies in their own supply chain. What's more, it was clear that S&S couldn't remain tethered to Paramount, its current owner.

Last week, Paramount announced that it was going to flip S&S to KKR, one of the world's most notorious private equity companies. KKR has a long, long track record of ghastly behavior, and its portfolio currently includes other publishing industry firms, including one rotten monopolist, raising similar concerns to the ones that scuttled the PRH takeover last year:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/07/books/booksupdate/paramount-simon-and-schuster-kkr-sale.html

Let's review a little of KKR's track record, shall we? Most spectacularly, they are known for buying and destroying Toys R Us in a deal that saw them extract $200m from the company, leaving it bankrupt, with lifetime employees getting $0 in severance even as its executives paid themselves tens of millions in "performance bonuses":

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/03/private-equity-bosses-took-200m-out-of-toys-r-us-and-crashed-the-company-lifetime-employees-got-0-in-severance/

The pillaging of Toys R Us isn't the worst thing KKR did, but it was the most brazen. KKR lit a beloved national chain on fire and then walked away, hands in pockets, whistling. They didn't even bother to clear their former employees' sensitive personnel records out of the unlocked filing cabinets before they scarpered:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/09/23/exploring-the-ruins-of-a-toys-r-us-discovering-a-trove-of-sensitive-employee-data/

But as flashy as the Toys R Us caper was, it wasn't the worst. Private equity funds specialize in buying up businesses, loading them with debts, paying themselves, and then leaving them to collapse. They're sometimes called vulture capitalists, but they're really vampire capitalists:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2022/05/private-equity-buyout-kkr-houdaille/

Given a choice, PE companies don't want to prey on sick businesses - they preferentially drain off value from thriving ones, preferably ones that we must use, which is why PE - and KKR in particular - loves to buy health care companies.

Heard of the "surprise billing epidemic"? That's where you go to a hospital that's covered by your insurer, only to discover - after the fact - that the emergency room is operated by a separate, PE-backed company that charges you thousands for junk fees. KKR and Blackstone invented this scam, then funneled millions into fighting the No Surprises Act, which more-or-less killed it:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

KKR took one of the nation's largest healthcare providers, Envision, hostage to surprise billing, making it dependent on these fraudulent payments. When Congress finally acted to end this scam, KKR was able to take to the nation's editorial pages and damn Congress for recklessly endangering all the patients who relied on it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

Like any smart vampire, KKR doesn't drain its victim in one go. They find all kinds of ways to stretch out the blood supply. During the pandemic, KKR was front of the line to get massive bailouts for its health-care holdings, even as it fired health-care workers, increasing the workload and decreasing the pay of the survivors of its indiscriminate cuts:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/11/socialized-losses/#socialized-losses

It's not just emergency rooms. KKR bought and looted homes for people with disabilities, slashed wages, cut staff, and then feigned surprise at the deaths, abuse and misery that followed:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/kendalltaggart/kkr-brightspring-disability-private-equity-abuse

Workers' wages went down to $8/hour, and they were given 36 hour shifts, and then KKR threatened to have any worker who walked off the job criminally charged with patient abandonment:

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

For KKR, people with disabilities and patients make great victims - disempowered and atomized, unable to fight back. No surprise, then, that so many of KKR's scams target poor people - another group that struggles to get justice when wronged. KKR took over Dollar General in 2007 and embarked on a nationwide expansion campaign, using abusive preferential distributor contracts and targeting community-owned grocers to trap poor people into buying the most heavily processed, least nutritious, most profitable food available:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

94.5% of the Paycheck Protection Program - designed to help small businesses keep their workers payrolled during lockdown - went to giant businesses, fraudulently siphoned off by companies like Longview Power, 40% owned by KKR:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/20/great-danes/#ppp

KKR also helped engineer a loophole in the Trump tax cuts, convincing Justin Muzinich to carve out taxes for C-Corporations, which let KKR save billions in taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/02/broken-windows/#Justin-Muzinich

KKR sinks its fangs in every part of the economy, thanks to the vast fortunes it amassed from its investors, ripped off from its customers, and fraudulently obtained from the public purse. After the pandemic, KKR scooped up hundreds of companies at firesale prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/30/medtronic-stole-your-ventilator/#blackstone-kkr

Ironically, the investors in KKR funds are also its victims - especially giant public pension funds, whom KKR has systematically defrauded for years:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/22/stimpank/#kentucky

And now KKR has come for Simon & Schuster. The buyout was trumpeted to the press as a done deal, but it's far from a fait accompli. Before the deal can close, the FTC will have to bless it. That blessing is far from a foregone conclusion. KKR also owns Overdrive, the monopoly supplier of e-lending software to libraries.

Overdrive has a host of predatory practices, loathed by both libraries and publishers (indeed, much of the publishing sector's outrage at library e-lending is really displaced anger at Overdrive). There's a plausible case that the merger of one of the Big Five publishers with the e-lending monopoly will present competition issues every bit as deal-breaking as the PRH/S&S merger posed.

(Image: Sefa Tekin/Pexels, modified)

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

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/2023/08/08/vampire-capitalism/#kkr

[aching-tummies]

Groan Tube Tummy

Anyone remember those "Groan Tube" toys from the early 2000s?

I woke up to an uncomfortable tummy.

Dinner wasn't very filling last night so I filled up on tea 'cuz I was too lazy to bother to cook up something else for myself. I was also trying out a new blend of tea and it tasted pretty good. Chinese-style tea with just leaves in hot water.

Maybe it's stress because I spent all day yesterday fretting over some documentation stuff I had to submit the next day. I tried submitting it just after midnight and the thing wouldn't let me. I'd been stressing and going over the stuff for well over 8 hours at that point just to make sure I didn't fudge anything. I looked up whether or not other people had the same experience with the thing not submitting and saw quite a few posts online in regards to this specific thing where people said, "Nah--wait 6 hours" followed by others that claimed they waited 8 or 8.5 hours before the site finally took their submissions. So I decided to sleep on it and set an alarm for 6 hours later and every hour after that to remind me to try to submit the things.

6AM, alarm goes off. I sit up to turn the alarm off…and my stomach lets out a strange noise. Hard to describe, but if anyone remembers those toys from the early 2000s called "Groan Tube Noise Makers"? You can look 'em up under that name. I just did. Yeah, my guts let out short bursts of this kind of noise.

It's been almost an hour since I woke up and my stomach has not stopped making these noises. I have my stethoscope tucked just under my navel as I type all of this out and it sounds like someone tipping a Groan Tube every other minute.

The interesting thing is that these noises are actually really uncomfortable. My intestines feel like they're distended and whenever the 'Groan' of a gurgle passes through it's like being pinched in that specific segment of intestine.

The 'Groan' noises are erupting absolutely everywhere in my intestines. Upperleft, lower right, criss-crossing the middle and particularly loud and deep just below my navel.

What I wouldn't give to be sitting in a partner's lap--me stressing over getting these documents submitted, both hands frantically typing away on my laptop…and their hands languidly squeezing and prodding my guts--messing with my belly and getting all of these groans and glorps out of my system. Like...it's not quite painful...but it's really, really uncomfortable and is definitely a sensation I'd classify as a 'tummy ache'.

Honestly, I wonder about the new tea leaves I used last night. The reaction from my tummy this morning really feels like something didn't agree with my intestines. The way my intestines feel bloated up and are grumbling honestly sounds exactly like how all the asks describing sugar-free bloats to be. So I can't help but wonder if maybe those tea leaves had some sugar-free substance on them or something. I mean, they shouldn't. To my knowledge, they really were just tea leaves that had maybe been roasted and dried before being packaged in a vacuum-sealed bag.

Just tried Googling if green tea can cause upset stomachs or stomach aches. I've never had this problem before and I've had plenty of different kinds of green tea before this. Apparently, it's something called 'tannins' and something about proteins binding in the intestines?

So…either I never fill up on green tea ever again in lieu of a filling dinner…or I gotta do this again…for science--to truly confirm whether or not I have 5lbs of literal fetish-fuel in the form of tea leaves. As always, gimme your best responses. Do your worst! My intestines already feel icky and uncomfy--what could you possibly add?

[thatstormygeek]

It's so depressing to scroll through fb and see my friends who were deep into intersectional feminism reposting radfem content. And they don't see it for what it is because the "man bad; woman good" framing is everywhere.

This is what happens when capitalists get their hands on any concept. Fat Acceptance became Body Acceptance became Body Positivity became fucking Dove Real Beauty ads. Feminism was much easier, honestly. Especially with all the "lean in" crap in the early twenty-teens.

Girl Power. You Go Girl. Shero.

Package it all up in bright pink (which implies strength, rather than the traditional softness of pale pink) and glitter. Manufacture some pink tool sets.

