#Business roundtable

[hale-nathan]

Trump Weird News - Dumbest Prez No. III

[plethoraworldatlas]

The powerful U.S. Chamber of Commerce sued the Federal Trade Commission on Wednesday in an effort to block the agency's widely celebrated new rule banning most noncompete clauses, pervasive contract agreements that restrict employees' ability to work for or start a competing business.

The Chamber filed its lawsuit alongside the Business Roundtable and other corporate lobbying groups in a federal court in Texas. The suit came shortly after Ryan LLC, a tax service firm, filed the first legal challenge to the FTC's rule in a separate Texas venue.

"The commission's categorical ban on virtually all non-competes amounts to a vast overhaul of the national economy," reads the Chamber's complaint against the rule, which the FTC finalized in a 3-2 vote on Tuesday.

The agency, led by Biden-appointed Commissioner Lina Khan, estimates that roughly 30 million U.S. workers are subject to a noncompete agreement, limiting their ability to start their own companies or switch jobs in pursuit of better wages and benefits.

"Noncompete clauses keep wages low, suppress new ideas, and rob the American economy of dynamism, including from the more than 8,500 new startups that would be created a year once noncompetes are banned," Khan said in a statement Tuesday. "The FTC's final rule to ban noncompetes will ensure Americans have the freedom to pursue a new job, start a new business, or bring a new idea to market."

The Chamber, the largest corporate lobbying organization in the United States, signaled its intent to sue the FTC immediately after the agency finalized its new rule on Tuesday.

"The Federal Trade Commission's decision to ban employer noncompete agreements across the economy is not only unlawful but also a blatant power grab that will undermine American businesses’ ability to remain competitive," Chamber president and CEO Suzanne Clark said in a statement following the FTC's vote.

While the organization claims to fight for the interests of businesses small and large, a Public Citizen report published earlier this year found that the majority of the Chamber's legal work supports big corporations.

The Chamber acknowledged in response to questioning from a pair of Democratic senators last year that its corporate members use noncompete clauses—though the group did not specify which members.

"Why does the U.S. Chamber of Commerce hate dynamism in the American economy, where workers are free to move to the best opportunities, and companies are free to recruit the best talent?" asked University of Massachusetts Amherst economics professor Arin Dube in response to the Chamber's pledge to sue over the FTC's rule.

According to the FTC, its ban would boost the average U.S. worker's earnings by $524 a year, increase new business formation by close to 3% annually, and lower national healthcare costs by nearly $200 billion over the next decade.

[cannabisbusinessexecutive]

Vangst: Cannabis CEOs More Optimistic Than Mainstream Counterparts

Vangst: Cannabis CEOs More Optimistic Than Mainstream Counterparts

In a just-released State of the Industry report based on its 2022 Cannabis Industry Salary Guide survey, employment platform Vangst asked industry leaders to estimate their sales, capital spending, and hiring over the next 12 months. “We then asked them to tell us how they feel about the current state of the national economy and that of the cannabis economy,” added the report authors. The results…

[sharpenote]

Last Sentence Tag

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

tagged by @uwusillygirl !

Nobody ever visits Hawkins except for ghost hunters.

tagging @sinelanguage @foxylibrarian @rogueimperator @hangon-silvergirl @astorytotellyourfriends @aicosu @lostlegendaerie @erythromanc3r

[southsouthcooperationday]

Multi-stakeholder round table 6: Domestic and international private business and finance.

6th Plenary meeting (continued) - Round table at the First Session of the Preparatory Committee for the 4th International Conference on Financing for Development, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, 22-26 July 2024.

United Nations Economic and Social Council, United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (DESA), UN Trade and Development.

Watch the Multi-stakeholder round table 6: Domestic and international private business and finance!

[sunaluv]

'IS SHE TAKEN?'

in which someone asks your man if you're single

feat: ran, gojo

RAN

the club setting was filled with more excitement tonight. don't get it twisted, any club or event hosted by the haitanis was guaranteed to be the event of the day, good vibes, hot people, and lots of money to be made. but when one of the brothers was actually present at the club? something about their aura seemed to bring out the vibes in people.

ran's hooded gaze watched adoringly at you across the club, the setting bringing nostalgia to the first time you met. ever the social butterfly you were, accepting another phone number from one of the girlfriends you made tonight. the other members of the roundtable looked at one another, wondering if the haitani brother was even present.

