#earned wage access

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When you hear "fintech," think "unlicensed bank"

Tomorrow (May 2) I’ll be in Portland at the Cedar Hills Powell’s with Andy Baio for my new novel, Red Team Blues.

In theory, patents are for novel, useful inventions that aren’t obvious “to a skilled practitioner of the art.” But as computers ate our society, grifters began to receive patents for “doing something we’ve done for centuries…with a computer.” “With a computer”: those three words had the power to cloud patent examiners’ minds.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

Patent trolls — who secure “with a computer” patents and then extract ransoms from people doing normal things on threat of a lawsuit — are an underappreciated form of “tech exceptionalism.” Normally, “tech exceptionalism” refers to bros who wave away things like privacy invasions by arguing that “with a computer” makes it all different.

These tech exceptionalists are the legit face of tech exceptionalism, the Forbes 30 Under 30 set. They’re grifters, but they’re celebrated grifters. There’s a whole bottom-feeding sludge of tech exceptionalists that don’t get the same kind of attention, like patent trolls.

Oh, and the fintech industry.

As Riley Quinn says, “when you hear ‘fintech,’ think: ‘unlicensed bank.’” The majority of fintech “innovation” consists of adding “with a computer” to highly regulated activities and declaring them to be unregulated (and, in the case of crypto, unregulatable).

There are a lot of heavily regulated financial activities, like dealing in securities (something the crypto industry is definitely doing and claims it isn’t). Most people don’t buy or sell securities regularly — indeed, most Americans own little or no stocks.

But you know what regulated financial activity a lot of Americans participate in?

Going into debt.

As wages stagnate and the price of housing, medical care, childcare, transportation and education soar, Americans fund their consumption with debt. Trillions of dollars’ worth of debt. Many of us are privileged to borrow money by walking into a bank and asking for a loan, but millions of Americans are denied that genteel experience.

Instead, working Americans increasingly rely on payday lenders and other usurers who charge sky-high interest rates, on top of penalties and fees, trapping borrowers in an endless cycle of indebtedness. This is an historical sign of a civilization in decline: productive workers require loans to engage in useful activities. Normally, the activity pans out — the crop comes in, say — and the debt is repaid.

But eventually, you’ll get a bad beat. The crop fails, the workshop burns down, a pandemic shuts down production. Instead of paying off your debt, you have to roll it over. Now, you’re in an even worse situation, and the next time you catch a bad break, you go further into debt. Over time, all production comes under the control of creditors.

The historical answer to this is jubilee: a regular wiping-away of all debt. While this was often dressed up in moral language, there was an absolutely practical rationale for it. Without jubilee, eventually, all the farmers stop growing food so that they can grow ornamental flowers for their creditors’ tables. Then, as starvation sets in, civilization collapses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

As the debt historian Michael Hudson says, “Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid.” Without jubilee, indebtedness becomes a chronic and inescapable condition. As more and more creditors attach their claims to debtors’ assets, they have to compete with one another to terrorize the debtor into paying them off, first. One creditor might threaten to garnish your paycheck. Another, to repossess your car. Another, to evict you from your home. Another, to break your arm. Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid — but when you have a choice between a broken arm and stealing from your kid’s college fund or the cash-register, maybe the debt can be paid…a little. Of course, digital tools offer all kinds of exciting new tools for arm-breakers — immobilizing your car, say, or deleting the apps on your phone, starting with the ones you use most often:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Under Trump, payday lenders romped through America. A lobbyist for the payday lenders became a top Trump lawyer:

https://theintercept.com/2017/11/27/white-house-memo-justifying-cfpb-takeover-was-written-by-payday-lender-attorney/

This lobbyist then oversaw Trump’s appointment of a Consumer Finance Protection Bureau boss who deregulated payday lenders, opening the door to triple digit interest rates:

https://www.latimes.com/business/lazarus/la-fi-lazarus-cfpb-payday-lenders-20180119-story.html

To justify this, the payday loan industry found corruptible academics and paid them to write papers defending payday loans as “inclusive.” These papers were secretly co-authored by payday loan industry lobbyists:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/02/25/how-payday-lending-industry-insider-tilted-academic-research-its-favor/

Of course, Trump doesn’t read academic papers, so the payday lenders also moved their annual conference to a Trump resort, writing the President a check for $1m:

https://www.propublica.org/article/trump-inc-podcast-payday-lenders-spent-1-million-at-a-trump-resort-and-cashed-in

Biden plugged many of the cracks that Trump created in the firewalls that guard against predatory lenders. Most significantly, he moved Rohit Chopra from the FTC to the CFPB, where, as director, he has overseen a determined effort to rein in the sector. As the CFPB re-establishes regulation, the fintech industry has moved in to add “with a computer” to many regulated activities and so declare them beyond regulation.

One fintech “innovation” is the creation of a “direct to consumer Earned Wage Access” product. Earned Wage Access is just a fancy term for a program some employers offer whereby workers can get paid ahead of payday for the hours they’ve already worked. The direct-to-consumer EWA offers loans without verifying that the borrower has money coming in. Companies like Earnin claim that their faux EWA services are free, but in practice, everyone who uses the service pays for the “Lightning Speed” upsell.

Of course they do. Earnin charges sky-high interest rates and twists borrowers’ arms into leaving a “tip” for the service (yes, they expect you to tip your loan-shark!). Anyone desperate enough to pay triple-digit interest rates and tip the service for originating their loan is desperate and needs to the money now:

https://prospect.org/power/05-01-2023-fintech-ewa-payday-loan-scam/

EWA annual interest rates sit around 300%. The average EWA borrower uses the service two or three times every month. EWA CEOs and lobbyists claim that they’re banking the unbanked — but the reality is that they’re acting as sticky-fingered brokers between banks and young, poor workers, marking up traditional bank services.

This fact is rarely mentioned when EWA companies lobby state legislatures seeking to be exempted from usury rules that are supposed to curb predatory lenders. In Vermont, Earnin wants an exemption from the state’s 18% interest rate cap — remember, the true APR for EWA loans is about 300%.

In Texas, payday lenders are classed as loan brokers, not loan originators and are thus able to avoid the state’s usury caps. EWAs are lobbying the Texas legislature for further exemptions from state money-transmitter and usury limit laws, principally on the strength of the “it’s different: we do it with a computer” logic.

But as Jarod Facundo writes for The American Prospect, quoting Monica Burks from the Center for Responsible Lending, a loan is a loan even if it’s with a computer: “The industry is trying to create a new definition for what a loan is in order to exempt themselves from existing consumer protection laws… When you offer someone a portion of money on the promise that they will repay it, and often that repayment will be accompanied with fees or charges or interest, that’s what a loan is.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Mountain View, Berkeley, Portland, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A stately, columnated bank building, bedecked in garish payday lender signs.]

Image: Andre Carrotflower (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:30_North_%28former_Pontiac_Commercial_%26_Savings_Bank_Building%29,_Pontiac,_Michigan_-_entrance_and_Chief_Pontiac_relief_sculpture_-_20201213.jpg

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

[paycardfl]

Payment Gateway

10x Better Digital-First Prepaid Platform - A prepaid platform that instantly verifies users and disburses funds to phone wallets and branded app - for +90% less than mailing checks - offering a faster, safer, more secure, and user-friendly experience that 95% of users demand.

Business Hours: Monday - Friday: 8am to 5pm Payment Methods: Credit Card, Debit Card, Check, Cash

Contact Info: PayCard.com Address: 5355 Town Center Road #205C, Boca Raton, FL 33486 USA Phone: +1 954-320-0766 Mail: hello@paycard.com Website: https://paycard.com

[harigaji]

EWA (Earned Wage Access) is a flexible payroll solution designed to support small businesses by giving employees access to their earned wages before the scheduled payday. This innovative service allows workers to withdraw a portion of their wages whenever they need it, reducing financial stress and improving job satisfaction. For small businesses, EWA offers a low-cost, easy-to-integrate solution that can help attract and retain top talent without the complexities of traditional payroll systems.

