#End Child Poverty
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Cheltenham Town 2023-24 Community Third Kit Unveiled
Football kit news from League One as the new Cheltenham Town 2023-24 Child Poverty third kit made by Errea has been unveiled. Cheltenham Town 2023-24 Community Third Kit The club let supporters under 14 submit designs for the new community third kit, with hundreds of entries from nearly 60 schools six year old Ruby Barnes from Warden Hill Primary School had her design chosen by manager DarrellâŠ
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Mind blowing that this even needs to be said but
Neat run down of all the ways we're poorer now than in 2010. In case you come across anyone honestly asking 'are we more well off after 14 years of tory rule' no. You aren't. Even a little bit.
We analyse a key point of contention in the general election campaign: the governmentâs record on pay, housing, energy and food bills
It is a simple question â and it will be at the heart of the general election campaign. After 14 years of Conservative government, people are asking: am I any better off?
The answer for most people is â no, you are not better off.
#and no. it was not inevitable#the global financial crisis was inevitable#our government utterly failing to manage that so we went from one to the other was not#we were on track to end child poverty in the UK. look where we are now#that anyone asks this while so many are going hungry is actually a spit in the face#uk politics
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the thing i love about bill cipher is that even after i've learned all of this stuff about him, seen him at the most vulnerable he'll ever get, seen him at his most innocent, i still can't give a flying fuck about trying to justify his actions. yes he's traumatized, yes he was twisted into what we know today, and while it gives a semblance of context to why he did what he did, it doesn't matter. he still ruined ford's life. he still drove and baited multiple humans to suicide. he still tormented every human he saw as his ticket out of the consequences of his own actions. he still took delight in his actions. he was willing to commit genocide for fuck's sake!!! (freezing all of the humans into statues). trying to explain away what he did does not get rid of what he did, but it certainly puts it in perspective. you won't be catching me being a bill apologist any time soon <3
#gravity falls#bill cipher#the book of bill#pleaseeee dont kill me guys#also if anyone tries to twist this and apply it to ford i WILL be setting myself on fire#because like. i've seen many people hate on him because of what he did objectively#but the difference between ford and bill is that ford did not LIKE it. let me break down things ford has done @ stan that ppl dont like:#1: he was the favorite child hands down (not ford's fault. he was a kid. he was shoved into the role by his father)#2: considering leaving stan behind for west coast tec (which we dont even know was his intention. what if he wanted to bring stan with him?#what if he was going to ultimately turn the offer down? what if he went and still kept touch anyway? speaking as a guy who grew up#gifted in a poor neighborhood; college is your TICKET outta there. you'd do anything to do so--BACK ON TRACK)#3: didnt defend stan when he was being kicked out (he thought stan sabotaged his and his fams ticket out of poverty. of COURSE he's pissed!#also he was 17. of COURSE in the moment he wasnt going to take his scrawy ass and stand up to his 6'6 abusive ass of a father. would YOU?#4: told stan to take the journal (ford was on the brink of death and insanity. all he had left was STAN to trust. it also wasnt him saying#to have stan stay away from him forever--it was just to take the JOURNAL somewhere. he NEVER said he COULDNT come back!#do you REALLy think that FORD could have explained all that properly when he has beeen TORTURED FOR WEEKS ON END? I DIDNT THINK SO!#anyways. the point is that everything the fandom uses to villanize ford is in fact a result of circumstances outside of his control#and while you can argue that bill is the same; compare the damage they have done. consider how their trauma impacted them as people.#think about how bill took his trauma out on everyone around him. about how even now he still feels no remorse in that prison.#think about how ford tried to FIX his mistakes. think about how he is human; how he acted in spite of his misery#think about what that fucking triangle did to that six-fingered old man.#....okay! that was a lot. lets hope no one sees this!!
