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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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When the app tries to make you robo-scab

When we talk about the abusive nature of gig work, there’s some obvious targets, like algorithmic wage discrimination, where two workers are paid different rates for the same job, in order to trick occasional gig-workers to give up their other sources of income and become entirely dependent on the app:

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

Then there’s the opacity — imagine if your boss refused to tell you how much you’ll get paid for a job until after you’ve completed it, claimed that this was done in order to “protect privacy” — and then threatened anyone who helped you figure out the true wage on offer:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

Opacity is wage theft’s handmaiden: every gig worker producing content for a social media algorithm is subject to having their reach — and hence their pay — cut based on the unaccountable, inscrutable decisions of a content moderation system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Making content for an algorithm is like having a boss that docks every paycheck because you broke rules that you are not allowed to know, because if you knew the rules, you’d figure out how to cheat without your boss catching you. Content moderation is the last place where security through obscurity is considered good practice:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

When workers seize the means of computation, amazing things happen. In Indonesia, gig workers create and trade tuyul apps that let them unilaterally modify the way that their bosses’ systems see them — everything from GPS spoofing to accessibility mods:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

So the tech and labor story isn’t wholly grim: there are lots of ways that tech can enhance labor struggles, letting workers collaborate and coordinate. Without digital systems, we wouldn’t have the Hot Strike Summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

As the historic writer/actor strike shows us, the resurgent labor movement and the senescent forces of crapulent capitalism are locked in a death-struggle over not just what digital tools do, but who they do it for and who they do it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

When it comes to the epic fight over who technology acts for and against, we need a diversity of tactics, backstopped by tech operated by and for its users — and by laws that protect workers and the public. That dynamic is in sharp focus in UNITE Here Local 11’s strike against Orange County’s Laguna Cliffs Marriott Resort & Spa.

The UNITE Here strike turns on the usual issues like a living wage (hotel staff are paid so little they have to rent rooming-house beds by the shift, paying for the right to sleep in a room for a few hours at a time, without any permanent accommodation). They’re also seeking health-care and pensions, so they can be healthy at work and retire after long service. Finally, they’re seeking their employer’s support for LA’s Responsible Hotels Ordinance, which would levy a tax on hotel rooms to help pay for hotel workers’ housing costs (a hotel worker who can’t afford a bed is the equivalent of a fast food worker who has to apply for food stamps):

https://www.unitehere11.org/responsible-hotels-ordinance/

But the Marriott — which is owned by the University of California and managed by Aimbridge Hospitality — has refused to bargain, walking out negotiations.

But the employer didn’t walk out over wages, benefits or support for a housing subsidy. They walked out when workers demanded that the scabs that the company was trying to hire to break the strike be given full time, union jobs.

These aren’t just any scabs, either. They’re predominantly Black workers who rely on the $700m Instawork app for gigs. These workers are being dispatched to cross the picket line without any warning that they’re being contracted as strikebreakers. When workers refuse the cross the picket and join the strike, Instawork cancels all their shifts and permanently blocks them from new jobs.

This is a new, technologically supercharged form of illegal strikebreaking. It’s one thing for a single boss to punish a worker who refuses to scab, but Instawork acts as a plausible-deniability filter for all the major employers in the region. Like the landlord apps that allow landlords to illegally fix rents by coordinating hikes, Instawork lets bosses illegally collude to rig wages by coordinating a blocklist of workers who refuse to scab:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2022/10/company-that-makes-rent-setting-software-for-landlords-sued-for-collusion/?comments=1

The racial dimension is really important here: the Marriott has a longstanding de facto policy of refusing to hire Black workers, and whenever they are confronted with this, they insist that there are no qualified Black workers in the labor pool. But as soon as the predominantly Latino workforce struck, Marriott discovered a vast Black workforce that it could coerce into scabbing, in collusion with Instawork.

Now, all of this isn’t just sleazy, it’s illegal, a violation of Section 7 of the NLRB Act. Historically, that wouldn’t have mattered, because a string of presidents, R and D, have appointed useless do-nothing ghouls to run the NLRB. But the Biden admin, pushed by the party’s left wing, made a string of historic, excellent appointments, including NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo, who has set her sights on punishing gig work companies for flouting labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/#bidens-legacy

UNITE HERE 11 has brought a case to the NLRB, charging the Instawork, the UC system, Marriott, and Aimbridge with violating labor law by blackmailing gig workers into crossing the picket line. The union is also asking the NLRB to punish the companies for failing to protect workers from violent retaliation from the wealthy hotel guests who have punched them and screamed epithets at them. The hotel has refused to identify these thug guests so that the workers they assaulted can swear out complaints against them.

Writing about the strike for Jacobin, Alex N Press tells the story of Thomas Bradley, a Black worker who was struck off all Instawork shifts for refusing to cross the picket line and joining it instead:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/southern-california-hotel-workers-strike-automated-management-unite-here

Bradley’s case is exhibit A in the UNITE HERE 11 case before the NLRB. He has a degree in culinary arts, but racial discrimination in the industry has kept him stuck in gig and temp jobs ever since he graduated, nearly a quarter century ago. Bradley lived out of his car, but that was repossessed while he slept in a hotel room that UNITE HERE 11 fundraised for him, leaving him homeless and bereft of all his worldly possessions.

With UNITE HERE 11’s help, Bradley’s secured a job at the downtown LA Westin Bonaventure Hotel & Suites, a hotel that has bargained with the workers. Bradley is using his newfound secure position to campaign among other Instawork workers to convince them not to cross picket lines. In these group chats, Jacobin saw workers worrying “that joining the strike would jeopardize their standing on the app.”

Today (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

[Image ID: An old photo of strikers before a struck factory, with tear-gas plumes rising above them. The image has been modified to add a Marriott sign to the factory, and the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey' to the sky over the factory. The workers have been colorized to a yellow-green shade and the factory has been colorized to a sepia tone.]

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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galaxiasgreen · 5 months ago

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🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut [E-Rated, 3.6k words]

"It's hot." "No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service." "I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

The freckled stranger has been visiting your pub for three months now, drinking to forget the worst times.

You might be the person he needs to remember the best.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: swearing, alcoholism, grief, discussions of death.

1: stupid questions

The freckled stranger has been in your pub every day for the last three months.

It never matters whether it's windy, raining, or overbearingly sunny. It never matters whether it's busy, tables crammed, the counter sticky with spills, or if the tax on drink has gone up. It never matters if he's in a good or bad mood. Every day, right as expected, he shoulders inside Ye Olde Hen House, ignores the chorus of greetings from the tipsy regulars, lumbers to the bar and orders a drink. His choice is always the same: cold stout, brought over in as many glasses he can take before he's one whit away from passing out.

You're used to hauling out drunkards. In this part of the old city they trundle in after labour shifts, seeking to forget the day's worries, and wind up on the floor by hour's end. You pity them their weak constitutions and poor decision-making, and the wives who will have to suffer their company upon their brazen return in the middle of the night.

To his credit, the freckled stranger has never been that drunk.

Yet you pity him most of all.

The first time he steps foot inside the pub he immediately draws your eye. Most of the regulars are in their forties, pot-bellied and cheerful like Christmas adverts of St Nick – but the freckled stranger is around your age, five-and-twenty, with youthful skin, a smooth gait and broad, firm shoulders. His hair is a bed of chestnut curls, and the ends shadow his eyes, also a dark brown, like coffee. Stubble grows in patches over his sharp jaw. In the heat of summer he wears only a linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and you can see muscle there, and tattoos, though you force yourself to look away before you can determine what they are, burying your curiosity behind professionalism.

When he makes it to the counter, he slaps down a handful of change and sinks onto the barstool, looking at you, gaze burning expectantly but not with disdain.

"Pint of beer, please."

"Two pence."

He pushes all his coins over. You extract two pennies, then fill a glass to the brim. He drinks quietly but greedily, siphoning the beer like it's his first liquid in days, and when he finishes, every drop consumed, the glass clatters to the countertop in a white-knuckled grip, pronouncing the veins in his hands like cobalt forks of lightning.

"Another, please."

You raise an eyebrow. "Knock that back any faster you might see Heaven before you mean to."

"What makes you think I'm going to heaven?" He throws out a few coins – pennies and halfpennies this time. "Pint of beer, please."

He drinks slower and slower each time as the alcohol alleviates his worries. You feel pity, strong and true. Same age or abouts, and people would look down on you for having a peasant's job, but at least you're not wasting your life away like the freckled stranger.

At least of yourself you make a name, whilst the freckled stranger makes a fool.

By his fourth, sometimes fifth drink, he's spread-eagle on the countertop, playing with the pocket change between his fingertips, wide-eyed with fascination.

"Don't fall asleep," you tell him, squeezing a cloth over a soiled plate. "Or I'll kick you out."

"Not sleepy," he slurs, flicking a half-penny into a tailspin. "Am pensive."

"Pensive... right."

"Pensive about pennies." He chuckles to himself. "Your coins are so funny. What's the point of half-pennies and farthings?"

The use of your is unusual, but he's drunk, so what's new. "Why don't you ask King Edward?" you say humorously.

"You say it like he's only next door. Know him, do you?"

"'Course. We're best mates."

"Put me in contact. I'll change— more make sense."

You purse your lips. He's too drunk to respond coherently, though there's still about three fingers left in the glass, which he eventually works up the means to finish, leaving his lips sticky with cream. By this point it's almost closing time and he struggles to get to his feet. You don't help him. Why should you?

"Ta," he hiccoughs roughly in your direction, and staggers out the door, out of view. You wonder where he goes, what he does in the daytime, whether he has family, or friends, or a pretty girl who pities him too.

He's in a mood on a particularly hot June evening, when he walks into the pub with his shirt unbuttoned.

Do not look. Despite being a complete wastrel, the freckled stranger, you hate to admit, is extremely well-built, with a finely-toned chest and brawny arms that could easily win many wrestling matches, and many hearts too. Maybe he already has. The long stripe of flesh between the two front panels tease a wide chest tattoo, inked over his pectorals like fine canvas – what appears to be two runic symbols and the number 706.

You quickly glance away. That's already too much. Just because a man is attractive doesn't mean you should be staring. You compose yourself and make your way over before he reaches the bar.

"Shirt," you say. "Button it up."

He halts, drinking in the sight of you. Up close, all you can smell is his musk, salty like the sea, and just as powerful. His hair is soaked with it too – there are dirt marks there, like he's been in a scrap, but he appears uninjured.

"It's hot."

"No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service."

"I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

"Do up your shirt," you grind out, "or get out."

The mischief dissipates as his eyes narrow, but he reluctantly buttons up the front. The shirt is ratty and torn at the elbows, but still smells enticingly like him, and he doesn't bother going up all the way, leaving an annoying glimpse of that unusual scrawl of symbols.

"Happy now?"

You go around the counter, ignoring him. "What do you want?"

"What do you think?"

Your eyes narrow. "You know the cost."

A hand slips into his pocket and produces a handful of coins, which he dumps out flippantly. They clatter to a stop in a wide arc.

Impertinent. Your lips flatten. Two can play that game.

"You've been here enough times to know the correct change by now."

He snorts. "Every bloody coin looks the same."

"It has Britannia wielding the trident on one side."

"Who the hell is Britannia?"

You roll your eyes. "Edward is on the other. Know who he is or have you really been living in the Arctic?"

"I remember your best mate." Finally he takes two pennies from the pile. "You could've just said it was the biggest bronze coin and saved yourself the hassle."

You could've also told him it literally says penny on the rim, but who knows if he's able to read – or whether he can right now. "You don't learn if you don't figure it out for yourself." You take them from his proffered hand. "Pint or half-pint?"

"Another stupid question."

"In that case, I won't serve you—"

"Wait." He grunts in annoyance and holds out the pennies again. "One pint of beer, please."

"That's better."

He takes the drink, and your gaze dips to the hand clenching the glass – you've never seen a drunk with such... muscle definition before. His frame is broad, his chest like full barrels of whiskey. He looks like he knows how to handle his body – how to use it to full advantage.

Shame. If only he didn't have the personality of a wet rag.

You serve another few people before he motions for you again, and this time you pour him the drink without saying a word. He exchanges the right money for the glass.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, before you go away again. "I've been rude."

You hesitate, suspicious. "Yes, you have."

"You're just doing your job."

"Yes, I am."

"Can you forgive me?"

That same glint of mischief there, except this one is charming – this one prods a little more insistently at your mental walls. You snort.

"This time."

He takes a sip, leaving a trail of foam on his mouth – he thumbs it away and licks the tip.

Hastily you look away.

"How long have you been working here?" the freckled stranger asks one Tuesday night, when the pub is dead.

You slap your cloth to the countertop, soaked with wood polish. You've talked to him a few times now, but this is the first that's been more than polite greetings, menial chatter, and get out, you're completely sozzled.

"Why?"

"What d'you mean, why?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

He leans back, lips tugging upwards. "I know you but I don't know you, if that makes sense."

"And it should stay that way."

"I just think it would be nice to properly appreciate the woman who serves me drinks every day."

You roll your lips. He's a good talker when he wants to be – when he's sober. "Been working here longer than you've been drinking here, that's for sure."

"A year? Five years? How old are you?"

"Careful."

"I'm twenty-six."

"Didn't ask."

His gaze on you is lowered but penetrating when he braces his chin in a hand. You can't help but feel a little flushed.

"Do you own this fine establishment?"

"I do."

"Not your husband?"

"Not married."

"But you're so old."

"Do you want to get kicked out?"

His smile curls. "Put-off marrying because it will mean handing all your assets to your undeserving husband?"

You pause to glare at him. "So you know the lack of women's rights but you can't figure out which coin is a penny?"

"Women's rights makes sense. The coins don't. Why do all the bronze ones look the same? I'm still waiting on a meeting with Ed about that, by the way."

"Oh, the lack of women's rights makes sense, does it?"

"I said women's rights makes sense. I'm on your side."He shrugs. "Personally, though, I'm more of a supporter of women's wrongs."

A laugh gutters out of you, and with a self-satisfied, feline grin, he drinks.