"no wonder you're so distracted, boss," the man next to him nudged him with his elbow, to which ran side-eyed him. "she's a looker, d'ya think she's single?"

your boyfriend appeared neutral as he let the guy ramble on about how hot you were, and what he would do to you given the chance. he missed the harsh roll of ran's eyes. if he didn't know you were spoken for, he would make sure this guy knew by the end of the night.

as if on queue, you waved bye to your new friends and started to make your way to the table. eyes followed your figure as you passed, but that was to be expected when the prettiest girl at the club walked past.

"hey, sweetheart," his soft lips pressed against the crown of your head. "you alright?"

"i'm good! a little tired though," you let out a deep sigh, melting into his arms. "these heels have been killing me..."

wordlessly, his large hands had your ankles in his lap, undoing the buckles on your heels and rubbing tender circles into the irritated skin.

he smirked at the relieved sigh that left your lips. "my buddy here has something to ask you, sweets."

the man next to you seemed to go silent since your arrival at the table, the consequences of his actions just hitting. a deep breath followed by a gulp as he wiped his damp hands against his slacks. he almost flinched when your hooded, yet dominating gaze met his own eyes, but after remembering who and where he was, he gained his composure almost as quickly as it left.

"nah 'ts nothin'," he waved his hand. "just a passing thought, is all..."

others both around the roundtable and those dancing near it tried not to make it obvious that they were watching the exchange going down. they found themselves pitying a character who would not deserve it, under different circumstances. but, as discussed, the haitani aura seems to throw things off of balance.

if he didn't want to talk, ran would do it for him. "he wants to know if your single, claims he could give you a lay better than your man could,"

your eyes left the man, instead looking over your boyfriends face in silent communication.

'you and i both know he can't'

'...i know, my love, just humor me every once in a while?'

'you're such a character sometimes, haitani'

'you love it though'

eyes darted between you, awaiting your response, thus his sentence in anticipation. he didn't know what telepathic language you were communicating in, but he was glad to not hear his fate get discussed right in front of him.

"i'm very flattered, but i have a boyfriend, sorry." your response was dry towards him, but the gaze you held with ran was anything but.

catching wind of what was about to happen, you excused yourself from the table, leaving a kiss on the corner of rans mouth, whispering a 'be good' in his ear before leaving.

whatever happened after your departure was not your business, after all.

GOJO

"hey man," a hand belonging to an unfamiliar man clasped on satorus shoulder. "do you know if the girl you came here with has a boyfriend?"

you had dragged your boyfriend to one of your friend's parties, much to his dismay. he's sworn off drinking after geto's blackmail folder started getting a bit thick, meaning there was nothing fun to do other than socialise, but he didn't want to after people flocked to him for the wrong reasons.

so now he was maybe the only sober one in this lively scene, which leads to the current events.

he spoke your name for clarity. "uhh, I'm not sure. you can go ask her if you want. ill even put in a good word for you."

has this man been a fraction more sober, he would've questioned why the blindfolded man's smile was so wide, or why he was so willing to help, but alas, this was a party and alcohol was supplied.

"thanks, dude! you're such a lifesaver."

satoru almost felt bad for the guy. he was practically buzzing whilst traversing through the sweaty bodies in search of you. he felt bad until he remembered how bored he was before this happened, he has to put himself first sometimes.

after a couple stumbles, reroutes and a rest break, they had finally found you in your angelic beauty, laughing with a group of girls he didn't know.

he thought it was quite cute how the guy seemed to become more shy at the sight of you, and satoru couldn't blame him. had he been someone more normal, he would act the same in your presence.

one of the girls caught sight of the pair by the entry and gestured you towards them. your face softened slightly at the sight of your six-foot-something boyfriend and his... friend?

"hey toru," you smiled, before looking at the other man. "who’s this?"

satoru said nothing, slapping the guy a little too harshly on the back before stepping back. the floor was his.

"hey," he breathed out, before introducing himself. "i saw you come in with your friend earlier, and just wanted to know if you were seeing anyone?"

your heart rate picked up, but not for the reason the guy was hoping. why was gojo like this? did he enjoy seeing you suffer?

he obviously did as when you looked over your shoulder to the said man, he gave you a big, encouraging grin with both thumbs up. the audacity.

he had thrown you to the wolves and left you to fend for yourself.

"uhm..." you breathed, trying not to shatter the poor guy's heart. "i have a boyfriend, unfortunately. sorry."