By providing employees with greater financial flexibility, EWA can boost productivity, reduce absenteeism, and promote a positive workplace culture. Unlike payday loans or credit options, EWA does not come with high-interest rates or debt cycles. This solution benefits both employees and employers, creating a more satisfied and engaged workforce. For small businesses looking to improve employee retention and streamline operations, EWA presents a modern and cost-effective alternative to conventional payroll systems.

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[argumate]

it's always popular to ask "why is dating so difficult right now?" and the obvious answer is to gesture at the people asking this forever and perhaps rhetorically wonder why you would expect finding someone to share your life with to be easy, end of question.

but some people will plunge on and say it must be because young men have been misled by the manosphere and now they want the wrong thing or behave the wrong way or whatever, and that's such a tempting straw to grasp because Social Media Makes People Worse is a compelling hypothesis when we see it every day (and of course you can ask what all those makeup tutorials and true crime podcasts are doing to young women besides raising their suicide rate).

personally I don't think young men behaved better in the 1970s or the '90s or the early 2010s or whenever the supposed golden age of heterosexual dating was supposed to be, and while the manosphere is obviously a problem (in the sense that it's awash with ideas that are untrue, unkind, and unhelpful) I don't think it is the problem, it seems like a typical exaggerated social media response to other problems (gender segregation on social media doesn't seem more extreme than the gender segregation that ruled most of human history, so that can't be the entire story).

women will say that men don't want to commit (despite all wanting tradwives!) and men will say uh stuff about women that doesn't bear repeating to be honest but let's politely say that both sides will accuse each other of having unrealistic expectations or overly picky standards -- and of course that's a very real possibility, that people can be fixated on fantasies and find real life doesn't measure up; one of the original critiques of social media was that it could give a misleading impression of how good everyone but you is having it (until it became in vogue to post about your mental illnesses).

but if we want to look for material changes that could potentially have impacted the heterosexual dating market, there's no getting around the fact that staying single is a much better deal for women now than it was for much of the 20th century, and indeed the centuries before that, when the desirability of marriage was enforced by incentives that strongly penalised not settling for a man, in the worst case including institutionalisation for single mothers and even the forced sterilisation of unmarried women deemed promiscuous.

as the legal barriers and overt discrimination against women were dismantled in the 20th century, the wage gap followed: in the US prior to 1980, women earned about 60% of what men earned, but by 2002 this had risen to 80% (the rise has slowed, it's 82% today); this reduction in the pay disparity has the side effect of reducing the value of what a man would bring to the household.

it's not a good look for men but there's no denying that some of the value they used to bring to a relationship included privileges like:

access to higher paying jobs

protection from harassment by other men

ability to live independently of controlling parents or guardians

ability to have children without having them taken away

now that many of these privileges are extended to everyone in a more egalitarian fashion, having a man around is simply less necessary than it was; you would expect this reduction of privileges to push some relationships that were already marginal prospects into being nonviable.

and perhaps that's a good thing, for the relationships that survive to be mutually beneficial arrangements and less like hostage situations.

[themeraldee]

The Price of Love - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 3.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes. Breaking and entering. Manipulation. Fraud. Gaslighting. Office sex. Unprotected sex. Homelander being his own warning. I'm not really sure how to tag this properly tbf.

Homelander’s devious plan starts when he perfectly times when both you and your spouse leave your apartment empty. He knows you’re at the Vought tower, assisting Ashley in organizing photoshoots for the next issue of Vought Sports. Just the thought of that makes him roll his eyes. He’s got a four page feature with the Yankees, something about the importance of baseball to the American population. 

No. He can’t get distracted like that. Not when he’s already been so careful. Work can wait. 

He lands on your small balcony, testing the door handle. It budges immediately. Homelander grins at the revelation. You’re clearly one of those people who don’t think to lock the doors and windows just because you’re high off the ground. He’d have thought that after knowing him you’d know better than that. 

Homelander steps into your apartment. He’s planning to be thorough with his little impromptu visit. It’s only fair. Thanks to your job you have pretty much unrestricted access to his penthouse. You’ve seen what his space looks like. He should get to see yours too.

The first thing that hits him is just how this space doesn’t smell like you as much as he’d want. He can almost taste the bitter scent of your spouse in the air. Yuck. Homelander immediately walks through, exploring the kitchen, the living room for anything substantial at all.

There are letters with angry red words, shouting about bills being past due. Medical bills pinned to the fridge with some generic city magnet. Coupons and budgets all crammed on the small space on the fridge. Clearly, something isn’t working. Homelander has zero sympathy regarding your spouse but he cares about you. He doesn’t want you to suffer and with him, you’d never again have to worry about unpaid bills or having a roof over your head. 

He scoffs to himself. What kind of irresponsible and unreliable spouse have you got? You’re clearly working hard, he sees you relentlessly keep your head up at work and with your position only rising and more responsibilities being piled up on your plate he can imagine you earn a decent wage.

Clearly, it’s being drained somewhere. Whoever your spouse is, they’re a good-for-nothing leech that’s holding you back.

He could pay them off. Threaten them. Torture them. Kill them even. A thought that sends a thrilling shiver down his spine. But no, this has to be your decision. You need to be the one to decide to leave them. You need to seek him out. 

Homelander continues with his little exploration trip. Already forming a plan in his mind. What he saw the other day wasn’t coincidental. He feels a rift. Ever since that night he watched you pleasure yourself to the thought of him he knew it wasn’t a one-off. But for the first time Homelander gave you the ammo. He told you to your face that he’s interested. He allowed you to lean into these fantasies at the cost of having no leverage in his petty mind.

He can’t wait to put his plan into motion. 

Looking through the rest of your apartment should make him feel upset, agitated. Instead Homelander walks around with a huge grin on his face as he looks at the few framed pictures on the wall. They’re old. You don’t look like this anymore so decidedly your spouse hasn’t done anything worth remembering in recent times. Perfect. This is all working perfectly towards his plan.

Your spouse doesn’t value you. Clearly. He notices more signs of this behavior throughout your belongings. The cheap perfume that he smells on you everyday is so uninspiring he’s never even heard of the brand. The makeup is cheap, terrible enough quality that should only be used by teenage girls that are discovering themselves, not for a professional woman like you. Your clothes tell a similar story. You have a few nice outfits that you wear to your job. You only ever dress nicely for him. The rest of your closet feels like plastic, uncomfortably stiff and scratchy, it’s unlikely to last another season.

You will have none of these issues with him. Homelander will buy you only the best. Top of the line. All designer, original or handmade. Anything you’ll want, it’ll be yours. Only the best for his lover.

The more time he spends in your apartment the less he’s angry and upset about your initial rejection. He sees it now as a cry for help. Secretly, in between the lines you were rattling the bars of your prison begging him to save you.

And oh he will. 

The cherry on the top is the cheap ring that sits on your bedside table. No special case for it, no display, you don’t even carry it around with you. Maybe unconsciously you know how little your spouse values you. He picks it up to feel it. Cubic Zirconia on a small sterling silver band. Less than $100. Homelander scoffs at the cheap representation of your bond. So easy to scuff and crush. Maybe it directly reflects your marriage. 

Homelander leaves your apartment exactly the way he found it and over the next few days he watches. He watches you interact with your spouse, looking for any chink in the armour of your marriage and oh my does he find plenty.

Your spouse doesn’t deserve you, they don’t treat you with the same respect you give them. There’s room for insecurity to worm your way into your brain. He knows that now. You have sex at most once a week and even then it doesn’t look like it scratches the itch for you. Don’t worry, he’ll have you writhing under him in no time.