Something is very wrong when he comes in on his four-month anniversary.

If rain could embody a person, the freckled stranger would be a barely-contained hurricane. He looks the worst you've ever seen – dark crescents beneath red eyes, skin frighteningly wan, burst blood vessels webbing across his cheeks like crinkles on a flattened wad of newspaper. He glowers at anyone who looks at him askance, a clear signal to stay the fuck away.

He slumps bodily onto his normal barstool – and there comes the pity, an avalanche crashing through your body.

"Beer."

You don't move.

He lets out an annoyed sigh. "Pint of beer, please."

You pour it. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. All the same to me." It's not all the same – he looks like the truth might kill him from the inside. "Stout's out. I've got porter."

His eyes flash. "Porter's weak shit."

"That or ale. Take your pick."

"Porter then."

You pour it. It's infamously dark in colour, like his eyes right now, black and molten and unforgiving of a world that has cut him up and left him to die. When he takes the glass he doesn't thank you, just jams the rim between his teeth and gulps ravenously. The slam on the countertop reverberates.

"Another."

"Seem to be missing a thank you and please—"

"Can you just—" He catches himself. "Not today. Just not today."

"Today is a regular ol' Thursday for me," you point out coldly. "If you want some leeway for your absent manners you're going to have to give me a reason."

He mumbles something inaudible.

You lean forwards. "Didn't catch that."

Finally his gaze settles on you, and it's guarded, striking, like steel.

"My twin sister died four months ago today."

When people turn to drink, it's mostly because of one of two things: grief, or loneliness. Now you know the freckled stranger is both. You can see it in the shadows that cling to him, in the trembling of his cracked knuckles, grasping the glass like it's the only thread between him and sweet oblivion.

It doesn't surprise you to hear it, nor see it with your own eyes – but a death of a twin... now that's something you've never heard before. Especially not from someone so young.

"Sorry to hear that." The condolence softens your disdain, just a little. "I can't imagine—"

"No, you can't imagine what it must be like, yes, it's awful, is there anything you can do? Sorrows and prayers, sorrows and prayers!" The laugh is hysterical. "I don't want that. I didn't come here to listen to your pity."

Strange... until this conversation, pity was all you felt.

Now you're just angry.

"Why'd you tell me then?" you shoot back, as your temper builds in your belly. "You blurt your sob story and, what, expect me not to say anything?"

"I came to drink, so that's what I'll damn well do."

"Then shut your cakehole, drink your damn porter and stop fishing for sympathy."

Something cracks along his expression. He splutters. "Like hell I'm fishing—"

"Four months, you said? Yet here you are, sulking. You look like she passed only yesterday. Is this what she would've wanted, for you to drink yourself into stupor every bloody day?"

Genuine anger clouds his face. "You don't know what she would've wanted."

"I know you care for her deeply, so I can guess she cared deeply for you too, and I don't know a single loved one of mine who'd want me to live in this hell you've created for yourself."

He stands to his feet – nearly stumbles. "You can't talk to me— like— you don't—"

"Look at you, too drunk to even stand. You drank before you came here, didn't you? You've been drinking all day, feeling sorry for yourself. If you won't accept my condolences, fine, but you better heed this warning instead: if you ever talk to me like that again, I will have you chucked out and barred not just here, but every damn pub this side of the city, and I won't give a rat's arse about your grief or your shitty coping strategies. Do you understand?"

Something lifts and vanishes from his eyes, like a dark shape that flees arrest in the cover of night. The crack in his façade widens, and maybe it's the reek of him, of old stale drink that wisps out of him in short breaths, but something makes you lean back, give him space to process your words, to process his mistake in crossing you.

You were yelling all that, and the rest of the pub has quietened in response. One of the regulars stands up and makes eye contact with you, but you wave him away. You're all right. The freckled stranger understands now.

The look on his face is not just defeat... but clarity.

"Understood," he rasps out eventually.

"Good." Your heart races – you fight to control it. "Now, I've got other customers waiting, so if you don't mind keeping your voice down?"

But he knocks back the rest in one go and leaves without saying a word.

Maybe you were a little harsh.

You stew on it the next morning as you prepare for a busy day. Wiping the surfaces, preparing the stock, checking the tills, rallying the other staff and replenishing the taps – so much to do and occupy your mind, yet there you are, face creased as you think of the freckled stranger and his grief.

He needed the push, you don't regret that, but you do regret, just slightly, how you delivered it. It could've gone so many ways – he could've complained to the police and tarnished the pub's reputation, could've destroyed furniture, glass, could've hurt you. You might own Ye Olde Hen House but at the end of the day you're a glorified barmaid – a wench, some of the older patrons sometimes use against you derogatorily. Who are you to offer the freckled stranger life advice?

You thought he might not appear that evening, but at eight o'clock, he shoulders through the door and takes the same bar stool, right in front of you, as always.

"Pint of beer," he murmurs, "please."

You pour it for him, making it extra frothy, but say nothing when you slide it over. This time he pays the correct coinage, no fuss. So he's capable of using his brain just as much as you're capable of feeling guilt. His knuckles blanch over the glass, clenching it hard – you find yourself distracted by his hands, solid and engulfing, like he would never yield anything in his grip.

You let out a scathing sigh. "Look, I'm sorry."

He raises a finger and tips the glass back until all the porter has slid down his throat.

"Can't have this talk sober," he says, using his muscled forearm to wipe his mouth messily. "Another. Please."

He sets out the coin, you pour him the drink. He doesn't say a word until the next one goes down, and the next. Eventually he massages the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry myself," he forces out, even though the drink softens the consonants. "You shouldn't have to apologise."

"I was harsh."

"You were an arsehole."

"Funnily enough that's why I'm saying sorry."

"No, but... it was nice, your bluntness." He sags on the counter, but his gaze is still locked on you. "Every bloody person I know has been coddling me for months. Sorry about Anne this, I'm sad for you that. The condolences and sadness and hugs and well-wishes has never stopped. Even my best friends Ominis and Garreth keep tiptoeing around me like I'm as fragile as a Remembrall."

"A what?"

"Glass," he amends swiftly. His thumb presses into the curve of his jaw, protruding the strong cords of his neck. "I'm so fed up with it. So fucking fed up."

"You know you're not helping yourself, right?" you say, hoping this doesn't cross a line again. "Coming in here to drink—"

"Every day, I know. I just need it. I need to drink. I need to— to forget what I did—" He shakes his head and grasps his temple fiercely. "Tell me something. Quick."

"What?"

"Anything. Your favourite book, how your parents met, the drama of whoever you're shagging at the moment, I don't care. I don't want to think. Just – give me anything. And another beer. Please."

So you tell him your favourite book – you don't get to read very often, you're lucky you can read at all – and you tell him the less-than-exciting story of how your parents met. You're not 'shagging' anyone at the moment, which you say with a roll of your eyes, so you're relatively drama-free. Your life is utterly mundane, as you like it.

You don't leave him with nothing, however.

"I've been at this pub since I was eighteen, seven years ago. Inherited it off my parents now that they're too old to work."

He must do the maths as he squirrels away another beer.

"You must enjoy it."

"It was either here or the match factory. You must know how that went."

He smiles indulgently. "Expert in women's rights, remember?"

You huff a snort.

"You get how this place works, then."

"I've been helping out here since I was a tot, so yes, I know everything there is to know. Plus it pays well and keeps me mostly protected, and I get to be part of the community and meet new people."

He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Like me?"

You tip your head.

"Yeah, like you, I suppose." You gently pry the empty glass from his hand. "Another?"

"Stupid question."

But he smiles fondly this time, so you make a face and pour his fourth beer without complaint.

You don't talk much from then. You're busy with other customers and he's probably tired of chatting, though you meet his eye several times during the last hour, like a hook on a thread that catches by accident – or fate. It's those coffee eyes that you're drawn to. They dance like fingers on skin, to a rhythm as constant as ocean waves, cascading down your spine even when you turn away.

By the time the other patrons have left and the gramophone has run out of records to play, all that's between you and closing is the freckled stranger.

"What's your name?"

You glance his way. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you want to know?"

"It's not an interrogation. It's just so you're not the bar girl in my head."

"In that case," you smile sweetly, "it's none of your business."

"You drive a hard deal, bar girl," he says, taking it in his stride. "My name is Sebastian Sallow."

"Didn't ask."

"Trade you? I'll even throw in a middle name as a bonus."

"No thanks." You flick towards the door. "Now, it's nearly one o'clock and my pub is about to close, so you better skedaddle before I toss you out by ear, Sebastian Sallow."

"That's a lot more effective now that you can use it against me." The barstool scrapes – Sebastian Sallow manages to make it to the door without stumbling once. "Will I regret telling you?"

You hold the door and smile indulgently as he steps out.

"Stupid question."

You shut it in his face.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Gorgeous art by FlamboyantJelly][Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #azkaban seb #muggle reader #thwc #the bar girl #my writing #my stuff #being a good author and promoting my work lol

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 2 months ago

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Hello! If it's alright with you, I'd just like to request a short blurb with Norton, Alva, and Aesop maybe? (my faves are showing 😞 LMAO) with a kiss currency scene, very silly really, like Alva asking to borrow a book and reader's all like 'Oh no mister that comes for a price, since you're my s/o I'll give you a discount' or "give me something you forgot this morning" and stuff,,,, I'm not really good at constructing my words sorry 😭😭

It got thirsty ngl and i changed norton to FG cuz i think doing a 'kiss tax', aesop i think came out the best lol

Rated: Explicit | Warning: fool's gold part

There is a refreshing quality about you, something that makes him proud of his appearance. The older man is no narcissist; it is simply the joy one has when their partner sees them as beautiful as the day they fell in love—Alva knows this feeling well and has experienced it twice: with Herman, his wife, and now you.

You are like a summer breeze from the shoreline, warm but not too much. You cling to his skin and caress him out of his thoughts when necessary. Yet, you are like a storm at times with your chaotic ways, never with malice, you are different. Different times, different mindsets, different clothing; you are both fascinating and confusing while giving hope about a future.

Apostle likes you, Ann is growing to accept you given the cat likes you, and Luca “matches your vibes” (strange wording you said) meaning you both are friends.

There are details about Alva taking note of, mannerisms, wants, and needs; the way you smile at him with your fingers walking up his leg while you flirt with him.

Private life with you is an adventure, makes him feel young again.

Alva finds himself enjoying the attention you give when alone, you respect he is a private person and he respects you like touching him— Not always sexually! You just like holding his hand, laying on him, or playing with his hair. When you want to be intimate, you make a game of it. It is your way of hinting to him your needs while giving him a chance to either encourage or inform you he cannot give at the moment.

His master encourages the idea of a family with you in Alva's dreams.

Today, you are as mischievous as a cat toying with the strings of a shoe, seeking attention though pretending to be innocent and clueless; while trying not to giggle. A nervous tick of yours is cute, a great way to know when he is going except your playfulness to turn into something more. Alva's hand plays with the ends of your hair as you reach (and he leads down) to kiss him.

First kiss price. A kissing toll for you helping him around his room. You like performing acts of service, it is your love language with him along with calling him handsome and other things.

Second kiss price. You kissed his hand starting from the tips of his fingers to his wrists. You often tell him you like his hands.

Third kiss price. Alva is gripping the edge of his desk as he sits on the edge of it, his free hand gripping your hair as your lips are around his cock. Usually, Alva is not one for you giving him— He much prefers to have his mouth on you, a simple preference and one you do not complain about given he is really good with his mouth. It is a treat to be doing this and Alva is the type to tell you if he wants something or not.

When he pulls your head back, his cum spilling on your chin and chest, you look up to see his blushing cheeks and his mouth slightly open from heavy breathing.

If you have photographic memory you are keeping this in your mental album of Mr. Lorenz looking so fucking hot.

“Let me lick it off at least.” Alva understands why you want to but he knows that your hormones are speaking because the taste of cum is not your favorite thing— You like him though, a lot. “Thanks for the pearl necklace.” Being flirty. “Alva!” Whining as he starts cleaning you up your face.

You never play the game of price paid with a kiss with Norton. Never felt right given what you know the Prospector has done in his past; as he fought to survive, doing anything for a coin. You will kiss him freely, assure him that what he wants can be asked for without a cost.

Fool’s Gold is different, very different.

The living embodiment of Greed, the way it twists and corrupts, he lacks the morals or humanity his survivor self does. He likes to make you gamble between your life and others’ lives, and being the good person you are… You choose the one for the many.

“A kiss is your price.”

You frown then sigh as you go to open his worn worker's pants given he has said that and he did not mean his lips.

“Oh, no, no, not this time, my diamond.”

You are confused as leans down to actually kiss you, his lips in an oddly sweet way. It throws you off, having you step back immediately though not too far as his deformed hand keeps you from escaping. The vibration of his laugh is felt as his body carries the sound, the way he eyes your confused face, quick to capture your lips once more. This time his tongue slips into your mouth and his other hand is holding your face in place with his gloved solidified hand, the pressure on your jaw making sure you don't close your mouth.

Fool’s Gold, Norton, has most of his human qualities yet key parts of him are not human. His body for sure as he can reshape himself at will (his cock included), and his tongue is not pink but black and longer than a human touch. You are going to choke on it as literally is fucking your mouth with it.

The lack of non-mineral smelling air is making your head spin, your hands on his large wrist as he has his fun with your mouth. He only lets go when the echoing bell announces the first few minutes of the match has passed. You cough as he pulls away to stand at his full height with that sly grin on his face.

“Not bad there, canary.” A fucked up nickname given what miners used those birds for. You wipe the corner of your mouth where some drool slips out, your cheeks burn from unintentional arousal and from lack of air.

“Whatever.” Voice cracked a bit before you cleared it.

That defiance of yours reminds him of himself, those unpleasant ways to get what he needed at any cost. Money was not always exchanged for his way to slip into the cave off working hours. He wants to keep pushing until he breaks you, puts you under the weight that broke and rebuilt him.

“Remember our deal.”

“And what if I said the price went up, hmm?” You look terrified then upset, “Oh, don't get too excited!” Sarcasm as he laughs again, “Don't worry, this bought you a tie.”