"what do you mean, unfortunately!" satoru mocked you from behind the guy. "I'm a total catch, right?" he turned to the guy. "right??"

though delayed, the guy had finally come to the realisation he had been punked by the man who egged him on the whole time. his face burst into a deep shade of red, apologising profusely before rushing back into the crowd.

"you're such an ass, gojo."

"the last name huh?" he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm in for it arent i?"

[pathologicalreid]

Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

[darksouls2-gendercoffin]

I know it comes with the territory in Souls games, but I always get a little wistful and sad when I reach Altus Plateau and the Roundtable Hold starts to empty out. depending on how you handle things with Diallos he’s in and out of the hold a couple times, and Ensha doesn’t tend to last much longer once the player’s reached western Liurnia, but Corhyn can just… leave. admittedly this prompts an interesting quest line with important lore, but realizing Corhyn can get up and leave and then (depending on quest timing) realizing Rogier died in his sleep while you were away, seeing Fia goad D into making a move and then leaving the Hold after dealing with him, it’s just…sad.

the Dung-Eater arriving initially got me hoping that a few more people would gradually trickle in but that’s not the case, and by the end of the game it’s just you, Hewg, and Roderika alone in an area that once felt if not crowded at least comfortably busy. there were people living here, there were rooms conspicuous for their emptiness rather than that being the norm.

the Hold always feels a little bit like a once-bustling space that’s long since been emptied, but when you first get there there’s this slightly hopeful atmosphere of those glory days possibly returning as you and your new comrades supposedly work toward the same task. that’s the point, obviously, but it’s still sad to see it die—to see this former communal space where (it’s fun to imagine) these brave and stalwart people gathered to discuss their journeys, trade resources or help each other out, and confer over battle strategy, become desolate and lonely again.

the Hold is a place full of potential, and it really cultivates a ‘wow, I wish I could’ve seen this place when it was full of champions working together’ sort of feeling’. it feels like it’s part of a history of chivalric romance and epic quests, and seeing it reduced to a burning empty husk only underlines how far it’s fallen. I really love it there. it’s silly, but I wish we got to see it when it was at the height of its usage back in the Tarnished’s heyday.

[sarkos]

The City regulator has warned UK banks over denying accounts for sex workers, after hearing that a lack of access to business banking could lead to “significant harm” for individuals. The Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) said that while banks said they were able to provide accounts for the adult entertainment industry in theory, they were often denying or shutting down business accounts in practice. Lenders often closed accounts on the basis of financial crime or reputational grounds, the watchdog said. That is despite sex work being legal in the UK apart from Northern Ireland, where it is illegal to pay for sex. A recent FCA roundtable meeting revealed serious concerns about a lack of access to financial services for individuals across the adult entertainment industry, which covers stripping, pornography, escort and dominatrix work and “full sexual service”, more commonly referred to as prostitution

Banks warned over denying sex workers business accounts | Financial Conduct Authority | The Guardian

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

[ssahotchnerr]

But sharing your lunch with Aaron when you notice he didn't bring/forgot his own 🥺

for you

🥺 is right — cw; mentions of food, mutual pining <3

your eyes felt heavy and strained from the heaps of paperwork you had riffled through.

a congressional oversight meeting was to happen in two day's time, which was rather inconvenient to the whole of you. the bureau had bumped the date up, and doing so only added to the bau's already extensive workload- it wasn't like you were busy or anything. case assessments were urgently needed, and the amount of reports required were far from minimal.

however, the current company of the team had made the tedious task manageable. rather than working at each of your respected desks, you all had opted to work in the roundtable room- this allowed you to collaboratively work together, insight could be easily thrown around, and just simple conversations flowed amongst yourselves.

and when lunch hour hit, the small break was more than welcomed.

everyone had retrieved their lunches- like you, spencer had brought a sandwich, derek was sporting a bowl of all protein, penelope had one of her vegetarian extravaganzas, to name a few.

aaron was seated at your right, and the only thing within his reach was the lukewarm cup of coffee he had poured hours ago. from his lack of initiative to grab a lunch while the rest of you did, it was clear he hadn't brought anything.

on your end, a second thought wasn't required.

and hopefully, he favored peanut butter and jelly.

you took half your sandwich, thankful you had taken the few extra seconds to slice it down the middle that morning, despite rushing to get out the door. usually, you simply packed it in a ziploc bag and called it a day.

you then grasped onto a singular napkin from the stack in the middle of the table, laid it down and placed the half on top, before lightly pushing it towards aaron.