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Harry would hate Walter and that is a fact
#Harry is a child of poverty and grew up with Uma#a black girl#he would fucking detest walt who is classist and doesnt care his butler is racist#meaning he doesnt see anything wrong with Fields being a complete asshole to Evie/the staff#Walter is like passivly racist up until the end#passively#anyways#Harry would kick his ass so fucking fast#they would not get along#my version(s) of walter are very different from the type in canon cuz-that version-when his actual self is revealed#is not appealing#he wouldnt be able to handle the girlboss queen herself Uma~~~
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âThereâs enough on this planet for everyoneâs needs but not for everyoneâs greed.â â Mahatma Gandhi
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because jason dohring doesn't use social media ever. jason doesn't know how to use twitter or even instagram. his twitter is handled by his agent
ah, true, still i find it strange, the account liking random stuff like that.
#like JD can be as inactive as he wants to be#i won't force him to be super active on social media but like#his twitter randomly likes concerning stuff i feel#and if it was his agent liking that post. maybe they should learn to be a bit better at handling the accounts they have access to#incase they like something very very very weird#because based on what i know about conservatives. they are all massive freaks#it all starts with being anti-whatever the current most unconventional thing is#whether it's poc or lgbtq+ people or disabled people#then they will start talking about how it's to save the kids but then they don't give a single shit about kids in actual danger#because the kids in Gaza? the kids in Congo? kids living in poverty? they don't care about them#but if it makes them look like heroes. they will pretend to care for an unborn child that won't have a good life if their would-be parents#were forced to have a kid. like you aren't gonna have a good life if your parents don't want kids. i can guarantee you that#but conservatives don't care. they just like knowing they're still privileged#soooo i might recheck JD's likes in a few days and if there's weird stuff#like pro-life bs or âtrans women aren't real womenâ or âend wokeness. white people aren't represented anymoreâ#then i know the agent is a weird conservative fuckface#and if the agent likes weird stuff on Jason's account. it could look like Jason is a weird fuck who for example supports fascism#and if i was Jason. I wouldn't like people thinking that I'm some fascist because of something my agent liked#but that's just me
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If we are a democracy, why is there no legal right to food?
According to the Right to Food campaign, "two million Londoners â 400,000 children and a quarter of pensioners - already canât afford sufficient food. We now face terrifying fuel costs and levels of debt." Right to Food are also organizing protests this weekend.
"In 2020/21, around 421,000 Londoners relied on the good work of volunteers at food banks, charities, faith groups and other community groups for food. Record numbers of people live in poverty after years of austerity cuts and stagnating wages and benefits."
Just yesterday, the Morning Star reported how "79% of school staff are now helping students with dinner money", as "soaring levels of child poverty have led to nearly four in five school staff helping pupils with dinner money, sparking renewed calls by unions and charities for universal free school meals."
Did you know that Ian Byrne, the MP for Liverpool West Derby is leading a Right To Food Campaign in Parliament, to make access to food a legal right for all? Along with campaigners, Ian Byrne is wanting to have the âRight to Foodâ enshrined in law and to end the scandal of hunger and foodbanks once and for all.
As Sarah Woolley explained for the Bakers, Food and Allied Workers Union; "The signs of deepening hardship can be seen in every part of the UK, with longer and longer queues at foodbanks and baby formula under lock and key in supermarkets. Almost 1 in 5 (18%) households in the UK are now experiencing food insecurity and more than half a million children fell below the poverty line in the last year."
#manchester#london#liverpool#hussein al-alak#scotland#uk#end poverty#poverty#houses of parliament#ian byrne mp#West Derby#Right to food#food security#child welfare#food banks#child poverty#usa#campaign
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365 days since the war in Gazađ”đž
One Year After the War in Gaza: A Never-Ending Nightmare
It has now been a year since the war on Gaza began, and yet the suffering continues. The people of Gaza are trapped in a relentless cycle of devastation, poverty, and despair. Homes, schools, and hospitals have been reduced to rubble. Families who once had a future now struggle to survive each day in unimaginable conditions. The lack of clean water, food, and electricity has turned daily life into a constant fight for survival.
The health system is on the verge of collapse, with few resources left to care for the countless injured and ill. Children, who should be growing up in safety, instead bear the scars of warâphysically and emotionally. They go to sleep hungry and wake up to the sounds of bombs, if they can sleep at all.
My husband and I have lost many important people to us đđđđ
I am Kareman Dohan, a Palestinian mother and educator. Before the war, I taught young children, hoping to shape a better future for them. But that future was destroyed when my school was bombed, and I lost my job. My husband, Ayman Alwan, was a fisherman, but our boatâthe only source of income we hadâwas shattered and lost to the sea.