There were already entire industries devoted to telling women they weren't good enough, but if they bought this vacuum/cleaning solution/cigarette brand/razor/makeup/cleanser/moisturizer/breakfast cereal/yogurt/deodorant spray/feminine hygiene solution/laundry detergent/etc. their lives would be complete. It takes almost nothing to tweak the message a bit, and suddenly women aren't safe unless they buy this pink keychain pepper spray/this alarm system/these locks, unless they use these apps and services that "protect" them by walling them off into subscription-based "security."

Just - it's always useful to stop and ask yourself who benefits. Who benefits from this divide between men and women? It's not women. It's not men. (it's definitely not all of us who are neither) Who is it serving? Again, not women. Not men.

The patriarchy is not men. The patriarchy is an oppressive system that harms everyone who lives under it. Those few it benefits? THEY are the ones being served by this gender essentialist, radfemmy bullshit. And it's incredibly sad making to see my ostensibly leftist friends go skipping down that trail.

[hardly-an-escape]

Among the Stars We are Reborn

Square: A4 - Creature: Phoenix Rating: T Word Count: 5399 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Dreamling Bingo fill, Creature: Phoenix, canon divergent, future fic, established relationship, science fiction, speculative fiction, space travel, Hob Gadling throughout history, Hob Gadling in space Summary: Some centuries in the future, Hob has taken to the stars, working as a freelance researcher and courier. He is on his way to one of Jupiter’s moons on a research mission when Dream joins him, and together they search for the elusive Ionian phoenix. Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo

The funny thing was, it was never quiet in space. Hob had thought it would be, that first time he’d left the planet in his own ship... At some point he’d had formed the idea that once he got up there by himself, once he left the public spaceport and the press of overpopulation behind, he would leave the noise behind, too. Find, at last, a pure silence, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in all his long life. Space, he’d thought, under the right circumstances, could be free of everything, of bugs and advertisements and other people, of every little noise. He’d been wrong.

The funny thing was, it was never quiet in space.

Hob had thought it would be, that first time he’d left the planet in his own ship.

Commercial spaceflights were loud, of course, and always had been – as bad as planes were, back in the day, and maybe even worse, during the longer flights to the Mars colonies – industrial-sized rockets generating industrial-sized noise ferrying care packages and flour and crying children across the solar system instead of cross-country. But at some point he had formed the idea that once he got up there by himself, once he left the public spaceport and the press of overpopulation behind, he would leave the noise behind, too.

Find, at last, a pure silence, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in all his long life. Space, he’d thought, under the right circumstances, could be free of everything, of bugs and advertisements and other people, of every little noise.

He’d been wrong.

It wasn’t just that his little ship, new as she was, made her own small moans and groans on that first test run beyond the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. The crackle of the radio, the hum of the engines, the muted whistle of the air purifier – all these sounds could be turned off, and Hob had done so. He’d shut down everything but the most basic life support and floated in the liminal space between the Earth and the Moon for a full ten minutes, a tiny soap bubble in the darkness. He’d breathed deeply, taken his mind away from the sound of his own heartbeat, and listened.

Turns out, space makes its own music.

As the years went by, he gained a variety of descriptions of the music from other spacefarers who’d heard it too. Some of the more fanciful freelancers called it celestial jazz and discussed at length whether it followed a particular meter, if it was chromatic or pentatonic in scale, and other musical terms Hob barely understood.

A group of missionaries he met on a remote Martian outpost insisted that the music was the means by which God was expressing themself directly to the universe.

Scientists talked about background radiation and planetary resonance and something called vacuum atmospherics on which he read several papers before deciding, ruefully, that there were some mathematic principles which he would simply never understand.

He’d asked Dream about it, once. Had even shut down all systems like he had that first time, just to listen. (He still does, occasionally, because whatever it is, it is beautiful.)

What is it? he’d asked. You must know.

And Dream had smirked that particular Endless smirk that drove Hob mad, and drawn him away from the viewscreen and its twinkling miniature Earth.

Stars dream, too, Hob Gadling.

And that had been all Hob had been able to glean from his lover on the subject.

Hob’s ship was not a thing of beauty. Her design was far too boxy and utilitarian for that. But Hob loved his snug little vessel with an almost obsessive affection. She reminded him of a camper van he’d had in the 1960s, or the massive rolltop desk he’d put in his study in the late 1800s, everything folded away in neat drawers and cubby holes, not an inch wasted. He reveled in it every time he made ready for a trip: packing away his clothes and gear, choosing rations, replacing the air filters, checking the water purifier and the drip lines on his tiny hydroponic garden.

And, crucially, she was all his.

Even the New Inn, way back when, hadn’t really been all his. There’d been investors and mortgage holders and zoning committees and eventually the National Heritage List to contend with, and while Hob had been the one to pick the lighting fixtures and design the wooden inlay on the bar, it had always been fundamentally a group project. Not to mention that its very purpose was to serve as a gathering place, a safe space for anyone who happened to walk through the door.

Not so his spaceship. All right, he hadn’t built her himself – despite his best efforts, he would never be more than a mediocre aerospace engineer – but Hob had spent weeks at the dealership, poring over schematics and blueprints, personally choosing the design of every single cubic centimeter. The sales associate had leered a little when Hob insisted on a double-wide bunk, given that all the other specs were for single occupancy – but he was paying cash, not financing, so it wasn’t like they were going to argue with him.

He’d known it was worth a little leering, the first time he and Dream had wrapped their arms around each other and gazed out the tiny porthole window at the stars, so close you could almost reach out and touch them.

Dream had been with him when his ship was delivered to the public spaceport nearest Hob’s flat. They’d walked around her together, Dream smiling slightly as Hob enthusiastically described the engines and pointed out the retractable heat shields. His long fingers had trailed over the official designation engraved on the side – Hob still thought of it as a license plate, like on his car – and he’d raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” Hob had laughed. “Can you believe it?”

“You did not choose this number on purpose?”

“Believe it or not, no. They’re automatically assigned during manufacture, randomly generated so each one is unique. This is pure human coincidence, my friend. Or maybe fate, who knows – we’ll have to ask your brother. Not that he’ll tell us.”

Dream had traced the numbers again: UKCS-001389, big and bold. Then he’d smiled.

“Come, take me inside,” he’d said. “I would see that my beloved will live well among the stars.”

Hob had locked the hatch behind them.

Later, after Hob had showed off every corner and cubbyhole, and after they had thoroughly evaluated the comfort and structural integrity of the double-wide bunk, they’d sprawled together, fingers finding new patterns on familiar skin.

“Have you given any thought as to what you might name her?” Dream had asked idly.

“Some. My first idea was to call her the Robin.” Hob had sighed. “I liked to think of that name flying off to the moon and other planets – but it was already taken and the UKSA doesn’t allow for duplicates.”

“And your second choice?”

“Well,” Hob had turned and run the backs of his knuckles down Dream’s cheek. “I do have another idea. But I wanted to ask you about it first. I was thinking… well, you’ve told me so much about her… I was thinking, I might name her Jessamy.”

Dream’s head had turned slowly toward Hob, an inscrutable look in his eye.

“I know it was a while ago now, even by our standards. But she was with you for so long. She loved you, protected you –”

“And failed, in the end,” he’d said thickly. “And died.”

“She didn’t fail. And I don’t think her death is the most important thing about her. I mean, I don’t think it’s bad luck or anything, you know? It’s only one bad moment in a long, long string of good ones. And, you know,” he had stumbled gamely on, “I like the idea that part of her – part of you – would be traveling with me. A new adventure. It would make me feel… close to you, if she were with me. When you aren’t here.”

Dream had simply looked at him, for a long moment, and then pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him, kissing him slowly and sweetly and deeply.

“Even after all this time, the depth of your heart never fails to astonish me. I would be honored,” he’d said, “if Jessamy were to fly again with you. And so, I think, would she.”

The next day, Hob had gone to the nearest Space Agency office, waited in an interminable line, and officially registered UK Civilian Ship 001389 as the Jessamy.

A week later, she flew for the first time. Or again, depending on how you measure it. And thus the newest chapter in Hob’s long life had begun.

Read the rest on AO3 >>>

many thanks to @tryan-a-bex for the beta read!

green = complete, orange = WIP

[purple-ant]

thank you for tagging @bolithesenate 💜

The rules: post snippets from at least one WIP you have abandoned! 

i have a lot of abandoned WIPs, mostly ideas that i didn't feel the energy to pursue before losing interest and right now i'm writing on syku and beautiful comments energy so i don't think i'll be going back to them anytime soon or ever. the language in some of them is very... meh

but i really like this one! 

Title: galaxy in veins

Description:

The Force binds everything, it is in the stars and their dust that forms the bones of sentients throughout the galaxy. The Jedi, connected to and drawn to the Force, carried more starlight within them than was normal in the eyes of the rest of the galaxy.

They say that even the stars go out, but how can one live in a galaxy where they are extinguished?