But it needs to be at your own pace. He knows you’re loyal to a fault, you’ve proven yourself with such quality over your time working for Vought. You won’t leave your spouse without a good reason. Besides betrayal. You clearly can deal with a non-spectacular life and even less remarkable sex life. But betrayal? A total annihilation of trust? Well, he knows you won’t be able to shake that off.

With that, he sets his plan into motion.

Nothing he does is by his hand of course, he needs to be invisible in all this. Instead he pays lackeys and he bullies Vought employees into scamming your spouse, stealing your shared banking details without them knowing any better.

Over the next month he periodically withdraws a sum of money from your shared account, slowly making his plan come to fruition. He keeps you busy at work. Really busy. You don’t have time to keep up with your household and worry about budgeting. You pull away from your spouse—a bonus he didn’t see coming. It’s even worth the stress it’s causing you. Each day you come in with dark circles under your eyes, tiredness just seeping out of your pores. But it’s okay. You can go through a bit of hardship while he plans your rescue. Things always get worse before they get better.

At the same time, your bills are going up, rent has skyrocketed—something about a new ownership, company you wouldn’t recognise as it’s outlined in the letter that came in the mail. More than ever now, Homelander sees you not skipping any overtime. Good, you spend most of your time with him now. He watches the late night arguments you have with your spouse about pulling their weight and how you can’t do everything yourself. Yes. Yes, it’s finally happening.

You haven’t even seen the main act.

When the next medical bill comes out and there’s not enough money in the shared account he waits it out. He’s planted all the seeds. All the money periodically taken out by the planted escort services. The bank statements laid out plain and clear. The call logs coming and outgoing to the same establishment. Your spouse’s lack of interest in sex with you only reinforced this notion.

Homelander isn’t there to watch the fall out. He’s too excited. Already waiting for you to spring into his arms at a moment’s notice. 

But you don’t.

Each day he gets more and more irritated. You should already be shouting his praises, showing him your signed divorce papers but instead you’re moping around like a sad dark cloud, raining oh his parade. 

Okay fine, he’s gonna have to nudge you a bit. It’s not going exactly according to his plan but that’s okay, he can adapt.

The next time you bring over some talking points for him to read and memorize, he stops you. He stops you from spilling out your rehearsed words, his gloved hand raised tearing you out of your mindless monologue you’ve been told to parrot back to him. You blink up at him, a little confused. You haven’t had many interactions these days so Homelander can’t blame you for acting like a deer in headlights.

“Hey, you okay? You look tired. Are you sleeping fine?” He gives his words the perfect amount of care and softness. Breaking through the shell you’ve put up around him. He gets it, you’re trying to be a strong woman—ladidadida. Normally he likes that about you but now you’re messing with his plans.

You sniffle and he smells the waterworks before they even burst the dam. One little question and you take two steps back, your back hitting the wall of the meeting room and you slide down onto the ground. Whimpering out a little wet ‘no’ you bring your knees up burying your face in them.

“Hey hey hey… what’s wrong?” He lowers to the ground in front of you.

“Everything’s wrong. My whole life is falling apart!” You sob into your knees. You start spilling as if he’s the first person to ask you how you’re doing. You rattle off an unintelligible ramble of hiccups, sobs and half-spoken words. 

Homelander was lucky that you still had your face buried in your knees because he could not stop the grin spreading across his face as he heard you hiccup the word ‘divorce’. After the little indulgence, he trained his face back into a sympathetic pout and he ran his hand down the back of your head, petting your hair.

“Slow down, say what now? Did you say you’re getting divorced? What happened?” If only Vought productions could see this Oscar-worthy performance they’d be making more interesting movies than the cookie cutter action flicks he has to waste his time on.

“Yeah…my…well, my ex now. They cheated on me. I mean they poured all our money down the drain, spent it all in a strip club or on some escort or whatever. Fuck. I don’t even know. I don’t want to know the details.” You look up at him and in that moment Homelander has never seen anything more beautiful. The tears in your eyes, the swollen red rim around them. All because of his doing. This is the start of a new chapter. 

A chapter dedicated to you and him.

He stops himself from smiling widely, he’s meant to be supportive now. Sympathetic. He nods as you continue.

“I’ve been breaking my back just to afford the insane rent and bills and this is what I get back?!” You flip flop between bouts of rage and fresh tears bursting at every other word. 

“Shhh, shh come here.” Homelander pulls you in close to him and back on your feet. He lifts you off enough where you feel the floor underneath your feet but most of your weight is being held up by him. As if he’s saying ‘you don’t have to carry it all on your own’.

“I’ll help you, okay? Anything you need. I’m here for you.” He cooes into your ear, rubbing soothing circles into your back as he hugs you close to him. 

Homelander knows you’re meant for him. But to actually have you in his arms for the first time is different. He wants to bury his face in your neck and inhale as much of your scent as he can. And forever carry that with him.  

But he doesn’t have to wish. Instead you pull away from where you buried your head in his neck, you place your hands on his jaw and you forcibly kiss him. Take the air right out of his lungs. Homelander immediately squeezes his eyes shut, doing his very best to not moan out loud. That’s it! Finally, he’s got you right where he wanted this whole time.

He squeezes you closer, his one hand slides down to your thigh, hoisting your leg up. And like the good, obedient girl you are, you bring your other leg up with him, wrapping yourself tight around his waist.

The taste of you is sweet and salty at the same time, the pure flavor muddled with the tears your ex doesn’t deserve. It doesn’t matter, Homelander kisses you desperately regardless. Hungry for the taste he’s been dreaming of for months. 

“Do you still want me?” You breathe out, less actively sobbing and choking on breaths, now the tears are just freely going down your cheeks.

“Always.” Homelander looks at you in reverence. You’re welcoming him in so freely. He doesn’t even need to push you to it. That’s how he knows you’re perfect for him. Barely just free out of the prison he rescued you from and you’ve already come running to him.

“Make me forget.” You kiss him again and Homelander swallows up everything you have to give. He pins you against the wall, his hands gliding from your thighs to your ass, the leather of his gloves sliding up the sleek fabric of your skirt. Through it he squeezes handfuls of your ass, before pushing the fabric up and out of the way.

“Please…make me feel good.” You sound broken and in need of good fuck that Homelander’s sure you haven’t had in years. Right, he can totally do that for you. He supports your weight easily, pinned between his body and the wall. One hand slides down from your ass, giving himself enough room to slide in between your legs, cupping your pussy. 

“I will. I will. Don’t worry about anything anymore. I’ve got you.” His fingers pinch the sheer tights and with a snap, he rips the fabric, immediately pushing your panties out of the way.

He brings his hand to his mouth, biting the leather of his glove by the fingertips, pulling it off his hand. His bare hand goes back down in between your legs immediately dipping his fingers in your wetness. He feels how excited you are. How for the first time in years your body is finally gonna feel satisfied. You yearn for this. He can almost taste it. 

His lips part and he moans at the feeling of your pussy just inviting him in. So hot and wet just for him. He strokes the back of his fingers up and down your slit, making your legs buzz with excitement. All nerves coming back to life. He sees that in you, the way you light up. Your heart rate elevated, breaths shallow, your muscles twitching. Homelander takes pride in the way he can make your body sing with just a few well-placed touches.

He turns his fingers around, gently, precisely, rubbing circles around your clit. He kisses you. No, he devours you. Parting his lips, he pries yours open, licking the taste of him into your mouth. He grunts into the kiss, moaning with each press of your lips. Each time you shove your tongue into his mouth he shudders, full of want. 

His fingers eagerly move down, pressing two digits steadily into you until he’s knuckles deep, grinding them into your pelvis, shallow strokes in and out. Crooked upwards and thick inside you.