your action went silently, almost discretely, to the other's awareness. but aaron's eyes flicked in your direction at the small intrusion, his pen stalling as he made instant note of your offering.

you refrained your eyes from meeting his, joining back into the table's conversation. you hadn't wanted to make a scene, nor embarrass him. it didn't take long for your worries to dissolve; from your peripheral vision, you saw the corner of his mouth twitch into something that almost mimicked a smile.

one of these days, you thought, you'd get him to smile with no restrictions.

and aaron couldn't deny the warmth that flooded his chest at your intention, as familiar as it was. you never, not once, failed to look after him, to help him, or to notice things in his regard that slipped past others. your pure kindness had always been overwhelming, and it healed parts of him he thought would always stay wounded.

aaron's hand crept on top of yours, pulling your full attention to him and only him. his touch lingered for a mere second, his index finger gently tapping twice on the top of your hand before pulling away.

thank you.

[boom-bada-boom]

how many sorcerers can there really be in the court of camelot, after all?

each knight of the roundtable thinks they have magic. after all, why else could there be so many odd, lucky coincidences that benefit them—fallen branches, tripped soldiers, defeated magical beasts when only magic is supposed to be able to kill them. and what do they really know of magic? it could be them causing it. it must be them causing it. after all, they’d trust that the others (probably) wouldn’t keep such a secret from the rest.

(lancelot, who knows the truth, wonders why suddenly all of his brothers-in-arms have gotten cagey with each other, acting like each of them had suddenly gained a deadly secret they needed to keep from the rest. that they were all so wrapped up in hiding themselves they didnt notice everyone else doing the same, nor how blatantly obvious each of them actually was. honestly, merlin was more subtle, and he was about as sneaky as a rampaging horse-drawn cart.)

merlin, to lance: hey d’you know why everyones been acting weird lately?

lance: nope. i was hoping you would, to be honest. considering your habit of being incapable of staying out of everyones business.

merlin: hmmm….

(meanwhile, all the other knights in the background, to themselves: holy fucking shit. oh my fucking god. i have magic. i have magic. im a fucking sorcerer. holy shit. what the fuck. what do i do.)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How America's oligarchs lull us with the be-your-own-boss fairy tale

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#sell-job

Capitalism is a vibes-based system. Sure, we all know about Keynes's "Animal Spirits" that see "bulls" and "bears" vying to set the market's future, but beyond that, there's just a hell of a lot of narrative.

Writing for The American Prospect, Adam M Lowenstein reviews two books that tell the histories of the stories that are used to sell American capitalism to the American people – the stories that turn workers into "temporarily embarrassed millionaires":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2024-02-16-stories-corporations-tell-williams-waterhouse-review/

The first of these books is Taming the Octopus: The Long Battle for the Soul of the Corporation, by Kyle Edward Williams, a kind of pre-history of "woke capitalism":

https://wwnorton.com/books/9780393867237

Taming is a history of the low-water marks for Big Business's reputation in America, and how each was overcome through PR campaigns that declared a turning point in which business leaders would pursue the common good, even at the expense of their shareholders' interests.

The story starts in the 1950s, when DuPont and other massive firms had gained a well-deserved reputation as rapacious profit-generation machines that "alienated workers and pushed around small businessmen, investors, and consumers." This prompted DuPont's PR chief, Harold Brayman, to write a memo called "The Attack on Bigness," where he set out a plan to sell America on a new cuddly image for corporate giants.

For Brayman, the problem was that corporate execs were too shy about telling their social inferiors about all the good that businesses did for them: "The businessman is normally reluctant to talk out loud. He frequently shuns the spotlight and is content with plugging his wares, not himself."

This was the starting gun for a charm offensive by American big business that included IBM president Thomas Watson Jr ("I think there is a world market for about five computers") going on a speaking tour organized by McKinsey & Co, where he told audiences that his company's billion dollar annual profits had convinced it to assume "responsibilities for the broader public welfare."

This set the template for a nationwide mania of "business statesmanship" that Fortune celebrated with an editorial announcing "a great transformation, of which the world as a whole is as yet unaware" that put the "profit motive…on its last leg."

Fortune then spent the next seventy years recycling this announcement, every time the tide went out on business's popularity. In 2019, Fortune platformed IBM president Ginni Rometty for an announcement that the company was orienting its priorities to the public good: "It’s a question of whether society trusts you or not. We need society to accept what it is that we do."