The most heartbreaking part of our struggle is watching our son, Hamoud, suffer. He is just 17 months old, and due to the lack of food and access to clean water, he is now malnourished. No parent should have to witness their child in pain, hungry, and helpless. Every day feels like a fight for survival, with bombs constantly raining down on us. We live in fear, knowing that at any moment, our lives could end.
All we want is to escape this nightmare, to find a safe place where we can start over, but we simply do not have the means to do so. My son needs urgent care, proper nutrition, and a future where he can grow without the shadow of war hanging over him. We are trying with all our might, but the burden has become too heavy to carry alone.
I am pleading for your help, for your compassion, for your generosity. Any donation, any act of kindness, can give my family the hope we so desperately need. Your support could save us from despair, and we will be forever grateful.
Donate and share
Donation Link đ
#palestine#free gaza#barbie#rwby#succession#ted lasso#the owl house#gaza#wally darling#free palestine#jews for palestine#donate
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barbados is a mindset
âYes. You are now in Barbados. And so⊠you see Barbados, and you see America from Barbados, and you can smell the tropical land of Barbados, see only the little homes of Barbados, and thatâs all you do. You just simply sleep this night in Barbados.â - Abdullah tells Neville.
Before Neville Goddard knew of the law and practiced it, his country was plunged in a state of instability. Poverty runs rampant as the global stock market crashes, sparking panic and leaving many penniless. Neville explained the vivid details of homeless people scattered all over tunnels and city square, eyes void of hope for the future. He was unemployed just like millions of others, his career as a dancer wasnât enough to support his living. Neville lived in a basement for years with little to no income until one day, he met his friend, Abdullah.Â
Abdullah was well-off and is the son of the US secretary of the Treasury, who served under the 32nd president. The differences between them were large and Neville was aware of it. He confided in his friend and told him that he has this haunting desire to visit Barbados again. The only thing that was stopping Neville though, was the lack of money. In which Abdullah says,Â
âYou are in Barbados.â
Of course, Neville thought he was nuts but the man decided to try and assume that he was in Barbados. That night, he went to sleep thinking that he would wake up in Barbados, only to be disappointed that he woke up in the cold basement he called his home. Neville would come back and tell Abdullah that it didnât work, only for the latter to ignore him. Despite that Neville kept persisting and on the morning of December, he got a letter from his older brother asking him to visit his family in Barbados â his brother had paid a third class ticket. Excited, Neville told Abdullah that he is going to Barbados however, his friend was unimpressed. Abdullah told Neville that he wasnât boarding a third class ticket, he was going to go there with a first class ticket.Â
And guess what? When Neville gave his ticket to the clerk by the desk as theyâre checking in passengers, they told him that someone canceled their first class ticket, therefore a spot was available for him.Â
Abdullah ignored Neville when he said âit didnât workâ because it did work, if Neville was assuming that he was in Barbados, they wouldnât be having this discussion about him not being there. What can you take from this story? I would say that unfortunate circumstances don't matter, especially when we see how bad and dire Nevilleâs financial situation was. Come on, he was in a country torn apart by war and poverty, yet he was still able to visit Barbados. Neville didnât think of how heâd get there, he just simply assumed that he was there, and his 3D reality follows right after.Â
Barbados is a mindset. If you can imagine yourself having it and then accept that it is yours, youâre at the end. Your assumption is the fetus, continue nourishing it with beliefs and affirmations â let that child grow and become. If you drop your assumption that basically means youâre neglecting the fetus, and it will eventually die from starvation.Â
It doesn't matter if you have no money, it doesn't matter if you're in an abusive situation, it doesn't matter that you barely have a roof over your head. You are already in Barbados, tune into your inner man and bask in that.
EDIT: My apologies for getting the information mixed up. Abdullah is not the son of US secretary, rather he lived in a house that was rented by the latter. Sorry for the confusion!