He’s so hard it hurts. Achingly throbbing against the uncomfortable rigidity of his suit and he cannot wait to just fucking bury himself into you.

As if you were reading his mind your hands blindly and clumsily reach for his belt, unclasping it. Eagerly with more dexterity than he expected you to have in a moment like this you undo his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear.

Homelander hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back as your hand touches his aching cock. It’s so overwhelming he barely catches your awe at seeing it. 

“Oh fuck… Can I have you? Please?” You squirm in his hold your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking the head up and down. 

Jesus. You’re begging for him so easily. He could cum just from this. Your hand, warm and soft around him, stroking his sensitive head all while you’re beginning for him to take you? Good god, if he knew you’d be this pliant he would have had your ex killed in an ‘accident’.

“Course you can.” He mutters out, strung out on the pleasure that’s sending sparks up his spine with each twist of your wrist. He takes his fingers out of you, sucking them clean. God you taste good. He definitely needs to come back to that. He shimmies his pants down lower, releasing his cock fully. “Course you fucking can. It’s yours.” Straining he whimpers out, positioning his cock right against your wet cunt, the head spreading you open. “I’m yours.” He almost sounds close to crying. All that effort was so fucking worth it. You are so his. Who else could you want after you’ve had him. He’s so close to euphoria he forgets that you were crying a few minutes ago.

He wraps both arms around the underside of your thighs pinning your knees closer to your body as he sinks deep into you with one push. You’re so fucking wet and warm for him he could cry out of happiness. You want him so bad!

“Fffuck me, that’s tight.” He utters, all broken and whimpering as he buries his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of you like he wanted to earlier while he stills his hips, his pelvic flush against yours.

He’s so overwhelmed with the physicality of it all. Even through all the layers he feels the heat of your body, the thrum of your muscles and the rhythm of your heart. It’s intoxicating. 

He pulls out just to sink himself into you again. And again. And again. The feeling of splitting you open with each slide of his cock gets him so worked up, his own breaths coming out stuttered. 

“Homelander please… just… fuck me. Need it.” You beg him to continue, and as much as he’s enjoying the warm welcome on each wet, loud slide he gets it. You just need him to pound you hard and make you forget. Erase all memories of your shitty ex and the mediocre sex you’ve learned to live with. It’s okay. You’re with him now. And everyone knows there’s nothing mediocre about him.

Homelander kisses the plea out of your lips stepping a little closer so that he’s sat deep, deep inside you. Every thrust of his pelvis is a short snap but you feel it so deep it rattles your spine with every move. The way he’s got you angled is just about rubbing his pubic bone into your clit and he can’t help but grin at the way he’s already feeling you desperately claw at him, trying to hold onto reality.

You moan for him sweetly, your body quivering around him. And he doesn’t relent. It’s frantic, sharp and needy. This is about that quick release. He will have plenty of time to explore your body and make you cum a thousand times over later. Ideally from the privacy of his bed where he can watch you from every angle.

When he feels you clench and pulsate around him he stutters, one of his hands landing on the wall, making a dent in it. More than anything he wants you to cum. He wants to show you how much better he will be to you. The pure euphoria of feeling you cum on his cock pushes him over the edge. He moans a deep guttural sound into your neck, parts of it muffled. As your pussy deliciously squeezes around him in a stuttered rhythm he empties himself into you. His cock gives you one last spurt inside before he slides out, letting you get back on the ground to regain your footing. 

He’s mildly delirious and the next thing he wants to do is take you up to his penthouse and hold you close. He craves the intimacy of the afterglow.

Unlike his fantasy you don’t look to be ready to be swept off your feet and carried to his penthouse for some quality cuddle time. You look almost horrified.

“Oh my god…” Homelander watches with a frown as you push your underwear back into place, your skirt down over your thighs. You try to make a sense of the torn, tattered mess of your tights but you decide it’s better to take them off. He takes the chance to tuck himself back in while you sort your clothing situation and the turmoil in your head.

Before he can even question what has you so upset you continue. “I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” What was a warm buzzing feeling that made his whole body vibrate pleasantly just turned to ice. 

What the fuck do you mean it shouldn’t have happened? 

He doesn’t get a say in again as you continue before he recovers from the blow. “I just fucking used you. I’m sorry. That’s—That’s terrible! I’m no better than my ex. I–I—” You visibly panic, your eyes wide as saucers and looking around almost everywhere but him.

But your eyes land there anyway. He almost laughs with relief. This is your problem? How cute.

“Nothing like that happened. Hey, none of that talk. You’re perfect. You’ve done nothing wrong alright?” He took one step closer, his hands immediately cupping your jaw from either side. Only one hand ungloved, using that one to feel the skin of your cheek as he tenderly strokes you. 

“I want to help you in any way I can. How about you move in with me until we sort this out, huh? I don’t want you staying with a person like that. Come on, I want you safe. And Vought’s got some great lawyers that can help you with the divorce.” He deploys his sweet tone, so persuasive, charismatic and charming. He knows what he’s doing and already you’re melting into his hands. Good. He grins at you. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nod with your big watery sweet eyes and it’s then he knows that he won. Fair and square.

You were his long before you even knew it.

Finally, you recognize it too.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[susansontag]

I remember when a friend asked during a tense conversation about feminism whether I “supported stay-at-home mothers” (and I assume housewives). I wish I’d known better how to respond then; I did the usual thing of speaking to systemic forces rendering some options for women less viable; I made it all about the language of choice and how it hides processes that limit one’s choices.

it’s a fine answer, it’s not wrong. but ultimately it ignores something very important, and that is that SAH mothers and housewives are adults who are entirely economically dependent on another adult, or other adults, in order to get the things they require to survive (food, shelter, in some cases medical care, etc)—and no, I can’t support this. any society that is set up for a significant amount of that society’s adults to be entirely dependent on the whims of other adults to survive is a sick society.

that the society isn’t set up to be able to handle child-rearing in any other way is also evidence that it is oppressive, that it’s sick. I’m not in denial that raising children itself is a full-time job, but I am aware that there are reasons certain adults are called upon to do it and not others, I am aware that the society doesn’t encourage an organisation in which multiple people can raise a child, or that one person can for a while, another later, etc. it’s also unpaid; or rather, in marxian terms, it’s paid for by the working adult, who gives money to the other or else directly buys them what they require to survive. this is making a child of an adult, who in many cases is perfectly capable of handling money and earning money, and thus controlling how they access things crucial to survive.

so no, I don’t ‘support’ a society that is organised to allow the infantilisation of half its adults, even one that has developed itself to the point where those adults are now legally free to become wage-labourers, so long as the patriarchal mechanisms that ensure at least some of them, or them (women) far more often than any others (men), are the ones giving up their financial independence and access to resources needed to live. this is a dangerous, precarious way to live, and no one should have to lie about that. it’s absolutely not the SAH mothers’, or housewives’ fault; I don’t personally blame them. but it isn’t true that this is a neutral, let alone good, ‘decision’. it’s actually deeply disturbing, and the idea it’s feminists infantilising these women, saying they shouldn’t be allowed the ‘choice’ to give up their entire financial independence, rather than a societal structure that makes women more likely to be forced into making this ‘decision’ to become effective children dependent on another adult to survive, is an inaccurate and antifeminist construction. beyond its obviously being a symptom of liberal-capitalist brainwashing, with all its empty talk of ‘freedom of choice for the individual’ etc.

[forsaken-headcanons]

I had a simple idea: what if the survivors and killers swapped roles? And that idea proceeded to snowball into a full-blown yap sesh. I’m so silly when it comes to Forsaken, y’all 😋

(This is a VERY long post, so it’s been split up into two sections. Hope you don’t mind, mod!)