You won't push your luck or sanity to try to get him to give a four-man win.

Aesop is not too fond of exchanging bodily fluids, especially when it means ingesting it (cum). Kissing is not bad as he can use his mask; lips on lips took time to be comfortable with and only went as far as pressing his lips on yours. A cute kiss, you like it! Then as the relationship progresses, Aesop grows both comfortable and curious, and you get a kiss you were not expecting from him.

A French kiss (somewhere you think Joseph and Mary are judging the name of this kiss).

The copycat match kiss left you flustered for a week and Joseph had let you fall apart in joy in his room (he did not pay attention). Aesop did not repeat the kiss but there was a cockiness you have never seen him have, a sort of pride to knowing he had you so wrapped around his finger— Of course, he knows you love him but the desire is different and you were going to explode with how hot and bothered you were post-match.

“Kiss.” He taps your lips, “For following my instructions well.” You are swooning and willing to do more work for kisses. Aesop’s lips are soft and taste of mint and vanilla, he likely made his lip wax for this occasion. His fingers, the material of his gloves make you aware of your burning face, eyes taking in the sight of you. You look completely enamored, enchanted by him and his actions, it is like you worship him. He only is the caretaker of the dead, yet like the old Gods of death you told him about, you give him your love with judgment or fear.

“Good work.” This time the kiss lingers and you let out a small moan unintentionally, “Keep going.” The encouragement is followed by you listing all the necessary items needed to embalm during this century. You took a Thanatology class once.

Another kiss and this time it is just like the kiss during copycat, better as his hands hold you by your waist and your arms are around him. You are a mess why the time he stops, grey eyes looking then he takes your lips again. It lasted longer this time, a little more heated as hands slid down your waist to be behind you.

You both are out of breath when the need to breathe becomes unbearable, your hands playing with his hair as his hands are on your ass trying to keep you close to his body.

“Aesop.” You smile at him, “We can stop here.”

“We can,” His forehead against yours, “I want to touch you.”

You felt like you might just explode, “Okay.” Aesop chuckled at how you buried your face in his shoulder when his leg slipped between yours. The slightest pressure makes you very aware of how sensitive you are right now.

#idv #anon ask #reader insert #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #idv x you #alva lorenz x reader #alva lorenz #idv hermit #fool's gold #idv fool's gold #fool's gold x reader #fool's gold x you #aesop carl x reader #aesop x reader #embalmer x reader #identity v embalmer

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cagandante-communistoide · 5 months ago

Note

Obligatory Why is aphobia A Thing ask

-💜

Get ready, this is my manifesto.

Content warnings for mentions of sexual violence and intimate partner abuse.

Before I can answer why aphobia is a thing, I have to answer what aro and ace phobia are, and for that I have to define amatonormativity and allonormativity. And for that, we need to define romance and sexuality as social constructs.

WHAT IS LOVE (baby don't hurt me):

THINGS I WILL NOT BE ATTEMPTING TO DEFINE FOR MY OWN SANITY:

the emotion of romantic or sexual attraction. the question of what these emotions are like is highly individual, partially socially constructed and entirely irrelevant to asking about the effect of certain positionalities in society related to these concepts.

THINGS I WILL BE DEFINING:

the social construct of romance and sexuality and how the dominant relationship model operates in society. Basically, what is considered romantic and sexual and what romance and sex is "supposed" to be, not what romance and sex actually feel like.

So: what is love? Romance is the whole motley of expectations that come with a romantic relationship- monogamy, priority over platonic relationships such as friendship, cohabitation and sharing of all assets and life decisions, and among most people on earth today, heterosexuality and the bearing of children. Sex in society is a social currency, something that is required to secure romantic relationships and for normal human psychology, but that must only be present in certain amounts in the context of a normative romantic relationship (or normal amount of hookups, in some cases) to be considered moral. It is the automatic placement of these models of romance and sex as universal goods, goals to be strived for as well as the “natural” order of things and lack of adherence as significant of some form of problem a la “maybe you have hangups, maybe you have a medical issue, maybe you’re single because you’re a bad person”.

Too much romance and sex (polyamory) or too little (aspec) both fall outside this norm. To not be asexual in any way is to be ALLOSEXUAL, and to not be aromantic in any way is to be ALLOROMANTIC. The status of being somewhere on the asexuality or aromanticism spectrum will be referred to as ASPEC. ACESPEC is for asexual-spectrum and AROSPEC is for aromantic-spectrum. The social construct of romance + its mandatory nature will henceforth be referred to as AMATONORMATIVITY. The social construct of sexual attraction + its mandatory nature and rules will henceforth be referred to as ALLONORMATIVITY. When a statement applies to both amato and allonormativity, I will simply write allonormativity. When it applies only to aromanticism and amatonormativity, I will write amatonormativity. WAIT, BUT IS ALLONORMATIVITY REAL? (yes):

here's some things people who are in romantic and sexual relationships and experience normative attraction on both counts, especially ones that progress into legal marriage, get most everywhere in the world that people who are not don't - regardless of whether they'd want to or not!

Tax benefits. The government literally gives you free money just for being married.

Lower prices for a lot of things: "family rates" for all forms of insurance, tuition discounts for education you have to pay for. additionally:

Greater financial benefits. It's easier to be approved for rent if you have a partner. it's easier to get bank loans and finance expensive things if you're married. If your spouse dies you automatically get insurance payouts and inheritance by default, without probate or even being taxed. A lot of the time your cohabitating partner or spouse is the automatic beneficiary of your financial services. Informally, everything is priced for couples. When there's economic downturn, the default bourgeois media excuse is "if you don't want to struggle financially, get married". Poor economic conditions are used as a lever with which to push people into amatonormativity. Additionally, the only relationship you are financially punished for for legally leaving is marriage through an expensive court proceeding. If your romantic relationship has been reified enough, the incentive to remain in it is literally that you have to hire a lawyer to leave.

Legal recognition. Your next of kin is automatically your spouse. If you are not a minor child and you want someone to inherit your things, make decisions for you when you can't, or receive say, jubilation or insurance payments on your behalf, the only way you can do that without filing power of attorney documents is marriage. The only relationship you cannot leave without going to court is marriage, and the only other people who are so difficult to leave because of societal and legal pressure to cohabitate and share assets with them is your nuclear family. Want to make sure cutting contact with you is so expensive, exhausting, and difficult for another person that they would never even try it? Be in a relationship. Then get married. Also, if you're asexual but in a marriage, your marriage only counts if you have sex with your partner in a lot of places. Allonormativity is a requirement for amatonormativity- the normal definition of romance makes normative sexuality obligatory.

Social currency. Romance and marriage are considered "essential life stages". People in relationships are automatically seen as more functional, more trustworthy, more mature. if you don't express interest in relationships you are labelled mentally ill or antisocial and if you can't get one by a certain point you're labeled a failure of a human being. There is much invested in the social narrative that "everyone's purpose is to find love", and not finding it results in a perception of having failed said purpose. Leaving a romantic relationship, especially for reasons of incompatibility instead of some kind of wrongdoing, is frowned upon. Most benignly, it's seen as an inherent tragedy to leave a partner you didn't want to begin with or don't want anymore. Often, it marks you as a bad person. Romance carries immense social currency as a universal good that washes any situation or person of their horror. See:

In many parts of the world, marital rape and physical abuse is legal to some extent. If you're partners but not married, or it's illegal, then even so partners are the people least likely to be suspected of abuse right after parents, even with proof. Many an abuser has gotten away with obvious abuse just by saying "it's a lover's spat". many forces like misogyny, homophobia, and racism compound this effect, but ultimately what they reify is a system where romance and family are considered automatic goods that negate or permit abuse. "It's okay because he's your boyfriend" is just as common as "it's okay because he's your father". Again: want to have an unhealthy amount of control over another person with complete social acceptability and cover? Be in a relationship. Then get married.

Psychiatric legitimacy. Again, romance and sex are considered automatic goods. Allonormativity asserts that regular romantic and sexual activity within a monogamous heterosexual relationship especially (but not exclusively, this expectation exists regardless of whether any individual subject is accepting of queerness or nonmonogamy) is universal healthy human behavior and should be strived for. Romance and sex are frequently said to be human "needs" and denial of either to another person is almost always treated as an aggression by the person saying "no". If you fall in love and have sex, you are automatically the "healthy" person next to someone who does not. Your reality is the default life goal for everyone, in both casual and clinical settings - whether they want it or not.

AND NOW FOR THE BENEFITS OF SEXUALITY SPECIFICALLY:

Medical legitimacy. Again, you are the "default" healthy option for human behavior. Development of sexual attraction labels you a normal, untraumatized, healthy person by default and doctors will never use your sexuality to question you about your hormone levels or whether you have an intersex condition to be "fixed". Your sexuality is not a currently diagnosable "condition" internationally and people will not suggest physical therapy, medication, or surgical intervention to "fix" you into having sex. (Of course, people who actually DO have medical or trauma related reasons why they don’t have sex who may or may not want to reduce them have a lot of pressure on them to resume “normalcy” as soon as possible - this is an example of the social asexualization of the otherwise allo subject.)

Legal legitimacy: again, marriages are only valid in several places when sex is involved.

Social legitimacy: same applies as for the latter iteration of this but slightly differently- you can lose sexuality based social currency by being polyamorous or otherwise too promiscuous. However, if you have the "correct" amount of sex with the "right" people, you are by default considered a more mature, correct person. You command more trust and inspire more respect than someone who clearly has not had the "right" amount of sex just by being someone who is presumed to do things "correctly", because you've cleared an "essential life stage". You are natural, you are normal, and those are both very powerful social positions to wield over someone who isn't. Just look at how much social currency cis people have over trans people for an example of the same thing. Your relationship is also not at risk because of "withholding sex" in the vast majority of cases (because you are compliant with your partner's "need", of course).

WHAT ABOUT APHOBIA?: WHAT YOU HAVE TO LOOK FORWARD TO AS THE POOR BASTARD WHO IS ARO/ACE

On the flip side is arophobia and acephobia, the bigotry and structural injustice that enforces amatonormativity and allonormativity onto those who do not fit. Here's a trying-to-be-comprehensive list of the smorgasbord of indignities, injustices and inhumanities aro/ace people can be and often are subject to on the basis of their orientation:

Pathologization- asexuality. "Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder" is an internationally diagnosable condition in which doctors attempt to "fix" that you don't want sex and are unhappy about it by trying to "fix" the "disordered" sex drive. Because being unhappy about asexuality is something that would only happen because it's wrong, and not because normal sexuality holds immense social, medical, and legal capital, amirite? If you need to be explained why taking a natural harmless variance in sexual orientation and making it a "disease" to be cured is wrong, ask yourself if you think homosexuality should still be a disorder to be "treated" with medications and conversion therapies.

Pathologization- aromanticism. Romance is considered a "need", a universal part of life and achieving a romantic partnership is considered a universal good even in clinical settings. Not desiring romance is considered a sign of antisocial behaviors associated with a range of pathologies, including depression, social anxiety, avoidant personality disorder and conduct disorder/antisocial personality disorder. Every single aromantic person I have ever met, whether personally or in passing, who has set foot in a psychiatric setting has experienced some form of conversion therapy through continued harassment to date or through abuse of medication. ALL OF THEM. It is legitimately unavoidable.

Legal disadvantage: all of the above privileges reserved for romantic partnerships, especially marriages, are barred from aromantic people either entirely or functionally through the creation of a long, difficult process to achieve the same thing marriage gets by default. If you are alloromantic but asexual, all of the above privileges reserved for marriage can be revoked if your marriage is declared invalid due to lack of sexual activity or your partnership is dissolved because of your asexuality. In addition, while aro/ace people are subject to almost all the same indignities of homophobia + aphobia, we are functionally not considered a protected class anywhere where homosexuals are because allonormativity obscures and denies our very existence. This is the third of many examples of how being aspec is its own positionality which intersects with and worsens other queerphobia, and how allo queer people benefit from specifically not being aspec. I will elaborate on this later.

Financial disadvantage: as opposed to the legal category where if you waste enough time in court you might be able to appoint someone with the same rights and benefits to confer upon you (given that they are not prioritizing their own romantic + sexual relationship), aro/ace people will NEVER benefit financially from the structure of the economy being designed to reward couples. I hope the above list has explained sufficiently why this is significant and that the preference for romantic relationships monetarily is not at all a victimless or neutral happenstance.

Social neglect + abuse due to allonormativity: Do you perhaps enjoy everyone you know and love leaving you behind because they have significant social and financial incentive to prioritize their romantic relationships over you? How about being considered automatically less valuable to your partner because you won't have sex with them, or less valuable to the people you love because your relationship is purely platonic compared to a partner that literally waltzed in a few months ago? Do you salivate at the thought of being bullied everywhere from school to your home to your doctor's office for being a virgin? How about for being single and never dating? Do you derive enjoyment from being called homophobic slurs without, contrary to popular belief, being able to "opt out" of it by saying you're not gay? Do you like seeing every person who is like you treated as a joke, a crazy, presented as an unnatural perversion of human behavior and mocked resoundingly in every public sphere as a human who has failed to mature? Who has failed to develop humanity? Do you enjoy the thought of the definition of what makes people "human" excluding you? No? Too bad. You can look forward to this anyway.

Corrective violence, including sexual harassment, molestation, assault, all forms of abuse and murder, especially for rejecting an allo’s advances and/or in the context of intimate partner violence.

Homophobia from straight people, and aphobia from allosexual queer people as well. Remember, the other marginalized groups still benefit from being more "normal" than you! But you're not oppressed, because you're not gay.

HEY, NONE OF THIS IS EXCLUSIVE TO APHOBIA! IT'S ACTUALLY HOMOPHOBIA/MISOGYNY! (deep sigh) :

You're right, it isn't. But no analysis of bigotry is about having a "unique experience". It's about identifying the ways in which society is designed to hurt you, in which other people have power over you, and who benefits from your suffering.