———

Bail knows how stars are born. How huge molecular clouds, disturbed by the surrounding space, shift and hydrogen particles press together like starved lovers. Closer and larger, until they reach collapse and begin to fall apart under their own heat. From decay comes heat, from which life is born. Not at its epicenter, but somewhere outside, not close enough to harm, not so far away as to remain indifferent.

Bail sees the birth of two, and that is all he knew and nothing else.

Padmé is a friend, ally, leader. Stellar nursery. Her heavy breathing and screams hit the walls of the room, are scattered across parsecs of space, and the asteroid rings shake as the medical droid methodically carries out its work. And now, light years later, the universe exhales, two stars illuminate the cold vacuum. Their first cries are solar flares, causing the devices to stutter. Bail can hear them even through the glass, but Obi-Wan on the other side doesn't flinch.

Padme gave all of herself to the galaxy and her last gift was a binary system. Luke and Leia.

Bail walks like a moth into the light and finds Obi-Wan. He sits hunched against the wall, in his arms there are three hundred stellar masses, no more than six kilograms. Sparkling and shimmering wings, like in a kaleidoscope, fill the room, and shadows fearfully gather outside. Nebulae pour from too many eyes, and Obi-Wan swaddles the children in them. 

“We need to hide, kids,” Obi-Wan says. His voice pulses, lost in Bail's consciousness, but Luke and Leia watch, caught in the attraction. Again, too many eyes. “They are looking for light, and you are so bright,” and he hides them behind interstellar clouds, green and orange silks, too expensive to buy. “Close your eyes, like this.”

And the piercing lights dissolve like fog, the light of the wings is absorbed into the skin, hiding in the constellations of freckles. Obi-Wan exhales, turns his gaze to the children, who are too small, gods, they were just born. But maybe it’s the Force, maybe the reality of the danger that awaits beyond the hands of the Jedi, but gradually, like lanterns in the morning, the brown whirlpools disappear, the blue ones follow them.

“These too, young lady,” Obi-Wan says sternly, with a ghost of a smile, running his calloused fingers over her soft cheek. A second passes, the worlds go out. “Well done, great job, lights.”

The galaxy is spinning, the moment is passing, the children are screaming. Obi-Wan, very tired, very human, throws his head back.

“Let me save you,” Bail unfreezes and approaches the Jedi.

“Please, Bail,” Obi-Wan’s voice is hoarse, but he is in no hurry to part with either twin.

Okay, Bail can do it. He kneels in front of the Jedi, reaching for the two screaming packages.

“Your crude matter needs rest,” Bail says softly.

His friend's mind would not be at peace now. But one day, in a year or twenty, it will happen. Bail knows because he knows Obi-Wan. Not ten years, not even five, but he was there at the most desperate moment, when even the emptiness of space receded in the face of darkness, and Obi-Wan's light shrunk to a single candle. But he burned, stubbornly and against all odds. It was then, on Zigula, that Bail was pulled into his orbit.

Obi-Wan looks at Bail's hands, then at the twins. He doesn't even have the strength for consolation - the latter was laid on the obstetric table by Padme, and he is so tired of fighting with his friends. Obi-Wan slowly hands Leia and Luke over to him like crystal, and Bail accepts them like treasure. The warm supernovae in his hands continue to attack his eardrums. Perhaps the constant bickering in the Senate has made him a little less sensitive to such frequencies.

Bail leaves the room, the meddroid has prepared milk mixtures - hydrogen for the combustion of tiny blue stars, but lingers in the doorway. Turns around. The shadows return to the room, breaking through the flimsy defenses of the electric lamps, and Obi-Wan appears among them as part of the equipment. Another device that has served its purpose and is now hidden under the tarpaulin of the cloak.

“On your way, continue, senator,” it sounds next to him, and Bail doesn’t jump. His burden is too important for him to afford.

“Master Yoda,” he greets the Grand Master of the destroyed order, but his gaze is still focused on Obi-Wan.

“Care of young Obi-Wan, I will take. The younglings need your attention now.”

Bail wouldn't call his friend young. Too old for his years? Maybe. A red giant from which the outer shell was torn off, like armor, leaving it as a white dwarf. An eternity of dim light.

Bail turns his gaze to Master Yoda. He looks as old as ever. Like the one who saw the birth of the universe, held young galaxies, and then, at one moment, only planetary nebulae from dead stars remained on his old wrinkled hands.

“You are right, Jedi Master. Thank you.”

Bail walks away slowly enough to see Master Yoda approach Obi-Wan, brushing off the settled cosmic dust, and the ruined bastion shifts, gnarled fingers reaching across light years to touch another survivor.

Despite everything, there is still light in the galaxy.

———

no pressure tags: @man-i-dunno @calcedon79

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 30

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

We sent the Venusians home today.

We left them enough thruster to travel to the Gate and traverse, enough environmental systems to keep them alive - so long as they stuck to their quarters and the Command Deck - and... that was mostly it. Oh, we did take the entirety of their weapons. I even had their weapon lockers stripped. We now have a good supply of high quality rifles and small arms. I gave a few to Sep and asked them duplicate them and begin training. I also promised to stop by later and give some tips in the finer points of their operation.

When I saw their faces when they saw what I was sending them home in, I admit I cackled just a teeny bit. We made sure it was survivable and they won't be injured, but their ship looks like a joke. Large pieces are missing from the hull, whole rooms exposed to vacuum, the thrusters we left them are undersized for what would normally be used, and so on. I imagine they are going to have an... interesting time going through joint human/K'laxi space.

The wormhole generator was destroyed in the explosion, so they can't link home, so what they'll do after they reach human space an the end of the Gates is a bit of a mystery. They won't be trapped though, there are plenty of human Starbases or colonies they could reach via the Gates and ask someone to link a beacon to Venus so they could get a ride the rest of the way.

They don't use AIs at all either. Their ships run with only human crews, so it's not like we left some poor AI behind to drag their own corpse home. It's just a ship.

Well, it's 65% or so of a ship.

As for Raaden and Emery, I did wind up going with the option Ava and I discussed. We found an empty apartment building that was close - but not directly next to - the Royal Dawn. It had two empty apartments and we put Raaden, and Emery in separate apartments quite a long distance from each other. The apartments are guarded all hours of the day, and meals are sent up.

It feels like I just stuffed them into a corner and are trying to forget about them, and I guess I did, but I that's what having hostages is sometimes. I'm trying to make sure they're comfortable and well taken care of. Emery has seemed to accept his lot. He mostly reads and sketches. When he asked for art supplies he seemed excited when we brought him paper and pencils that were native to the Reach. He spends his time looking out the window and sketching what he sees. I've seen a few of them; the drawings are actually quite lovely. I have a feeling he's pretty used to being stuck in a corner somewhere and told to entertain himself.

Raaden... hasn't accepted her lot so easily. She's tried to escape twice already and the only thing that has prevented it was her unfamiliarity with the locks. After the second attempt I had to use my Voice to make her stop trying to break out. Now she just sits in her apartment and alternates between seething and sulking. I almost wish we had a hibernation cabinet to put her into. She'd be less of a problem if she was just on ice the whole time.

Wait a moment. I wonder if Omar can print one? I'm sure there are plans for one in the printer database we got from FarReach. I should ask.

Ginny we put up in the Royal Dawn. Not right near our rooms, but in a room in the hotel. I did use my Voice to order her not to talk to Raaden and Emery and to not have any contact with Venus without our permission, but she knew why and accepted the order.

Yes, we did decide to let Ginny stay. Of all of the people we interviewed she was the only one who actually wanted to be here. Everyone else was indifferent to it or was being actively ordered to be here. That was what finally convinced Ava, Omar, Um'reli and Starlight. We won't give her the Builder package for a long time, if ever, but that still doesn't mean we don't need the help. We don't have her doing much right now, but she is shadowing Sound of the City and they love that they have a helper and someone they get to show the Reach. Maybe I'll take her with us when we go to the Wilds of Besmara. She might enjoy that.

I'm just finishing up breakfast in the Royal Dawn when Omar comes in. "Melody, what are we going to do with all the parts we took from the Lavinia?"

I can't help myself. "Put them on a Starship, Omar."

"Melody. Which Starship? High Line and Sun Dancer are done. We'd have to put them back into the dock to add things to them, Immar IV isn't done, but do we want to put all the parts on that one?"

Ah I see. If we put the Venusian parts on High Line or Sun Dancer, then that delays how long before we can go to the Wilds of Besmara.

"Let's keep them off High Line and Sun Dancer for now. I do want to go to the Wilds now that we've dealt with Venus. Once we're back and Immar IV is done, why don't we start construction on a whole new ship?"

"A whole new ship?" Omar sits down at my breakfast table and looks off into the middle distance, thinking. "Yes, we could do it. I think we have a handle on how things work now. We would add the Venusian parts, of course. That would save a lot of time. I'd make a dreadnought of our own - smaller than the Venus or other human ones - but it would still pack a punch."