“KILLERS”

Noob - Picture a lone noob, lost in the spectre’s domain. No food. No shelter. Nothing. They finally come across another survivor…or should I say sustenance. That’s right. I took Noob’s whole ‘eating snacks’ thing and turned them into a cannibal. How fun! ☺️ Kind-of takes the role of Jason with a hint of Guest 666? That comment will probably change when 666 comes out, but for now, their kit revolves around tracking down survivors one by one. They can turn mostly invisible for a short period, too.

Chance - Two Face with a touch of Jigsaw. Gambling has completely overtaken his life, with his favourite being betting on lives. Never his, of course. And gods forbid he loses… Doesn’t really take the role of anyone. They specialize in ranged attacks, but he has a melee attack, too. He still has the coin flip, but it’s used to give him a random effect (can be anything from speed I to blindness III) and the only way to get rid of said-abilities is Hat Fix. But use it wisely, as that gets rid of the good abilities, too. The only way to earn bullets is by hitting survivors. He can store a max of 3, just like before. No misfiring (🎉), but the gun attack is probably hella telegraphed.

Guest 1337 - Gotta love a corrupt police officer! Well, soldier. But still- I regretfully can’t say who this guy’s main inspiration was, but I can imagine him working closely with Builderman to enact their shared (and crooked) sense of justice. His gameplay loop revolves around running down + stunning survivors. He doesn’t need to block to do a punch anymore. Instead, his block will actually give brief slowness + a highlighted aura to anyone foolish enough to hit him while it’s active. His punch (still) has a delay, but considering how it stuns survivors, I’d say it’s worth it.

Two Time - So obsessed with death/rebirth, they drove themselves mad and proceeded to go on a killing spree to ‘share this truth amongst the nonbelievers’. Mildly inspired by the Cult of the Lamb bishops, and takes the role of Jason (aka the free killer). Bro just runs around with a dagger lol. Though they have a considerably low health pool for a killer, TT makes up for it by gaining access to their second life form upon dying. They move much faster while in this state, so it’s actually advised to NOT stun them all willy-nilly, lest you unintentionally buff the killer.

Elliot - Hell hath no fury like an overworked minimum wage employee. Elliot had enough, and now EVERYONE’S gonna pay for it. Especially vengeful towards c00lkidd, and would play a special theme upon him being the last survivor. Sort of takes the role of John Doe? I mean- he revolves around dropping poisoned pizzas/other pizza-themed traps to slow down and weaken survivors.

Builderman - Oh, shoot! He has his banhammer! Oh no! He’s using it on everyone! Builderman believes that his ticket out of here involves purging the spectre’s domain of evil…but has since developed the morality of a corrupt judge. How lovely! As previously mentioned, he works closely with Guest 1337 to achieve his goals. A mix between John Doe and c00lkidd. He still builds machines, but they act like motion sensors for the most part.

Shedletsky - A self-proclaimed master swordsman, with an ego to match. Shed let the power of being an admin get to his head. He’s the most important person in the room, and will strike down anyone who says otherwise. Takes the role of 1x1x1x1. He’d use different SFOTH swords to do different attacks (Venomshank for basic swinging, Icedagger for Entanglement, Darkheart for Mass Infection,  Illumina for Unstable Eye, and Ghostwalker for Rejuvenate the Rotten). Oh, and someone snatched his chicken. I wonder who? 🤔 

007n7 - Slightly inspired by Bacon General from The Last Guest, this version of 07 wasn’t quite ready to retire, even when a baby was left on his doorstep. If anything, a child meant that he could pass down his skills to someone else. And thus he continued to reign chaos all around him, all the while pressuring his son to do the same. As a killer, he still uses scripts and exploits to give him an unfair advantage. Takes the role of c00lkidd, and uses the same moves as OG kidd for the most part. Instead of summoning clones, he instead teleports to the closest survivor (which briefly stuns him upon arriving, just to nerf it a little).

— Respawn Anon

I think you absolutely cooked on all of these. Specifically Guest 1337, Shedletsky and Builderman. These are so creative.

[vriskarlmarx]

The couple functions as both the problem and its solution. If not this one, she just needs another boyfriend, one that will treat her better. A woman may feel the nausea of ambivalence, of being caught between obsession with phallic power and revulsion from it. She does not know which is greater, the melancholia of the couple or the melancholia of denouncing it as a social form. Most opt for the sadness of the couple over the alienation of being cut loose from its grasp. Capital lends a shoulder at every turn, suggesting you watch a rom com with your girlfriends when heartbroken or providing endless ways to personalize your wedding dress. Similar to the framework of electoral politics that limits the scope of critique to the wrong people being in office, the couple-form attributes women’s problems to dating the wrong man rather than to the couple itself. As long as she stays invested in the idea of romantic love as salvation, as the guiding principle against isolation and towards fulfillment, she remains tied to the couple-form.

As another facet of the couple-as-solution, the discourses surrounding austerity measures and neoliberal restructuring frame the couple as a remedy for poverty. One reads tales of young people shifting between poverty and prison as a result of single parenting, especially absent fathers, as if the restitution of the couple could remedy the poverty and structural racism produced by capitalism. State bureaucrats tell women that the couple and the family that it anchors have replaced social assistance programs: you don’t need help with childcare or food stamps; you need a man! The surest way out of poverty is to get married! While many women might never have access to employment, those who do work for a wage face a gendered discrepancy in earnings, likely forcing them to rely on male wages to support their children. These economic mechanisms preserve the vehemence of the couple-form as a trap for women within capitalism, which masks unwaged labor as acts of love and care.

[...]

The logic of the couple penetrates queer relationships as well as straight ones. Homonormativity and gay assimilation have fashioned queer relationships in the shape of straight coupledom. Rather than a subversion of heterosexual social relations, assimilationist, liberal homosexuals have fought for the right to fit into the logic of the couple — to get married, to wear a wedding dress, to create familial nuclei able to protect property relations. Homosexuals perpetuate heterosexual norms and phallocracy through categorizations and role-play, which further codify desires and constitute sex within the logic of phallic centrality and authority. Same sex couples do not escape either the territoriality imposed on desire or the couple’s reinforcement and faithfulness to repressive social relations.

Dismantling the logic of the couple does not indicate distaste for love, but rather a critique of directing love towards a specific object. One must contextualize the couple-form within patriarchy, as so-called ‘love’ arrives to us through the apparatus of gender. Denouncing the couple does not mean shunning giddiness, love letters written in tiny cursive with quill pens, or the feeling of the sidewalk being a trampoline. Rather, critiquing the couple involves an analysis of the way that patriarchy has recuperated women’s desire for solidarity, for intimacy, for excitement, for negation, for the event into a consolidation of phallic power and the accumulation of capital.

Who would not arrive at this conclusion: patriarchy and capitalism thwart any possibility to love in a way that liberates oneself from the logic of the couple or from one’s own oppression. To liberate love necessarily involves the abolition of patriarchy and capitalism. One cannot opt in or out of these structural relations, and the struggle against them will be a collective, historical project.

In this pathetic, stillborn world, we do have feelings. Sometimes we look at someone and think we are in love with them. We must crush the illusion that romance is or will be an avenue for liberation.

Against the Couple Form, Clémence X Clementine and Associates from the Infinite Venom Girl Gang

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday!!! 🎂🎂🎂 Can I have a Merlin prompt? 🎂🎂🎂

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Merlin manages to avoid the arrival of Nimueh and her kidnapped apprentice and it’s not even suspicious at all because everyone is avoiding them, and Tristan, because of the huge fight they had about the actual legitimate kidnapping of an unwed, barely of age lady from a neighboring kingdom.

“Does it count as kidnapping if they go along willingly?” Elyan asks, standing above Merlin while he polishes his armor and being no help at all despite being the son of a blacksmith.