A gay person and an asexual have the same experience having a slur hurled at them for denying a straight person's advances. But a gay person and an asexual person do not have the same experience going to the doctor and mentioning their sexuality, because it is entirely likely and extremely common that a gay person gets to walk away free and an asexual person is diagnosed with "hypoactive sexuality". An asexual person does not have increased social license by established norms about sexuality and romance to rape their partner for denying them garlic bread, but a gay person wields the power to do so to their asexual partner and have it justified by "they were denying me sex. They’re being cruel to me by denying me this when it means so much to me". A gay person can sexually harass an asexual on the basis of their virginity with "why haven't you had sex? you should really do it. stop being frigid. go to the doctor, that's not normal. maybe it's a hormonal imbalance", or say things like “All these people are virgins now because they’re afraid of sex. All these people are single now because they have bad personalities." without having it questioned. A gay person, in many countries, can reap the benefits of marriage, and aromantic people famously do not often wish to marry. The aspec experience is to have this denied - asexuals and aromantics cannot be victims of the homosexual or heterosexual in the allo imagination because the aro or ace is not real to them. They are always a perpetually shifting list of character defects but never a real class of people. Just a disease to be eradicated. Something wrong with an otherwise allo person - a failed allosexual, but also someone who has deliberately reneged on their humanity and thus forfeited dignity or even existence in the public consciousness. Invisibility for us is not safety. It is our guillotine.

You can be oppressed for your sexuality and still be privileged for NOT being aspec. Being aspec is its own positionality, and our oppression is specifically targeting US. We are not caught in your crossfire, or anyone else’s. You, reader, whether you be a woman or homosexual or transgender or nonwhite, may have similar experiences as described. But if you are allosexual, you will never experience it for BEING aspec. You can opt out of aphobia, you are privileged on the basis of your allosexuality and alloromanticism. I can not "opt out". I will always experience meaningfully different and more social scrutiny on basis of sexuality than you, allosexual reader, ever will, because every single allosexual and alloromantic can wield aphobia towards aros/aces. Yes, even if you're gay. THAT is aphobia. AND NOW ONTO THE HORRORS OF CAPITALISM:

Now it's time to answer the original question: WHY does aphobia exist? Well, let's think about what else romance and sexuality are. They're extremely useful tools. Ever since there has been a class of people who lived off the labor of others and a class who had nothing to sell but their labor, there has been financial incentive for the former to make sure there is a steady supply of the latter. The next generation of serfs, peasants, and later proletariat needed to be secure for an economic model in which a select few live entirely off a many laboring on their private property to survive. And what better way to do that than to enshrine the two emotions most associated with reproduction as mandatory parts of life? To then construct a model of romance and sexuality that rewards those who create an easily traceable geneaology as property for the patriarch and continue producing children to become laborers without creating children that would complicate this process, and punish those who do not?

Tie sex to marriage and that’s more incentive for people to marry just to have sex. Make the process of reproduction a mandatory aspect of life. Make it so that it’s only acceptable with your spouse, who has control over your finances and legal processes to some degree (it was very common in feudalism for the wife to outright be a husband’s property), to tie you to that person forever, and then make it a very socially elevated role to fill and a very hard bond to break to make sure the maximum amount of people keep reproducing with one family patriarch for as long as possible. What’s the end result? A socially engineered values system which serves to ensure that there will always be new laborers in the working class, because every person MUST marry and MUST have sex with their partner and therefore must reproduce. This is the same reason homophobia exists economically, except allo gay people wield additional social capital over aspecs by subverting the direction allonormativity expects you take in terms of partnerships instead of eschewing it. Why? Capitalism can still sell allonormativity back to allo queers with some slight tweaks. That’s not to say that the gains of allo queers are not significant liberation from homophobia, but it’s just that - it creates holes in homophobia. Holes in homophobia for gays that are “close enough” to how things are “supposed” to be done, at that. It does nothing to address the allonormative cisheteropatriarchal superstructure that creates both homophobia and aphobia. For example, it is extremely important for gay people to earn the right to marry, but then the institution of marriage which creates a single standard for a “correct”, respectable relationship and then rewards compliance for it is not questioned at all by that step. It just expands the box you are allowed to be in slightly, and ultimately reifies the same institution from which homophobia stems - allocisheteropatriarchal capitalism and its legal code. Detractors then argue that gay marriage isn’t “real” marriage or isn’t moral, and the purely gay positionality oriented argument against this (that being that attaching morality to gender of partner is a construction of heteronormativity and is artificial), while correct, fails to destroy the angle from which this bigotry continues to emerge repeatedly - that being that ALL the trappings of the “normal, moral, natural” relationship are artificially constructed and oppressive in nature. Including the institution of marriage itself. Aphobia is a thing for the same reason racism, homophobia, and misogyny are a thing: it has made the bourgeoisie money for generations. It is a social invention inherited from feudalism that serves the same purpose as it ever did- population control for the army of laborers.

#black hole babbles #black hole asks #asexual #aromantic #acephobia #arophobia #aphobia #allonormativity #amatonormativity #on asexuality #on aromanticism #the big aspec essay

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thoughtportal · 9 days ago

Text

A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear: The Utopian Plot to Liberate an American Town (and Some Bears)

PublicAffairs, 288 pp., $28.00

But don’t worry—it almost never comes to this. As one park service PSA noted this summer, bears “usually just want to be left alone. Don’t we all?” In other words, if you encounter a black bear, try to look big, back slowly away, and trust in the creature’s inner libertarian. Unless, that is, the bear in question hails from certain wilds of western New Hampshire. Because, as Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling’s new book suggests, that unfortunate animal may have a far more aggressive disposition, and relate to libertarianism first and foremost as a flavor of human cuisine.

Hongoltz-Hetling is an accomplished journalist based in Vermont, a Pulitzer nominee and George Polk Award winner. A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear: The Utopian Plot to Liberate an American Town (and Some Bears) sees him traversing rural New England as he reconstructs a remarkable, and remarkably strange, episode in recent history. This is the so-called Free Town Project, a venture wherein a group of libertarian activists attempted to take over a tiny New Hampshire town, Grafton, and transform it into a haven for libertarian ideals—part social experiment, part beacon to the faithful, Galt’s Gulch meets the New Jerusalem. These people had found one another largely over the internet, posting manifestos and engaging in utopian daydreaming on online message boards. While their various platforms and bugbears were inevitably idiosyncratic, certain beliefs united them: that the radical freedom of markets and the marketplace of ideas was an unalloyed good; that “statism” in the form of government interference (above all, taxes) was irredeemably bad. Left alone, they believed, free individuals would thrive and self-regulate, thanks to the sheer force of “logic,” “reason,” and efficiency. For inspirations, they drew upon precedents from fiction (Ayn Rand loomed large) as well as from real life, most notably a series of micro-nation projects ventured in the Pacific and Caribbean during the 1970s and 1980s.

None of those micro-nations, it should be observed, panned out, and things in New Hampshire don’t bode well either—especially when the humans collide with a newly brazen population of bears, themselves just “working to create their own utopia,” property lines and market logic be damned. The resulting narrative is simultaneously hilarious, poignant, and deeply unsettling. Sigmund Freud once described the value of civilization, with all its “discontents,” as a compromise product, the best that can be expected from mitigating human vulnerability to “indifferent nature” on one hand and our vulnerability to one another on the other. Hongoltz-Hetling presents, in microcosm, a case study in how a politics that fetishizes the pursuit of “freedom,” both individual and economic, is in fact a recipe for impoverishment and supercharged vulnerability on both fronts at once. In a United States wracked by virus, mounting climate change, and ruthless corporate pillaging and governmental deregulation, the lessons from one tiny New Hampshire town are stark indeed.

“In a country known for fussy states with streaks of independence,” Hongoltz-Hetling observes, “New Hampshire is among the fussiest and the streakiest.” New Hampshire is, after all, the Live Free or Die state, imposing neither an income nor a sales tax, and boasting, among other things, the highest per capita rate of machine gun ownership. In the case of Grafton, the history of Living Free—so to speak—has deep roots. The town’s Colonial-era settlers started out by ignoring “centuries of traditional Abenaki law by purchasing land from founding father John Hancock and other speculators.” Next, they ran off Royalist law enforcement, come to collect lumber for the king, and soon discovered their most enduring pursuit: the avoidance of taxes. As early as 1777, Grafton’s citizens were asking their government to be spared taxes and, when they were not, just stopped paying them.

Nearly two and a half centuries later, Grafton has become something of a magnet for seekers and quirky types, from adherents of the Unification Church of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon to hippie burnouts and more. Particularly important for the story is one John Babiarz, a software designer with a Krusty the Klown laugh, who decamped from Big-Government-Friendly Connecticut in the 1990s to homestead in New Hampshire with his equally freedom-loving wife, Rosalie. Entering a sylvan world that was, Hongoltz-Hetling writes, “almost as if they had driven through a time warp and into New England’s revolutionary days, when freedom outweighed fealty and trees outnumbered taxes,” the two built a new life for themselves, with John eventually coming to head Grafton’s volunteer fire department (which he describes as a “mutual aid” venture) and running for governor on the libertarian ticket.

Although John’s bids for high office failed, his ambitions remained undimmed, and in 2004 he and Rosalie connected with a small group of libertarian activists. Might not Grafton, with its lack of zoning laws and low levels of civic participation, be the perfect place to create an intentional community based on Logic and Free Market Principles? After all, in a town with fewer than 800 registered voters, and plenty of property for sale, it would not take much for a committed group of transplants to establish a foothold, and then win dominance of municipal governance. And so the Free Town Project began. The libertarians expected to be greeted as liberators, but from the first town meeting, they faced the inconvenient reality that many of Grafton’s presumably freedom-loving citizens saw them as outsiders first, and compatriots second—if at all. Tensions flared further when a little Googling revealed what “freedom” entailed for some of the new colonists. One of the original masterminds of the plan, a certain Larry Pendarvis, had written of his intention to create a space honoring the freedom to “traffic organs, the right to hold duels, and the God-given, underappreciated right to organize so-called bum fights.” He had also bemoaned the persecution of the “victimless crime” that is “consensual cannibalism.” (“Logic is a strange thing,” observes Hongoltz-Hetling.)

While Pendarvis eventually had to take his mail-order Filipina bride business and dreams of municipal takeovers elsewhere (read: Texas), his comrades in the Free Town Project remained undeterred. Soon, they convinced themselves that, evidence and reactions to Pendarvis notwithstanding, the Project must actually enjoy the support of a silent majority of freedom-loving Graftonites. How could it not? This was Freedom, after all. And so the libertarians keep coming, even as Babiarz himself soon came to rue the fact that “the libertarians were operating under vampire rules—the invitation to enter, once offered, could not be rescinded.” The precise numbers are hard to pin down, but ultimately the town’s population of a little more than 1,100 swelled with 200 new residents, overwhelmingly men, with very strong opinions and plenty of guns.

Hongoltz-Hetling profiles many newcomers, all of them larger-than-life, yet quite real. The people who joined the Free Town Project in its first five years were, as he describes, “free radicals”—men with “either too much money or not enough,” with either capital to burn or nothing to lose. There’s John Connell of Massachusetts, who arrived on a mission from God, liquidated his savings, and bought the historic Grafton Center Meetinghouse, transforming it into the “Peaceful Assembly Church,” an endeavor that mixed garish folk art, strange rants from its new pastor (Connell himself), and a quixotic quest to secure tax exemption while refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of the IRS to grant it. There’s Adam Franz, a self-described anti-capitalist who set up a tent city to serve as “a planned community of survivalists,” even though no one who joined it had any real bushcraft skills. There’s Richard Angell, an anti-circumcision activist known as “Dick Angel.” And so on. As Hongoltz-Hetling makes clear, libertarianism can indeed have a certain big-tent character, especially when the scene is a new landscape of freedom-lovers making “homes out of yurts and RVs, trailers and tents, geodesic domes and shipping containers.”

If the Libertarian vision of Freedom can take many shapes and sizes, one thing is bedrock: “Busybodies” and “statists” need to stay out of the way. And so the Free Towners spent years pursuing an aggressive program of governmental takeover and delegitimation, their appetite for litigation matched only by their enthusiasm for cutting public services. They slashed the town’s already tiny yearly budget of $1 million by 30 percent, obliged the town to fight legal test case after test case, and staged absurd, standoffish encounters with the sheriff to rack up YouTube hits. Grafton was a poor town to begin with, but with tax revenue dropping even as its population expanded, things got steadily worse. Potholes multiplied, domestic disputes proliferated, violent crime spiked, and town workers started going without heat. “Despite several promising efforts,” Hongoltz-Hetling dryly notes, “a robust Randian private sector failed to emerge to replace public services.” Instead, Grafton, “a haven for miserable people,” became a town gone “feral.” Enter the bears, stage right.

Black bears, it should be stressed, are generally a pretty chill bunch. The woods of North America are home to some three-quarters of a million of them; on average, there is at most one human fatality from a black bear attack per year, even as bears and humans increasingly come into contact in expanding suburbs and on hiking trails. But tracking headlines on human-bear encounters in New England in his capacity as a regional journalist in the 2000s, Hongoltz-Hetling noticed something distressing: The black bears in Grafton were not like other black bears. Singularly “bold,” they started hanging out in yards and on patios in broad daylight. Most bears avoid loud noises; these casually ignored the efforts of Graftonites to run them off. Chickens and sheep began to disappear at alarming rates. Household pets went missing, too. One Graftonite was playing with her kittens on her lawn when a bear bounded out of the woods, grabbed two of them, and scarfed them down. Soon enough, the bears were hanging out on porches and trying to enter homes.

Combining wry description with evocative bits of scientific fact, Hongoltz-Hetling’s portrayal of the bears moves from comical if foreboding to downright terrifying. These are animals that can scent food seven times farther than a trained bloodhound, that can flip 300-pound stones with ease, and that can, when necessary, run in bursts of speed rivaling a deer’s. When the bears finally start mauling humans—attacking two women in their homes—Hongoltz-Hetling’s relation of the scenes is nightmarish. “If you look at their eyes, you understand,” one survivor tells him, “that they are completely alien to us.”