The occasion for Rometty's quote was a special package on the Trump tax-cuts, a trillion-dollar gift to American big business, which lobbyists for the Business Roundtable celebrated with an announcement that American capitalism would now serve "stakeholders" (not just shareholders). Fortune celebrated this "change" as "fundamental and profound."

Fast forward five years and corporate leaders are still telling stories, this time about "stakeholder capitalism" and "ESG" – the dread "woke capitalism" that has right-wing swivel-eyed loons running around, hair afire, declaring the end of capitalism.

For Williams and Lowenstein (and me), all this ESG, DEI, and responsible capitalism is just window dressing, a distraction to keep the pitchforks and torches in people's closets, and to keep the guillotines in their packaging. The right-wing is doing a mirror-world version of liberals who freak out when OpenAI claims to have built a machine that will pauperize every worker – assuming that a PR pitch is the gospel truth, and then repeating it in criticism. Criti-hype, in other words:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Think of ESG: the right is freaking out that ESG is harming shareholders by leaving hydrocarbons in the ground to appease climate-addled greenies. The reality is that ESG is barely disguised greenwashing, and it's fully compatible with burning every critter that died in the Mesozoic, Cenozoic, and lo, even the Paleozoic:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/15/sanctions-financing/#profiteers

The reason this tactic is so successful is that Americans have also been sold another narrative: that American problems are solved by American individuals as entrepreneurs and businesspeople, not as polities or as members of a union (let alone the working class!).

This is the subject of the second book Lowenstein reviews, One Day I’ll Work for Myself: The Dream and Delusion That Conquered America, by Benjamin Waterhouse:

https://wwnorton.com/books/one-day-ill-work-for-myself/

A keystone of American narrative capitalism is the idea that the USA is a nation of small businesspeople, Jeffersonian yeoman farmsteaders of the US economy. But even a cursory examination shows that the country is ruled – economically and politically – by very large firms.

Uber sells itself as a way to be your own boss ("No shifts. No boss. No limits.") – even though it's a system where the app is your boss, and thanks to that layer of misdirection, Uber gets to be the worst conceivable boss, while its workers have no recourse in labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

In labor fights, Uber represents itself as the champion of innumerable "small businesspeople" who drive its unlicensed taxis. In consumer protection fights, Amazon claims to be fighting for "small businesspeople" who sell on its platform. In privacy fights, Facebook claims to represent "small businesspeople" who buy its surveillance advertising.

But large firms are actively hostile to small firms, seeing them as small-fry to be rooked or destroyed (recall that when Amazon targeted small publishers for bankruptcy-level discounts, they called the program "The Gazelle Project" and Bezos told his executives to tackle these firms "the way a cheetah pursues a sickly gazelle").

Decades of this tale have produced "a profound shift from a shared belief that individuals might come together to solve problems, into a collective faith in individual effort." America's long love-affair with rugged individualism was weaponized in the 1970s by corporations seeking to shed their regulatory obligation to workers, customers, and the environment.

As with Big Tech today, the big business lobby held up mom-and-pop businesses as the true beneficiaries of deregulation, even as they knifed these firms. A telling anecdote comes from someone who worked for the Chamber of Commerce's magazine Nation's Business: when this editor pointed out that many of the magazine's subscribers were small businesspeople and asked if they could start including articles relevant to mom-and-pops, the editor in chief said, "Over my dead body."

The neoliberal era has been an unbroken string of platitudes celebrating the small business and policies that annihilate their chances against large firms. Ronald Reagan's dewy-eyed hymns to American entrepreneurship sounded nice, but what matters is that he attempted to abolish the Small Business Administration and refused to address the 20,000 attendee "White House Conference on Small Business."

In the years since, American has sacrificed its small businesses while pulling out all the stops – bailouts and tax cuts and elite bankruptcy – to keep its largest firms growing. New regulations like Dodd-Frank were neutered in the name of saving mom-and-pop shops, even though the provisions that were cut already exempted small businesses.