"See? What a great idea I had." I'm laughing, but I mean it. I think it's high time we make our own Starships. I wish we had more printers, we could really get production going, but it's not like we need a whole fleet right away. Slow and steady progress is fine.

"Omar, do you want to pilot High Line when we take it over to the Wilds? I want to go next week, and we need to figure some things out. You piloted it during the shakedown, but this will be our first Gate traversal since we came here."

"Yes, I'd like to drive if you're okay with that. We should have the others take a turn so we all get experience with it - it's different than being the Reach - but for now, I'll take us over. Who is going to come? We should probably leave at least one Builder here."

"I agree. I wanted you and Ava and Starlight to come, and we can let Um'reli run things while we're away. I want Ginny to come too."

Omar breaks his reverie. "Ginny? Why?"

"I want to show her she's not a prisoner like Raaden and Emery. She was the only one who wanted to be here. Might as well start treating her like that. Plus, we could use a reactor tech on High Line."

"You make a good point. Fine. Ginny can come too. We don't really need much of anyone else. With Builder systems I can run most of High Line from the chair. I wonder if it feels the same when an AI runs a ship? I'm doing a similar role."

"I don't know. If we ever get back to our side of the Galaxy we should ask." I really find lately I'm missing stuff from home. I hope once were done visiting some Starbases on this side we can go home, just for a visit. "I'd like to open up some lines of trade too. I bet people over there would like some of our foodstuffs and I sure could use some coffee." I looked wistfully at my cup of tea on the table. I hadn't had coffee since talking with the Venusians. I was trying to save what little she had for special occasions, but it's so hard!

"One thing at a time, Melody. Let's do see if we can figure out what happened at the Wilds. Then, see if we can find any other Starbases or colonies. We could finish the exploration that FarReach abandoned."

I looked up at Omar in surprise. "That's it. We can continue the mission! Just because FarReach declared Captain Q'ari unfit and left doesn't mean that there isn't good things to learn out here." I jumped up and gave Omar a hug. "Thanks Omar. It really helps to talk things out sometimes."

"No problem Melody, glad to help."

I leave the Royal Dawn and start walking towards the Throne, thinking while I walk.

We're going to go to the Wilds of Besmara with the refurbished High Line and see what's up. Last time we went there was some kind of field that grabbed FarReach and started to pull it in. Maybe it was an overzealous landing field? I don't know. Either way, if it happens again, I think we want to let it take us in.

Also, that warning. I know now it was in the Voice, but it was over radio which - for me at least - commands in the Voice don't work. I wonder how it was in the Voice, I thought that was just an Empress thing. Maybe it was a recording? All these mysteries. We just have to go and find out for ourselves.

I take a long way to the Throne and say hello to people as I walk. When I first got here, people were so frightened of us, but now people tell me hello, they give me little bits of news from their world, I even get to meet families! More than once I've been told how nice it is that I was able to increase the food deliveries. As plain old Melody I was often intimidated making small talk with people and would try and avoid it, but when I'm Empress, I find it's much easier. It almost feels like I'm pretending to be the Empress; like it's a persona to put on and take off. When I'm with Ava in our room I'm just Melody, but when the gown comes on and I walk around I'm The Empress.

It's hard to explain. I wish I knew more people that had gone though this to see if it's normal. I guess, when you're the only Empress around, anything you do is normal, by virtue of the fact that you're the one doing it.

I make my way to the Throne and settle in. Ava, Um'reli and Starlight are there already. I can feel Um'reli and Ava showing Starlight how to work things.

"See Starlight, if you just look... over here... you can see the transit network."

"Yes, yes, I see. It looks like we have the trains on schedule and... wait, what's that one on that siding?"

"That's Melody's Royal Transport. She likes to use it when she feels like showing off, or if she needs to get somewhere after hours or when things are too busy to wait for a scheduled train."

Mentally, I look up at them "I don't use it to show off. I use it when I want to make an entrance."

"Okay, so when Emp-Melody's not showing off, she stores it over here?" I smile to myself when I hear the smirk in Starlight's tone. When I made them a builder, I let them call me Melody. I decided it would be weird for Ava, Um'reli and Omar to call me Melody, but Starlight has to call me Empress, and I didn't want to make everyone call me Empress as well, so Builder Starlight can call me Melody. They're still getting used to it.

"Um'reli, you're okay with staying here and running things while the rest of us go to the Wilds of Besmara to see what happened to them?"

"Sure Melody, it's fine. I have reports to go over on reactor efficiency. We have enough of a power surplus now we should look at taking down the reactors one at a time for refurbishment. I don't think it's ever been done!"

"What do you mean, take the reactor down for refurbishment?" Starlight looks curious as Um'reli and I talk.

"So, at least with our reactors, they need regular maintenance. We usually build our systems with enough overhead that they can run with one whole reactor down so we can work on it, or if one fails we can swap it out without inconveniencing anyone. Before we got here, the Reach had enough power, but I wouldn't have dreamed of shutting a reactor off. Now, I think we can turn one off, make sure it's in good condition and then turn it back on, move on to the next and so on."

"That's impressive, Builder Um'reli. You have found so many ways to improve efficiency."

"Just Um'reli is fine, you're a Builder now too, remember. But, thank you. I enjoy working with the reactors. I hope we can get Ginny up and helping us too, it will be useful to have someone else - someone who actually took some training on this and isn't just an enthusiastic amateur - take a look at things."

"Okay, good. Omar is going to drive, I'll sit in the Command chair, Ava can monitor systems, Starlight can let us know if there's anything we're missing with local information and Ginny is coming along to prove to her that she's not just another hostage like Raaden and Emery."

Ava looks up from the report she's reading. "I like it Melody, it seems like a good plan. Ugh, I wish there was something we could do about Raaden. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her."

"I know! I was thinking about it on the walk over. What if we printed a hibernation cabinet for her? I know that Starjumpers carry them, and that FarReach used to be one so I assume their printer database has the plans."

"Actually, I think that could work. Let's ask Omar how tough it would be to print one up. On the one hand, I don't like the idea of just sticking her in a closet until we decide what to do with her, but on the other... I don't know what to do with her. She'll never trust us, and we can never trust her."

"Exactly."

Starlight looks like they are warring with themselves over something. After a moment, a decision is made. "Melody, why did you keep her anyway? If it was me in charge, I would have declared her culpable for Rapid River Roaring's death and had them executed."

Now everyone is looking at me. "Starlight, for right now, she's worth more to us alive than dead. If we killed her and sent the Venusians home with their ship stripped and them humiliated they would have come right back with all their dreadnoughts and just fired upon us as soon as they traversed the Gate. No radio, no opportunity to use the Voice on them, just kaboom. This way, with Raaden, their Archduke and Crown Prince Emery, they have to think twice about whether to come in guns hot or not."

"Ah, I see. Yes Melody. You are making it so that we are too valuable to outright destroy. But, what do we do when they want their crown prince and their archduke back? Or worse, what if they don't want them back?"

My shoulder slump. "I don't know yet. As soon as we figure out a deal and we give them Raaden and Emery they don't have a reason to not come in and destroy us."

Starlight's eyes are bright. "Well then. We just need to be better armed then they are by then. We can then repel them the regular way."

"Hah. That's the best idea I've heard so far Starlight. For now, we'll go with that plan. Once we come back from the Wilds, Omar was going to look into building a dreadnought from the parts we... liberated from Venus. Do you know of any Aviens plans for large warships?"

"Actually, yes. I believe we have some plans for a ship like that. We should try and reach out to more of my people. Ever since our ancestors were trapped here, we have not heard from any other of our kind."

"Starlight, I was wondering, what did trap you and the Mariens and others here all those years ago?" Um'reli and Ava look up at Omar's question. I guess we were all wondering it.

"I wish I knew Omar. My parent's parents were the original ones left here, but they wouldn't talk about it. From what I can gather, there was... a war, or something like it. The last Builders left the Reach to... do... something and never returned. My parent's parents did mention that the first few years after the Builders left were very difficult."

"Another mystery to solve then. I want to get going. Hey Omar, do you think you can print a hibernation cabinet?"

"Probably Melody, what for?"

"For Raaden. I just don't trust her to be awake and around while we leave to do explore the Wilds of Besmara. I was thinking of putting her in a cabinet and sticking her on board in hibernation. Crown Prince Emery seems fine, we could probably leave him here under guard."

"Melody that's brilliant! We don't have to deal with her trying to escape and we can carry her around as a kind of... talisman against Venus attacks. You just have to get her into it."

"Leave that part to me."

It actually only takes Omar a few hours to print the hibernation cabinet. When you have printers that can make a whole starship in a few weeks, one small hibernation cabinet is hardly a feat. It comes out gleaming and white, looking like a long lozenge or pill from the medical department. On the top is a clear window to see the face of the resident and on the side is a small readout of vitals. I ask Omar to let me borrow some people, and an Aviens and Azurian wheel the cabinet behind me as we walk.