What was the deal with Grafton’s bears? Hongoltz-Hetling investigates the question at length, probing numerous hypotheses for why the creatures have become so uncharacteristically aggressive, indifferent, intelligent, and unafraid. Is it the lack of zoning, the resulting incursion into bear habitats, and the reluctance of Graftonites to pay for, let alone mandate, bear-proof garbage bins? Might the bears be deranged somehow, perhaps even disinhibited and emboldened by toxoplasmosis infections, picked up from eating trash and pet waste from said unsecured bins? There can be no definitive answer to these questions, but one thing is clear: The libertarian social experiment underway in Grafton was uniquely incapable of dealing with the problem. “Free Towners were finding that the situations that had been so easy to problem-solve in the abstract medium of message boards were difficult to resolve in person.”

Grappling with what to do about the bears, the Graftonites also wrestled with the arguments of certain libertarians who questioned whether they should do anything at all—especially since several of the town residents had taken to feeding the bears, more or less just because they could. One woman, who prudently chose to remain anonymous save for the sobriquet “Doughnut Lady,” revealed to Hongoltz-Hetling that she had taken to welcoming bears on her property for regular feasts of grain topped with sugared doughnuts. If those same bears showed up on someone else’s lawn expecting similar treatment, that wasn’t her problem. The bears, for their part, were left to navigate the mixed messages sent by humans who alternately threw firecrackers and pastries at them. Such are the paradoxes of Freedom. Some people just “don’t get the responsibility side of being libertarians,” Rosalie Babiarz tells Hongoltz-Hetling, which is certainly one way of framing the problem.

Pressed by bears from without and internecine conflicts from within, the Free Town Project began to come apart. Caught up in “pitched battles over who was living free, but free in the right way,” the libertarians descended into accusing one another of statism, leaving individuals and groups to do the best (or worst) they could. Some kept feeding the bears, some built traps, others holed up in their homes, and still others went everywhere toting increasingly larger-caliber handguns. After one particularly vicious attack, a shadowy posse formed and shot more than a dozen bears in their dens. This effort, which was thoroughly illegal, merely put a dent in the population; soon enough, the bears were back in force.

Meanwhile, the dreams of numerous libertarians came to ends variously dramatic and quiet. A real estate development venture known as Grafton Gulch, in homage to the dissident enclave in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, went belly-up. After losing a last-ditch effort to secure tax exemption, a financially ruined Connell found himself unable to keep the heat on at the Meetinghouse; in the midst of a brutal winter, he waxed apocalyptic and then died in a fire. Franz quit his survivalist commune, which soon walled itself off into a prisonlike compound, the better to enjoy freedom. And John Babiarz, the erstwhile inaugurator of the Project, became the target of relentless vilification by his former ideological cohorts, who did not appreciate his refusal to let them enjoy unsecured blazes on high-wildfire–risk afternoons. When another, higher-profile libertarian social engineering enterprise, the Free State Project, received national attention by promoting a mass influx to New Hampshire in general (as opposed to just Grafton), the Free Town Project’s fate was sealed. Grafton became “just another town in a state with many options,” options that did not have the same problem with bears.

Or at least—not yet. Statewide, a perverse synergy between conservationist and austerity impulses in New Hampshire governance has translated into an approach to “bear management” policy that could accurately be described as laissez-faire. When Graftonites sought help from New Hampshire Fish and Game officials, they received little more than reminders that killing bears without a license is illegal, and plenty of highly dubious victim-blaming to boot. Had not the woman savaged by a bear been cooking a pot roast at the time? No? Well, nevertheless. Even when the state has tried to rein in the population with culls, it has been too late. Between 1998 and 2013, the number of bears doubled in the wildlife management region that includes Grafton. “Something’s Bruin in New Hampshire—Learn to Live with Bears,” the state’s literature advises.

The bear problem, in other words, is much bigger than individual libertarian cranks refusing to secure their garbage. It is a problem born of years of neglect and mismanagement by legislators, and, arguably, indifference from New Hampshire taxpayers in general, who have proved reluctant to step up and allocate resources to Fish and Game, even as the agency’s traditional source of funding—income from hunting licenses—has dwindled. Exceptions like Doughnut Lady aside, no one wants bears in their backyard, but apparently no one wants to invest sustainably in institutions doing the unglamorous work to keep them out either. Whether such indifference and complacency gets laundered into rhetoric of fiscal prudence, half-baked environmentalism, or individual responsibility, the end result is the same: The bears abide—and multiply.

Their prosperity also appears to be linked to man-made disasters that have played out on a national and global scale—patterns of unsustainable construction and land use, and the climate crisis. More than once, Hongoltz-Hetling flags the fact that upticks in bear activity unfold alongside apparently ever more frequent droughts. Drier summers may well be robbing bears of traditional plant and animal sources of food, even as hotter winters are disrupting or even ending their capacity to hibernate. Meanwhile, human garbage, replete with high-calorie artificial ingredients, piles up, offering especially enticing treats, even in the dead of winter—particularly in places with zoning and waste management practices as chaotic as those in Grafton, but also in areas where suburban sprawl is reaching farther into the habitats of wild animals. The result may be a new kind of bear, one “torn between the unique dangers and caloric payloads that humans provide—they are more sleep-deprived, more anxious, more desperate, and more twitchy than the bear that nature produced.” Ever-hungry for new frontiers in personal autonomy and market emancipation, human beings have altered the environment with the unintended result of empowering newly ravenous bears to boot.

Ignoring institutional failure and mounting crises does not make them go away. But some may take refuge in confidence that, when the metaphorical chickens (or, rather, bears) finally come home to roost, the effects are never felt equally. When bears show up in higher-income communities like Hanover (home to Dartmouth College), Hongoltz-Hetling notes, they get parody Twitter accounts and are promptly evacuated to wildernesses in the north; poorer rural locales are left to fend for themselves, and the residents blamed for doing what they can. In other words, the “unintended natural selection of the bears that are trying to survive alongside modern humans” is unfolding along with competition among human beings amid failing infrastructure and scarce resources, a struggle with Social Darwinist dynamics of its own.

The distinction between a municipality of eccentric libertarians and a state whose response to crisis is, in so many words, “Learn to Live With It” may well be a matter of degree rather than kind. Whether it be assaults by bears, imperceptible toxoplasmosis parasites, or a way of life where the freedom of markets ultimately trumps individual freedom, even the most cocksure of Grafton’s inhabitants must inevitably face something beyond and bigger than them. In that, they are hardly alone. Clearly, when it comes to certain kinds of problems, the response must be collective, supported by public effort, and dominated by something other than too-tidy-by-half invocations of market rationality and the maximization of individual personal freedom. If not, well, then we had all best get some practice in learning when and how to play dead, and hope for the best.

#article #new hampshire wildcats #the new republic #bears #ecology #economics #urban planning

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genericpuff · 6 months ago

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Here's your regular service reminder that $48k/year sounds like a dream come true to people who have never made a living off their art or comics before, until you factor in the following:

Cost of assistants which is out-of-pocket (some creators literally don't hire assistants because of this which makes the process of meeting their deadlines even harder)

Cost of additional tools necessary to making webtoons and meeting deadlines, such as paying for drawing software, 3D models, etc.

Cost of emergency services such as healthcare are not covered by WT, so if your health deteriorates while you're working on your comic (which it often does for many creators whose bodies are destroyed from working long hours at a desk 7 days a week), WT will not help you.

No paid vacation time, no paid sick leave, no accommodations for people with kids, disabilities, etc. meaning if you have to take time off, WT will not be covering it.

Speaking of vacation time, Webtoons ONLY pays creators for completed and submitted episodes, meaning they will not pay you for pre-production time leading up to a series release OR have your back when you have to go on hiatus. Some creators manage multiple series to make ends meet and avoid stretches of unpaid hiatuses (IIRC I believe KitTrace does this with Nevermore and Shiloh rotating on and off hiatus one at a time) and others simply have to go without pay relying solely on their Patreons and other forms of income when they go on hiatus. And, as we've seen in the past, when they return from hiatus is often up to Webtoons, not them.

That $48k is basically just an average ballpark of what Webtoons pays creators for a season of content, and for those who recall, FastPass earnings are not given to creators until they make back that payment.

It's really hard to get people to FastPass when Webtoons is deliberately not advertising your series and, in some cases, outright SABOTAGING your attempts to advertise.

I don't even know if that $48k is before or AFTER taxes, I'm assuming before considering this is a self-employment contract, meaning you likely have to put away a good few thousand for taxes depending on your state tax rate and what you're able to write off. This also includes having to track assistant expenditures for filing.

The 60-80+ hour weeks many creators are having to pull to meet their deadlines turns that $48k/year into an ASTOUNDING drum roll ... $11 - $15/hour! Which is just barely over minimum wage in many states, and absolutely 100% not a living wage in most! And that's BEST CASE scenario in which you don't pay an assistant, don't suffer any health expenses, don't pay for 3D models / software, and POSSIBLY don't pay your taxes. Yaaaaay! 😒🖕

TL : DR $48k/year hasn't been a salary worth bragging about since 2005 ESPECIALLY not for such high-demand specialized work like this, fuck you Webtoons <3

#webtoon critical #fuck webtoons

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lieutenant-rasczak · 2 years ago

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On the incredible danger of the quaint, English village....

Although I live in Texas, thanks to various streaming services I get to watch a great deal of British T.V. I have noticed that these shows (Midsomer Murders, Dalziel and Pascoe, Waking the Dead, Shakespeare and Hathaway, Vera, Rosemary & Thyme, Wycliffe, etc.) share a common theme.

And, after a certain amount of research I discovered that, believe it or not, the third leading cause of death in the UK seems to be "Moving to a quaint, country village".

While “Getting murdered in a quaint, English, village” killed slightly fewer UK Residents in 2021 than "Cancer" and "Heart Disease" it was distressingly close. Even worse it came in only slightly ahead of "Attending a weekend party at a stately country home", which is in itself a fairly lethal pastime. In fact “Attending a weekend party at a stately country home” WAS the second leading cause of death in Britain between 1919 and 1939, but began to decline after the war as the Labour Govt. raised taxes and the number of country homes dropped drastically; thus causing a steep decline in the number of weekend parties one could be murdered at.

In any case my research indicates that IF you are British, AND you are feeling down, depressed, and suicidal, there is no reason for you to run your car off a cliff, or take a trip to Switzerland. In fact, you need only do the following

1) move to a lovely, quiet, English village where nothing ever happens, but the murder rate is (adjusted for population) is far higher than that of South Chicago or East L.A.

You might think that such a village would be hard to find, but apparently England is simply teeming with them. Places with highly competitive flower shows or bleak, cliff filled coastlines seem to be particularly deadly.

2) Change your will, and make sure to mention this to the former beneficiary. (This is vitally important!) Also make sure to let them know where the new will is kept. The top drawer of your desk is probably the best place, no need for locking file cabinets or bank safety deposit boxes!

3) Develop a keen interest in local land titles and/or genealogy. In fact you should probably announce that you are writing a book on the subject. (It is suggested that you do so in a crowded pub.) In any case make sure to spend plenty of time at the local public records office researching this while receiving vaguely threatening remarks from various upset neighbours. If you receive any threatening notes make sure to save them in an easily discovered drawer somewhere, but do NOT mention them to anybody, and certainly do not heed any warnings you are given about a need to “back off”. That last one is ESSENTIAL.

4) Stand against the most popular member in the election for Parish Council. Threatening to win the local flower show is also a good move.

5) Always leave the door or doors unlocked at night. (This includes your car.) Even if you have lived in London for decades, discard any habits you may have about locking up as soon as you move to the quaint, country, murder hole.

6) Never close any curtains or blinds, that way your future assailant always knows exactly where you are and what you are doing.

7) Either don't have a phone or keep it in an inaccessible or hard to find place.

8) Never, ever have any useful weapons nearby or if you do ensure you lose of drop them immediately on seeing your assailant.

Do this, and you’re guaranteed to be pushing up daisies by Christmas.

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gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years ago

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i don’t know, blame the air force?

summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw feels his girlfriend’s wrath after she gets her year end bonus and uncle sam takes a pretty penny out of it

a/n: listen….this is very self indulgent and that’s all i’m going to say. i literally wrote it this afternoon after…well i got fucked by the government in the form of taxes on my bonus. also yeah she’s kind of a brat in this one, but i think it’s a little deserved. rated t for language and suggestive comments 1.2k

It wasn’t often that you beat Bradley home from work, but sometimes on Fridays you would sneak out of the office at lunch and work the rest of the day from home. It typically put you in a good mood and gave you the opportunity to run a quick load of laundry or get started on an - admittedly - rudimentary dinner. Sometimes you’d even go for a dip in your building’s skyline pool.

But that afternoon, you were seething. Properly seething. And no amount of stress cleaning or tanning was going to make you feel any better. Maybe you just needed Bradley to fuck you six ways to Sunday later? Surely the serotonin from a couple orgasms could soothe this particular anger brewing inside of you.

As per every October, you had gotten your year end bonus with your paycheck earlier that day, which always inspired equal amounts of giddiness and angst within you.

The giddiness, of course, because who doesn’t love extra money? It was like found money twice a year. Sure, you worked extra hard for it, many late nights at the office, client site visits, and presentations over the last four years could attest to that. You were up in the air over whether you should add it to your brokerage account or splurge on something? Because again - you worked for it.

But then there was the angst.

The angst because you inevitably lost half of it to taxes. And this angst appeared like clockwork, twice a year, every year, for the last six years you’d been working at PwC. You knew this - it was inevitable.

Except, earlier that morning, you’d been at your desk reading the WSJ with your coffee and had seen a headline. A stupid, annoying headline that had made you purse your lips, realization dawning as you rushed to check your pay stub on workday.

Pentagon Refocuses Spending on Weapons to Deter China

As you read further, you saw that as part of the FY24 budget, the Pentagon was increasing the $30.6B defense budget a further 12% with a focus on missiles, rockets, and - yes - airplanes, specifically for the Air Force.

Uncle Sam was taking 35% of taxes out of your bonus for that? Fuck that.