He shrugs. “How would I know?”

That gets him a snort of laughter and a slap on the back that only has him stumbling a little bit. If nothing else, his time as Arthur’s servant running around doing chores, and usually running after Arthur and Elyan and their newest terrible idea, has made it so he sort of has muscles now. Access to the castle’s kitchens certainly hasn’t hurt either.

He feels sort of guilty about it. Sure, he’s barely earning any wages himself since it’s mostly going to Ealdor’s debt, but they’re out there working hard to irrigate the land and fix up the village and he’s eating well and sleeping in the nicest room he probably ever will, and sure, he’s working, but he also spends a lot of time just hanging out with Arther and Elyan.

“She’s pretty alright actually, for a noble,” he continues. He hasn’t been going to nearly the lengths Merlin has to avoid her. “Especially for one that grew up in Camelot.”

“You grew up in Camelot,” Merlin says.

For a moment Elyan looks a strange cross between forlorn and wistful. “Yeah, but me and my dad and my sister are just commoners. It wasn’t so bad for us, after the queen died and the prince went missing, but the nobles got it the worst. The king had never been the most comprising of men, but he really became something else after all that. I assume that’s why the de Bois left.”

Merlin startles. “The de Bois are from Camelot? They said that this was their grandfather’s castle!”

Elyan blinks at him. “What? Of course they are! And this was his castle, it’s just that familial relations broke down,” sometimes Elyan says things that make it so clear he spends too much time with Arthur, “and so their father’s was in Camelot. Is in Camelot, and still abandoned because no lord is willing to take up there and risk the king’s ire.”

“Why would the king care if someone else lived there?” he asks.

“Well, he took his brothers-in-law fleeing his kingdom a little personally, Merlin,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Wait. Wait – “Their sister was the queen of Camelot!?”

Elyan stares at him for a long moment then reaches out to rap his knuckles on the side of Merlin’s head. “What kind of schooling does that village have over there? I’ll tell Arthur to add it to the list.”

Better schooling wouldn’t be a bad thing, but, “I know her name was Ygraine! Ygraine Pendragon. No one told me her maiden name was du Bois!”

“Well,” Elyan says, looking uncertain, “maybe they just didn’t want it spread around. It’s not like they left under the best of circumstances. But I’m from the city proper, and everyone knows about the queen’s family there.”

“Right,” he says faintly.

How do things just keep getting worse?

He’s serving the king of Camelot’s nephew!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The CFPB is genuinely making America better, and they're going HARD

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

Let's take a sec here and notice something genuinely great happening in the US government: the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's stunning, unbroken streak of major, muscular victories over the forces of corporate corruption, with the backing of the Supreme Court (yes, that Supreme Court), and which is only speeding up!

A little background. The CFPB was created in 2010. It was Elizabeth Warren's brainchild, an institution that was supposed to regulate finance from the perspective of the American public, not the American finance sector. Rather than fighting to "stabilize" the financial sector (the mission that led to Obama taking his advisor Timothy Geithner's advice to permit the foreclosure crisis to continue in order to "foam the runways" for the banks), the Bureau would fight to defend us from bankers.

The CFPB got off to a rocky start, with challenges to the unique system of long-term leadership appointments meant to depoliticize the office, as well as the sudden resignation of its inaugural boss, who broke his promise to see his term through in order to launch an unsuccessful bid for political office.

But after the 2020 election, the Bureau came into its own, when Biden poached Rohit Chopra from the FTC and put him in charge. Chopra went on a tear, taking on landlords who violated the covid eviction moratorium:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cfpb

Then banning payday lenders' scummiest tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Then striking at one of fintech's most predatory grifts, the "earned wage access" hustle:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

Then closing the loophole that let credit reporting bureaus (like Equifax, who doxed every single American in a spectacular 2019 breach) avoid regulation by creating data brokerage divisions and claiming they weren't part of the regulated activity of credit reporting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

Chopra went on to promise to ban data-brokers altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Then he banned comparison shopping sites where you go to find the best bank accounts and credit cards from accepting bribes and putting more expensive options at the top of the list. Instead, he's requiring banks to send the CFPB regular, accurate lists of all their charges, and standing up a federal operated comparison shopping site that gives only accurate and honest rankings. Finally, he's made an interoperability rule requiring banks to let you transfer to another institution with one click, just like you change phone carriers. That means you can search an honest site to find the best deal on your banking, and then, with a single click, transfer your accounts, your account history, your payees, and all your other banking data to that new bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

Somewhere in there, big business got scared. They cooked up a legal theory declaring the CFPB's funding mechanism to be unconstitutional and got the case fast-tracked to the Supreme Court, in a bid to put Chopra and the CFPB permanently out of business. Instead, the Supremes – these Supremes! – upheld the CFPB's funding mechanism in a 7-2 ruling:

https://www.scotusblog.com/2024/05/supreme-court-lets-cfpb-funding-stand/

That ruling was a starter pistol for Chopra and the Bureau. Maybe it seemed like they were taking big swings before, but it turns out all that was just a warmup. Last week on The American Prospect, Robert Kuttner rounded up all the stuff the Bureau is kicking off:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-06-07-window-on-corporate-deceptions/

First: regulating Buy Now, Pay Later companies (think: Klarna) as credit-card companies, with all the requirements for disclosure and interest rate caps dictated by the Truth In Lending Act:

https://www.skadden.com/insights/publications/2024/06/cfpb-applies-credit-card-rules

Next: creating a registry of habitual corporate criminals. This rogues gallery will make it harder for other agencies – like the DOJ – and state Attorneys General to offer bullshit "delayed prosecution agreements" to companies that compulsively rip us off:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/cfpb-creates-registry-to-detect-corporate-repeat-offenders/

Then there's the rule against "fine print deception" – which is when the fine print in a contract lies to you about your rights, like when a mortgage lender forces you waive a right you can't actually waive, or car lenders that make you waive your bankruptcy rights, which, again, you can't waive:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/cfpb-warns-against-deception-in-contract-fine-print/

As Kuttner writes, the common thread running through all these orders is that they ban deceptive practices – they make it illegal for companies to steal from us by lying to us. Especially in these dying days of class action suits – rapidly becoming obsolete thanks to "mandatory arbitration waivers" that make you sign away your right to join a class action – agencies like the CFPB are our only hope of punishing companies that lie to us to steal from us.

There's a lot of bad stuff going on in the world right now, and much of it – including an active genocide – is coming from the Biden White House.

But there are people in the Biden Administration who care about the American people and who are effective and committed fighters who have our back. What's more, they're winning. That doesn't make all the bad news go away, but sometimes it feels good to take a moment and take the W.

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/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

[purplesaline]

Piracy is preservation, and authors would rather have their books in front of people who can't access many books for free instead of looking those people in the eye and saying "fork over your month's earnings"

Shut up

To be clear, I'm not against Piracy in general. In fact I'm not only an advocate, I'm a prolific pirate myself.

I'm sure you can find a handful of authors who feel that way, but those I know personally (one indie author and one traditionally published) as well as those I've seen comment on the issue are adamant that piracy has caused them significant personal harm.

They'd far rather people who can't afford their books use libraries to access them or, if the libraries they have access too don't carry the book(d), they'd rather people reach out to them personally to arrange for a copy within their budget (sometimes including for free).

Pirating books is not the same as pirating movies. It's the difference between attacking a Spanish galleon and a fishing sloop.

Bigger names like Brandon Sanderson, Steven King, Diana Gabaldon, etc have a entire fleet of sloops and are unlikely to miss a couple going missing, but the less famous (and thus less highly paid) authors can have their entire career ruined by their book being pirated. It can even prevent them from getting offered another book deal, meaning there won't be any more books by that author for you to read.

