#framework ventures

[nnctales]

Construction Contracts: Types and Special Contracts

What is a Contract? A contract is a legally binding agreement enforceable by law, typically involving the execution of work, supply of materials, or performance of services. Essential elements include a mutual agreement and enforceability by law. It creates obligations, defining rights acquired through acts or forbearances. Not all agreements are legally enforceable; for instance, recreational…

[mesetacadre]

I understand this is extremely Communism 101 to ask, but how would human civilization at this stage in history even be able to function without the state? Almost the entirety of progress made by humanity has been made possible due to the resources and power made available by states (even supposedly "private" ventures owe much of their success to the structure of a state), and the only examples of stateless societies are burried so deep in the past that there are virtually no success examples that are relevant, at least ones that can ensure the function of a society that is larger than a small community.

You've stumbled across the answer, at least partially. Human civilization at this stage can't function without a state. But the reason why, and the rest of the answer to your doubts, I think can be explained relatively succinctly. What is the state, in the framework of marxism? The apparatus for the oppression of a class over another, the perpetuation of exploited-exploiter class relations. And when the proletariat takes control of the state to create its own instruments of class oppression, it remains a state, but with an inverted character. The class oppression it exerts is placed upon the bourgeoisie, for the protection of the proletariat's political power during the long transformation of society and its relations into a communist one. By definition, communism is a stateless society, as well as a classless one, meaning that there is no longer a bourgeoisie, extant or otherwise, and that it's no longer the antagonism between classes that drives society. Those two qualifiers, stateless and classless, go hand in hand because of what the state is, an instrument for the exertion of one class' interests over all the others through implicit or explicit violence. So, therefore, since the state necessitates as a prerequisite antagonistic class relations to exist as a state, once the relations of society lack class dynamics, the state will cease to exist. This is, nothing more and nothing less, what the withering away of the state means, the disappearance of any class relations will necessarily result in the disappearance of the state as it has existed ever since the very first classes emerged in history.

We understand the simple administration of resources and society to be distinct from the function of class oppression, and it's only the latter that makes a state, a state. I understand your concerns come from a supposed elimination of that administration, but that's simply not what marxists refer to by the withering away of the state. As for the specific form of that administration of resources and society after classes cese to exist, I think it'd be a very sterile debate for this momemt in history. Those stateless societies from before the dawn of economic classes also needed to administer their resources in a logical way, after all, and that will be orders of magnitude more important after human society creates a similar organization of society, except with billions of individuals instead of tens of thousands

[reveryfics]

Tony Stark request,

Him and rival male reader? Similar childhood situations, but reader owns a significantly "larger" company/corp.

I love the idea that reader is a (one of the only) Shield funders, so Tony has to be decent.

Power/ability wise, reader either has none (like how Tony just has his suits), or maybe readers father was a major Shield funder, so reader is an enhanced?

If anything specific, this is based off an OC of mine. "Lockjaw". Imagine Cable (x-men), but some rich guy. That's him.

Rival's Gambit

Tony Stark x Male Reader

Summary: Tony gets invited to his rivals latest launch party.

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, I was trying to think of how exactly to write this.

TW: None?

The invitation arrived on thick, embossed card stock, a stark contrast to Tony's usual digital notifications. It was for the launch party of his supposed "rival," a tech magnate whose name had been plastered across every tech blog and business magazine for the past year. The event promised to unveil a revolutionary advancement, something that, according to the hype, would "redefine the future." Tony scoffed, but a nagging curiosity, coupled with Pepper's subtle encouragement and the tabloid buzz speculating on his attendance, finally nudged him towards a reluctant "yes."

The party was a spectacle of excess, a dizzying display of wealth and technological prowess that dwarfed even Tony's most extravagant events. The venue, a newly constructed skyscraper, boasted holographic displays that shifted and morphed, creating an immersive, if slightly overwhelming, experience. Tony, despite his initial reluctance, played the part of the charming billionaire, offering witty banter and forced smiles to the endless stream of attendees and press who approached him. He felt like a caged animal, every word scrutinized, every gesture interpreted.

He spotted you across the room, a figure of quiet composure amidst the chaos. You gracefully excused yourself from a conversation, your movements fluid and deliberate, and made your way towards him.

"Glad you could make it, Tony," you said, a genuine smile gracing your lips. You tilted your wine glass slightly, the ruby liquid catching the light.

"Wouldn't miss it," Tony replied, his smile a practiced, albeit strained, expression. He was acutely aware of the undercurrent of tension, the unspoken rivalry that the media had so gleefully amplified.

After a few more obligatory rounds of mingling, you managed to corner Tony, just as he was contemplating a strategic retreat. "I'd like to show you something," you said, your voice low and inviting. "In my lab."

Tony hesitated. The idea of venturing into your personal space, a space where you presumably developed the very technology he was supposed to be competing against, was both intriguing and unsettling. But the glint in your eyes, a mixture of challenge and something else he couldn't quite decipher, piqued his interest. And, of course, he was fully aware that the ever-present paparazzi were capturing every moment, a fact that added a layer of theatricality to the encounter.

Your lab was a stark contrast to the opulent party venue. It was a space of focused energy, filled with the hum of machinery and the glow of holographic displays. Tony's eyes widened as he spotted a familiar suit, or rather, the skeletal framework of one, in various stages of completion. It was unmistakably an intriguing design, but with subtle, yet significant, modifications.

You leaned against a workbench, gesturing towards your latest suit. "Unlike you, Tony," you said, a hint of amusement in your voice, "I prefer to keep my identity a secret."

Tony chuckled. "So, you're 'Lockjaw'?" he asked, referring to the enigmatic vigilante that had been making headlines, their identity shrouded in mystery. "Never would've guessed."

The conversation flowed easily, surprisingly so. You discussed your design philosophy, your approach to technology, and your motivations. Tony found himself drawn into the conversation, realizing that beneath the facade of rivalry, you shared a fundamental passion for innovation. As the conversation deepened, you both shared stories of your childhoods, revealing a surprising amount of similarities, a shared experience of being precocious and driven, of seeing the world in a different way.

Eventually, Tony leaned against the desk next to you, a genuine smile replacing the forced one. "You know," he admitted, "I was wrong about you."

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "That must have been difficult for a man like you to admit."

A moment of comfortable silence settled between you. Then, you spoke, your voice soft but firm. "Tony, I've been thinking... would you consider working with me?" You paused, your gaze meeting his. "I believe we could do something great together."

Tony's eyebrows rose. He considered the offer, weighing the potential benefits and the inevitable media frenzy. "I'll think about it," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "But I'd like to discuss it over dinner."

"Tony Stark asking me on a date?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Tony shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Got to keep the press on their toes, don't we?"

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Magic System

A Quick Guide to Crafting Your Own Magic System

The comforting tug of the familiar can often draw writers into the domain of tried-and-tested magic systems.

While there's a reason these archetypes endure, speculative fiction thrives on innovation.

So here are some guidelines and questions to ponder as you craft your unique magical framework:

Analyze Existing Systems: What makes them tick? Is it the laws, the setting, the cultural context? How can you take a known concept and turn it on its head? For instance, if elemental magic is overdone, what about a system based on abstract concepts like time, sound, or dreams?

Mix and Match: Combine disparate systems. Perhaps in your world, astrology-based magic is combined with bio-magic, where celestial signs grant specific biological enhancements.