So, when Bradley came by your apartment later that afternoon, freshly showered after a quick trip to the gym after work, you were steaming. And though it was not Bradley’s fault - not in the slightest - seeing him in that stupid(ly tight), grey, US Navy t-shirt only further contributed to your sour mood.

“Hey!” he called out, letting himself in with his key. You turned your head towards him and hummed, letting out a gruff hi. He toed off his sneakers and left them by the door before coming over to where you were laying on the couch, doom scrolling through Instagram, and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

He frowned at your tepid response and you felt like a absolute bitch for a moment. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You briefly glanced at Bradley and then went back to staring - glaring - at your phone. “I’m just in a mood - tired.”

You could see him doing the mental math, trying to figure out if you were on your period, but that wasn’t until next week. “S’okay. We can just hang out and have an early -”

“- Crash any planes today?” the words slipped out before you could think better of it. Before he could even respond, you cut Bradley off. “What’s it matter anyway? They’ll just buy you new ones? Fuck the kids, I mean, they don’t need to eat school lunch? And the Postal Service can cut off Saturday delivery? Hmmmm maybe we should cut Social Security even more? Our infrastructure doesn’t need to be fixed, let’s just let our bridges and roads crumble! Fucking taxes bullshit.”

“Uhhh...”

You got up in a huff and started pacing, getting more and more worked up. “It’s not that I mind paying taxes - well, that’s not totally true. But like? Actually put them towards something that’s going to help people? Not just stupid rockets and missiles and fucking -”

“- Did you get your tax refund or something?”

Bradley was standing next to you, trying to put his hands on your shoulders in what would have been a calming motion had you not been acting completely crazy over eleven thousand dollars.

“It’s October?” you snapped.

“I don’t know?” Bradley shrugged his shoulders, getting a little worked up himself. “Rich people are weird? And your dad seems like he’d know how - nevermind.” You rolled your eyes. “What happened?”

Your shoulders sagged. Fuck, this wasn’t Bradley’s fault. It was that piece of shit House Majority Leader’s, who was so far up Lockheed Martin’s ass he could see -

“I got my year end bonus check today…” you grumbled.

Like you figured, a huge smile lit up Bradley’s face. “That’s amazing - or not?” he backtracked.

“I lost like 35% of it to taxes.”

“Ahhh.”

“And I saw this article in the Journal this morning about the new Pentagon budget and how they’re purchasing these new planes for the Air Force and it just - it’s dumb but it made me mad because I just wish my taxes went to the things that will actually benefit the average American?”

Bradley tucked your hair behind your ear and clucked your chin. “That’s a lot to put on your shoulders, kid…”

“Do you think I’m acting like a brat?” You knew you were, you were just curious if Bradley would say the same thing.

He made a face. “Well,” the word dragged out, “maybe a little…” You hung your head and leaned against his chest. “But it’s kind of valid, I’d be pretty pissed losing all that out to the Air Force, too. But the Navy’s different. They don’t just put anyone in the cockpit -”

“- Oh, really?” You peered up at him. “And how many planes have you crashed, Bradley?”

He pursed his lips. “Like on purpose or -”

You threw your hands up and groaned, eventually making your way over to your bar cart. “- Like on purpose he says! Bradley!”

There wasn’t any ice in the ice bucket, but you didn’t care. You needed something. Anything to take the edge off. You were too annoyed, too fussy - too bratty.

As you poured yourself - and Bradley - a drink, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed in your ear, “I promise you, I have only crashed three planes on purpose.”

Oh how you wanted to laugh. You leaned back against Bradley’s chest, fully ensconced in the smell of his soap and aftershave. “Hmmm, that’s $195M down the drain. Could’ve fed a lot of kids in Kern County with that money, repaved a lot of roads, too…”

He grabbed the drink you had poured for yourself and took a sip, hissing at the burn of the tequila. “I don’t know about the kids, but I can make it up to you.”

The glass was placed back on the bar cart with a clink and Bradley placed his right hand on your hip, while the left slipped underneath the waistband of your skirt and eventually your underwear. Your whole body sagged against him and you hated how keen you were for this - for him. Apparently you really had just needed to get fucked.

“Such a pretty girl…even if you are a bit of a brat sometimes,” he finished, nipping at your ear. “Hey, kid?” You hummed. “You know if I was an astronaut I would cost the US government even more money, you still sure you want me to go down that route?”

“Shut up and fuck me, rocketman.”

“Can do, hell I’ll even buy you dinner.”

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this was so random so i hope people actually like it??? idk if no one does i never wrote it??

small taglist: @howdysebby (happy early birthday!) @sometimesanalice (thanks for the eyes alexa!) @notroosterbradshaw @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @rae-gar-targaryen @jupitercomet @sunderlust @softspiderling @seasonsbloom @heartsofminds @cloudycluster

#bradley and smart aleck #bradley bradshaw x reader

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simply-ivanka · 4 months ago

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Who’s Afraid of Project 2025?

Democrats run against a think-tank paper that Trump disavows. Why?

Wall Street Journal

July 29, 2024

By The Editorial Board

Americans are learning more about Kamala Harris, as Democrats rush to anoint the Vice President’s candidacy after throwing President Biden overboard. Ms. Harris wasted no time saying she’s going to run hard against a policy paper that Donald Trump has disavowed—the supposedly nefarious agenda known as Project 2025. But who’s afraid of a think-tank white paper?

“I will do everything in my power to unite the Democratic Party—and unite our nation—to defeat Donald Trump and his extreme Project 2025 agenda,” Ms. Harris tweeted shortly after President Biden dropped out. She’s picking up this ball from Mr. Biden, and her campaign website claims that Project 2025 would “strip away our freedoms” and “abolish checks and balances.”

***

Sounds terrible, but is it? The 922-page document doesn’t lack for modesty, as a wish list of policy reforms that would touch every part of government from the Justice Department to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. The project is led by the Heritage Foundation and melds the work of some 400 scholars and analysts from an eclectic mix of center-right groups. The project is also assembling a Rolodex of those who might work in a Trump Administration.

Most of the Democratic panic-mongering has focused on the project’s aim to rein in the administrative state. That includes civil service reform that would make it easier to remove some government workers, and potentially revisiting the independent status of agencies like the Federal Trade Commission.

The latter isn’t going to happen, but getting firmer presidential control over the bureaucracy would improve accountability. The federal government has become so vast that Presidents have difficulty even knowing what is going on in the executive branch. Americans don’t want to be ruled by a permanent governing class that doesn’t answer to voters.

Some items on this menu are also standard conservative fare. The document calls for an 18% corporate tax rate (now 21%), describing that levy as “the most damaging tax” in the U.S. system that falls heavily on workers. A mountain of economic literature backs that up. The blueprint suggests tying more welfare programs with work; de-regulating health insurance markets; expanding Medicare Advantage plans that seniors like; ending sugar subsidies; revving up U.S. energy production. That all sounds good to us.

Democrats are suggesting the project would gut Social Security, though in fact it bows to Mr. Trump’s preference not to touch the retirement program, which is headed for bankruptcy without reform. No project can profess to care about the rising national debt, as Heritage does, without fixing a program that was 22% of the federal budget in 2023.

At times the paper takes no position. For example: The blueprint features competing essays on trade policy. This is a tacit admission that for all the GOP’s ideological confusion on economics, many conservatives still understand that Mr. Trump’s 10% tariff is a terrible idea.

As for the politics, Mr. Trump recently said online that he knew “nothing about Project 2025. I have no idea who is behind it.” That may be true. The chance that Mr. Trump has read any of it is remote to nil, and he doesn’t want to be tied to anyone’s ideas since he prizes maximum ideological flexibility.

The document mentions abortion nearly 200 times, but Mr. Trump wants to neutralize that issue. The project’s chief sponsor, Heritage president Kevin Roberts, also gave opponents a sword when he boasted of “a second American revolution” that would be peaceful “if the left allows it to be.” This won’t help Mr. Trump with the swing voters he needs to win re-election.

By our lights the project’s cultural overtones are also too dark and the agenda gives too little spotlight to the economic freedom and strong national defense that defined the think tank’s influence on Ronald Reagan in 1980.

***

But the left’s campaign against Project 2025 is reaching absurd decibels. You’d think Mr. Trump is a political mastermind hiding the secret plans he’ll implement with an army of shock troops marching in lockstep. If his first term is any guide, and it is the best we have, Mr. Trump will govern as a make-it-up-as-he-goes tactician rather than a strategist with a coherent policy guide. He’ll dodge and weave based on the news cycle and often based on whoever talks to him last.

Not much of the Project 2025 agenda is likely to happen, even if Republicans take the House and Senate. Democrats will block legislation with a filibuster. The bureaucracy will leak with abandon and oppose even the most minor reforms to the civil service. The press will revert to full resistance mode, and Mr. Trump’s staff will trip over their own ambitions.

Democrats know this, which is why they fear Trump II less than they claim. They’re targeting Project 2025 to distract from their own failed and unpopular policies.

#Wall Street Journal #Project 2025 #trump #trump 2024 #president trump #repost #ivanka #donald trump #americans first #america first #america #democrats

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kremlin · 10 months ago

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i figure most human behaviour that, not only doesn’t occur in other animals but has zero connection to animal behavior is basically distantly rooted in the known fear of inevitable death. let me be clear. cats and shit don’t know they’re gonna die. we do. we have thoughts. we know it’s coming. we think we’re gonna be rich, bullshit like that, most humans believe in magic and most humans doubt that math is a universal or consistent thing. total nonsense right. but everyone knows their ass is gonna die. before you write me off as some dumbass reciting basic 101 level university lectures just Trust Me I’m An Engineer. anyways. being human and dying are somewhat one in the same.

“if i do nonhuman things i can cheat the reaper.” short and sweet. if i can beat zelda faster than anyone i can outrun the reaper. and you know what, fuck it, i’m scared shitless of dying. it’s gonna hurt really bad no doubt. what if the brain destroyal process makes time slow down in my perception and it’s not just like five seconds of bleeding out or fire ant bites or however you go. Scary. so i’ll play along:

i am an average american man and i enjoy bad game runescape. it’s a computer game. MMO. kill monster get loot. sell what i don’t want to other players for gold. spamming chat with “SELLING BOWSTRINGS 200gp” for an hour “sucks” so the devs add a grand exchange where you can post buy/sell orders for a given item+price to maximize gameplay efficiency and minimize social interaction.

like any other MMO you can pay some sketchy website real money for ingame gold farmer by chinese gold farmers. totally against the rules. remember this

so the first thing that comes to any male aged 23-27 mind is “buy low sell high” basic bitch shit. no good. there’s a 5% tax that’ll wipe out your profit margin intended to eliminate this behavior (you’re supposed to friggen kill monsters). but everyone thinks they’re a genius and can beat the system and that there is a secret george soros style illuminati group that is holding the secrets, blah blah blah, whatever, and this comes as a coping mechanism after losing your shirt after trying to beat the market (success rate of 0%).

here is where people mostly quit thinking: if you do the math, which takes about ten minutes and can be done on one side of a sheet of paper with the most basic calculator, it’s easy to figure out that the amount of gold you’d need to play dirty (buy out all the available Feathers or Fire Runes or whatever) in order to corner the market would be so high that there is no possible way for a character to hold that much without having spent IRL money for gold. you’d get autobanned.

SO..finally, go on the ol’ www.reddit.com, and make a really really professional-to-professional sounding post advertising a “service”. Saturate the fuck out of it with dense but very real financial jargon. the “service” (which needs to be obscured enough with plausible and relevant language) is a hedging service aimed at make-believe market players who are buying and selling such huge amounts of items and gold (usually in anticipation of a game update that will speculatively introduce a sudden, dramatic, and capitalizable price change for some item). you need it to be as alien-sounding and foreign as possible but with enough believability and clarity that a handful of reddit jackasses will figure out what the fuck your post is about. whenever pressed further, act totally puzzled and make it very clear that this is not a service relevant to “individual entertainment-motivated” players or some shit. no matter what amount of gold anyone quotes at you, just act puzzled and if that amount is 1/1000th the amount one of your “normal” clients deal with. you need to do all of this extremely artfully. and by “you”, i’ve been meaning to write “me”. really lay it on thick that whatever you’re “doing” is totally unavailable to them and that you want zero to do with them.

so now theyre still mostly totally confused but enough is made clear that their interest is piqued. got my hook in em. some guy will copy/paste wikipedia shit in an obnoxiously long and pseudointellectual, contemptible but characteristically reddit guy style what you’re “selling” actually is in the most exhausting, hand-holdingest way to his fellow reddit gamers. with complete tone of authority.

inevitably one of them will put on their sherlock holmes hat and go deep undercover, emailing me posing as an interested party. bingo. now i get to really lay on the WTF and go off the rails asking about vouchers from One Of The Big Seven, but oh no, you can’t get one of them to vouch for you, that’s fine, it makes sense, we’re the only firm that deals with unvouched, that’s our market, well, one of them at least. Just give me a rough rundown of your entry criteria, dwell time, risk tolerance, fuckin “Gamma Ratio”, you know, all the basic stuff, and i’ll have the team generate a .xlsx for you to plug your data into to get a rough feel for what the final contract might be like.

(lololol) But REMEMBER, that excel sheet is seeded, output is fuzzed and salted and if you share it or try and sell it to our competitors, it will be fuzzy enough to be worthless to them but obvious to us who leaked what. this is the only way we’re able to integrate unvouched clients without untenable premiums and while managing our risk levels

blah blah blah blah, i go on and on and on and the guy on the other end is developing a scab from constant head-scratching. and that’s about the maximum real-world harm i’m willing to inflict. i know this sounds like an elaborate as fuck confidence scam but it isn’t. that shit makes me sick. i’d literally slam my arms in a car door before taking a cent from all this. hell, i’ll go out of my way to guarantee i don’t even piss anyone off or offend them or anything.

your guess is as good as mine but i do stuff like this constantly for anything i know well enough and the example i gave above is just a pretty low quality one i made up on the spot. this is a public blog after all.

anyways, cheers, hoping this saves me from dying or whatever the hell i was talking about before that could have probably been cut out. Namaste. Mahala.