In front of the apartment complex it's clear that the cabinet is much too large to bring up to Raaden's room. "Wait here please. I will be down with them in a moment."

Upstairs, I nod to the guards and knock on the door before opening it. "Raaden, come here please."

"Go to hell mmmmmm-Empress."

I don't have time for this. "F̷̗͝o̸͔͌l̷̺̊l̴̨̃o̶̦̾w̵̡͠ ̶͔͘m̷̢̒ē̵̬.̸̹̊ Raaden." She gets up out of the other room and robotically walks to me. Her eyes radiate hatred, but she follows none the less.

We get to the bottom floor and I open the door to leave and she catches a glimpse of the cabinet. Raaden's eyes go wide and the snarl of hatred on her face is replaced with a new emotion.

Terror.

"No! No no no no! You're not going to put me in one of those! Please! Please Empress! Don't put me in a hibernation cabinet! I won't escape! Please! Don't put me in there!"

I stop and turn, surprised. "What? Why not Raaden? It's just a hibernation cabinet. It's brand new. Omar printed it up from our copy of FarReach's printer database. It's not even a local design, it's one of ours."

She's standing in the doorway, shaking. She is legitimately terrified of the hibernation cabinet. "I-I-Its a form of punishment in Imperial Venus. For people who have... displeased the Emperor. A person is placed into the hibernation cabinet and then they... manipulate the settings. They change the person's sense of the passage of time. A day can feel like centuries."

You know, I actually feel bad for Raaden right now. That sounds like a horrible punishment.

"Raaden, I'm not going to manipulate your perception of time. We're going to run you deep enough that you won't have any perception of time passing. It'll be just like when people were put in cabinets for Starjumper trips before the wormhole generators. You'll go in, and then you'll awaken on Venus when we've worked out the details with the Emperor."

"Possibly, or else I'll never wake up for my failure. Or worse, I will but it will be after ten thousand years subjective and I'm a gibbering mess. Empress, I am actually begging you." She gets down on her knees in the door way and bows down "Please. Please. Don't put me in hibernation. I will literally do anything else." She puts her head up and her cheeks are wet with tears and she's shaking. She whispers. "Please, don't."

I... I can't. It's too cruel. I look at her and try and concentrate. Is she just acting? No. I think she is completely terrified of going into hibernation.

Ugh.

I sit on the cabinet and reach out to my Builders. "Hey. Raaden is like, wet her pants terrified of going into hibernation. She's literally begging me not to do it."

Is it a put on, is she just really good at acting?

I don't think so. My heightened body language processing says she's being honest.

Just order her to do it anyway, use your Voice.

Doesn't that seem unnecessarily cruel to you? We'd be leveraging a legitimate phobia just to make things easier on us. She'd never forgive us.

You still think she'll forgive us?

Hey, we have a responsibility to treat our prisoners humanely, and that includes not torturing them. This would be torture for her.

They wouldn't have the same consideration of us.

All the more reason for us to treat her better.

Okay then, what do we do with her?

Take her with us.

WHAT?

Take her with us. She'll still be on board, I can order her around with the Voice and we'll still bring the cabinet. If she causes trouble I'll order her into it and we'll be done with it. This is her chance to show us how much she doesn't want to be in the cabinet.

Or for her to show us how good of an actor she is.

Ava, I'm pretty sure she's not acting.

Ugh fine. She can come. Let me get a room ready and strengthen the locks on it.

Thanks Omar.

I look up. Raaden has gotten up from the floor but her eyes are still wide with fear. She is working very hard to control it, but fear of the cabinet is still very strong. She truly is terrified of being put into it.

"Raaden. I won't put you into the hibernation cabinet."

As I complete the sentence, her body relaxes and she starts breathing heavily.

"Yet."

She tightens up and holds her breath again.

"You're coming with us on the High Line to explore the Wilds of Besmara. I need insurance against Venus, and if you won't get into the cabinet then you'll come along. I will also bring the cabinet so if you cause us even a small amount of trouble I will just order you into the cabinet and be done with it."

I narrow my eyes and meet her gaze, "Do you understand?"

She stands straight and tall and matches my gaze, looking me in the eyes. "I will not betray you, nor will I attempt to escape, nor will I sabotage any aspect of your mission. So long as it keeps me out of that thing, I will be good."

"See that you do." I jump off the cabinet and gesture to my helpers. "Bring this to High Line. Omar will show you were to put it. "C̵͖͋o̷̤̒m̶͉̍e̶̩͛ ̶̰̎R̷͈̅ä̵̮å̷̡d̴͍̒e̶̙͝n̷̬̓.̶̀ͅ, I will bring you back to your apartment."

She follows me without struggling this time. I stop at the entry to her apartment. "We'll be back tomorrow morning. Do you have any requests for food or drink onboard?"

She blinks. "You're asking my opinion?"

"Well yes. You're going to be onboard with us for at least a week, if not more. You deserve to have some input."

She runs her hand through her close cropped hair, surprised. "Uh, I don't like coffee, so don't bother giving me any. I know you love the stuff, so don't waste any on me."

Oh nice. More coffee for me then. "Thank you. We'll be by tomorrow after breakfast."

She nods and moves to close the door. "Until then."

After the door closes and I lock it, I look at the guards and they acknowledge me. "Empress" they both say, and then face forward, silently.

Part 31

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 222 Trivia (Part 1)

Fun fact: this chapter is from issue #2 of WSJ's 2022 collection!

The Apollo mission had spacesuits tailor-made to each astronaut, but these days it's easier to use interchangeable parts and switch them out according to the size of the wearer, rather than having the whole suit fitted.

However, the gloves are always custom-sized for dexterity.

Vinyl fabric doesn't seem to have ever been used as part of a spacesuit, however spandex and nylon have, especially in the inner layers.

Outer layers include Teflon, Kevlar, and aluminized Mylar.

It's possible that rather than being used for the fabric, the vinyl is used for the suit's interior cooling tube system, and the aluminum is used for the Mylar rather than for the exterior metal parts, as pure aluminum is easily scratched.

You probably recognize this panel from the end of chapter 219. The only difference is Ryusui's head has been swapped with Stanley's.

Japanese doesn't have a "V" sound, which is why Chrome says "by" rather than "vi" or "vy".

Generally English words used in Japanese make this switch, for example "violin" becoming "baiorin" due to the lacking of "V" and "L" sounds.

This building may be where they're assembling the SENKU 11 rocket, however in this first panel it appears completed, but in later ones it's still under construction.

The PS5 was first announced in April 2019, and released November 2020. First images of the console were revealed on June 11th 2020.

The first global petrification happened in June 2019, so this person would know about the console but not known what it was meant to look like.

The robot maid request is most likely a reference to "Me and Roboco", another manga currently being published in Weekly Shonen Jump alongside Dr. Stone. It's a comedy series that follows a powerful-but-clumsy maid robot in a grade schooler's service.

(Later, Me and Roboco came out with a Dr. Stone parody for the 15th volume cover)

The vacuum tubes are back in the form of cavity magnetrons. These produce the microwaves that bounce around the microwaves' interior body.

The cooking effect was first discovered in 1945 when Percy Spencer noticed a candy bar had melted in his pocket after testing magnetrons.

Plastic wrap is vinyl that has been flattened to between 8-12 μm thick, (approximately 0.001 cm). For context, this is about as thick as a spider's web or the size of a droplet of water in fog.

The film Senku makes here is cellulose triacetate film, which is less flammable than earlier celluloid film, earning it the nickname "safety film".

The 8 mm part is the width of the film strip.

Unlike reusable hand-warmers that use supersaturated sodium acetate, these are one-time use and rely on oxidation to create heat. Once the packaging is opened, air penetrates the bag, oxidizing the iron. Vermiculite is added to remove moisture & salt is added as a catalyst.

Chrome's design wouldn't work properly because he uses iron sand rather than iron powder. Iron sand is mostly magnetite, which is already an iron oxide and thus won't have the oxidation reaction or create heat.

The fridge (or maybe mini wine cellar/fridge?) design is a parody of Smeg, a kitchen appliance brand.

You can also see the Senku-brand PlayStation, robot maid, and protein powder.

(Next part)

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[bishie-haven]

After-party, Day 1!

Ugh, sorry, scheduling these is a nightmare

Day 2's content has arrived, and our after-party has begun! And I promised a similar, yet different outing to something I did last year, didn’t I?

Well…I’m ranking cards again.