Internal Consistency: Ensure that the rules of your magic system are internally consistent. If you're coming up with something new, like Brian McClellan with his “godglass,” consider the broader implications. How would such a system affect economics, politics, or social dynamics?

Ask 'What if?': Let your imagination roam by posing hypothetical questions. What if magic was a tangible, finite resource? Or perhaps it's a virus, and only those infected can wield its power?

Balance: Whichever route you choose, remember that each magical ability should come with its own set of limitations, costs, or ethical dilemmas. This not only adds depth but also avoids the pitfall of making your characters too powerful to face any real challenges.

Above all, let creativity be your guiding star.

Embrace the known, but never be afraid to venture into the uncharted, for therein lies the magic that readers will remember.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[hrjafael]

I don’t think there are adequate words to express how much I love this new era in the Nancy Drew fandom. We’ve grown up on these games and now the Clue Crew is venturing out and creating their own games because the Nancy Drew games inspired them. Something about it embodies the whole spirit and themes of Nancy Drew and getting all sorts of people interested in gaming and becoming fearless.

The company’s original slogan was “For girls who aren’t afraid of a mouse” and that has transformed and motivated a lot of us. It’s become a bit of a banner we all have gotten behind. Somewhere I wonder what the OG HerInteractive team must think watching this new era unfold and watching their legacy blossom. They laid down the groundwork and framework in gaming while the books laid out the foundations.

[gaelic-symphony]

it's really weird how many ways people find online to talk about i/p without actually talking about israelis, palestinians, or any material reality related to either community. i haven't ventured into the tags in almost a year, since i became disillusioned with the kind of postivism i saw from my mutuals...who i morbidly check on sometimes - and they're the type living in overconfident denial that i think you were talking about. they're the type i don't expect to talk about hate crimes against jews or israelis (or presumed jews and israelis) to either condemn or condone, because it's insulting you'd even ask them. their stance too simple to have to explain. they're "just" against genocide. that's it. they won't stoop to joining a lynch mob against a eurovision contestant, but they do want people to stop talking about that, because it's obviously shallow and unimportant. they're "just" using their platform to help people in their inbox, and think it's evil to accuse any of those people of being scammers. they're "just" against racism, and they genuinely have no idea why anyone brings up antisemitism when they talk about antizionism - because when they reblogged that "zionists are indigenous to hell" post they were laughing about biden's cancer diagnosis, not talking about jewish people

there's really something that comes from knowing enough to know it's bad to fandomize a war, but not knowing how to interact with the world in any other way

I think you hit the nail on the head: So many of these people have never really experienced war before, so they don't know how to interact with it or with any other of the complex issues going on in the world, and the frameworks they have (oppressor/oppressed, good vs. evil, America/capitalism/colonialism is the root of everything bad, my parents/hometown/religious community treated me badly growing up so everything they believe must be inherently evil and wrong) make them disturbingly susceptible to falling for antisemitic propaganda masquerading as social justice.

[commanderfreddy]

started thinking about the grandma-granddaughter reading of Hank and Hunter in Pomp and Circuitry again and it turned into a whole essay

okay beginning with an overarching framework that Hunter is trying to scare Hank away so that 1) he leaves immediately but also 2) does not try to interfere with SPHINX ever again, we get some interesting stuff about both of them, specifically regarding Hunter's thoughts on Hank being part of The Game (of cat and also cat):

Firstly Hunter is just trying to get Hank out of her hair so she can get back to work but its clear she doesn't want Hank "in the game" AT ALL - SPHINX under her command requires recruits be 18 and have a high school diploma, she's definitely learned from The Billy Incident that child soldiers are a bad idea (noteworthy: she uses the phrase "Junior G-Man" to refer to both freshly-recruited Billy in TIHoF AND Hank trying to join SPHINX) - personally i think the fact that she ever thought that would work says a LOT about HER upbringing (Very Bad).

She doesn't just want Hank out of the way for practical reasons, she's trying to protect him.

Which brings us to Two: i read both Hunter and Hank as transfem (Hunter as a woman and Hank as genderfluid, including-but-not-limited-to being a woman) which makes the fact that Hunter's FIRST IDEA to scare Hank off is to shave his head Very Noteworthy, especially since we know her baldness is a point of dysphoria for her, especially in contrast with how Shoreleave thinks of it. He and Hank are both just having fun doing hairstyle bullshit meanwhile I think Hunter is trying to introduce to Hank how much being part of a (para)military is constant humiliation rituals centred on enforcing masculinity and highlighting when people fail to live up to it.

When Hank first proves that 1) he's not frightened by any of this shit and 2) he has the skills to actually participate in it, I feel like what happens is that Hunter starts escalating her attempts to scare him off and in the process becomes legitimately impressed by what Hank is capable of bc 1) that shit is legit impressive and 2) at the end of the day, this world IS her life. I think it's too simplistic to make a call on whether she "enjoys" it or not, but this is the world in which she lives, these are the standards by which she is judged and she judges people by, and these are the things she takes pride in. I think it probably brought back a lot of memories of training Brock and Shoreleave too, especially considering the fact that she knows the reason Hank is like this is because he was in turn raised by Brock. If she is "like a mother to" Brock, that's her fucking granddaughter.

I think Hank and Hunter have so much in common and I think for the duration of this episode Hunter allowed herself to enjoy that, but then at the end of the day it was over, and the reality of what it means to be a Secret Agent beyond the scorpions and the explosions and the cool car chases come back, and once again Hunter is running a covert operation that she had to detransition in order to establish, because, again, looping around, she exists In This World where power is enforced through masculinity and if she wants to be A Leader in this world she cannot allow herself to also be A Woman. And not even just because Power = Men in this world, but because being a woman is something she enjoys and wants, and so much of the secret agent stuff in this series is about sacrificing your identity to The Cause. Frankly I think you can do a similar reading to Hunter having to give up her gender presentation to Brock having to give up his connection to Being Native in order to be a spy. The [person] you knew and were is dead. Happy Birthday Frankenstein.

so when this day Hunter has spent with Shoreleave - her flamboyantly gay protege who took a DISHONOURABLE DISCHARGE UNDER DONT ASK DONT TELL RATHER THAN STAY IN THE CLOSET - and Hank - "DONT PUT YOUR HETERONORMATIVE GENDER BIASED HANG-UPS ON ME" DESTINY VENTURE - comes to an end, she puts Hank in the fucking washing machine, erases his memory and sends him away, BECAUSE SHE DOES NOT WANT THIS LIFE FOR HANK NO MATTER HOW MUCH SHE ENJOYS LIVING IT WITH HIM.

Of course, the catch is, it doesn't work. Hank doesn't forget. She can't protect Hank from this life. It belongs to him as much as it does to her.

AUGH. THEY MAKE ME SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL.

[555-yosi]

i dont really do meta (i've more experience with textual media so forgive any ignorances on my behalf) but i after seeing the Treister juicebox clip again (happy Terstay Tuesday) I went back and rewatched Any Which Way But Zeus and noticed something fascinating - when they're down in the Dr Strangelove Room, there's a big establishing shot, we do some bits, Brock fucked Tiger Shark's wife (nice.), and in the process we see where everyone is sitting.

Brock and Hunter are sitting next to each other at the end of the table near the door.

when Brock gets in trouble for cracking that hoser like a selachimorphic whip, we get another angle that shows that they're on either side of the end of the table, with no chair between them.

At this point, Treister arrives.