We aren't entitled to the intellectual property of others. Full stop.

If the author wanted their book to be free, they'd have made it freely available (as some do!). Maybe if everyone had a universal basic income that covered the cost of living we'd see more art available at no cost, but as it stands artists need to make a living too and that means they need to earn a profit to survive. If they can't do that with their art they have to find another way to do it which means less time and energy to make art.

Not to mention the advance an author gets is usual peanuts, and unlike actors who get paid by the time the movie is out, an advance isn't a wage and if the author doesn't sell enough books they have to give back whatever amount of the advance the sale of their books didn't cover. If they get a $5000 advance and only sell $3000 worth of books they owe the publisher $2000.

Again, I'm not against piracy. I am against harming individual artists to the point where it significantly impacts their career. I want more art in this world.

I'm also not telling people they can't, or shouldn't pirate books. I'm against it but I'm not trying to for e others to believe the same as me. I'm providing information so people can make a more informed decision and better understand the consequences of their choices.

So do what you will with the info I've provided. Just be willing to acknowledge the harm you cause with those choices. Even the piracy I take part in causes harm on a smaller scale.

I have no argument against "I don't care, I'm doing it anyway" and I won't bother trying to argue it.

[rotzaprachim]

One of the most biting ironies of the “class in America” current discussion is how few people have really wrapped their head around the biting reality of the fact that actually making and growing things in the U.S. makes them much, much more expensive if you are paying your employees a living wage, even when you cut out the middle men, and there’s no easy workaround for this conundrum without fucking over the working class somewhere - the people who make and grow the food, or else the people who can’t afford to buy it. And all that being said, it is fucking insane how conservatives and trumpets hold up an idea of “small business” and “American made” and “small family farms” at the same time many of the most famous national cultural signals of people being “elitest” are when they support exactly that. So many of the most hated signs of “elitism” in America aren’t golf courses, private chefs, private jets, or the mar-a-lago. They’re the exact manners in which liberal and often but far from always middle class people work to support smaller farmers and producers. What is a bigger sign of American elitism than the soccer mom purchasing kale from a farmers’ market with a reusable bag. Than the farmer’s market? What about the urban coop? The Etsy small business seller? The made in America small scale brands that often do cost in the hundreds for a pair of jeans? The urban one off coffee shop that charges $11 the avocado toast with the avocados certifiably not supporting a cartel?

The point is not that these items are accessible - they are point blank, not. The point is that it is fucking insane that the party and people upholding “made in America” and “small family farmers” as the answer to fixing the economy also are so incredibly checked out of actual economics that they support billionaires with no intention of actually doing those things in order to punish the middle class liberals who are actually doing exactly that. And before someone says that the problem is capitalism as a structure - yeah it absolutely is, but that doesn’t stop the guy picking lettuce or running the combine harvester from needing to earn a living wage RIGHT now, or that these are often the lifestyle choices of the most relatively pro-left wing economic voters in the country, for which they have been ruthlessly punished as elitist for.

also like trump voters aren’t exclusively working class there’s plenty of rich people (the issue specifically is that voters for trump versus harris are not divided by class, and that working class people don't systemically chose harris OVER trump when ethnicity and location aren't taken into account, not that trump has disproportionate sway over the working class as a whole) and it says a lot that made in America and small business shit is stuff they make fun of for being the tastes of clueless liberals so let’s see how that works for you!

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,559 of 9,949

Start | Prev | Next

AO3 Link

Making myself useful after Emily locks me into the Wizard's apartment proves to be useless. Everything has already been done for the day, all the sheets changed, the floors mopped, and even the baseboards dusted. I look to see if I can possibly organize anything else. All of his drawers and closets are meticulously kept, shirts stiffly starched and socks folded into soft green squares. The comb and brush set are still on the dresser, so I straighten them to be perpendicular to the edge of it. I sigh as I look around the room, finding nothing else to even be fussed over.

I have only ever been in a select few rooms of the apartments – mostly his bedroom and the dining room – and always to complete the same chores every day. There were other people above me in rank who had more access to the full apartment, but I was always so busy every day and so eager to get all of my scrubbing and folding done that I never bothered to seek out what had been off-limits to me. It already unnerved me touching the sheets he slept on, so why would I want to go snooping around? He doesn’t quite frighten me as much as he used to, I think.

The wizard's bedroom has other doors besides the one that Emily had brought me through. To the north, there is the hallway that leads to the servants' stairs and the dining room. Directly attached to the bedroom is a bathroom and another door that I have never opened. I always assumed that it was extra storage space for out-of-season clothes.

When I test the handle for this strange door, I can't help but let out a quiet gasp. It’s a study that is about as big as the bedroom I had originally been locked in, but with a ceiling that is pulled so far up into a spire that I cannot see where the chain starts for the sharp gold geometric chandelier. What the chandelier does illuminate are high walls lined with books. A mahogany desk stands to my right, piled high with papers and more books. I shut the door behind me to get a good look at this new and wonderous place, not wanting the Wizard to sneak up on me.

I roll my eyes thinking about how slinking about like a snake and scaring maids on his staff seemed to be his preferred method of arrival. “Maid”. There is a sadness that I feel as if a chip is carved out of me, the splinter of wood that could be labeled as "maid". I hadn't done anything today to help earn my keep here, and the memory of Emily dirty and sore from a day's work had only deepened this feeling of being lost. The best I could offer up in equal was that my legs and everywhere else still stung slightly from the wax strips that they had ripped off of me. I go to the disorganized papers and books on the desk, glad to have found at least some distraction.

There are red leather-bound account books and papers that have been folded in thirds. Looking around the room, I find no home for them, no filing system readily apparent. I open the drawers and find nowhere to put them in the desk either, just cold and sharp green pens, an inkpot, sealing wax, and paper. What I don't expect to find is a golden locket. I hold the small trinket in the palm of my hand, letting my skin warm the cold metal. Inside, there are incredibly realistic paintings of a woman and a man, washed of any colors. I stare at it trying to place why they look familiar when I hear a door opening.

"They are not due for payment for another 50 days," the Wizard says.

I quickly shut the locket, dropping it back in the drawer and shutting it closed, just in time for him to come through the door. Esmet and a man in a sharp suit that was too short in the waistcoat with his satin top hat in hand are close behind. I flatten myself against the wall of books behind the desk but realize I stick out like a sore thumb with my overexposed skin in the provocative dress. Despite this, none of them seem to pay me any attention, the Wizard sitting down at the desk, shuffling through papers, the two other men taking seats in emerald leather chairs that are dimpled with golden buttons.

"Sir," the man in the suit says, "you have to understand, the Emerald City has been late on their payments for lumber for the past three quarters."

"This… this is not part of the agreement," he says. There is a tone of irritation in his voice that makes me want to run for the door and back into the safety of the boring and already kempt rooms. "Matter of fact, there was no agreement. What more do they need besides money? It gets there when it gets there. I can't help it if the damned country is covered in mountains."

"Undoubtedly, the city would pay them, sir," the strange man says, tugging down his waistcoat, "but as ambassador, I am telling you that the chieftain has ordered no shipments to enter the Emerald City unless payment is made upon arrival."

"This shouldn't be a problem," Esmet says, shifting in his chair. "The Emerald City has more than enough money. We could pay for the shipment fifty times over if they wanted it."

"Oh, we have more than enough money," the Wizard says, waving off the notion. "It just seems to me that I am being strong-armed at my own front door. I don't like being strong-armed at my own front door, do you Mr. Ambassador?"

The man's words tumble out as if they had tied themselves into knots in his mouth. His hands are busy mangling the brim of his hat: flattening it, curling it back up, outright folding it in toward the lining.