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4.2m children are living in poverty because of Tory failures
Shocking figures published this week show that in parts of this borough, 1-in-3 children are living in poverty. ANDREW FISHER says that policy-makers in Wales, Scotland and at London have shown ways to fix this Compelling argument: the End Child Poverty Coalition has produced a damning report According to statistics from the End Child Poverty Coalition, nearly 30,000 children in Croydon are todayâŠ
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#15% Council Tax hike#Andrew Fisher#Conservative#Croydon#End Child Poverty Coalition#Labour#London#Loughborough University#Mayor#Mayor Jason Perry#Mayor Sadiq Khan#Tory
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We need more young stan content out here.
And nah I ain't talking about 12 year old Stanley or 30 year old mullet Stan, I'm talking 17 year old, slicked back hair, acne riddled Stan pines.
Yeah that one.
I am so happy mullet Stan is so popular because his fit slaps ngl and the angst is so potent I can't not respect it. But teenage Stan has so much potential it's driving me insane.
There is a line dividing the 17 years of relative happiness Stan had with Ford and the 10+ years of depression and crime he had on the streets, and teenage Stan uses that line as a goddamn jump rope.
Seriously, depending on how you look at it dude is either living his best life or is fighting for said life in the trenches of homelessness and poverty.
I see a lot of content regarding Stan on the streets but it only ever focuses on 30ish Stan in his later years of homelessness where he's already a hardened adult after years of dealing with this bullshit. But Stan didn't just drive away and then magically turn 30. There were times in those first few months after Stan got kicked out where he was in his car, trying to sleep, probably starving, while still being fundamentally a child.
Hell, compared to the 30ish age of mullet Stan and the 60+ year old con man he'd later become, teenage Stan is damn near a baby. There's a certain brightness about him, a sort of warm naive optimism that still clings to him because he's straight up just too young to know any better.
He's still fully convinced he's gonna make it rich and go back to his family in a few years. He still believes wholeheartedly that even if shit sucks right now, eventually everything is gonna be okay. It has to be. But it's not gonna be okay. It's not gonna be okay for a long time. And some parts are just never gonna be okay.
Seeing a happy and oblivious teenage Stan feels like watching a baby lamb walk into a slaughter house.
The next 10-something years are going to tear him apart limb from limb. In 40 years he's going to wake up on a boat during a bout of amnesia thinking he's in Columbian prison, or he's locked in the trunk of a car and about to drown, or his shoulder is on fire and his brother is gone, or it's the end of the world and everyone he ever dared to give a shit about is about to die in front of him and it's all his fault because he was too weak to stop it.
At some point, a young Stanley is going to get into his first true life or death fight. He doesn't even have to be involved with crime yet for it to happen. He's probably bruised and bleeding, with not nearly enough money to afford a doctor. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his El Diablo having a complete and utter break down because he almost died and suddenly everything is real.
Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing is going to be okay and whatever is left of his teenage innocence, naivety, and warmth dies in that car and it never comes back.
The next 10+ years are going to fundamentally change Stanley as a person and he's never going to be the same ever again. But teenage Stan doesn't know that, he's still a kid trying to sleep in the back of his car, ignoring hunger pangs and finding comfort in the half baked business ideas his mind cooks up because he doesn't understand how utterly done for he is.
12 year old Stanley I believe is so appealing because of his bright rambunctious spirit. He's still just a kid playing on the beach with his brother, but so was teenage Stan. I just wish the wholesomeness that comes with that and the subsequent hurt that follows as that spirit is broken over and over again by the world was explored more.
Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.
#gravity falls fandom#gravity falls#character analysis#gravity falls stanley#gravity falls stan pines#gravity falls stanford#stan pines#grunkle stan#stangst#stanford pines#stan twins#stanley pines#gf stanley#stan and ford#young stan pines#mullet stan#teenage stan pines#gravity falls ford#ford pines#I NEED MORE TEENAGE STANLEY CONTENT PLEASE HES SO GOOBER#fanart#gravity falls fanart
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"Hi, I'm Ali from Gaza. The occupation demolished my home, and now I, my child Jude and my wife Hanan have been living in schools for ten months. It's a very difficult life. We are suffering now, and we don't know what tomorrow will bring us, and we don't know when this war will end!! Because we have lost everything beautiful, we face harsh conditions and a dark future for our lives. Homelessness, poverty and pain. But there is still a glimmer of hope. With your help and generous donations, we can get out of Gaza, build a new life, and rise from the rubble. Every small donation can make a big difference"
â @aliayyad1991 (link)
LINK TO THIS CAMPAIGN HERE (LINK) !!!