And Hunter immediately turns into an empty chair.

Now, vbros doesn't really do like. semantic cinematography (it's a fast-paced comedy-action show with a massive cast, the framing is pretty exclusively in service to helping the audience follow all the million insane things that happen every second), so in terms of intent, this is probably just an animation error.

However, in terms of effect, I find it quite striking. Especially considering for the remainder of this scene Hunter remains invisible. Even when we get a final wide shot of everyone, you just cannot see her. The effect is compounded by Treister's line.

I think it's incredibly meaningful that Treister shows up and detonates the scene by drawing attention to the embarrassing underwear he's forced everyone to wear, insisted that he is special and they are all beneath them, finished off by calling them all girls as an insult, and in the process completely robs Hunter of her existence.

The episode then goes through a scene at the arena, and then one at the Venture Compound, before returning to the. bunker. thing. where Hunter is once again visible, just in time for a scene about how everyone hates the code-names Treister has assigned them.

He's assigned her a feminine code-name (I think it's noteworthy that the only other attendee to get a feminine code-name is Brock, who - under the fucked up family framework the OSI operates under - is basically her son, and therefore something Treister can use to punish her). He calls on her using a woman's name, and then immediately belittles her for not conforming to OSI protocol.

And yet, when the think tank has completely exhausted themselves trying to come up with plans, literally the only person still awake, the only person still trying to appease Treister is Hunter.

But what really makes all this come together for me, what really drives home how much this scene is Hunter In Detransition Purgatory, is why they're there in the first place. Who's missing.

TL;DR - sorry for ruining Terstay Tuesday by saying I think Treister is Hunter's transphobic dad, but. well. I think Treister is Hunter's transphobic dad.

[indigosfindings]

replaying super paper mario, sporadic thoughts post-chapter 2:

very easy so far--& although ttyd was also easy, spm's gameplay is sadly substantially less rich thab ttyd's was

having said that the game design in spm is! unrelentingly charming!! the use of platforming as a framework for a varied stream of stage styles (straightforward levels, dungeons, towns, the entire 2-3 Situation) is creative in a way that imo predicts the sort of things the mario maker community later ended up making. chapter 2's set pieces in particular are extremely quirky (the rooms with traps, the rubee thing, the mazelike basement, the merlee game show lmao)

few platformers have boss fights that feel like genuine Combat, so that's pretty cool

i will confess that as a First Dungeon, yold ruins doesnt have half the sauce of hooktail castle--it's much more linear in layout, with far less of that zelda-y "explore & comprehend the space" principle that made ttyd's dungeons hit

in a similar vein, it's kind of crazy how tippi has like a fraction of the personality that goombella had. it's a bit sad for the character doing the vast majority of the talking to just.... not really have any opinions on anything

the momentum of the chapters likewise means very few npcs ever get to stick out. like, even the "first town crotchety old mayor" character was a total one-and-done, one dialogue and you never have a reason to speak to him again (mostly just speaks to the game structure, which is as mentioned a bold enough exercise that i feel i cant really fault it for that)

bringing up a menu to use items In A Platforming Context is not at all natural to me, so im finding myself just not really using them

this game is a masterclass in visual design imo. the npcs & enemies & pixls being made of primitives that reconfigure themselves into different shapes really elevates the interplay of 2d & 3d, the backgrounds/environments are extremely aesthetically satisfying (the Mathmosphere in lineland, the optical illusion in the sky in gloam valley, all of castle bleck), & i love how the constant "digital/tech" motif (eg the "dragging selection boxes to flip/teleport", the trees & shrubs looking like something youd make in ms paint, etc) is an ingenious progression of paper mario's core aesthetic design

dimentio is so fun

i ADOOOORE nastasia

the inter-chapter dialogue flashbacks are surprisingly earnest? for such a tongue-in-cheek game where almost every line of dialogue contains a joke of some kind, those exchanges feel humourless & sincere. that probably contributes to the Space the game occupies in all of our memories lol

likewise it was really interesting how peach's "escape" sequence after chapter 1 was (while, again, still extremely sardonic) aesthetically & narratively framed with such a sense of Hopelessness. that's not to say like "woahh this mario game is 10x darker than you thought!!!!", more that it's just not a space the series commonly ventures into

the Ancients stuff is being leaned into extremely hard lol. ttyd mostly teases at that kind of "mysterious rpg lore" thing peripherally (the riddle tower inscriptions, grifty, etc) so it's interesting how spm puts it front & centre in contrast, without ever sacrificing the sense of mystique

this game really highlights how interesting the wiimote is as a controller--pressing the A button while holding it sideways (ie removing your left thumb from the direction input to press a button) is something that i cant think of any other controller doing, & it projects onto that button a really interesting sense of, like, Valence

it's the kind of game that seems to beg for one of thsoe posts like "things that ACTUALLY HAPPEN in _____"

[skyward-current]

On Recoleta's design

Reverse 1999 2.6 spoilers for the PV and my speculations for Recoleta's narrative

As a R1999 Recoleta fictive, my friends have brought it to my attention that there's a very loud minority of fans who've spurted less than kind words about my design due to its "blandness". I feel the need to give myself some grace and share my opinions on why my outfit perfectly serves its purpose in the narrative. (Moving forward, I will refer to my source in third person.)

Recoleta's simplistic design is thematically relevant to her role in Folie et Déraison (Madness and Civilization) as an outsider venturing into Comala – the "Panopticon Beyond Reason." Unlike the prisoners, who are absorbed into the institution’s constructed logic, her vibrant color scheme marks her as a figure unassimilated by the system, which stands out in stark contrast with Aleph who embodies the prison’s ideological framework. Aleph’s name, drawn from Borges’ The Aleph, symbolizes an all-encompassing perception (The Aleph refers to a point in infinite space that contains all other points, allowing someone to see everything at once), a concept akin to the rationalist gaze that psychiatry imposed upon madness, defining and regulating it rather than seeking to understand it. Meanwhile, Recoleta’s Chinese name (虚构集) from Borges’ Ficciones, suggests an awareness of constructed realities, which mirrors Foucault’s argument that madness is a concept rewritten through history to serve power structures. The PV’s line "fiction and reality are two parts of a whole" echoes this divide – Aleph = institutional reason, while Recoleta = disruption. The visual language of the PV – spiraling distortions, shifting architecture, and fragmented perceptions – also evokes the historical experience of madness within the confines of asylums, spaces that were designed not to heal but to surveil and discipline. They need a beacon of hope and questioning to look toward, which brings me to my next point.

Recoleta’s design is also inspired from Saint Martin of Tours, particularly the imagery of him cutting his cloak to share with a beggar. It's an act of rupture – how Foucault describes moments when compassion disrupts strict reason's narrative. Similar to Saint Martin who shared his reality with the marginalized, Recoleta's role may be to introduce an alternative to the construction of madness within what Foucault describes as Great Confinement, where the mind is made a prison through discourse.

Comala is a model of discipline whose inmates internalize their subjugation, not unlike how psychiatric institutions functioned to suppress the mad rather than converse with them. But Recoleta is a writer who engages with her audience – she dons an adventurer attire as her "reality" that is shaped by "fiction" (Ficciones), whose "fiction" in turn influences "reality" (The Aleph).

We are trapped in a predetermined ending – unless, of course, someone dares to rewrite the story.