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rjzimmerman · 7 months ago

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Excerpt from this story from the New York Times:

At first glance, Dave Langston’s predicament seems similar to headaches facing homeowners in coastal states vulnerable to catastrophic hurricanes: As disasters have become more frequent and severe, his insurance company has been losing money. Then, it canceled his coverage and left the state.

But Mr. Langston lives in Iowa.

Relatively consistent weather once made Iowa a good bet for insurance companies. But now, as a warming planet makes events like hail and wind storms worse, insurers are fleeing.

Mr. Langston spent months trying to find another company to insure the townhouses, on a quiet cul-de-sac at the edge of Cedar Rapids, that belong to members of his homeowners association. Without coverage, “if we were to have damage that hit all 17 units, we’re looking at bankruptcy for all of us,” he said.

The insurance turmoil caused by climate change — which had been concentrated in Florida, California and Louisiana — is fast becoming a contagion, spreading to states like Iowa, Arkansas, Ohio, Utah and Washington. Even in the Northeast, where homeowners insurance was still generally profitable last year, the trends are worsening.

In 2023, insurers lost money on homeowners coverage in 18 states, more than a third of the country, according to a New York Times analysis of newly available financial data. That’s up from 12 states five years ago, and eight states in 2013. The result is that insurance companies are raising premiums by as much as 50 percent or more, cutting back on coverage or leaving entire states altogether. Nationally, over the last decade, insurers paid out more in claims than they received in premiums, according to the ratings firm Moody’s, and those losses are increasing.

The growing tumult is affecting people whose homes have never been damaged and who have dutifully paid their premiums, year after year. Cancellation notices have left them scrambling to find coverage to protect what is often their single biggest investment. As a last resort, many are ending up in high-risk insurance pools created by states that are backed by the public and offer less coverage than standard policies. By and large, state regulators lack strategies to restore stability to the market.

Insurers are still turning a profit from other lines of business, like commercial and life insurance policies. But many are dropping homeowners coverage because of losses.

Tracking the shifting insurance market is complicated by the fact it is not regulated by the federal government; attempts by the Treasury Department to simply gather data have been rebuffed by some state regulators.

The turmoil in insurance markets is a flashing red light for an American economy that is built on real property. Without insurance, banks won’t issue a mortgage; without a mortgage, most people can’t buy a home. With fewer buyers, real estate values are likely to decline, along with property tax revenues, leaving communities with less money for schools, police and other basic services.

And without sufficient insurance, people struggle to rebuild after disasters. Last year, storms, wildfires and other disasters pushed 2.5 million American adults out of their homes, according to census data, including at least 830,000 people who were displaced for six months or longer.

#home insurance #climate change

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so-much-for-subtlety · 3 months ago

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The thing that gets me so worked up about universal healthcare is how people say that it will be so expensive for the tax payer.

This is long rant warning so I added a break lol.

The TLDR is that even in a low tax state like Florida, someone making 50k a year will have an effective rate of of 32% (for taxes, healthcare, costs for an undergraduate degree).

Someone making 50k a year in a 'high tax' country like New Zealand has an effective rate of 21% (for taxes, healthcare, costs for an undergraduate degree).

For an American and a Kiwi with the same salary of $50k, if they have the same disposable income, the Kiwi will be able to save an extra $75,000 over 10 years that they can use for a downpayment on a home to further build wealth.

Low tax states just have the costs shuffled to other places, you end up paying a LOT more for the same services.

Here's a comparison of someone who makes $50,000 a year in New Zealand and Florida (I chose Florida as an extreme example because they have 0% state tax rate) and each person makes $15,000 worth of purchases that are taxable.

New Zealand

$7,658 in combined income taxes and levies

$2,250 in taxes on $15k of purchases (15% sales tax)

Total of $9,908 - an effective total rate of 19.8% paid to taxes and purchases and healthcare

Florida

$7,945 in combined taxes (federal taxes, social security, medicaid etc)

$1,050 in taxes on $15k of purchases (7% sales tax)

$1,700 average annual health insurance premium for Florida

$2,060 average annual health insurance deductible for Florida

Total of $12,755 - an effective total rate of 25.5% paid to taxes and purchases and healthcare

Even in a low tax state, you're already have less take-home income than someone with the same salary in New Zealand.

But

... in New Zealand with your taxes you're also getting public education. It's not completely free, but costs are fixed, and you get one year of your undergraduate free, so for example a Bachelor of Arts would cost a total of $13,548 (USD $8,347)

If you can't pay that upfront, you can get a 0% loan from the government, which you don't need to start paying off until you earn at least $23k per year. For someone making $50k that would be an extra 6.5% deducted from your income ($270/month) until the loan is paid off (which would be 2 years and 8 months).

In Florida the average student loan debt is 25k and if you're making the same payments as someone in NZ ($270/month) then you'll be paying that off for 11 years. [Note: I believe that some private loan interest rates go as high as 15%].

Bachelor of Arts in NZ $13,548, paid off over ~2.7 years.

Bachelor of Arts in Florida $35,539, paid off over ~11 years.

So lets look at effective payments over 11 years (for simplicity salary stays at 50k).

New Zealand works out to be 21% effective rate over 11 years (including taxes, healthcare, and undergraduate degree).

Florida works out to be 32% effective rate over 11 years (including taxes, healthcare, and an undergraduate degree) - you're paying 52% more!

That means someone with the same income will effectively be able to save an additional $5,000 per year over 11 years, if they invest that extra amount and get a 5% return, the New Zealander will have savings of about $75k which they can use for downpayment for a home etc.

In conclusion, even though it may seem like you're getting a good deal in a low tax state like Florida, you end up paying soooo much more in healthcare and education costs compared to a country where taxes are a little higher, but you get public healthcare and education.

Why is the U.S. so expensive? Well once place to look is defense, intelligence, and police. In the United States this costs on average $3,700 per person. New Zealand spends $1,600 per person (USD ~1,000).

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freeworldallahmbaclass · 1 year ago

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youtube

This is my rule as the ruler

Getting them all with this champion sound

Hot song see you soon with it presenting my song Champion 🏆 sound

And

Now to present you with some of my accomplishments already

My New York City accomplishments

Trump is the whole package but he had boundaries he set boundaries and was strong against people especially the criminal element me I defend the proletariat the common man and woman with real issues and get them the laws passed that they need boost the economy with more money legalize weed get free college education for the city citibikes more money for people on Human resources administration and permanent employment from temporary seasonal jobs from decades long however much months work program they learn and then get kicked out and you can't support yourself and your family I made it where that after you finish that probation period you get the job the job security meaning your secure because you got a steady paycheck and now could build a future from there I got union contract for Starbucks workers and Amazon workers and more money on the city feps and seps voucher for their housing the city pay more rent for you so you and your family could rent in the neighborhoods you want with better schools and employment opportunities for the parents to provide a good future for their kids

I got hotels for the homeless in New York City 2021 it is now happens where everything that happens in New York City is under my name and my control of the city which is good because I do good for the people my name is Allen Henry notice the Henry Hall building with the Henry lives here sign on it next to 42nd Street Port Authority yes I live in New York City and thanks for the big announcement on your building symbolizing radio city music hall at Rockefeller center in New York City is shouted out about from a building with the Henry lives here sign on it let radio city music hall know I'm coming soon and thank you my super hero Batman and Superman my superhero days are just starting that's on 38th Street on llth Avenue in New York City Manhattan next to port authority on 42nd Street you could actually drive pass it and see it now it is actually a tourist site wow thanks that's amazing I love it thanks I'm honored I appreciate it again like the sign says I live in New York City and thanks for the big announcement on your buildings and don't forget the Henry apartment buildings in Brooklyn New York thank you I'm honored

I got Amazon workers their union contract

I got Starbucks workers their union contract

I got the minimum wage increased from $ 11 dollars an hour to $ 15 dollars to $ 17 dollars an hour put 100 million $ dollar boost in New York State economy proven math governor Kathy Hochul is signing that into law from where I already got it she is going to give it boost we need oh yeah very great and lovely governor we got now she is pretty good at doing her job I like her a lot and wish that the government of America go through with wage increase for all states and have the new federal minimum wage for a better rate of pay for all workers from the dishwasher , to the bike messenger to the Mexican American and union for job security is created for them to help immigrants and Kathy Hochul signs off on a new money adjustment plan to balance out against inflation and new tax cuts that help the common man and woman the employees that provide services in the places me and you have to visit

I got more money put on the housing vouchers the city feps and seps voucher so that homeless individuals and women with their kids and husband and wife can have better housing and a better life for themselves and their family And it's only going to get better more housing more safer housing where the housing crew does it's job and provide safe clean housing cleaning the apartment from Asbestos and using the wrong products that could harm the people in the apartment and their should be more NYCHA the projects job openings to the people in those surrounding neighborhoods the hood and any hood in the world to help clean their neighborhoods 20 men and women crews clean up crews drivers and even regular normal everyday people of those neighborhoods newly hired people that take pride in doing a very good service for the people of their community they have to educate the tenants on lead paint and checking their apartments carbon monoxide levels how to use a stove fire safety plans and evacuations plans in those apartments safety with electrical sockets for their children and toxic free apartments air conditioners and heating free cable so they can watch some good TV shows and movies and enjoy their summer and winter and they get WI Fi now hooked up with their house packages and hopefully more money on the voucher to help rehabilitating families to get their lives together better housing and better schools for their kids equal a better future don't forget to give New people moving into their apartment fire safety 🦺 training courses on unplugging their wires from the outlets and child safety outlets not leaving the oven on or stove on or leaving the stove and ovens on unattended child safety windows no water near electronics and electrical devices carbon dioxide early detectors and smoke detectors no smoking 🚭🚬 around fire hazardous materials and we should reduce the number of accidents and tragedies in NYCHA called the housing projects in our neighborhoods and enjoy your cable wifi air conditioning heat in the winter and your Citibikes .

I got the fair chance to compete for a job act of 2019 in New York City and California hopefully other cities and countries are going to follow suit

I legalized marijuana in New York City on March 31 , 2021 no violence in the hallways of the projects that we are from fellas respect people space and their kids in those hallways don't bring an violent atmosphere and environment around those kids when hanging out with our friends in the lobby that means no violence and violent talk around the kids while walking through projects NYCHA hallways go outside and enjoy the sun or the nice breeze that passes us and chill and enjoy outside that is so no laws will be passed restricting our laws .

I cleaned up fox square in Brooklyn , NY

Free college education in New York City

Free gym membership for people on Medicare

Citi bikes for New Yorkers

I got the second stage theatre in Manhattan , New York City meaning I got my second chance to perform music 🎼🎶 on a stage record and performing music, I rap .

Pictures of me as Christopher Wallace Biggie Smalls the Notorious BIG in Brooklyn New York City that is a big big accomplishment shout out to his moms how are you doing Ms . Violetta Wallace I'm very honored thank you Governor Cuomo legalized weed Marijuana the gaunja off of those pictures and across the street from the picture I got apartment buildings in my name the Henry apartments in Brooklyn on Rockaway Avenue in Brooklyn New York City

I brought Yo MTV raps to the Brooklyn Museum 🎨 an Art museum since I'm of the sophisticated crowd and Talented tenth from W . E . B . Dubois book and I'm a rapper from Harlem and Brooklyn New York City via Saint Croix U.S. Virgin Islands

I got my own subway street named after me called Respect Avenue in New York City New York and Brooklyn New York

Governor Andrew Cuomo gave me and opened an hospital named after me in Brooklyn , New York back in 2015 Brooklyn's 760 Parkside Avenue where my family is originally from when they landed in Brooklyn , New York City my uncle and his family 760 Parkside Avenue downstate biotechnology incubator hospital 🏥 thank you I'm honored and actually do put my sponsorship behind it not being funny it's just that it's an hospital and hospitals heal people and take care of them and I love that caring nurturing loving and nourishing environment of hospitals and the hospitality of the nurses doctors and specialists we never tell them we love them and thank you and I love you enough tell your doctor if he is doing a great job correctly say hey doctor I love you I love you all of my hospital staffs for providing a great service in my name I love you for taking care of God's people all of God's people I mean people from all communities we are all good people and deserve the best in treatment and the care that is given to patients when you visit my hospital and counselors should know the nutritionist and give out good advice even while your A casac counselor therapist and clinician do your job with passion , love and the intention of betterment for your patients and even those that come to work under and learn from you teach them how to doctor truly heal human beings through laughter , love a d being strong for them and doctor the soul through a warm smile and hug for all patients and pediatrics should know you have a great responsibility to love provide and care for all patients you have a very very important job and I love you we never know when you might need somebody to take care of our every needs, I love hospitals they should actually play Joyce Meyer and Joel Osteen in the care units to help heal the people in special care units play their TV shows and audio all through all units of the hospital

I won the Super bowl with Patrick Mahomes I got Clinton Dannemora back and I came home and took over the streets of NYC in politics Errol Louis of Channel 1 news would be proud of me

President Joe Biden presented me with a medal 🏅 of honor in the year 2023 for my heroism