[Plain Text: The red, white and green bold-font text reads "LINK TO THIS CAMPAIGN HERE (LINK) !!!" â the parts where it says "HERE (LINK)" are hyperlinks, redirecting to this person's campaign.]
#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#justice for palestine#palestine freedom#palestine liberation#save palestine#free palestine#palestine genocide#palestine gfm#palestine gofundme#palestine fundraiser#palestine#palestinian families#justice for palestinians#palestinian genocide#save palestinians#palestinian resistance#palestinian gfm#palestinian gofundme#palestinian fundraiser#palestinian#gaza under siege#gaza strip#free gaza#gaza genocide#gazaunderattack#gazafundraiser#gaza gfm#gaza gofundme#gaza fundraiser#gaza
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CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO
pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist
When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.
The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.
Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.
Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc youâd returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didnât treat you kindly, but it was still the place youâd grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.
The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.
Thatâs all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.
Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.
Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.
Your escape would be fruitless. Youâd thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until youâd sink to the bottom in exhaustion.
You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing youâd decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.
They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.
Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.
When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasnât Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.
Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasnât an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captainâs orders.
You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.
For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.
Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldnât dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.
âHere,â he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.
You had no appetite after the horrors youâd seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.
Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.
With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.
His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.
âYou fuckinâ wench,â he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.
Realizing what youâd done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.
âYou are not hungry?â he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. âStarve then. You will learn soon enough.â
Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.
The pact youâd made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldnât swallow down your enmity, and now youâd gone and made a foe.
Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.
When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person whoâd stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.
Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.
âNot goinâ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?â the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. âI know yer starvinâ, so donât be a prude. Eat up, aye?â
He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.
You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.
âThank you,â you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.
Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.
âTake it ye like it, then?â the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. âGet used to it, birdie. Itâll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.â He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.
The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didnât show kindness in return.
âWhatâs your name?â you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.
âSoap,â he introduced proudly. You didnât mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge youâd been in the middle of swallowing down.
âSoap is an⊠interesting name,â you grimaced. Soap didnât seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.
âAye, got the name from beinâ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.â His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. âWhatâs yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.â
You wanted to remind him that you werenât a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldnât listen nor care.
âThe village called me dove,â you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. âThough, I donât think it was much out of kindness.â
Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. âNot quite a pirate name, dove, but itâll do.â
âIâm not a pirate,â you defended with a frown.
âYe are now,â he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. âIâll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. Itâs not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.â Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.
Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the roomâs atmosphere with black mist.
âI apologize,â you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldnât feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didnât feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.
Gazâs nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasnât a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.
The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldnât allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.
It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.
Price or Ghost hadnât made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady â Soap more than the other.
Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldnât rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.
Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.
Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldnât be possible without their trust.
It wasnât until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.
Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You werenât expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.
He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.
âSoap tells me youâre warminâ up to him,â he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. âFigured Iâd properly introduce myself, seeinâ as weâll be spendinâ a lot of time together.â
You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.
âI see,â you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.
âDove, was it?â he asked. You nodded wearily. âA shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.â
Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasnât dirtied like youâd heard in childhood tales.
âI suppose they did,â you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasnât to be trusted.
âAnd why is that?â Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished heâd return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.
âWhy did they call me dove?â you responded in confusion.
âWhy did they ridicule you,â he corrected.
The statement made you pause. You hadnât really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.
The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.
âThey thought I was different,â you explained woefully. âIt is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but theyâre also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.â
Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You werenât sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you werenât honest in your conversation, heâd be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.
âWho has told you it is not normal?â Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.
âIt is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.â
âThey quite do,â he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didnât trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. âSure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.â
You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.
You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.
âIâll let you in on a little secret,â Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. âI am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.â
His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldnât decipher.
âYou burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,â you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.
You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.
âAh, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,â Price mused mockingly. The words stung. âYes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.â
âYou do not know a thing, Captain,â you spat.
Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. âAye, I do not,â he admitted. âBut I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps youâll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.â
You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.
It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.
Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. âI suggest gettinâ used to your new life. Youâve got no home to return to anyway.â
He retreated from your cell as if he hadnât slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.
Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester.Â
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john price#john soap mactavish#cod#cod x reader#ghost cod#simon riley#simon riley x reader#price x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#poly 141#poly 141 x reader#soap mactavish#kyle garrick#cod fanfic#pirate!141
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Today, ProPublica reports on yet another big change that stands to solve a decades-long problem we first learned about back in 2016, closing a huge loophole that allowed states to divert federal antipoverty funds to governorsâ pet projects, like promoting abstinence, holding âheathy marriageâ classes that did nothing to prevent out-of-wedlock births, funding anti-abortion âclinicsâ to lie about abortion ârisks,â sending middle-class kids to private colleges, and other schemes only tangentially related to helping poor kids. Itâs the same loophole that Mississippi officials tried to drive a truck through to divert welfare funds to former sportsball man Brett Favreâs alma mater, for a volleyball palace. [ ]
The agency has proposed new rules â open for public comment until December 1 â aimed at nudging states to actually use TANF funds to give cash to needy parents, not fill budget holes or punish poor people.
One change will put an end to the scheme Utah used to substitute LDS church funds for welfare, by prohibiting states
from counting charitable giving by private organizations, such as churches and food banks, as âstateâ spending on welfare, a practice that has allowed legislatures to budget less for programs for low-income families while still claiming to meet federal minimums.
Another new rule will put the kibosh on using TANF to fund child protective services or foster care programs, which are not what TANF is supposed to be for, damn it.
And then thereâs the simple matter of making sure that funds for needy families go to needy families, not to pet projects that have little to do with poverty:
The reforms would also redefine the term âneedyâ to refer only to families with incomes at or below 200% of the federal poverty line. Currently, some states spend TANF money on programs like college scholarships â or volleyball stadiums â that benefit more affluent people.
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âI cannot pretend prochoice vs. prolife is about women versus babies. It isn't. It is about society versus families.
Abortion doesn't save women. It doesn't stop or fix rape. It doesn't end poverty. It doesn't stop domestic violence. It doesn't do anything except undo women's healthy biology, kill her child, and send her right back to whatever circumstances she came from.
Sure, if she just doesn't want to be pregnant, it ends pregnancy. Why doesn't she want to be pregnant though? The replies are along the lines of, "Fuck you. It doesn't matter. It is her choice and right." Ok. Thank you for telling me you care about abortion, not women.
This is what is being offered as the savior for women? This is our freedom? This is our equality? This is the answer we are being offered for children living in poverty, abuse, or neglect? Just pre-emptively guess their fate and kill them? This is what we are being offered as a way to address maternal mortality? Don't attempt to make advancements that address complications that arise in pregnancy, just blame women's biology and kill her kid?
I do not accept that this is the best we can do for women, children, or families. I do not accept that to be free, equal, and safe women have to turn against their biology and their children.â
â Robin Atkins
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The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)
Mini-Meta Musing (#4)
I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.
"I have standards!"
He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?
Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.
Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)
Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)
https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous
The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.
As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness. After all, look at Wee Morag. He respects her goodness tremendously. It proves to him his ârightness.â And so he sabotages Elspethâs attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag. Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes heâs saving her soul.
Itâs a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasnât enough medical knowledge to save him. Turning point number one. It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate. Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world. Heâs all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth. Good heavens, heâs even willing to help this time!
But, as we know, it all goes wrong. Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries. Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide. Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.  And it is All. Aziriphaleâs. Fault.
Turning point number two. Another watershed moment where Aziraphaleâs world changes again.
One of Crowleyâs last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money. What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life. I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this. He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring. He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him. He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused. What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.
Iâd love to know the story of how it all played out. Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds? Did he become involved in charitable foundations? Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity? We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)
By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!
Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.
#good omens#good omens 2#aziraphale#good omens meta#aziraphale good omens#aziraphale is a sweetheart#What Would Crowley Do?#WWCD#Aziraphale has a good heart#Crowley IS actually kind#wistfulnightingale#to our world
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