[mesetacadre]

one thing that eventually strikes you after not a lot of time exposed to them is the sheer shallowness of most liberals' reasoning. Usamerican democrats are not the only kind of liberal of course, but their incessant presence means this post is mostly based on them. Liberalism in itself isn't necessarily shallow, even if idealism is, IMO, a very limiting framework. But it is overwhelming how simplistic and even childish these people can get.

It's less that they argue with what you say but rather throw a series of phrases and simple ideas that sound related to what you said. It's uncountable the amount of times liberals' reply to posts of mine talking about electoralism and the marxist position on it (which is more nuanced than "don't vote") just boil down to "but trump", even though most times I'm not even talking about the US, or "well what else do you propose doing" and then ignore the many times I've talked about that, sometimes in the very same post they're replying to. And there is no depth here, there is no substance to take apart in the first place. What I'd consider a respectable liberal explanation on voting; civicism, the idea of representative democracy, how you have to make yourself heard, etc, do actually have some substance and an ideological background. But there is none in this case, none whatsoever. Lesser-evilism is probably the most complicated idea the common USamerican democrat will defend, but that framework only makes sense in actual dichotomies without any alternative choices, which electoralism never is. That's why they like the trolley problem so much, as well. It's an illusion of depth that falls apart as soon as it's constrated with reality.

Let's take another example, liberal opposition to revolutions. The developed liberal opposition to them goes along the lines of the violation of private property and an outright rejection of a class-based analysis of society, of course this argumentative line will vary depending on who's talking. But the vast, vast majority of usamerican democrat liberals who even engage with revolutionary ideas in the first place will not go there and instead, never thinking outside the context of the US of course, will argue nonsense and essentially just call you bloodthirsty, and parrot truisms like "at the end of the day, it will be the common people and/or minorities who suffer the most".

There are no traces of actually engaging with what the other person says, they have lodged themselves in the narrowest worldview possible and will not even let their gaze stray from it, let alone venture out of it. No intellectual curiosity, no willingness to think about other contexts than the US post-2016 and maybe Reagan's years. I can't decide if this attitude is more pathetic or pitiful. Not even expecting them to agree with me, that's their prerogative. There seems to be just no desire to ever change an opinion

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 23

Warnings: emotional angst & pain, intruder at the door, choking/hand around throat, villain nearly passing out, failed escape attempt

Villain's stomach churned with unease, but she quickly darted off into the nearest hall, retreating where she couldn't be easily seen, but she could see what was happening if she peeked around the corner.

She observed silently as Hero grabbed his handgun from a drawer in the kitchen and cautiously approached the door, glancing through the peephole.

Villain could tell by the way his body relaxed and how he set the gun down on the table that whoever was outside wasn't a threat, and it put her nerves at ease, though she still remained wary and ready to act at a moment's notice.

But all that changed in an instant. She watched on from around the corner of the hall, just out of sight. She watched as Superhero came walking through the door when Hero opened it. Why was he here?

Villain's every hair stood on end, bristling with apprehension. Superhero had been a formidable opponent she'd battled a few times in the past -- not someone to be underestimated.

"Uh, why are you at my house?" Hero asked, looking as baffled as she felt by his presence.

"You haven't been coming to work lately, and when you respond to texts your messages are short and dismissive. I was beginning to worry something had happened to you," Superhero replied, his steely gaze sweeping around the living room. "I came to do a welfare check."

His eyes landed on one of the boarded-up windows, and his lips twitched into a subtle frown. "What's that for?"

Villain saw Hero's expression briefly flicker to panic before he wrangled it under control -- and she knew he didn't have a good answer for that.

"I was trying out some new styles and frameworks," he tried weakly. "Those ones are hideous, as you can see. I'll be taking them down soon."

"Mmm," Superhero hummed absently, not sounding convinced in the least. "And the broken front door handle?"

"Got mad and accidently snapped it off. You know how superstrength works," Hero laughed nervously. "Accidents happen even to those with superpowers."

Superhero frowned, eyeing him cautiously, then strode further into the living room, Hero following close behind.

And Villain... Villain saw an opportunity. The front door was still unlocked. With Superhero keeping Hero occupied, she could slip out without being caught. Finally the chance she'd been waiting for.

It would be risky though -- the two of them were still in the main living room, chatting. She'd have to be stealthy for this to work.

Villain's heart was racing, fluttering like a trapped bird against her ribcage with excitement and trepidation in equal measures as she crept out of the safety of her hiding place around the corner -- and ventured into the open.

Superhero's back was turned to her as he talked... but Hero was facing him. And Villain was in plain sight.

She saw the subtle shift in Hero's body language that told her he'd spotted her in his peripheral vision, though he didn't dare glance at her with Superhero watching him. It would be a dead giveaway.

Villain couldn't help smiling smugly to herself. She'd put Hero in quite the difficult position -- he would witness her escaping right before his eyes, and wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop her without also alerting Superhero to her presence. And Hero -- the stupid softie -- she knew he'd never intentionally put her on Superhero’s radar.

Villain focused on keeping her footsteps light and quiet as she ghosted over the floor and reached the front door. Adrenaline surged through her, making her hands shake as she carefully grabbed the edge of the door, which had been left slightly ajar after Superhero's entrance, and slowly pulled it open.

But it creaked.

It wasn't even that loud, barely anything alarming -- but Villain didn't have time to blink before it happened. It was like a two-ton truck came plowing into her with the force of a freight train, knocking her away from the door and brutally slamming her against the wall hard enough to knock picture frames off their hangers and rattle every bone in her body.

All the breath left Villain's lungs in a huge whoosh, and she choked on nothing, trying to draw air again -- but a hand wrapped around her throat before she could, squeezing tight and clamping on her windpipe.

Villain's eyes blew huge when she found herself face-to-face with none other than Superhero, whose eyes were lit up with rage and surprise.

"Superhero! Wait! I can explain!" Out of the corner of her eye Villain saw Hero springing forward, hands outstretched like he wanted to intervene but wasn't sure whose side to take.

"It had better be a really, really good explanation," Superhero growled. "Harboring Villain here? I thought she'd disappeared years ago. How long have you been hiding her from me and Agency, hmm?"

Villain couldn't breathe, mouth gaping open as she clawed frantically at the arm pinning her to the wall. Her fingernails scratched deep enough to draw blood, but it was like Superhero couldn't even feel it.

"She's injured!" Hero blurted desperately. "Please, let her breathe! I swear she's not a threat! She can't fight!"

Villain was on the brink of passing out, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision -- but suddenly, the pressure on her throat lifted, and she sucked in a huge breath, gulping down lungfuls of air and coughing violently.

Superhero's hand was still around her neck, keeping her against the wall -- but he wasn't applying pressure anymore, though the danger was still very present.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @and-we-shake-the-iron-hand @art3m1zz @enigmawriteswhump @basica11ywhumped

[blackhistorystoryteller]

Africa has been very rich even before colonialism

The truth you should know about African

Blacks know your history and divinity

They gave us the Bible and stole our natural resources

Community and Social Cohesion: Traditional African religions often emphasized communal values, fostering a sense of belonging and mutual support within the community. Rituals and ceremonies were communal events that strengthened social ties.

Respect for Nature: Many African traditional religions were deeply connected to nature, promoting a harmonious relationship with the environment. This connection often led to sustainable practices and a respect for the natural world.

Ethical Guidelines: These religions often included moral and ethical guidelines that governed interpersonal relationships. Concepts such as honesty, hospitality, and respect for elders were commonly emphasized.