BUT, this is going to be a bit of a change compared to 2023’s outing. Last year, I went with the entirety of Asmo’s card library and focused exclusively on the art that came on the tin. This year, a change is happening. As of writing this on May 16th, 2024, I have 93% of Nightbringer’s demon cards that include the fifth-born, almost the entire set! If you don’t believe me, here’s my Devilgram page of my collection:

With all Nightmare/event cards in my possession, I wanted to focus on something not many do when it comes to these lovely JPEGs: see how well their Devilgram stories hold up and if they’re a good reward for working your butt off in an event or squeezing every last DP or DV out of you for the gacha. I will be going on about the art as well, but I didn’t fully include it in the ranking because…well…I’ll admit it, picking which one I liked best would be like splitting hairs, almost impossible! Each one has its own perks and pros (and I will highlight that), how could a fan possibly choose?

Now unfortunately, I did say I only had 93% of the collection, 14 of 15 cards, to be exact. That sadly means I will not be taking the Chapter 21-40 UR+, Magic Compact, into account for the rankings. I will certainly make an update when the day comes and I get all those shards. Also, if for some reason we get a new card added before the week is up and I can get my hands on it in time, I’ll be doing a similar update as well.

But, enough wasting time!

(Also: Spoilers for EVERY Devilgram story ahead!!)

#14: A Gift for a Special Day (Birthday ‘23 UR)

I don’t really know how to word this…but I think this is the only Asmodeus card that rubs me the wrong way any time I even THINK about it. The entire thing revolves around you and Asmo going out on the town for his birthday, but he puts on this more suave and sophisticated persona in order for you to “see a different side of him”. I see a different side…and it feels absolutely wrong. I’m not saying I hate that he tries to be cool, the MC being escorted around, getting gifted a dinner outfit, and dancing to the slow notes of a piano, but the entire time it feels like I’m on a date with an alien masquerading as the demon. There’s a dialogue choice at the end that states “I miss the normal you”, and it couldn’t be more true. Later you find out through an unlockable chat that he asked Solomon (who later asks Diavolo) for help…channeling the suaveness of Lucifer.

Now I’ve started to grow on Luci more over the years, but even ignoring that he’s on the lower end of my favorites list, the circumstances surrounding the card did NOT help this statement gain any favor. Already following an event where we nearly lost an Asmo event SSR, this card was the result of them shedding the birthday event system for a year, using him as a guinea pig to test the new card gacha system before Luci’s birthday came a few weeks later, AND eliminating the birthday SSR that EVERY OTHER BROTHER (+ Simeon) got before this, the set still being incomplete to this day! It was arguably the lowest point of Solmare’s ignorance of the fifth (and that’s a WHOLE other can of worms I may dive into one day), and the fact they were pretty trying to package the eldest’s charm in the boy who LITERALLY has a charm power will unfortunately taint this card for me.

However, as I said before, the art on the card isn’t bad, quite good, even. Completing the pajama set of ‘22-23, the bare chest with the robe fits the mood (at least in a vacuum), and the celebration in the DF unlock is perfect for what he deserves ^^

#13: Choosing for You (Sleepwear/Halloween ‘23 SSR)

Now outside of that card, there’s elements to every story from this point that I like. This one…really is the definition of mid for me, though. Revolving around you being the model for nightwear Asmo got sent PR packages of to choose what he wears for a collaboration, the air of the story isn’t very eventful, but quite chill. We do get comments about our own ability to look good in any fashion and found out the demon can use photo shoots in his bathroom as peak procrastination, but outside of that it’s mainly banter between what can constitute as good pajamas and just trying to make a damn decision. And with the gift of said nightwear and a tease of a sleepover after the shoot (one of my favorite tropes ever), this story is what I would hand someone if they wanted bare-basic Asmo vibes in a story.

With the art, they managed to show off sleepwear in a bit better way than Birthday ‘23’s. The initial art showing off the multiple choices he has for you, and the DF unlock once again pulling a skin tease, but showing a lot more of his teasing and sensual nature along with it. Now THIS is the demon I know!

#12: Dancing*Cooking (Anniversary ‘24 UR+)

I am so torn on this card. When it comes to the story, it’s one unexpected for this character, but it really does work. Being in the overarching plot of planning a Devildom-wide party with everyone trying new things, Asmo is the caterer/menu planner and shows so much development in the vein of his consideration of others (wanting to take the entire realm into account when you tell him to do what he thinks is best and later including ALL THREE REALMS in the menu to truly let everyone have a taste of home)…I’m shoving this in anyone’s face when they say he only cares about himself. There are some questionable elements (in the form of being in a dance club with a bunch of pouting fish that we need to fawn over in order to effectively marinate their flesh…no I’m not kidding), but overall real cute.

Why I’m torn is because of the missed opportunities! They had good apron/chocolatier sets from Valentine’s ‘23 they could’ve used at least in passing on the models, and while I know there was a theme with the card stories…both the initial and DF unlock involves marching band outfits. As a former band geek and being in a marching band for 7 years, both the elements of that in the event story and the card images are the ultimate tease, why couldn’t you utilize them more?!

#11: The Magic Music Festival (Birthday ‘24 UR)

I know this is the most recent card (as of writing this), and it honestly hurts that this is still so low. It’s honestly not a bad story in a vacuum: you accompany Asmo on a photoshoot for a brand he’s an ambassador for and you use magic cards to choose a location, eventually ending in an unknown town where fairies and magic instruments (hmm…this sounds a bit familiar) give a spark of inspiration. The problem with it all…it’s good for an Asmo card…but not for an Asmo BIRTHDAY card. There’s very little focus on the fact that it’s his special day outside of the brothers pretty much announcing that they’re making a party for him and they want him out of the house, and while the story is nice and the reason it got as high as it did, it doesn’t really fit the situation much when put under a microscope. I know the story in the revamped birthday event kinda takes care of this, but still…

But what they DON’T slack on? The art in this card, DEAR LORD if I was ranking the art this year it would be in the top 5 BARE MINIMUM. I nearly screamed when I seen the DF unlock and I did NOT stop until I had that card in my hands! The detail with the demon form and kimono-style fusion was absolutely PERFECT! And the card-themed initial? Beautiful as well!

#10: Memories and Pale Shades (Seed SSR)

Now, ignoring the fact that we nearly didn’t get this card at ALL until we protested to the devs (again, another can of worms for another day), this card is another fitting of the word mid, but in a bit of a better way compared to Choosing for You. Instead of being in a setting we’re all used to (Asmo and his influencer nonsense), we’re at a traditional festival, wanting to use the petals of a human world cherry blossom tree to make souvenirs of our memories. Although it takes a while to actually MAKE something outside of the assistance of Solomon, it warms the crafter soul within me to spend some time like this with him. It’s very simplistic, but it’s very warm and cozy at the same time.

And the art fits this just perfectly. Each image, whether with a mitsurashi dango or the falling petals, encapsulates the feeling of the festival perfectly, and lets you ignore the circumstances behind the meta.

#9: Asmo, the Recluse?! (Ch. 1-20 UR+)

Getting into one of the four Nightbringer-exclusive cards, while it doesn’t do what the other two I’m going to talk about will, it is definitely an exploration into the Avatar of Lust…and honestly what he COULD have been. The whole plot revolves around you getting Asmo out of the room he’s holed himself in for multiple days so the others can ask about using his bathroom that Satan wrecked until repair. And while I wouldn’t need a reason if I knew he was hiding in his bedroom to try and find him, when you do get in there…what a sight. If there’s people who complain that Asmo is narcissistic and stuck on himself with what we see right now, show them this story. THIS IS WHAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN. Despite having to take multiple attempts to get him away from a perfume he pretty much hypnotized himself with, it’s hilarious and a great laugh away from the deep themes of NB. And even after coming to his senses, we still get an air of his current levels of egotism, still refusing to give bathroom access no matter what reasoning.

Also, this is him the whole time looking at that mirror. Fight me on this.

The art for this? Actually, it’s very similar to what we see in his initial UR in the OG game…and I love it! A shot of him with makeup in the initial, and a classic tub shot in the DF, how adorable!

#8: Asmo-Chan Overindulges (Fabulicious UR)

Geez I hate the name of that event…but aside from that, this story is really wholesome, in a sense of what the events entail. You’re Asmo’s +1 to a party for Devildom models, and from beginning to end we see how it plays out. I really appreciate some of the dialogue choices in this one, having moments of us feeling shy or out of place in a room full of perfection and Asmo every time pulling us back in and making us feel worthy of being by his side. In addition, a Mammon cameo and a montage of him socializing with other model acquaintances really illustrates how well known he is in this sector. But where there is a party, there is Demonus, and not too long after, a tipsy to wasted demon shows us he can make a fashion show anywhere and that he’s the jealous, emotional type when plastered. And with an ending in a private room to sober up and be intimate with each other, this is a comfort story for me, for sure.

The art definitely goes for the dual sides of his presenting self. The initial with him in a suit and looking confident as hell to the DF unlock showing a more flowing dress with an adorable expression? Best of both worlds!