Today, millions of Americans are treading water in a fetid stew of LLC-poisoning, rise-and-grind, multi-level-marketing, dropshipping and gig-work, convinced that the only way to get a better life is to pull themselves up by their bootstraps:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/

Narrative does a lot of work here. The American economy runs on bubbles, another form of narrative capitalism. Take AI, a subject I sincerely wish I could stop hearing about, not least because I'm certain that 99% of that thinking is being wasted on whatever residue remains after the bubble pops:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

AI isn't going to do your job, but its narrative may convince your boss to fire you and replace you with a bot that can't do your job. Like what happened when Air Canada hired a chatbot to answer customer inquiries and it started making shit up about bereavement discounts that the company later claimed it didn't have to honor:

https://bc.ctvnews.ca/air-canada-s-chatbot-gave-a-b-c-man-the-wrong-information-now-the-airline-has-to-pay-for-the-mistake-1.6769454

This story's been all over the news for the past couple of days, but so far as I've seen, no one has pointed out the seemingly obvious inference that this chatbot probably ripped off lots of people. The victim here was extraordinarily persistent, chasing a refund for 10 weeks and then going to the regulator. This guy is a six-sigma self-advocate – which implies a whole bell-curve's worth of comparatively normal people who just ate the shit-sandwich Air Canada fed them.

The reason AI is a winning proposition for Air Canada isn't that it can do a customer service rep's job – it can't. But the AI is a layer of indirection – like the app that is the true boss of Uber drivers – that lets Air Canada demoralize the customers it steals from into walking away from their losses.

Nevertheless, the narrative that AI Will Change Everything Forever is powerful – more powerful than AI itself, that's for sure. Take this Bloomberg headline: "Nearly all wealth gained by world's rich this year comes from AI":

https://www.business-standard.com/world-news/nearly-all-wealth-gained-by-world-s-rich-this-year-comes-from-ai-124021600006_1.html

Dig in and you find even more narrative. The single largest beneficiary of AI stock gains last year was Mark Zuckerberg ($161B!). Zuck is American Narrative Capitalism's greatest practitioner: the guy who made billions peddling a series of lies, from "pivot to video" to "metaverse," leaping from one lie to the next just ahead of the mass stock-selloffs that wiped out lesser predators.

The Narrative Capitalism Cinematic Universe has a lot of side-plots like AI and entrepreneurship and woke capitalism, but its main narrative arc was articulated, ad nauseum, by Margaret Thatcher: "There is no alternative." This is the most important part of the story, the part that says it literally can't be otherwise. The only way to organize society is through markets, and the only way to organize markets is to leave them alone, no matter how much suffering they cause.

This is a baffling story, because it's so easily disproved. Zuck says the only way to have friends is to let him surveil you from asshole to appetite, even though he once ran Facebook as the privacy-forward alternative to MySpace, and promised never to spy on you:

https://lawcat.berkeley.edu/record/1128876

Likewise, the business leaders – and their chorus of dutiful Renfields – who insist that monopoly is the natural and inevitable outcome of any market economy just handwave away the decades during which anti-monopoly enforcement actually kept most businesses from getting too big to fail and too big to jail.

I'm no champion of market efficiency – especially not as the best and final arbiter of social and economic questions – but when I hear my comrades repeating the Thatcherite claims that all forms of capitalism necessarily degrade into monopolistic quagmires, that there is no alternative, it sounds like more criti-hype.

This is a frequent point of departure during discussions of enshittification: some people dismiss the whole idea of enshittification as "just capitalism." But we had decades of digital services that either didn't degrade, or, when they did, were replaced by superior competitors with a minimum of switching costs for users who migrated from the decaying incumbent to greener pastures.

The reality is that while there are problems with all forms of capitalism, there are different kinds of capitalist problems, and some forms of capitalism are less harmful to working people and more capable of enacting and enforcing sound policy than others.

Enshittification is what happens when the constraints on the worst impulses of companies and their investors and managers are removed. When a company doesn't have competitors, when it can capture its regulators to trample our rights with impunity, when it can enlist those regulators to shut down would-be competitors who might free us from its "walled garden," and when it can fire any worker who refuses to enact harm upon the users they serve, then that company will enshittify:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

A company can be made to treat you well, even if it is run by a wicked person who sees you as a mark to be fleeced – that mustache twirler just has to be constrained – by competition, regulation, self-help and labor. He may still hate you and wish you harm, but he won't be able to act on it.

As MLK said:

It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, religion and education will have to do that, but it can restrain him from lynching me. And I think that's pretty important also. And so that while legislation may not change the hearts of men, it does change the habits of men. And we see this every day.

[simply-ivanka]

The Harris Plan to Lower Your Wages

The Vice President wants to raise the corporate tax rate from 21% to 28%, which will ultimately be paid by workers.