Cultural Identity: Traditional African religions played a crucial role in shaping cultural identity. They provided a framework for understanding the world, explaining origins, and passing down cultural practices through rituals, myths, and oral traditions.

Islam reached Nigeria through a combination of trade, migration, and cultural interactions. The trans-Saharan trade routes were crucial in bringing Islam to the region. Muslim traders from North Africa and the Middle East ventured into West Africa, establishing economic ties and introducing Islam to local communities.

The city-states along the trade routes, such as Kano and Katsina, became significant centers for Islamic influence. Merchants not only engaged in commercial activities but also played a role in spreading Islamic teachings. Over time, rulers and elites in these city-states embraced Islam, contributing to its gradual acceptance.

Additionally, the spread of Islam in Nigeria was facilitated by the activities of Islamic scholars and missionaries. Scholars known as clerics or Mallams played a key role in teaching Islamic principles and converting people to Islam. They often established Quranic schools and engaged in educational activities that promoted the understanding of Islamic teachings.

Military conquests also played a part in the expansion of Islam in Nigeria. Islamic empires, such as the Sokoto Caliphate in the 19th century, emerged through conquest and warfare, bringing Islam to new territories. The Sokoto Caliphate, led by Usman dan Fodio, sought to establish a strict Islamic state based on Sharia law.

Overall, the spread of Islam in Nigeria was a gradual process influenced by trade networks, migration, the activities of scholars, and, at times, military expansion. The interplay of these factors contributed to the integration of Islam into Nigerian society, shaping its cultural and religious landscape.

In the vast tapestry of Africa's rich cultural heritage, herbal traditional healing stands out as a profound and time-honored practice. African herbal traditional healers, often known as traditional or indigenous healers, play a vital role in the healthcare systems of many communities across the continent. Their practices are deeply rooted in the natural world, drawing on centuries-old wisdom and an intimate understanding of local flora.

African herbal traditional healers are custodians of ancient knowledge, passing down their expertise through generations. They serve as primary healthcare providers in many communities, addressing a wide range of physical, mental, and spiritual ailments. The healing process involves a holistic approach, considering the interconnectedness of the individual with their community and environment.

One of the hallmark features of African herbal traditional healers is their profound knowledge of medicinal plants. These healers have an intricate understanding of the properties, uses, and combinations of various herbs. Passed down through oral traditions, this knowledge is often a well-guarded family secret or shared within the apprentice-master relationship.

The methods employed by herbal traditional healers encompass diverse approaches. Herbal remedies, administered as infusions, decoctions, or ointments, form a significant part of their treatment. These remedies are carefully crafted based on the healer's understanding of the patient's symptoms, lifestyle, and spiritual condition. Additionally, rituals, ceremonies, and prayers are often incorporated into the healing process, acknowledging the interconnectedness of physical and spiritual well-being.

African herbal traditional healers frequently integrate spiritual elements into their practice. They believe that illness can be a manifestation of spiritual imbalances or disharmony. Through rituals and consultations with ancestors or spirits, healers seek to restore balance and harmony within the individual and the community.

Herbal traditional healers are integral to the social fabric of their communities. They often serve not only as healers but also as counselors, mediators, and keepers of cultural traditions. Their practices are deeply intertwined with community life, contributing to the resilience and cohesion of African societies.

While herbal traditional healing holds immense value, it faces challenges in the modern era. The encroachment of Western medicine, issues related to regulation and standardization, and the potential exploitation of traditional knowledge pose threats to this practice. However, there is also a growing recognition of the importance of integrating traditional healing into mainstream healthcare systems, leading to collaborative efforts to preserve and promote this valuable heritage.

African herbal traditional healers are bearers of an ancient legacy, embodying a profound connection between humanity and the natural world. Their healing practices, rooted in herbal wisdom and spiritual insights, offer a unique perspective on healthcare that complements modern medical approaches. Preserving and respecting the knowledge of these healers is not only crucial for the well-being of local communities but also for the broader appreciation of the diverse cultural tapestry that defines Africa.

[witchofthesouls]

TFP megop felt so doomed they were in a cycle of rage that they couldn't change let alone understand the other though they so badly want to act like they do

For real.

Those two are gay for each other because of their shared powerful vision of a better society as they were products of a stagnant, horrific society, yet neither of them had a single goddamn moment when they checked their own biases and perceptions and how it colors their relationship and interactions because they literally felt their met their spiritual half.

They were honestly attuned to each other, and that's a heedy call that rose tinted any of the odd things and strange occurrences before that doomed meeting with the High Council that blown everything to full-blown catastrophic proportions.

It's so intense because they do understand each other, but they view their friend under their own cultural frameworks, which completely annihilates any true sense of long-term commitment, cooperation, and security. That's why even in his dreams, Megatron knows Optimus wouldn't follow him, but he never understood the whys in that particular decision other than betrayal of their once shared goals. Same reason why Optimus felt he needed to stay his hand away from ending Megatron, and why Orion 'highjacked' the meeting after Megatron's demands. They essentially agree with the goals, but not their respective methods to get there. That's the grand 'betrayal' that they feel because they genuinely don't recognize that the other doesn't understand the drives and motivations of their unspoken decisions because they literally think the other mech already knows WHY they did it.

And it doesn't help that their respective friend groups are like an echo chamber of 'I really don't get what you liked about that guy.' Megatron is constantly defending Orion Pax when he takes him to his world. Orion doesn't get aggressive in his defense in Megatron, but he literally drags his own higher-caste friends (at least the ones he knows are safe) into educational ventures to show how fucking bad the lower-castes got it. In the aftermath, their friends are very much 'fucking told you so.'

These two literally managed to create and fund a movement that, for better or worse, changed Cybertron. They respectively spun a grand piece or danced the dangerous games that controlled Golden Age Cybertron in its dying glory. They were both highly charismatic forces that literally had many individuals of so many backgrounds pledged loyalty to their respective factions.

They were also two incredible stubborn individuals who didn't have the sense to really acknowledge the deep differences between them and how it led down to this path.

That's also why they work so well together and yet tear into each other in the aftermath.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 24

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To the metaphysician, things and their mental reflexes, ideas, are isolated, are to be considered one after the other and apart from each other, are objects of investigation fixed, rigid, given once for all. He thinks in absolutely irreconcilable antitheses. His communication is 'yea, yea; nay, nay'; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." For him, a thing either exists or does not exist; a thing cannot at the same time be itself and something else. Positive and negative absolutely exclude one another; cause and effect stand in a rigid antithesis, one to the other.

At first sight, this mode of thinking seems to us very luminous, because it is that of so-called sound commonsense. Only sound commonsense, respectable fellow that he is, in the homely realm of his own four walls, has very wonderful adventures directly he ventures out into the wide world of research. And the metaphysical mode of thought, justifiable and necessary as it is in a number of domains whose extent varies according to the nature of the particular object of investigation, sooner or later reaches a limit, beyond which it becomes one-sided, restricted, abstract, lost in insoluble contradictions. In the contemplation of individual things, it forgets the connection between them; in the contemplation of their existence, it forgets the beginning and end of that existence; of their repose, it forgets their motion. It cannot see the woods for the trees.