Watch out Donald Trump my movement is doing very good now

I'm on 5th Avenue in the heart of New York City now

My gift 🎁 from Nicki Minaj the female rapper from her Young Money Crew thank you Nicki I got my own library in New York City thanks to her in the heart of New York City it is pleasing to me to be able to have a library that host after school programs for the kids and storytelling fun with their teachers and parents with Barney the dinosaur type characters to make the kids laugh and enjoy their selves that is a blessing for me coming from where I come from I had a rough life I grew up in Harlem New York City running the streets but I kept my nose in a book and part of that reason is because my mom was in college she would have tons of books on her bed and I fell love in books because of her she went to Monroe College in the Bronx and got her degree and even worked for the Board of Education for awhile and I got my love of books from her and to see that they give me a library is beautiful to me I know she is proud of me I made something of myself reading books I learned my way in anyway the library have costume animals Barney the dinosaur type costume animals for the kids to make them laugh and enjoy life is a blessing for me and it is in my building thank you I'm honored New York City and yes it is in the same building that I got my GED from in 2003 so I had already been going their for awhile they gave to me in 2022 thank you New York City and it's on 40th street and 5th Avenue right next to Grand Central and Times Square New York City and the same block wow as the Joel Osteen store so go get some Coffee ☕ and bagels and enjoy your day , their programs to help people returning to work , Cafe on the seventh floor outside rooftop so you could watch New York 5th Avenue like the empire state building and their are regular programs special instructors from any career is their to teach and instruct you on how to get where you would want to be in life it is so so clean the water fountains are the new ones where you place your bottle under some kid of water dispenser and it fills your bottles you could stand there and get as much refills as you want self service sanitized napkins to wipe your area where you are going to be reading I own the building so I eat at my seat the security guards is very professional that is their brand professionalism and high quality service with a smile they greet you warmly and treat you like you are at home it's mines so it is your home of course I'm like yeah yeah whatever but you would love it there make it a tourist attraction when you come to New York City I left school early I wish I didn't but the library is to give me a new start to learn all the on the job skills I need to excel in my career and it is there for you to hang out have fun meet some good people all New Yorkers are really good people and watch movies listen to music and to learn anything you want to make it there and enjoy yourselves

I won the Nobel Peace Prize 🏆 once for my caring Martin Luther King jr would be proud of me and love of humanity and with the helping of this page and Nobel memorial prize for economic sciences twice so that makes three Nobel prizes I won three Nobel prizes

Benefit monetary assistance increase for snap and cash assistance recipients

I'm John Wick in the movies John Wick series and I'm Neo in the Matrix and Matrix series congratulations to me I'm very Honored thank you Keeanu Reeves I'm very Honored thank you so much with tears in my eyes 💞 I love it everything I am now is bigger than what I been through in life and it is all because of people like you thanks and to my very close friend Laurence Fishburne true story real friend I mean we go back while he was studying to do the Matrix and I turned out to be a fine gentleman thank you and I found out I'm the one but the ones are the ones that study hard and work hard and making themselves into great people efficient and effective in constructive productivity their good at school , music or their career whatever they are good at is because they worked hard at it and that how we all can be an anomaly in society the good people .

Rikers Island tablet program podcasts and video games for inmates in jail to help stop crime violent crime in prison and to help rehabilitate the guy or woman and stop the back and forth of them going to jail . The tablet have podcasts and programs for Job Search legal research and books to read to help them become better citizens in the free society .

I was named The 16th Captain of New York City that is New York Yankees history and current captain of New York city New York Yankees hat history and time magazine 2022 man of the year the 16th and current captain of New York City , thank you .

I got meteors in front of the courtroom in New York City right in front of City Hall , 80 and 100 Centre street symbolizing I'm superman and I'm not the people of New York enemy I'm a friend and employers are there to help me if I just meet them halfway with some job skills they will employ me get me a job and for all that I say thank you for letting me work my way back into America's good people list thank you so much I mean I'm working and learning to give myself a job start my own business I'm learning how to do that but it is good to know that I got y'all white people the decent ones on my side not the ones that side with my enemies and haters but the ones that rock with me to be there to give me my life back with the meteors real live meteors thank you so much now in front of City Hall the famous New York City at 80 and 100 Centre where I first caught my first case at 16 years old🥇Joe Montana number thank you goodness for Bill Walsh is now in front of the courtrooms thank you for the chance again in my life to work and not stay idle in dangerous neighborhoods and environments which I'm teaching my way out of but thank you so much and I honor that thank you so much I'm proud to be an American 🏈

Laws I'm proposing

Job Safety and secure act - 2022

Fair banking act - 2022

Retirement investment plan for employees IRA act - 2022

Ready , willing and able Expansive territory act - 2023

Riverside drive Expansion project act - 2023

The new ferry from New Jersey to New York City - 2023

School sports culture expansion Act Copperas Cove , Texas

Rikers Island schooling expansion act Added on Basic education classes on Rikers Island on the tablet , college programs on the program , online school on the Tablet . -2023

NYCHA ( New York City Housing projects ) plans and ideas for improvement

The New Trench town rock - 2021 , 2022 , 2023

And many other pitches and proposals rebuilding the workforce , wages and structure of New York city and cities like New York .

Next order of business : My Plans for infrastructure in a utopian society hotels jobs pay raise on citizens paycheck from 15 $ - 17 $ dollars minimum wage pay to 19$ dollars to 20$ dollars an hour to better provide for all costs emergencies uncovered insurance payments due to partial health care coverage and full union membership granted to employees of any company free education grants and school loans payment plans

Pay raise for school teachers in every city at junior high school , high school and elementary school level since they are stewards of our children's future .

Pay raise for civil service workers and Civil service exams made and updated daily to the public , school crossing guards , correction officers , supervisors , probation officers , construction site supervisors .

Pay raise for day care workers

Free day care services for temporarily unemployed mothers and fathers

Pay raise for city fire fighters and police officers .

Job contractors fulfilling contracts with back to work public assistance programs that train and employ job candidates without their high school diploma or GED and granting them full employment with full medical and medicare coverage union membership and back to school Acces Vocational rehabilitation counseling and restoration of financial aid assistance for non violent crimes like drug sellers and abusers to stop recidivism to prison and to cure an addiction to a habit of committing perpetual crimes thus creating repeat offenders .

Jobs moving back to inner cities through the effort of study and research groups from urban planning courses from their neighboring colleges .

Tax abatement and financial incentives and business incentives and tax breaks .

Joe Biden and vice president Kamala Harris should include this law into all of their plan for cleaning up America I'm glad to see it go beyond New York City and other counties in New York I want to share this honor with author Michelle Alexander who I did my research from her book about mass incarceration of the black and Latino community and the political office and my friends that help put this law in place I reached out to hopefully stop the recidivism to prison and hopefully to help some of my friends and people that go back and forth to jail because they couldn't get a job due to the felonies on their record I recommend a certificate of relief of disabilities to all people returning to society if they haven't given you one go get it from your county's or borough courthouse it works wonders .

Next order of business : Tax cuts to help the everyday person keep more of their check in their pockets cut the tax rates in New York City by 4 percent I see it as New York State taxes % 8.82 to % 4 percent and business tax cuts to create more jobs Proposal For a Wage increase of $ 22 dollars an hour Including : Fire safety directors Security guards Librarians Fed Ex workers UPS workers Ready Willing and able with free vocational grants from access vr programs they should hire vocational rehabilitation counselors and job developers finding permanent housing and permanent job placement after the clients training Stock Clerks and cashier's at major stores like Gristedes , C Town , met foods , Burlington coat factory wage increase for all warehousing and factory workers jack pallet and forklift training for people with no experience and a starting salary at $ 17 - 19 $ dollars an hour and it increase with more time on the job how about the first year at that base salary of $ 17 - 19 $ dollars and on the even of that year the employee gets an raise of $ 2 dollars more on their check and other financial incentives as cash allocation from their check for newly place employee mutual fund packages besides with other benefits that said company is offering this helps to place that company on the stock market and grant their employees preferred stock options from their company that they work for at that current moment and because of the huge huge employee buy in it is like the employers are investing in their employees and their stores and company .

Educational requirements for jobs posted is less than a high school diploma but the job candidate has to be in a vocational program or GED preparation course half or full time hours .

Civil service jobs and exams posted weekly .

Sales professional salary plus commission on sales and stock options for mutual funds packages as bonuses with an wage increase to $ 19 dollars to $ 21 dollars an hour .

Newly added benefits to a job description benefits an employer on jobs posted give to their employees an employer get to hold back cash or take money out of an employees check to put towards a mutual funds stock fund option to help that client make more money as a second job the municipals funds and stock and funds and stock and then you gotta get hedge funds option packaged in to help the employees money make more money for them talk about overtime whew and at the same time that local market and store owner can put his company on the stock market and give out public shares thus in the end making it a good investment a regular place of shopping in a family like environment it is like getting to know your deli clerk , butcher , bakery attendant again only this time you are making money with the people you are spending money with Think about it that in turns build better communities better stores customer relationships safer neighborhoods and the beautifying of economically depressed environments more money for your kids college tuition school supplies newer roads being built leading to and from better neighborhoods and businesses and this is a future that we all as fellow New Yorkers can build together .

#Youtube

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Washington State's capital gains tax proves we can have nice things

Today (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Washington State enacted a 7% capital gains tax levied on annual profits in excess of $250,000, and made a fortune, $600m more than projected in the first year, despite a 25% drop in the stock market and blistering interest rate hikes:

https://www.theurbanist.org/2023/06/01/lessons-from-washington-states-new-capital-gains-tax/

Capital gains taxes are levied on “passive income” — money you get for owning stuff. The capital gains rate is much lower than the income tax rate — the rate you pay for doing stuff. This is naked class warfare: it punishes the people who make things and do things, and rewards the people who own the means of production.

The thing is, a factory or a store can still operate if the owner goes missing — but without workers, it shuts down immediately. Everything you depend on — the clothes on your back, the food in your fridge, the car you drive and the coffee you drink — exists because someone did something to produce it. Those producers are punished by our tax system, while the people who derive a “passive income” from their labor are given preferential treatment.

The Washington State tax is levied exclusively on annual gains in excess of a quarter million dollars — meaning this tax affects an infinitesimal minority of Washingtonians, who are vastly better off than the people whose work they profit from. Most working Americans own little or no stock, and the vast majority of those who do own that stock in a retirement fund that is sheltered from these taxes.

(Sidebar here to say that market-based pensions are a scam, a way to force workers to gamble in a rigged casino for the chance to enjoy a dignified retirement; the defined benefits pension, combined with adequate Social Security, is the only way to ensure secure retirement for all of us)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/25/derechos-humanos/#are-there-no-poorhouses

Washington’s tax was anticipated to bring in $248m. Instead, it’s projected to bring in $849m in the first year. Those funds will go to public school operations and construction and infrastructure spending:

https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/politics/was-new-capital-gains-tax-brings-in-849-million-so-far-much-more-than-expected/

That is to say, the money will go to ensuring that Washingtonians are educated and will have the amenities they need to turn that education into productive work.

Washington State is noteworthy for not having any state personal or corporate income tax, making it a haven for low-tax brain-worm victims who would rather have a dead gopher running their states than pay an extra nickel in taxes. But places that don’t have taxes can’t fund services, which leads to grotesque, rapid deterioration.

Washington State plutes moved because they relished living in well-kept, cosmopolitan places with efficient transportation, an educated workforce, good restaurants and culture — none of which they would have to pay for. They forgot Karl Marx’s famous saying: “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

The idea that Washington could make up for the shortfalls that come from taxing its wealthiest residents by levying regressive sales taxes and other measures is mathematically illiterate wishful thinking. When the one percent owns nearly everything, you can tax the shit out of the other 99% and still not make up the shortfall.

Meanwhile: homelessness, crumbling roads, and crisis after crisis. Political deterioration. Cute shopping neighborhoods turn into dollar store hellscapes because no one can afford to shop for nice things because all their income is going to plug the gaps in health, education, transport and other services that the low-tax state can’t afford.

Washington State’s soak-the-rich tax is ironic, given the propensity of California’s plutes to threaten to leave for Washington if California finally passes its own extreme wealth tax.

There’s a reason all these wealthy people want to live in California, Washington, New York and other states where there’s broad public support for taxing the American aristocracy: states with rock-bottom taxes are failed states. All but two of America’s “red states” are dependent on transfers from the federal government to stay in operation. The two exceptions are Texas, whose “free market” grid is one nanometer away from total collapse, and Florida, which is about to slip beneath the rising seas it denies.

Rich people claim they’d be happy to live in low-tax states, and even tout the benefits of a desperate workforce that will turn up to serve drinks at their country clubs even as a pandemic kills them at record rates. But when the chips are down, they don’t want to depend on a private generator to keep the lights on. They don’t want to have to repeatedly replace their luxury cars’ suspension after it’s wrecked by gaping potholes. They don’t want to have to charter a jet to fly their kids out of state to get an abortion.

This is true globally, too. As Thomas Piketty pointed out in Capital in the 21st Century, if the EU and OECD created a wealth tax, the rich could withdraw to Dubai, the Caymans and Rwanda, but they’d eventually get sick of shopping for the same luxury goods in the same malls guarded by the same mercenaries and want to go somewhere, you know, fun:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

We’re told that Americans would never stand for taxing the ultra-rich because they see themselves as “temporarily embarrassed millionaires.” It’s just not true: soak-the-rich policies are wildly popular:

https://balanceourtaxcode.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/WA-State-Wealth-Tax-Poll-Results-3.pdf

The Washington tax windfall is fascinating in part because it reveals just how rich the ultra-rich actually are. Warren Buffett says that “when the tide goes out, you learn who’s been swimming naked.” But Washington’s new tax is a tide that reveals who’s been swimming with a gold bar stuck up their ass.

It’s not surprising, then, that Washingtonians are so happy to tax their one percenters. After all, this is the state that gave us modern robber barons like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos. And then there’s clowns like Steve Ballmer, star of Propublica’s IRS Files, the man whose creative accounting let him claim $700m in paper losses on his basketball team, allowing him to pay a mere 12% tax on $656m in income, while the workers who made his fortune on the court paid 30–40% on their earnings.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine Ballmer’s also a master of “tax loss harvesting,” who has created paper losses of over $100m, letting him evade $138m in federal taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

These guys aren’t rich because they work harder than the rest of us. They’re rich because they profit from our work — and then, to add insult to injury, pay little or no taxes on those profits.

Washington’s lowest income earners pay six times the rate of tax as the state’s richest people. When the wealthy squeal that these taxes are class warfare, they’re right — it is class war, and they started it.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

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/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

[Image ID: The Washington State flag; the circular device featuring George Washington has been altered so that it is now the head of a naked man clothed in a barrel with two wide leather shoulder straps.]

#pluralistic #steve ballmer #irs files #washington state #soak the rich #capital gains #taxes class war #euthanasia of the rentier

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hitlikehammers · 9 months ago

Text

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690

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