Unfortunately, because of Tumblr’s stupid photo limit, I have to split this into two parts. But, the next one is coming ultra-soon!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 8, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAY 09, 2024

Today, in Racine, Wisconsin, President Joe Biden announced that Microsoft is investing $3.3 billion dollars to build a new data center that will help operate one of the most powerful artificial intelligence systems in the world. It is expected to create 2,300 union construction jobs and employ 2,000 permanent workers. 

Microsoft has also partnered with Gateway Technical College to train and certify 200 students a year to fill new jobs in data and information technology. In addition, Microsoft is working with nearby high schools to train students for future jobs. 

Speaking at Gateway Technical College’s Racine campus, Biden contrasted today’s investment with that made by Trump about the same site in 2018. In that year, Trump went to Wisconsin for the “groundbreaking” of a high-tech campus he claimed would be the “eighth wonder of the world.” 

Under Republican governor Scott Walker, Wisconsin legislators approved a $3 billion subsidy and tax incentive package—ten times larger than any similar previous package in the state—to lure the Taiwan-based Foxconn electronics company. Once built, a new $10 billion campus that would focus on building large liquid-crystal display screens would bring 13,000 jobs to the area, they promised. 

Foxconn built a number of buildings, but the larger plan never materialized, even after taxpayers had been locked into contracts worth hundreds of millions of dollars for upgrading roads, sewer system, electricity, and so on. When voters elected Democrat Tony Evers as governor in 2022, he dropped the tax incentives from $3 billion to $80 million, which depended on the hiring of only 1,454 workers, reflecting the corporation’s current plans. Foxconn dropped its capital investment from $10 billion to $672.8 million.  

In November 2023, Microsoft announced it was buying some of the Foxconn properties in Wisconsin.

Today, Biden noted that rather than bringing jobs to Racine, Trump’s policies meant the city lost 1,000 manufacturing jobs during his term. Wisconsin as a whole lost 83,500. “Racine was once a manufacturing boomtown,” Biden recalled, “all the way through the 1960s, powering companies—invented and manufacturing Windex…portable vacuum cleaners, and so much more, and powered by middle-class jobs.

“And then came trickle-down economics [which] cut taxes for the very wealthy and biggest corporations…. We shipped American jobs overseas because labor was cheaper. We slashed public investment in education and innovation. And the result: We hollowed out the middle class. My predecessor and his administration doubled down on that failed trickle-down economics, along with the [trail] of broken promises.” 

“But that’s not on my watch,” Biden said. “We’re determined to turn it around.” He noted that thanks to the Democrats’ policies, in the past three years, Racine has added nearly 4,000 jobs—hitting a record low unemployment rate—and Wisconsin as a whole has gained 178,000 new jobs. 

The Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, the CHIPS and Science Act, and the Inflation Reduction Act have fueled “a historic boom in rebuilding our roads and bridges, developing and deploying clean energy, [and] revitalizing American manufacturing,” he said. That investment has attracted $866 billion in private-sector investment across the country, creating hundreds of thousands of jobs “building new semiconductor factories, electric vehicles and battery factories…here in America.” 

The Biden administration has been scrupulous about making sure that money from the funds appropriated to rebuild the nation’s infrastructure and manufacturing base has gone to Republican-dominated districts; indeed, Republican-dominated states have gotten the bulk of those investments. “President Biden promised to be the president of all Americans—whether you voted for him or not. And that’s what this agenda is delivering,” White House deputy chief of staff Natalie Quillian told Matt Egan of CNN in February. 

But there is, perhaps, a deeper national strategy behind that investment. Political philosophers studying the rise of authoritarianism note that strongmen rise by appealing to a population that has been dispossessed economically or otherwise. By bringing jobs back to those regions that have lost them over the past several decades and promising “the great comeback story all across…the entire country,” as he did today, Biden is striking at that sense of alienation.

“When folks see a new factory being built here in Wisconsin, people going to work making a really good wage in their hometowns, I hope they feel the pride that I feel,” Biden said. “Pride in their hometowns making a comeback. Pride in knowing we can get big things done in America still.” 

That approach might be gaining traction. Last Friday, when Trump warned the audience of Fox 2 Detroit television that President’s Biden’s policies would cost jobs in Michigan, local host Roop Raj provided a “reality check,” noting that Michigan gained 24,000 jobs between January 2021, when Biden took office, and May 2023.

At Gateway Technical College, Biden thanked Wisconsin governor Tony Evers and Racine mayor Cory Mason, both Democrats, as well as Microsoft president Brad Smith and AFL-CIO president Liz Schuler.

The picture of Wisconsin state officials working with business and labor leaders, at a public college established in 1911, was an image straight from the Progressive Era, when the state was the birthplace of the so-called Wisconsin Idea. In the earliest years of the twentieth century, when the country reeled under industrial monopolies and labor strikes, Wisconsin governor Robert “Fighting Bob” La Follette and his colleagues advanced the idea that professors, lawmakers, and officials should work together to provide technical expertise to enable the state to mediate a fair relationship between workers and employers. 

In his introduction to the 1912 book explaining the Wisconsin Idea, former president Theodore Roosevelt, a Republican, explained that the Wisconsin Idea turned the ideas of reformers into a workable plan, then set out to put those ideas into practice. Roosevelt approvingly quoted economist Simon Patten, who maintained that the world had adequate resources to feed, clothe, and educate everyone, if only people cared to achieve that end. Quoting Patten, Roosevelt wrote: “The real idealist is a pragmatist and an economist. He demands measurable results and reaches them by means made available by economic efficiency. Only in this way is social progress possible.”

Reformers must be able to envision a better future, Roosevelt wrote, but they must also find a way to turn those ideals into reality. That involved careful study and hard work to develop the machinery to achieve their ends. 

Roosevelt compared people engaged in progressive reform to “that greatest of all democratic reformers, Abraham Lincoln.” Like Lincoln, he wrote, reformers “will be assailed on the one side by the reactionary, and on the other by that type of bubble reformer who is only anxious to go to extremes, and who always gets angry when he is asked what practical results he can show.” “[T]he true reformer,” Roosevelt wrote, “must study hard and work patiently.” 

“It is no easy matter actually to insure, instead of merely talking about, a measurable equality of opportunity for all men,” Roosevelt wrote. “It is no easy matter to make this Republic genuinely an industrial as well as a political democracy. It is no easy matter to secure justice for those who in the past have not received it, and at the same time to see that no injustice is meted out to others in the process. It is no easy matter to keep the balance level and make it evident that we have set our faces like flint against seeing this government turned into either government by a plutocracy, or government by a mob. It is no easy matter to give the public their proper control over corporations and big business, and yet to prevent abuse of that control.”

“All through the Union we need to learn the Wisconsin lesson,” Roosevelt wrote in 1912.

“We’re the United States of America,” President Biden said today, “And there’s nothing beyond our capacity when we work together.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[uweiy]

New Beginnings

Gaon has heard people say revenge left you empty. It might be true in some cases. It definitely isn't true for Kang Yohan. Rather like he finally drove out the demons plaguing his existence. Where Yohan was sharp, he is now gentle. Where there was torment, there is now peace. And Yohan wears peace like a halo, hard-earned and precious.

The first months are still difficult, in the way change always is.

Elijah doesn't want Yohan with her when she goes to see her physical therapist. It bothers him, Gaon can tell, to leave Elijah in a stranger's hands unsupervised, even just for an hour, but he's trying to give her more independence. Gaon's heart bursts with something like pride.

(Gaon checks on her whenever he can and gives Yohan little updates on how the treatment is going.

Yohan pretends not to care.)

It also feels weird, leaving for work, while Yohan stays at home.

Yohan doesn't ask about the ongoing restructuration process, though Gaon knows he misses the court work, misses the attention, the show. Gaon guesses he has a lot to figure out, including who he is without those things. So, by tacit agreement, they avoid bringing it up.

It doesn't keep Gaon from wishing he could ask for Yohan's opinion on some matters. Turns out, it was way easier pointing out the flaws in Yohan's decisions when Yohan had been in charge, than being the one in charge. Or one of the people in charge at least.

Gaon doesn't think justice should rely that much on just one person. That one mere human should hold that much power over the people themselves. Gaon was already liked, thanks to Yohan paving the way for him, but he declines brand deals and interviews, and generally avoids doing anything that might get him too close to getting a fanbase.

Jin Joo is much better than him at this anyway, so she handles most of the public-relations part.

He tries to balance out what Soohyeon would do with what Yohan would do. Then he breathes out and thinks what he would do.

____

One day he comes back to find Yohan sitting cross-legged on his armchair, staring blankly into space.

"Yohan?"

"She said I was made for it."

"What?"

"Sun Ah. She said I was made for the stage."

"The stage was made for you," Gaon answers cautiously, still standing under the arch that crowns the entrance of the room. They are still learning how to approach each other, with words rather than with violence. The latter being the easier way, for them. "not the other way around. You are made for whatever you like. Whatever brings you peace. "

Yohan considers it.