For everyday purposes, we know and can say, e.g., whether an animal is alive or not. But, upon closer inquiry, we find that his is, in many cases, a very complex question, as the jurists know very well. They have cudgelled their brains in vain to discover a rational limit beyond which the killing of the child in its mother's womb is murder. It is just as impossible to determine absolutely the moment of death, for physiology proves that death is not an instantaneous, momentary phenomenon, but a very protracted process.

In like manner, every organized being is every moment the same and not the same; every moment, it assimilates matter supplied from without, and gets rid of other matter; every moment, some cells of its body die and others build themselves anew; in a longer or shorter time, the matter of its body is completely renewed, and is replaced by other molecules of matter, so that every organized being is always itself, and yet something other than itself.

Further, we find upon closer investigation that the two poles of an antithesis, positive and negative, e.g., are as inseparable as they are opposed, and that despite all their opposition, they mutually interpenetrate. And we find, in like manner, that cause and effect are conceptions which only hold good in their application to individual cases; but as soon as we consider the individual cases in their general connection with the universe as a whole, they run into each other, and they become confounded when we contemplate that universal action and reaction in which causes and effects are eternally changing places, so that what is effect here and now will be cause there and then, and vice versa.

None of these processes and modes of thought enters into the framework of metaphysical reasoning. Dialectics, on the other hand, comprehends things and their representations, ideas, in their essential connection, concatenation, motion, origin and ending. Such processes as those mentioned above are, therefore, so many corroborations of its own method of procedure.

Nature is the proof of dialectics, and it must be said for modern science that it has furnished this proof with very rich materials increasingly daily, and thus has shown that, in the last resort, Nature works dialectically and not metaphysically; that she does not move in the eternal oneness of a perpetually recurring circle, but goes through a real historical evolution. In this connection, Darwin must be named before all others. He dealt the metaphysical conception of Nature the heaviest blow by his proof that all organic beings, plants, animals, and man himself, are the products of a process of evolution going on through millions of years. But, the naturalists, who have learned to think dialectically, are few and far between, and this conflict of the results of discovery with preconceived modes of thinking, explains the endless confusion now reigning in theoretical natural science, the despair of teachers as well as learners, of authors and readers alike.

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[thewankbankuk]

Lieutenant Commander Neal Bailey watched in horror as a forcefield materialized between him and the rest of his strike team. How the collective had managed to adapt to their saboteur efforts, he didn’t know. All Lt. Bailey knew was that the Borg had cut off his teammates’ only chance for escape.

“They must have rerouted power through to this section somehow!” Ensign Dan Korowsky exclaimed in dismay from the other side of the forcefield.

Standing next to him, Lieutenant Joe Cavalli, technician and resident Starfleet expert on the Borg, looked incredulous. “But we knocked out all the power generators routed through this section—and the regeneration nodes…” He lowered his phaser rifle and began scanning with his tricorder.

“We don’t have much time. Cavalli, can you run a bypass on this forcefield generator?” Commander Patrick Evans asked urgently. Cmdr. Evans, a decorated Starfleet Marine and the mission leader, looked around urgently for signs of pursuit. The mission had been going well—until now. Starfleet’s plan: insert a stealth team on frontier colony Ivor II, on the edge of the Klingon frontier. Objective: to determine if the Borg have destroyed the colony and its defense research facilities. Collect data, and if possible, neutralize any remaining cybernetic threat on the planet surface.

Within hours following their orbital drop, Cmdr. Evans’ team of five had successfully penetrated the former colony’s infrastructure. They found it almost completely assimilated by the Borg. Where once stood a joint human-Klingon venture in tactical cooperation, there was now instead a giant cube-shaped mass. Evans’ team penetrated the damp, humid structure, making selective use of explosives and computer overrides on entry. Now they were on their way out, having successfully downloaded data from several Borg distribution nodes. Oddly enough, at no time had they encountered any significant resistance.

“Let’s detonate it.” Ensign Mike Hunter, demolitionist and the youngest of their group, displayed his brashness yet again. But this time it seemed necessary.

“Fine…do it.” Cmdr. Evans agreed impatiently, wiping the sweat from his face. Ensign Hunter moved forward to attach photon charges around the corners of the forcefield projector frame. He had scarcely placed one charge on the floor when a whirring sound emanated from his immediate surroundings. The others heard it, but it was too late. Twin tubules, secreted within the framework of the forcefield, lanced out and plunged themselves into the young ensign’s neck, paralyzing him instantly. Ensign Hunter screamed in agony, falling to the floor. Lt. Cavalli fired at the Borg assimilation device, vaporizing it.

“Ensign!!!” Cmdr. Evans yelled in shock. Korowsky brought out his medkit and knelt beside his fallen teammate. Suddenly, klaxons sounded.

The team knew that the collective was afoot. In desperation, Bailey and Cavalli began firing at the forcefield from opposite sides. But it was no use. The Borg had awakened.

Drones materialized behind Evans and his team, and began advancing. Lt. Bailey could only watch as his teammates abandoned Ensign Hunter and began firing at the approaching Borg. One-by-one, drones fell. The team was at its best, wasting no shots. Within seconds, the Borg had adapted, but Evans’ team was prepared for this.

“Remodulate!” he ordered.

The team paused to activate their weapons controls, and resumed firing. Their weapons were effective once again, and the remaining Borg were mowed down. The complex was filled with an eerie silence. Evans, feeling relieved, turned to the still-active forcefield and the fallen Ensign Hunter beside it. The nanoprobes had done their work--the Ensign’s face had turned a pale shade of gray, and the telltale sign of Borg-colored veins and emerging implants were visible.

But before Evans could say a word, the sound of heavy metallic footsteps echoed again through the complex. The team braced itself for more drone beam-ins…but this time the Borg had a different strategy. In unison, two rows of Borg emerged from the corridor walls, forming two perfect flanks in front of the Starfleet team. They marched forward with incredible speed.

These were no ordinary Borg. Once, they had been the fittest of the humans and Klingons assigned to the base. Now, they were enhanced cybernetic warriors. Their already-impressive biological musculature had been enhanced beyond the ability of any other galactic power. These tactical drones did not carry conventional maintenance or surgical implements. Instead, they were built solely for combat assimilation. Sculpted armored plates conforming to their anatomically perfect cyborg bodies, made of Borg platinum and other enhanced synthetic alloys, moved with harmonious symmetry to their muscles. Interlocking plates across their thoracic sections provided an impenetrable barrier.

Ensign Cavalli was the closest and had the first shot. It glanced harmlessly off the Borg shielding. Cavalli remodulated, and fired again. The shot made a glancing blow off the lead Borg’s chest, leaving a cloud of plasma smoke. The rest of the team remodulated, and began firing.

But this time, the tactical drones emerged from the smoke, utterly unharmed. Their chest armor had absorbed the weapon impacts, and had in fact dispersed their energies back into their Borg power systems.

Evans watched in horror as his team’s weaponry was rendered utterly useless. Shot by shot, the Borg remained undeterred. The team switched to photon grenades. The first exploded in the center of the corridor, throwing the tactical drones to the sides. But it was not enough to destroy them. The Borg simply got back on their feet and marched forward.

The team had rehearsed what would happen if they were in a no-win situation. It was standard operating procedure for Starfleet’s elite strike forces. As the Borg drones reached within an arm’s distance, Evans dropped his weapon and reached for his belt where the emergency quantum grenade was stored. Better dead than assimilated!

“Lt. Bailey, save yourself!!” Evans ordered. On the other side of the forcefield, Bailey hesitated for a moment, then ran. The desperate but resolute look on his commander’s face was burned into his mind as he fled. Lt. Bailey ran down the corridor, and turned to see the explosion.