By The Editorial Board

Wall Street Journal

The Democratic team that brought you declining real wages is now threatening to lower your pay again. That’s the practical effect of Kamala Harris’s idea to raise the U.S. corporate tax rate to 28%, and it’s instructive that an anti-growth tax increase is one of the Vice President’s few distinctive policy priorities so far.

Ms. Harris’s endorsement Monday of a 28% rate, up from the current 21%, signs onto what President Biden has been proposing. A Harris campaign spokesperson told the press the idea is “a fiscally responsible way to put money back in the pockets of working people and ensure billionaires and big corporations pay their fair share.”

That statement wouldn’t survive a polygraph on the economics. President Trump and Congressional Republicans in 2017 lowered the corporate rate from 35%, which was among the highest in the world at the time.

U.S. companies during the Obama Administration often moved their headquarters to lower tax climes such as Ireland to avoid the high U.S. tax rate that made them less globally competitive. The Business Roundtable estimates that some $2.5 trillion in income earned abroad returned to the U.S. as a result of Mr. Trump’s 2017 reform.

Ms. Harris pitches her 28% rate as merely punishing big companies, but economists of all stripes agree that U.S. workers pay for higher corporate taxes in lower wages. The corporate rate cut contributed to the strong pre-Covid U.S. economy in 2018 and 2019 with growing wages that many voters say they miss.

The current U.S. corporate rate is above 25% when state corporate taxes are included, and the Harris increase would again make the U.S. a world outlier at above 30%. The OECD statutory average is a little north of 23%, and the European Union’s is lower at roughly 21%, according to the Tax Foundation. The average in Asia? About 19%.

The next President will put his or her mark on America’s global competitiveness when many of the 2017 tax cuts expire in 2025, and on this score voters are getting a clear choice. Mr. Trump has suggested lowering the corporate rate to 15%. He can make this part of a larger theme of faster growth and rising incomes if he explains to voters what Ms. Harris’s tax increase means for average workers.

[wack-flounder]

More for the roundtable AU you posted(please and thank you I understand if you are very busy)??? Satyr Rogier is everything.

You’re in luck Anon 🫵 (+ bonus Diallos because I saw some of you clowning on him in the reblogs, thank you for the laughs. And a Rogier for you anon, glad you like the AU!)

[some-triangles]

Now that everyone's a little less raw it looks like the Takes are rolling in, so I might as well add mine.

The thing that frustrates me is that everybody knows that the democratic party is a bought and paid for centrism machine, but we forget this every time an election rolls around. It's been the most important election of my lifetime, where we have to set aside petty concerns like the social safety net or not slaughtering people in the middle east in order to vote for the lesser of two evils, for the last 20 years. It is a reflection on how eagerly human beings will divide themselves into factions that this continues to work.

I want you to reflect on that moment of enthusiasm the left collectively had when Harris came on board (do you remember when Walz made that joke about Vance fucking a couch? Good times.) Do you ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

There is a very obvious lesson to be learned from Trump's win here, but it will go aggressively unlearned, because it is not in the interests of the media or the political classes to learn it. The CNN roundtable on how Harris lost because she wasn't pro-Israel enough went out yesterday. Consider how much money is spent on a presidential election in this country - even the nicest, most liberal lobbyists, lawyers, "journalists", consultants and associated professionals have mortgages to pay and mouths to feed.

All I want at this point is a little honesty from the "in my america" lawn sign brigade, a little reflection. All I want is for the next time the democratic party comes around asking for your money, your energy, your attention- just think a little bit about what you've bought from them so far. Think about the current state of the healthcare system, think about who profits from it, think about how much you still spend on insurance and on top of insurance. Think about how the rich get richer under both parties. Think about how this election was decided when business decided they could accept Trump and the democrats were left holding the principles they'd been trying to sell, outbid for them. Tear up the fundraising letters, and on top of that, tear up your medical bills. Kick the sunk cost fallacy out of your brain and admit that this isn't working. I'm not asking you to take the next step, to think about why a message founded on white supremacy and american exceptionalism is so persuasive to so many of us, or why every single person in a position of real power is lying about a genocide that we can see happening on our phones. Just think about where your money has gone and whether there's been a return on your investment.

For those of you who already know what I'm talking about, the story is the same as it ever was. Due to inflation the 20 bucks of mutual aid we pass around should probably be updated to 50, and we should probably find some way of passing it that doesn't involve Peter Thiel, but other than that, business as usual.