Gaon crosses the distance between them. Yohan looks up, just in time for Gaon to effortlessly press a kiss to Yohan's lips.

"What was that for?" Yohan asks, when they part.

"Nothing. I just missed you."

"Mmh." Yohan hums. He seems pleased.

___

"You understand, we are trying to build a system that is fair to everyone. So I can't start with making exceptions for you." Gaon says, out of the blue. Yohan peers up curiously from his journal. "But technically one you're dead, and two there is a legal vacuum right now, as all the laws are being rewritten. So, if you wanted to go outside the property well. There would be nothing to stop you. Just saying."

Yohan never had a problem with breaking laws before, yet he seems to have been holding back. Gaon thinks part of that stems from the fact that Yohan doesn't want to cause trouble for Gaon, and his new functions.

Yohan only snorts. "Duly noted."

Gaon must have guessed right though, because Elijah reports that she notices Yohan wandering out more and more often. When Gaon asks Yohan about it, he simply shrugs, "People all wear masks anyway."

But there is something, a glow on his cheekbones, a sparkle in his eyes that tells Gaon that he is enjoying this newfound freedom.

He tells Gaon about the nice spots he discovers. Sometimes he takes him there, too.

_

"What's that?" Gaon eyes the package on the kitchen table.

"Some old lady gave me fish." Yohan sounds so bewildered at the memory that Gaon has to bite his lip not to burst out laughing. He fails.

"I don't see what's so funny about it." Yohan grumbles, but the corners of his mouth curl upwards.

From there on, they often get fresh fish.

_

"I'm starting to understand what you mean," Yohan says one day. "About people."

___

That isn't to say there aren't any bad days. One time, when Gaon gets home, he finds Yohan shirtless, essentially tearing open the floor and the walls with what seems like an ax.

"What are you doing?" Gaon has to yell over the rhythmic noise.

Yohan doesn't even register he's there. Gaon notices there are small, bleedings cuts everywhere on Yohan's bare skin, from the splinters of ceramic and wood.

Yohan brings his utensil down once again, shards flying when it hits the ground.

"Stop!!" Gaon yells, and he surges forward to catch Yohan's arm. Yohan halts and finally seems to remember himself as he takes in Gaon's presence, Gaon's hand on his arm. "Stop," Gaon repeats, softer. "You're hurting yourself."

Yohan exhales a shaky breath and lets the ax fall to the floor.

"I hated the pattern," he states eventually as if it explains everything.

Gaon studies him. He doesn't press.

"We'll redecorate," is what he answers after a beat. He can wait until Yohan is ready to talk. They have time after all.

___

"I used to hate the whole house," Yohan says that night, unprompted, his voice so low Gaon almost misses it. He's facing away from Gaon.

Gaon has abandoned the guest bedroom a long time ago, so late-night discussions are a common occurrence, even more so than before.

Yohan turns to Gaon, settling on his pillow. It's so dark all Gaon can see is a tiny fleck of reflected light in Yohan's pupils.

And Yohan begins to tell Gaon about his father.

Though Yohan relates everything very factually, Gaon feels it all. Resentment against an adult who should have done better. The helplessness of a young Kang Yohan who didn't know better. A strong desire to protect said Kang Yohan.

But Yohan doesn't seem to want him to do anything but listen. So Gaon tucks those emotions close to his heart, and does just that. He will keep and treasure all the ones Yohan is willing to share, good or bad, even the ones Yohan probably had had enough of for a lifetime.

Yohan finds Gaon's hand in the dark and entwines their fingers.

"I don't hate it anymore."

Gaon could cry. He just holds Yohan's hand tighter.

_

The next day, Gaon brings home a booklet with different shades of color and patterns.

"For the walls."

___

Sometimes it's Gaon, who wakes up and feels blank. Like the world isn't enough for him to go on.

He turns to the side and sees Kang Yohan, and reaches for him, and when he can touch him, when he meets Elijah at breakfast, he feels himself coming alive, alive enough to get through this day.

Weirdly enough, on days like these, Yohan never fails to suggest watching a movie in the evenings.

He always seems to know.

___

"I'm sorry," Gaon whispers sometimes.

Yohan hears him every time. He doesn't need to ask what for. Every time he says the same. "I forgive you. Do you forgive me ?"

Every time, Gaon's answer is the same.

"Yes," he whispers. Of course.

___

One day, Yohan asks, "How is the restructuration process going?" And Gaon almost walks into one of the marble posts. Innerly. Externally he maintains his composure and fills Yohan in on what they have been doing. Yohan wants to know every detail, asking very specific questions Gaon answers as best as he can.

"I could use your help," Gaon says. "If you wanted to."

___

"How's Yohan?" Jin Joo asks casually, and Gaon spits out his coffee.

"I— What? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please. You were a zombie that day. A walking corpse," she gestures. "And two days later wham bam color is back in your cheeks and you're fine again? tsk tsk tsk," she waves a finger in Gaons' face. "I'm many things Kim Gaon. An idiot is not one of them.

"So it seems." Gaon answers cheekily. They had never quite been as close as they could have been before, their relationship unknowingly strained by the many strings pulling on both of them. Now though, Gaon can definitely say they're friends.

"Kim Gaon!" She slaps him on the back.

"Aah, I'm joking, I'm joking. You could drop by sometime," he says, more seriously. "He would be pleased to see you I think."

"I'll think about it." Jin Joo says.

________

The last days before Yohan and Elijah travel to Switzerland are no more no less eventful than the ones before. Gaon isn't scared this time. He doesn't feel as broken anymore and he knows it's not goodbye forever. It's not goodbye at all.

"If anything happens" Yohan searches Gaon's face. "I'll be back immediately."

"Nothing is going to happen." Gaon assures him "Just worry about Elijah for now. You better call though!" Gaon calls after him.

Yohan chuckles.

___

It's Gaon who calls Yohan first. He calls for everything and nothing at all actually, no matter what time of the day.

To his team, he's calling his "legal advisor". It's true, in a way, no one knows the law and its flaws better than Yohan.

So it was bound to happen.

"Hyung about article— uh article 17.3 the one who references the codex—", Gaon stutters and continues his sentence without really registering what he's saying.

It slipped out so naturally.

Yohan doesn't comment on it so Gaon almost thinks he will just let it slide, when right before the call ends—

"Hyung huh?"

Gaon can hear the smirk in Yohan's voice.

"oh you shut up," Gaon says weakly, his face burning.

He keeps using it.

__

The first time, Yohan calls, it's to ask how to make pasta (that is not instant ramen).

He can probably manage on his own, but if Yohan just needs an excuse well. Gaon isn't going to stop him now he's found one.

"You have to put in water first. What kind of pasta did you get?"

"Wow thanks." Yohan says, sarcastically. "Some kind of tubes with stripes."a silence. 'What now?"

Gaon laughs. "Hyung, you're hopeless." But he walks Yohan through the steps. "mince the onion and the bell pepper..." "that's right add the sauce" "... perfect."

_

Yohan can definitely manage on his own. but he likes to hear Gaon talk.

"You'll have to show me next time."

___

The calls become more and more frequent as Yohan gets accustomed to it. Soon he doesn't even try to find pretenses anymore.

Gaon spends every holiday over there. Works remote when he wants to stay longer.

Yohan flies back to Korea when Elijah has busy weeks. "She's happy I'm leaving her the place, so that she can throw get-togethers with Margaret and Ellie and whatnot."

Gaon raises an eyebrow.

"I've had Lawyer Ko run extensive background checks on them," Yohan adds.

"Of course you did."

All in all, they make it work.

Later, when Gaon feels like things are stable enough, he packs his things and leaves. He leaves everything into Jin Joo's hands and joins Yohan, wherever they're staying — Korea, Switzerland, anywhere — for good.

___

Much, much later, the Kang mansion becomes well known under another name.

Saint John's orphanage, where the children are well cared for, their scholarship fees paid for by anonymous benefactors. In hopes that there might never be another Kang Yohan.

Only the food is terrible, apparently.

Fin

___

Complete fic on ao3

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Test Subject/System Upgrade

System Upgrade comfort and fluff teasers because chapter 13 was really tough

Whole fic can be found here on AO3 --->

Test Subject - just_thoughts - Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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Wrecker approached Echo with a solemn look on his face, hands clasped in front of him. There was a slim silver foil packet between his fingers.

“What’ve you got there, Wrecker?” asked Echo, a little alarmed by how serious the usually jovial warrior looked.

“I got something for you,” Wrecker said, looking away from Echo’s eyes. There was something wretched about his expression. Quickly he thrust the packet at Echo.

Echo gingerly picked the packet from Wrecker’s hand and inspected it. It was standard ration-bar packaging, vacuum-sealed to preserve whatever was inside, but his eyes went wide at the lettering on the front of the pack.

“Chocolate?” he said incredulously, a faint smile lighting his face for the first time in days. “Where did you get this?"