But it never happened…

The collective had learned all it needed. By accessing the mind of the drone formerly known as Ensign Mike Hunter, they knew the team’s plans. As Evans pulled out the quantum grenade, the prone form of Ensign Hunter suddenly came alive, and the newly assimilated Starfleet Marine charged into his former commanding officer, wrenching the device from his grip. With enhanced cybernetic strength, Hunter knocked Evans down with ease.

Before Lt. Cavalli or Ensign Korowsky had a chance to activate their self-destruct grenades, the tactical drones had surrounded them. Lt. Bailey watched from afar as they attempted to fight their way out, hand-to-hand. Their resistance was utterly futile. The Marines were knocked down, one-by-one. One drone took particular pleasure in testing his growing cybernetic strength against the humans. This newest Borg drone had gone from the archaic designation of Ensign Michael J. Hunter, Starfleet service #11283-5496 Alpha, to the efficient label of One of Five, primary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315. Resistance was utterly futile.

Ensign Korowsky found himself separated from the others. He’d been knocked unconscious in the scuffle, and now found himself attached to an assimilation table. A tall, muscular six feet and 200 lbs. of muscle, Korowsky prided himself on being able to master the machinery around him—and to use strength to win any situation. It was an attitude which had gotten him very far in the Starfleet Marines. But now his human strength was no match for the assimilation table’s restraints.

Korowsky wondered why they hadn’t assimilated him already. He felt no different, aside from a splitting headache from when the drones had struck him down. He felt no burning sensation in his bloodstream or puncture wounds on his neck or elsewhere. Korowsky realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was only waiting for the inevitable.

A soft breeze wafted through the assimilation chamber, making the Ensign’s body hair stand on end. It was then that Korowsky realized that he was completely stripped of clothing. In the incredible humidity of the Borg complex, he hadn’t noticed. Could it be that the assimilation chamber was even hotter? Around Korowsky, the cacophony of power conduits and throbbing regeneration alcoves echoed.

The walls in front of him shifted. A Borg drone approached. This tactical drone was of the same unique configuration that the team had encountered moments before they were captured. It was apparent that this particular unit had once been a very young, attractive-looking human male. He was tall, and muscular, with handsome features that were augmented by cranial tubing and implants but no ocular eyepiece. The drone had large, piercing green eyes, and his face bore the expression of a slight superior sneer. His body was covered from the neck down with thick Borg platinum armor which wrapped tightly around his bodybuilder physique. Was this one of the former colonists?

“We are the Borg. Your biological distinctiveness will adapt to service us. Resistance is Futile,” the drone intoned in a deep, synthetic voice. As the drone approached, Korowsky closed his eyes and clenched his square jaw in anticipation of the pain.

The drone reached out with one arm for Korowsky ’s crotch. Assimilation tubules shot out from his fingers, and plunged deep into the base of Korowsky’s penile shaft. The Starfleet Marine screamed in pain…

Seconds later, breathless, Korowsky opened his eyes in bewilderment. He felt a change—but it was not the assimilation that he had steeled himself for. Instead, he had felt himself get incredibly aroused. He was powerless to stop it—his cock lifted up, up into a raging erection. He was harder than he had ever been in his life. Korowsky arched his back as far as the assimilation table would allow and gasped in surprise and pleasure as his cock swelled with blood and stretched to its limit.

The assimilation table began to swivel, and brought Korowsky up to a vertical position. Then, with the drone standing behind him, the restraints released, leaving Korowsky standing with a massive erection.

“You represent a team which Starfleet selected to be on the front lines and infiltrate the Borg. Your combat skills and physical ability indicate that you are an excellent specimen of your species. Your genetic distinctiveness will become our own.”

Korowsky was unrestrained, and seemingly free to go. But the force of his erection was too much. The Ensign groaned as he felt his tool begin a change. The nanoprobes in his bloodstream were designed for assimilation, but they could also provide simply augmentation. That was exactly what Korowsky was experiencing as his testicles began to swell and grow heavy. He could feel the semen flooding through his reproductive tract at an alarming rate. He felt his body tighten up as the fluid rushed forth in a torrent up his shaft, and yet he did not ejaculate.

Instead, Korowsky stood there, his brain functions overcome with the hardness, the tension. The air around his naked body seemed electrified with sexual possibility. His whole being was collecting around his cock. It was unbearable; he felt primed to explode.

Korowsky groaned with pleasure as he felt his cock stretch even further. The cybernetic augmentations had grown his tool to massive proportions!

In the humid heat, with wave upon wave of energy seemingly directed at his mind, Korowsky felt the collective speak to him. The drone seemed to whisper…

Service the collective. Provide your biological distinctiveness to us.

The space ahead of him was dominated by a column-shaped alcove which reached through the ceiling. Korowsky felt compelled to move toward it, and he did. As he walked, his shaft began dripping pre-ejaculate; his cock was filled to bursting with cum.

When he finally stood in the alcove, his mind awash with the burning sensation of pre-orgasm, Korowsky thrust his hips forward into the orifice, which resembled a power socket. As he did, he felt a sense of relief. The regenerative Borg technology molded itself around his cock, gripping it tightly. Then, the alcove sprang to life, with power flowing through conduits and into Korowsky ’s body. The Starfleet ensign felt the sensation of a thousand fingers stroking his cock, licking it, sucking it—all synthetically, of course. He gasped, and his cock finally exploded.

Korowsky shuddered as his cock began releasing its juice into the alcove. He was in ecstasy, and it was never-ending. The alcove continued accepting his seed, and Korowsky, plugged in and nanoprobe-enhanced, kept pumping away. Sparks of electricity raced up and down the alcove and through the Marine’s body, overwhelming his senses.

As the minutes and hours passed by, Korowsky’s face assumed an expression of delightful agony, his jaw clenched in instinctive seriousness as his body shot its seed repeatedly. The torrent of cum was never-ending, as the alcove continually fed nutrients to sped up bioproduction in Korowsky’s body. As time went on, more and more nanoprobes entered Korowsky ’s system, slowly assimilating him, yet leaving his genitals enhanced but unassimilated—for now.

No human was ever made to have an interminable orgasm. But the Borg could do what evolution could not. Korowsky was the first, but certainly not the last to undergo this enhancement. As one orgasmic cycle ended, leaving the alcove full of liters of ejaculate, Korowsky gasped for breath, his hips relaxing for a moment.

Within seconds, the alcove socket clenched Korowsky’s rock-hard cock again, and he shuddered. The Starfleet marine could only grab both sides of the alcove and hold on for dear life as his permanently hard cock continued pumping away.

Behind Korowsky, the tactical drone watched impassively. But as the first Borg implants emerged on Korowsky’s skull, the drone seemed to smile. Or was it envy?

The pleasure seemed to last an eternity. But as the collective’s appetite for Korowsky’s seed was sated, it was replaced with their need to add individual distinctiveness to their hive. Organ by organ, inch by inch, the nanoprobes assimilated their way through the Marine’s body, eventually reaching his head and finally activating their assimilation programming in his cock. The last of the human personality known as Dan Korowsky faded into an orgasmic howl as Two of Five, secondary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315, was born.