The Wizard rises, hands gripping the edge of his desk as he stares the ambassador in the eye. He laughs, and it’s the unnerving one that is a warning before the pounce from the grass. "If I didn't know any better, this distrust... it's like... like the warning sign of a rebellion. It would be an overture to war."

"The chieftain has no want for war, sir," the man laughs nervously. Perhaps he was always sweating, but the chandelier hanging directly over him has illuminated the top of his head that only offers a barren combover in protection. He bears a striking resemblance to an ice sculpture in the market square under the hot sun.

"Oh... Oh no, of course not," the Wizard says. "No, that would be foolish, wouldn't it?" There is that smile on his face, the same one from last night that he had aimed at me. I feel suddenly naked again and look down to see my hands gripping fistfuls of my tulle skirt so tight that I could see the bones of my knuckles. Quickly, I drop the fabric, worrying about damaging it, only to find that my hands have been using it to steady a shake that coursed through them.

"Maybe it would be best if I could go back to the chieftain and explain how things look?" the man said. "We have no want for war."

The Wizard let go of the desk, stalking over to where I stood against the wall. I know the others must hear how my heart pounds against my bare breast out of the fear that somehow he will involve me in this awful conflict. My brain concocts a horrible image of me bound and gagged in exchange for the lumber for the city, shipped off on the back of some dirty horse, never to see my sister again. Instead of seizing me, he winds a finger through a tendril of hair that had come loose from my braids. I force myself to look up at him, hoping that if he can see my eyes he might remember that I am human and spare me.

"I think that would be best," he says, not taking his eyes off of me. Here in the intimacy of our own shadows, his eyes have become so dark and deep that they are almost black. Any fear that had existed moments ago has now vanished as I let myself surrender whatever truths he might supernaturally find in my soul through my own eyes. "But we don't need to do that when we can send a letter by flight." He slowly unwinds his finger from the strand until it kisses the skin of my temple. When he turns from me to address the two men, I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. There is such a storm of emotions within me that I couldn't merely pick one, no more than one could stand outside and pick a singular raindrop in a hurricane. All I know is that I want his eyes back on me.

"You'll be our special guest, Mr. Ambassador," he says. "Please, please, take advantage of our wonderful city. There's so much to do that you could never see all of it." He pulls a golden cord that I hadn't noticed in the corner of the room. The door the Wizard had come through opens and the man I had met last night, the head officer, walks in. "Glafly, would you please take care of our dear ambassador here? He'll be needing a room and help getting around the city. It's been so long since he's visited us and we wouldn't want him getting lost." The way he says "lost" is aimed with precision at Glafly.

Glafly nods, stepping closer to the ambassador's chair. The ambassador rises, the brim of his top hat now fully mangled out of shape. He never takes his nervous eyes off the Wizard but follows after Glafly. The Wizard repays him in kind, watching them leave until the door closes. When it does, he opens the top drawer of his desk and withdraws a gilded green pen, inkpot, and piece of paper. He scrawls something quickly on it and doesn't wait for the ink to dry before creasing it in half. Holding the paper between his middle and index fingers, he says "Esmet, get this to the secretaries, quickly. I want this delivered as soon as possible."

Esmet takes the paper with a quick bow. "Yes, Your Wonderfulness." He leaves through the door that they came in.

Standing alone in the room with him, the silence is unbearable. I ask him, "Is he a prisoner?"

He turns to look at me. "Do you think he is?" he asks.

I pull myself off of the bookshelf, approaching the desk. "He can't leave the city, can he?"

The Wizard offers me the crook of his elbow, and I take it. My heart is leaping trying not to think too much about the similarities between the ambassador's situation and mine. He walks with me to the door that leads back to his bedroom. "I want you to attend dinner tonight with the ambassador. I really think you could… liven up his depressed presence."

"I," I stutter, "I have chores to do." It's a poor excuse given the spotless state of the apartment.

He doesn't say anything, rather humming some strange tune. I think that maybe it sounds like some Lurlinemas carol that I may have sung a long time ago, off-key in the voice of a child, but the lyrics never click. I look up at him – sweet Oz is he tall, I barely come up to his shoulders, my eyes level with his golden eye tie tack – and he seems lost in some pleasant thought as he guides me into the bedroom.

"Your Wonderfulness?" I ask.

He opens the jeweled box on the dresser, the one with the beetles on it, and produces a golden hair comb decorated with pointed emeralds fashioned into delicate flowers. "There is more to be done than just scrubbing floors and washing windows," he says leaning against the dresser. With how tall he is, it's more like sitting. He holds the comb in his lap, a gentle smirk on his face. "Do you know your place?"

My place could be anywhere, but I wish it was next to my sister. It's been more than a week since I last saw her, and I worry that she thinks that I have forgotten her. My place had been sharing a bed with Emily only yesterday. And yet today, in the study... When he stood over me, looking me fully in the eyes... Didn't I want that to be my place too? I pick at the fine tulle of my skirt because the safest thing that I can think to say is what I answer. "No."

He pushes off the dresser, watching me with those dark eyes as he approaches. I watch as the shadows on his face flicker in the light of the fireplace. Holding the golden comb, he removes the pins from my braids and I can hear them carelessly dropping to the floor with soft pings. He unwinds the locks of hair from the ribbon and drops the piece of satin as well, too focused on smoothing out the now loose strands. The comb is cold as he drags the fine metal tines against the side of my scalp, gathering up just enough hair before turning the comb back over, and fastening the hair away from my face.

"Do you know my place?" he asks lowly, admiring his handiwork. He grabs the mirror off the dresser, holding it up to me.

"Why was the ambassador allowed to see you?" I ask, casting my eyes to the floor. I can’t tell if it’s my own promiscuous image or his eyes that I’m avoiding.

He lowers the mirror, tracing the raised golden design on the back of it. "I don't tell everyone who I am. He thinks I'm just some statesman deputized for the Great and Mighty Oz."

"Most people don't know who you are," I say. He stops his tracing of the design, raising his eyes to me.

"The most well-known man in Oz, unknown? You really think so?" he asks.

I take the mirror from his hands, trying to get a good look at myself in the dying sunlight. Dinner would probably be served soon, and one shouldn't refuse an invitation from the master of the house. My reflection is dim, but I can see how my brows have been reshaped at the hands of the stylists, the way my skin seems to glow as if they had dusted off the top layer like an old bookshelf. All thanks to him. "Is this dress suitable for dinner?" I ask.

"Do you want to change?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Not unless you want me to," I say.

He takes the mirror from me, sets it back down, and offers me his arm again. "Maybe later," he says. I hook my arm in his and his deep hum picks up the familiar tune from earlier as we walk down to the dining hall.

[nocontextlestat]

it is truly terrifying how easily one can lose what little financial security they have. but here i am. it is incredibly hard for me to ask for help as i already asked for help several times due to my not having a job previously. but this job i have doesn’t even help me keep my head above the water (as of last week). I am desperate and since some people want to help, here are the details of my situation:

I have £2.500 worth of debt, because I took debt from my bank to be able to afford things after getting my job. Currently I am earning just a bit above the minimum wage which equals to £580, even though I am an English teacher. On top of the insufficient salary, the school keeps cutting big amounts from my salary and giving my being sick for too long (7 days in total since August) as an excuse. And right now I am unable to pay off my debts and am under an incredible amount of stress. My one month’s worth of salary amounts to next to nothing when considering the fact that I have a cat to care for and my parents don’t help me financially despite us living in the same house. Of course this is no one’s problem but mine but since some people are willing to help, I thought I might explain myself. @angstosaur will help me receive the donations as I don’t have direct access to PayPal due to my country’s policy. Any amount helps the weight getting lift off of my shoulders. Boosting this helps, too. Thank you so much for offering to help. I feel held and protected by all of you.