Lieutenant Joe Cavalli awoke in another assimilation chamber. He was also bound, naked, to an assimilation table. Cavalli felt his heart pounding—he’d gone over this situation countless times in his years of research into the Borg collective. And yet he still did not fully understand the exact nature of the assimilation experience. After all, few eyewitness accounts existed. Nearly all who had seen the process were either dead or members of the collective themselves. Cavalli expected the same fate.

Yet he would not have expected the appearance of another tactical drone before him. Starfleet had no records of this type of drone—there was truly so much that they did not know about the collective. The drone had large, piercing green eyes, and it spoke to him in a synthetic yet masculine tone.

“You will provide your knowledge and expertise of Starfleet tactics against the collective to us.”

Before Cavalli had a chance to answer, the drone had leapt up onto the assimilation table, displaying impressive agility, and was straddling his body. Cavalli felt the incredible heat emanating from the drone’s body as it slid across his body, finding his cock. The drone looked into Cavalli’s eyes and gave a seeming half-smile, then grasped at Cavalli’s cock.

Part of the Starfleet Marine was repulsed and yet at the same time he felt strangely aroused. Perhaps it was pheromone-induced? As Cavalli pondered this fact, his mind struggled to resist the sensations but his body betrayed him. Cavalli felt his cock stiffen and almost immediately the moist warmth of the tactical drone’s mouth slipped around his cock and began sucking expertly. Cavalli felt a wave of pleasure come over him.

It was unlike any sexual experience he’d ever had. The instant his cock entered the drone’s mouth, he could hear sounds of the collective. A massive, synchronous voice filled his head. Cavalli gasped as hive mind commanded him to obey.

He struggled to break free of the control but the power of one mind was insignificant compared to the might of the collective.

"No…I…my duty is to Starfleet, the Federation…I am a Starfleet officer—

"I…will resist!!!!" This mental assimilation quickly became a war of wills, of biology versus technology.

"I will resist….my duty is to…." then Cavalli gasped as the drone released him. The withdrawal of the voice drained him greatly—it was like a narcotic. The collective was massive, powerful, dominating…Cavalli felt himself long to surrender to it.

The drone looked at Cavalli as if assessing his worth, then continued the process. He moved forward, sitting on Cavalli’s chest, and let his massive Borg cock rest on the Starfleet Marine’s face. With a firm but gentle push, Cavalli’s mouth was opened and the cybernetic shaft entered into him. The Borg cock was completely rigid, and coated with metal. Yet it was surprisingly warm.

When the cock entered Cavalli’s mouth, his whole awareness was transformed. He felt the collective in him and around him.

"I am the---I—I will resist…must resist…must----Resistance is Futile. My duty is to Star—My duty is to the collective. I am Joe Cavalli…of Borg. My designation is Three of Five, secondary processor of Unimatrix 315. I will—we will provide all tactical knowledge to the collective. This unit will service the collective."

By now, the primary programming was complete. This human would not resist any further mental extraction efforts. His mind was open and part of the collective. Before the Borg had integrated Cavalli’s biological distinctiveness into their own, they had already converted his psychological distinctiveness into the beginnings of Borg algorithms. Phase one of assimilation was complete.

Cavalli did not resist as the tactical drone impaled him with his cock, and simultaneously plunged his assimilation tubules into his neck. Phase two of assimilation had begun.

Lieutenant Commander Neal Bailey had endured a most painful two hours alone on the outskirts of the former colony. He’d witnessed all of his teammates being captured by the Borg. He could only assume that they’d been assimilated or killed. He hoped it was the latter.

The mission had failed miserably. With Lt. Cavalli’s capture and Ensign Hunter’s assimilation, all their reconnaissance data had been lost. Their remodulated weapons, which ordinary Borg couldn’t adapt to, had no effect on these new tactical drones. Now Lt. Cmdr. Bailey found himself alone.

But he just couldn’t accept the loss of his teammates. They’d been together on more missions than he could count. Each team member had saved the others on numerous occasions. Bailey owed it to each man to do everything possible to rescue them.

For the past two hours, Bailey had searched the Borg complex's walls, trying to find a way in. When the team first arrived, the colony had numerous entrances. Now every last one was sealed by a forcefield. After seemingly endless searching, the Starfleet Marine had resigned himself to returning to his exit point and resorting to tricorder scans. Meanwhile, the Borg complex stood impassively, glowing with the power of alcoves, conduits, and power systems coming online, one-by-one.

With a brief flicker, the forcefield closest to Bailey went down. The Marine stood up. Did the Borg consider the threat over? Grabbing his weapon, Bailey walked into the complex, scanning all the way.

As he entered the Borg facility, Bailey saw maintenance drones working alone or in pairs at various stations throughout. They seemed to be engaged in construction activities which served to expand the Borg facility. There was no opposition of any kind, and no Borg tactical drones to deal with. As Bailey moved deeper into the complex, retracing his steps, he found several forcefields down and not others. Scanning the layout, Bailey was confounded by the seemingly random placement of chambers and equipment. Was he being led somewhere?

Ahead, Bailey saw a Borg chamber with a series of tall columns on aligned near the walls. In the center was an assimilation table. And on it--one of his teammates. Bailey rushed forward, and saw who it was.

“Commander?” he asked breathlessly. Aside from some bruises on his face and neck, the team leader looked unscathed. Bailey leaned over the assimilation table, searching for signs of life.

The Commander’s eyes opened.

“You came…just in time,” Cmdr. Evans said.

“Sir, I’ll get you out of here!” Bailey responded, and began looking frantically for the table’s controls.

“There’s no need,” Evans replied. And Bailey froze to look at his former Commander. The bruises on his neck reformed, and the telltale signs of assimilation became visible. Evans had been assimilated just moments before. Bailey turned in horror, but Evans reached up and grabbed his neck.

“Resistance is futile, Bailey…once you’re with us, you’ll understand.”

“Never!!!” Bailey replied, turning to escape. But out of the shadows, four tactical drones emerged. One was the former Joe Cavalli, another used to be Mike Hunter, the third was once Dan Kawalsky, and the last, with piercing green eyes, he’d never seen before. Only his comrade's faces were recognizable now, behind the Borg flesh and tubules; their bodies were taller and stronger, with massive, rippling muscles and thick armor.

Resistance is Futile, the tactical drones intoned in unison, and began moving forward. Bailey lifted his rifle and opened fire at point-blank range. This time, Borg energy shielding protected the drones from any damage.

Just as the drones closed around him, Bailey saw out of the corner of his eye Cavalli’s armored suit and rifle placed on a Borg examination table. The collective had added the Marines' technological distinctiveness already…

The drones pushed Bailey to the ground and were on top of him instantly. Bailey felt the crushing weight of the massive, newly-born tactical drones as they grabbed at his body and tore off his suit. The Marine struggled in vain. Even his most violent thrashing was unable to prevent an assimilation tubule pinprick, precisely positioned at the base of his crotch. Within seconds Bailey was fully aroused. Two of Five instantly took Bailey’s tool into his mouth; Three of Five inserted his cybernetically-enhanced rod into Bailey’s mouth, and the other two drones were lifting Bailey on to the assimilation table…

Bailey surrendered to cybernetic bliss…within 55 minutes the last member of the Starfleet strike team was gone, and Five of Five, tertiary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315, was born…

Hours later, a tactical drone led five new assimilation warriors to a newly-completed regeneration chamber. There, Tactical Trimatrix 315 entered Borg alcoves for the first time. The hive was now fully satisfied. All targeted assimilation…complete.